#aroacehp

[aroacehogwarts]

Hellsite ruined the ask, but this fic is in response to the following from @callonpeevesie: Hi! This demi loves your blog. Do you have any headcanons about aroace Charlie convincing Molly he doesn't want to get married and have kids?

CW: amatonormativity

“Mum, you have plenty of kids who not only will but want to give you grandchildren!”

You’re being completely ridiculous, the renowned dragonologist added silently.

“And?” Molly Weasley’s cheeks were flushed from her third Paulopabita’s Fishy Green Ale. Charlie Weasley, the renowned dragonologist in question, rubbed the tips of his fingers along the rough paper label of his own bottle. He looked around the Burrow at his siblings and friends, but no one was paying enough attention to this unremarkable corner of the room to see that he needed an assist..

“You already have two lovely granddaughters,” he hedged. “One is literally named after you!”

“So?” She said. Charlie’s brow furrowed. When he didn’t answer his mother, she repeated herself. Louder. As if he wasn’t answering because the radio tunes and surrounding chatter were just too loud.

“So!?”

Are you fucking kidding me!? Charlie replied in his head (and unfortunately in his eyes, which he knew because he recognized the microscopic downturn of his mother’s mouth). He took a breath to steady himself.

“So,” Charlie said, meeting her eye. “You don’t need me for grandchildren.”

“That is not the point. That has never been the point, Charles Fabian Weasley,” Molly  said. Then she downed the last of her Fishy Green Ale. Her second eldest  gaped, but he quickly found his voice.

“If not that, then... Then  what is??!” He said, as exasperated as he had ever been at every family  dinner, every wedding, every holiday, every surprise visit to Romania  since his graduation. He wanted to scream but swallowed it until his  words came out at indoor volume. They came out no less angry though.

“What do you want from me, Mum? What do you want??”

“From you?”

“Yes! From me! Please,” now he threw back the last of his own drink. Molly’s eyes widened, but he wasn’t about to stop. This was it. It was finally happening. “Just tell me,” he spat, bitter words mingling with the taste of his ale. “Because I’m tired, Mum. Tired of the passing comments at Christmas about how you can’t wait to knit jumpers for new additions to the family. Tired of being questioned incessantly in the weeks leading up to Christmas about having a plus one. Tired of the outright jabs every time you’ve had a few about how my younger siblings are married with kids and I’m single. You need to understand that you are getting none that from me. None of it. Just...” he took an unexpectedly shaky breath. “Stop. Please.”

Long before he finished talking, Charlie had looked away from his mother. It was easier to be brutally honest when she wasn’t staring him down, and he needed to say this. He had needed it for a long time. He steeled himself to look her in the eye again, but before he could she spoke.

“Is that what you think?”

Charlie’s attention snapped back into place when she breathed those words. He had expected her to be angry or disappointed, passive aggressive or dismissive. Maybe shocked. Absolute devastation had not been on the list, and to see it on her face completely disarmed him. He watched her reach for his hand and cradle it in both of hers, so gently that he wasn’t sure if she thought he might break or if it was the other way around.

“Do you really believe I just want what you can give me? Charlie, I... I’m sorry. That isn’t--I never--” She began to tear up, and Charlie’s stunned silence turned to panic.

“Mum, no. I know, it’s alright!”

“No, no. No. Please listen,” her grip tightened, and he saw that fire he had known for his entire thirty years of life in her eyes.

“All I wanted, all I ever wanted was for you to be happy. I just want you happy,” she said. “And if that isn’t with a partner or with children that’s okay, it’s just. Just something I’ve never considered.”

Molly had been staring at their clasped hands but looked up when her son started laughing.

“Mum... I'm already happy. So happy. Are you really surprised?” He asked. “I’ve loved dragons all my life. I’d read every book on them in the school library before my third year. I studied hardest for the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s I needed to become a dragonologist. And when I got that owl from Romania two months before graduation, it was the best day of my life! Now I’m working with some of the most brilliant dragonologists alive, living at a dragon sanctuary, bringing species back from the brink of extinction, and learning more about them and myself every single day! This life I’ve built, it’s fantastic! Truly, it’s...”

"It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of,” his mother finished the thought.

“Yes!" Charlie beamed. Molly pulled him into a tight hug.

“Then it’s everything I’ve dreamed of too,” she said.

- Ravenclaw Mod

[sheregenerated13]

Aro/Ace Sirius Black

The fandom is split on Sirius' orientation– straight, gay, aro, ace– but in my interpretation, he's on the demi/grey aro/ace end of the spectrum. But before you say "Sirius couldn't be ace because he was attractive" or "Sirius is a player" or "he's not straight so he must be gay" or "you can't be gay/straight while being aro/ace" just hear me out... Sirius never dated anyone, actually showed disinterest in others' attention, would much rather be hanging with his mates or planning pranks. At an age when others were slaves to their hormones, Sirius spent his precious time and attention planning pranks and didn't give a second thought to any of the girls staring and giggling. Imagine a young Sirius Black, whose friendliness was mistaken for flirting. Whose good looks made him a natural focus for the witches in his class (and a few wizards). By his fourth year, the young prankster had wishful rumors and a reputation for it. He and his mates knew very well where he went and who he was with (or not with, rather) but Sirius decided to roll with it. It became a sort of running joke with the Marauders, Sirius being the school heartbreaker. Sirius took things a step further, adopting a sort of strut, swishing his hips, and throwing winks that caused all sorts of conflicts and grudges amongst his admirers. Meanwhile, James, Remus, and Peter tried not to die of laughter and wondered how he could keep a straight face through it all. An asexual Sirius Black, who'd never dated anyone, giving relationship advice to anyone foolish enough to fall for the facade. After all, he had to find something to keep occupied between full moons, right? Coming home (to Hogwarts) after a summer holiday at #12, telling his mates all about how he'd managed to piss off his parents. James roaring with laughter as Sirius says he pasted posters of muggle girls to his walls.

"Merlin, Padfoot! When did you have time to think up all of these elaborate pranks?" James exclaimed appreciatively. "Imagine how productive you'd be if your head wasn't so preoccupied with Evans," Sirius said, thinking him wasting his talent. "Or pranks," Remus muttered as he flipped a page in his textbook. "Or studying," Peter chimed in, resulting in snickers all around. 

Reread the Harry Potter books now and tell me you don’t see it. 

[tonftyhw]

First year on the job in romania <3

Another Ace Charlie Weasley piece for the @aroacehogwarts​ Aro/Ace Fan Creation Competition!

[shiro-naru]

The first time Neville talked talked about the concept of asexuality and aromanticism was when he was 17 years old.

He was in the Greenhouse with Luna and Ginny, just taking care of some plants for Professor Sprout. Luna and Ginny didn't have special interest in plants, but they knew it relaxed him and decreased his level of anxiety, so they came with him to help him work.

"Have you ever thought about relationships?" he ventured. When he saw their surprised expressions, he felt a blush appear on his cheeks, and rapidly corrected himself. "I know it's not really the time for these conversations, but you know... I guess I can't help feeling.... different."

He went back to cutting a leaf from the dittany, trying to focus back on his work.

After what felt to him a lifetime, Luna's soft and ethereal voice started him away from his reverie. "I don't think its a bad moment to talk about these things. It's when death and loneliness come closer that we tend to think about companionship," Neville's eyes widened at Luna's statement, finding a strange comfort and sadness in her words. "However, I think I prefer this kind of non romantic relationship that we have, to that between Lavender and Parvati. It makes more sense to me."

This relationship we have? What they had wasn't a relationship was it? Could it be? It was true it felt much stronger than any kind of friendship he had until now. The love he felt for Ginny and Luna made his heart swell, and yet... He didnt want to hold their hands in the hallway, kiss them or... more. He just wanted to be with them... hug them, talk to them. And maybe Luna had understood that better than he had until now.

"For me... This feels different than other relationships I've had before," Ginny started talking. There was a faint blush staining her freckled cheeks, but there was the charactersistic fierceness in her eyes to which he was used to. "With Dean I was only interested in the sexual part of it, but there wasnt any romance there from either one of us. I've never been interested in that, and Dean has always been in love with Seamus anyway. With you it feels... natural, uncomplicated. Though I would be lying if I hadnt thought about doing... more with you."

Neville blushed furiously at her statement. Was she talking about... sex? He hadnt thought about doing it ever. Did people actually think those things?

"I dont think i can... want s-sex. I don't think I've ever wanted any of that. Though I have thought about romance. I used to have a massive crush on Harry. But I never thought about anything... more. Is that weird?" Maybe he was stranger than he had thought. Was he broken? Damaged in some way? Was it his anxiety? His low self-esteem?

Before his thoughts could start spiraling, he felt Ginny's hand on his shoulder, as if she had somehow seen how his thoughts were consuming him. She probably had. "If that's weird, then I am too. I feel the same but about romance," she shrugged her shoulders as if that was it, and didnt make a difference. Her nonchalance somehow made him feel that it probably didn't.

"I never wanted either. I would say we found exactly what we needed in each other. I don't want anything more, anything less, anything different" Luna said, resting her head on Ginny's shoulder.

They all smiled at each other, knowing that what Luna had said was exactly what they were feeling. What they had was exactly right.

[chocolate-cauldron-cakes]

💜🤍🖤

seeking the crazy [Viktor/Charlie]

Written for @aroacehogwarts​ “Aro/Ace Harry Potter Fanfiction and Fanart Competition”

Read on AO3

Viktor stumbles when the Portkey drops him off in warm sand. It takes a few deep breaths for the initial wave of nausea to pass, and then he straightens, closing his eyes and enjoying the salty breeze coming from the sea. It’s strange how much this place always feels like coming home, this secluded, picturesque cliffside in Cornwall – much more than his own house, that’s for sure. For a moment, he allows himself the memory of the walls that always feel a little too bare, the bed that always feels temporary and not quite right, and he knows he’s made the right decision in coming here.

It’s not just the scenery, though: ever since he announced his official retirement, all the wizarding magazines in Europe have been betting on his return, hounding his every step, constructing more and more ridiculous theories about his life, and there’s just something about finding a couple of Extendable Ears in his front garden every month that would grate on any sane person’s nerves.

So when Fleur’s letter arrived, it did not take much thinking to decide. You could come early, she wrote, even though you probably won’t have much peace. Apparently, the whole Weasley family has been in an uproar about the upcoming wedding for weeks now, and Bill has set his mind on acquiring some rare magical politics book for Hermione from a peddler in Cayenne; and I refuse, Viktor, I REFUSE to put my child through transatlantic travel if she has a perfectly responsible godfather who could watch her while recovering from his sordid affairs with Romanian vampire models.

How she keeps finding the articles about him in all the obscure South-European wizarding tabloids, Viktor does not know; what he does know is that she will tease him mercilessly while also offering sympathy about the horrible, horrible ways of the wizarding press.

Keep reading

[slytherhell]

WOULD YOU STILL BE MINE?

for @aroacehogwarts ‘  Aro/Ace Harry Potter Fanfiction and Fanart Competition!

________________

“YOU ARE SUCH AN IDIOT, HARRY POTTER!”  Draco Malfoy screamed into the orange, ombre evening air above before laughter overtook him; the sound fitting in perfectly with the screams of joy overhead, the cool, summertime atmosphere, and upbeat music surrounding them. Crinkles formed around Harry’s bright green eyes as he watched on, enjoying the way his boyfriend looked so carefree and relaxed at this moment: dressed comfortably in a muggle jean jacket, a white t-shirt, skinny jeans, and low-topped shoes; his white-blond hair flying back, and a hue of red gathering among his pale cheeks as another round of laughter broke through him.

It wasn’t long before one broke through Harry as well, and the two were doubled over and clutching their stomachs out in the middle of the public, muggle fair; their wild and hysterical laughter ringing out and attracting attention. There were scolding looks, but for the most part, there were positive reactions; little kids giggling at them behind their parent's leg, some of the ride attendants, and even groups of adults themselves managed to break out a smile or two at the sight of young love.

Draco, once catching most of his breath, crawled over to Harry’s laid figure, pulling him close. “But you’re my idiot,” He told Harry before kissing him, one hand traveling back to run itself through Harry’s dark and messy hair. Harry responded back immediately, one hand wrapping around Draco’s waist and tugging him atop of himself; drawing the kiss in deeper. It was sweet, soft, and sensual: Harry’s favorite of them all. Yes, it was simple and short, but it was theirs.

Had he been asked a year ago of whether or not he’d end up with Draco, Harry would’ve said no.

And rightly so at that: he and Draco hadn’t gotten along when they were younger -  always at one another's throats, and tempers constantly flaring at even the mere mention of a name. So even if feelings had been formed those few years ago, it’d still have been odd to jump into a relationship with his once-considered arch nemesis directly after a war in which they were on opposite sides of; with all they had done, and been through.

Not long after testifying for Draco and his Mother, Draco thanked Harry, was given back his wand, and the two parted ways: expecting to never see one another again. But Draco, just as Harry, had wanted to disappear away from the world a bit: until things blew over, but it seemed that their places of hiding became shared ones. The more they came across one another, the more conversations sparked: and the revelation of shared struggles post-war came to light. The hideaways soon became secret meetings, and then getaways: the two growing closer and closer to one another with each one.

And then ten months later, here they were: together, and living in a muggle apartment in a not-so-known town at an equal distance from their childhood homes. They were scared out of their minds with this decision: they were eighteen, straight out of school, living in a world that only one of them had any knowledge of, and they were both male. Anything could’ve happened to them during this move, Harry knew, but seemed Merlin was on their side that day: the neighborhood they moved into, while only containing another same-sexed couple - two wives living down the street, one a teacher and the other a gardener- contained little to no homophobia and was quote for the most part: the only exception being of when school let out for the summer, and kids had parties outside with their friends.

Their families haven't known yet: of their new lives, that they were together or even of where they lived, but he and Draco agreed to inform them whenever they felt ready.

Back in the present, Harry rested his hand below Draco’s ear, thumbs caressing his cheek. “Love you,” He whispered.

Draco leaned into his touch, and grasped Harry’s hand with his own, eyes closing briefly. “You too...love you too.”

Harry let out a light chuckle: Draco very often appeared snappish, rude, and the least affectionate out of the two, but Harry thinks that they’re strong equals - if not that, then Draco is the more affectionate and loving one. Though, he usually did it at home when they’re alone and at odd, but perfectly timed moments. Like sneaking up behind Harry in the early mornings when he’s making breakfast and wrapping his arms around his waist, those few minutes of when he stops whatever he’s doing and consults Harry through a panic attack or nightmare, and even the moments where absolutely nothing is going on, but Draco feels the need to do something, to show Harry that he still cares for him.

And Harry wouldn’t trade those moments for the world.

Above him, Draco sat back; a leg on either side of Harry’s ribs. He looked around then, then at the ground before saying,  “Let's get up, I don’t know what’s in these Muggle grounds.” He got up off of Harry and brought himself back to his feet.

Harry followed him shortly, dusting off his own jeans: the dirt and grass falling onto his brown boots. “Couldn’t be anything possibly worse than up there in the Wizarding World.”

Draco quirked a brow, “Do you really want to start this debate?”

Harry smirked, rolling up the sleeves of his red and plaid shirt as they walked. “I don’t see myself backing down.”

“Prepare to lose.”

“I should’ve said that to you at the start of every Quidditch game.” Draco sent daggers, and Harry suppressed a smile: knowing it’d land him a punch the arm. The next few minutes were spent on deciding which world of theirs was worse when it came filth;  things being found on the ground and just how often one would get sick or injured from it. 

Draco the stopped short of a nearby game booth, realizing that they’d walked around the entire place twice.

“Where do you want to go next?” Harry asked, beginning to catch on.

“I’m not quite sure.” Draco looked over at him, “How about you pick? You know this land better than I do. Besides, you know what I’d want more than anything,” He held up the giant, stuffed purple bear in his arms and the large, pink cotton candy on the other. “Stuffed animals and this...floss candy.”

“Close: it’s cotton candy.”

Draco took a large bite, “It’s good.”

“Not only that, it can rot your teeth.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re the only one who gets to touch this mouth then, isn’t it?” Draco shook his head, “But no really: it’s your pick of what we do next.” 

Harry turned his eyes onto the rest of the fair.

The entrance could be seen in the distance, the long but excited queues moving forward with each minute. Occasional squeals of delight pierced the air, followed by the streaks of red and purple of the heavy roller coasters that roared above them.

The fair itself was split up in sections: food trucks on one side, the kiddie rides on the other, and alternative games for all were located in the center: close by the merry go rounds, water games, and wooden benches for people to sit down at. Each booth below held a different light, all creating a soft pastel hue throughout the open and grassy walkway they were currently in.

But what caught Harry’s attention the most was the on the huge Ferris wheel at the other end of the walkway. The lights on it fizzled and flashed, casting a friendly glow over the funfair. Steady and music played from it, to which the children in the line swayed to as they ate their treats; entranced by the sight before them.

This would be something Draco would love, Harry thought to himself.

He took a step towards the line, trying to see how many people there would be until they were able to land a spot on the ride when Draco pulled on his arm, and tugged him off. “Come on!” He called over his shoulder.

“Where are we going?”

Draco turned back around and smirked at him, a familiar look gleaming in his eyes, “Oh, just somewhere for a bit.”

Harry no longer had to question of where he was being led to do. Moments like this often hit Draco more often that Harry would’ve liked them to happen; a few notable ones being an extremely important Ministry Gala held for the Aurors, being dragged away from their table to head to the men’s room not even seconds after sitting down, and once outside during a Christmas over at the Weasley.

Harry honestly wouldn’t have minded of Draco wasn’t so eager…

Or if he didn’t enjoy it himself.

Harry loved Draco, he really did, but he never felt that they had a mutual sexual attraction. Draco was good-looking, of course, and Harry had seen him enough times to know that he was physically fit as well, but Harry would rather sit on the couch and kiss - simply enjoy one another’s company - than go upstairs and have sex all night.

Harry was soon pushed back against the brick walls of one of the buildings, Draco snogging him fiercely. Harry bit back a groan as Draco’s attention turned onto his neck; leaving small bites against his golden skin. He felt his body beginning to tremble as the familiar movement of Draco’s hands dashed across his body. Harry could feel his head tip back against the wall behind him, heat gathering down at his abdomen. 

He bit down hard on his bottom lip, already knowing what was going to happen.  And even so, he heard let out a moan. Draco’s heavy breathing signified that this was, in fact, the reaction he was looking for.

Harry never enjoyed this, and he never would.

But unlike in the past, his voice came out. He reached out at Draco, holding him back with either hold on his arms. “Draco-” He began, but with one look at his face, Draco stopped.

“Alright, what is it?” He asked, tone neutral.

Harry blinked. “What is…. what-?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me, Harry!” Draco snapped, “ I...I know there’s something wrong with you.” He bit his lip, brows furrowing in thought, “ I don’t know exactly what it is, but I know it’s bothering you. And I know that I’m the reason behind it.”

“I…”

Harry, despite his discomfort, had never expected to actually go forth with it: to actually speak up about his lack of sexual interest.

“Are you going to say anything or are you just going to stand there?!”

“It’s this!” Harry shouted back, a bit taken back by his own outburst.

“Please define ‘this’. Do you mean this relationship or-?”

“No, no. I mean…” Harry ran a hand over his face, sighing, “ ‘This’ as in you dragging me away and initiating whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Do you want me to do it less?”

“Draco, it’s not that I want less of it. It’s that I want none of it. I-I mean, sure, this can arouse me, but I don’t have an urge to act on it.”

A look of hurt cross Draco’s eyes. “At all?”

“At all,” Harry confirmed. “This doesn’t have to do with your appearance or even our past. It’s just...a general thing. I’m attracted to you, yes. I enjoy us kissing, and hugging, and lounging in bed, but I don’t want to take it as far as to actually...have intercourse.”  

Harry’s breath began to quicken the more his thoughts got the best of him, his words coming out faster in a panicked state, “And now, saying this aloud feels stupid because it doesn’t make any sense at all: I just wish I wasn’t like this because I know it’s going to push you and I really like what we’ve had going for the past few months, you know? I just don’t want to-” Harry inhaled deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose as he felt tears beginning to gather at his eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just-”

Harry stopped. He didn’t trust himself to continue to speak.

And Draco, he said nothing.

Simply stared at him as he cried, watching as it rocketed throughout his body and drained away his energy.

It was never a good thing when Draco was quiet: it always meant he was angry,  and any attempt to pry out the reason as of why would bring about night-long arguments, to which Harry was more than tired of.

But some time past and he spoke, voice softer than Harry had ever heard.

“Harry.” He didn’t respond, “Harry,” He then felt a slight tug on his hands, and reluctantly, he lowered them; looking up at Draco with his tear-streaked face.

Draco stared at him for a moment, then turned off; face hard. “How long...have you been like this?”

“For a while. I-I think.”

“Were you like this with Cho and Ginvera as well?”

“I’m not making this up-”

“I didn’t say you were, Harry. I was just asking a simple question.”

“I...yeah.” Harry nodded, “ Thinking about it, it was the same with them too. “

Draco let out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. Harry felt his heart drop at this, immediately regretting even bringing this up.  They went off to the muggle fair to have fun, to have a great time...and he’d ruined it with a simple slip of his mouth. Harry pressed his back against the wall, sliding down it before burying his face in his hands.

“I don’t...exactly understand things, of how you’re feeling,” He grasped Harry’s chin as he began to turn off, thinking of the worst way as to how this conversation would end. “But I’m not going to sit here and not accept you.”

“As you know, my family and I weren’t too open about how we felt, or made too expressive expressions so you probably mistook my reaction of absorbing in this newfound information, as a reaction of disappointment and anger. And I’m sorry.” Draco looked deeply into his eyes, pushing a section of his hair back,  “This means, if not exactly the same, then very important to me as it does to you. “

“I’ll admit, I was an asshole back in school.”

“An extreme asshole,” Harry added on with a snicker.

Draco let out a small laugh, rolling his eyes, “An extreme asshole to you in school. But know this,” He held Harry’s hands in his own, “I’ll help you figure it out. Who you are.”

“You will?”

“Yes. Not only might this help you, it’ll help me learn of what this is about, and how I can keep boundaries on certain things: of how I am going to have to do more work to respect your wishes.”

“You will have to hit me with something a lot worse than a revelation that you don’t like sex. I mean, I am one of the clingiest bastards that you will ever meet.” Harry burst out laughing, and so did Draco. “You’re not going to get rid of me so easily, Harry.”

“Isn’t that reassuring?” Harry joked.

Draco bumped his shoulder. “Hey!  I quite like what we have myself, and if you don’t mind, I’d like for it last a bit longer.”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t agree.”

They continued to sit there, so much time having passed that the sky began to darken and indigo threaten to mesh itself alongside the colors in the sky. Draco cupped his face, asking, “Do you feel better now?”

Harry sighed, nodding, “A lot better, thanks.”

“Well good.” Draco leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, drawing back as he felt Harry begin to relax. “So. There’s still more time at the fair...” He stood and pulled Harry up with him, raising a brow as he asked, “ Fancy spending the rest of the evening here?”

Harry grinned, “I couldn’t think of anything I’d want to do more.”

[bi-baudelaires]

Aro Nevile

•Neville never feels like he belongs.

•In the Wizarding World, in Gryffindor. There’s always something inside him telling him it’s wrong, you’re not supposed to be here, you’re not supposed to be like this.

•Until he was ten his family thought he was broken. He thinks maybe he still is, when his grandmother starts asking the same questions after every semester.

•”I haven’t heard anything from those teachers of yours, how are you doing in classes?” “Did you make any new friends, Neville?” “Is there truly no one in your year who you fancy?”

•He always answers the same way. “They’re going mostly okay” “No, not really” “No, grandma”

•When he turns 14 she starts getting impatient. “Are you really never going to start dating?”, she would say. “Y’know Neville, I wouldn’t mind if you were into boys” He’d shake his head uncomfortably and she’d sigh. “Continue on like this, and I might never get my great-grandchildren”

•It makes him miserable. She sounds almost nasty, even though he knows she doesn’t mean it like that, and she sounds so, so disappointed. He doesn’t want to disappoint her anymore. He wants her to be proud of him.

•So, he musters up the little courage he has and asks Ginny out to the Yule Ball. And she says yes. “As friends, of course”, and though it isn’t what his grandmother would have wanted, it feels like a weight off Neville’s shoulders.

•And they have a good time. They dance and laugh, and she introduces him to a friend of hers, a rather odd Ravenclaw girl called Luna.

•The three hang out together whenever possible, and Neville is excited that easter to tell his grandmother about the first real friends he made.

•”So you don’t fancy either of these girls?”, she asks. Neville shakes his head, tired of having to explain it. She huffs and goes on knitting. “Continue on like this and I’ll never get my great-grandchildren”, he hears her say softly. His heart falls. Just friends isn’t enough.

•He thinks about asking Luna out- he likes her, and they get along well. But not like that, the something inside him says. I don’t like her that way. And suddenly he realizes something.

•Oh my God, I can’t fall in love, he thinks. He’s only 14, but he’s panicking now. “Why can’t I fall in love? What is wrong with me?”

•It’s what he keeps thinking. What’s wrong with me. And he tries keeping it to himself for several weeks, feeling as if no one would understand, but apparantly it gets picked up on anyway.

•Because one day, when he’s studying in the library a few days before the last task, Ginny sits down on one side of him while Luna sits on his other side.

•He feels immediately trapped, but Ginny is as straightforward as always. “Alright man, no need to panic. We just wanna know what’s up with you”

•”We feel like you have been avoiding seeing us”, Luna adds. Neville flinches at their honesty. He really loves these two, even if it’s not in that way.

•And he realizes that he might as well try to explain.

•They both listen as he does, tripping hopelessly over his words. “It’s like I can’t... I can’t see why someone would. Feel like that? Because I don’t. I’ve never had a crush, on anyone. I mean, Ginny, you know the way you feel about Harry?” Ginny blushes. “Yeah, like that. I’ve never had that. And I don’t know why, I don’t know if something went wrong with me, or if it’s fixable, or if maybe I’m cursed-“

•”Hey!”, Ginny interrupts him, and it’s a good thing she does. “Breathe, man. You’ll be alright. I mean, Luna’s never been in love either. Maybe it’ll happen later”

•His heart sinks. “You don’t understand-“,he starts again. “I don’t think- I know it’s never going to happen. I just know, I don’t want to, I mean I think I can’t-“ Love.

•Luna holds his hand on the table. It grounds him and he takes a breath. Ginny looks like she doesn’t really know what to say anymore.

•But she’s Ginny and so she does anyway.

•”Are you sure?” She moves closer, looks him in the eyes. “Are you sure you’ll never feel that way?”

•He begins to doubt himself, like he always does, but he answers still. “Yes”, he tells her quietly.

•Ginny is calm as she sits back in her seat. “Okay. If that’s the way you feel, and you don’t wanna try and change it or something, then that’s okay, isn’t it-“

•”But what if I’m cursed?” He doesn’t understand why she’s so calm. Why don’t they realize? He is wrong, there’s something broken, why can’t he just

•”You’re not cursed” Luna. “Your hair is full of Blitzeywimpers. They’re a sign of blessing”, she explains at his and Ginny’s questioning looks. “They wouldn’t be this close to you if you were cursed”

•Unconsciously Neville rakes a hand through his hair. It’s nonsense, he thinks. Just Luna’s usual weirdness, it’s not real, Blitzeywimpers don’t exist.

•Except it’s not really about the Blitzeywimpers, he thinks. Because he’s sitting between his two best friends, and he told them how he feels and they didn’t call him broken or wrong like the something inside him did. Instead they

•They accepted him. They tried to assure him it was really okay. And now, sitting between the two of them, he thinks he could maybe be okay with it too.

•He lets Ginny take his other hand.

•He turned out to be right about never falling in love, but it also turned out to not really matter. Not only because of everything that happened in the Second Wizarding War, but also because in fifth year, he becomes friends with Harry, Ron and Hermione too- real friends, and it feels nice to feel so included in things (even if it does turn kinda dangerous). It’s nice to belong, he thinks.

•There’s a lot of things that happen; Harry, Hermione and Ron are gone and he’s deathly worried, he tries to keep up with the news in case something, anything happens at St. Mungo’s, he watches with clenched fists as Ginny and Luna and so many kids smaller than him are tortured because he knows by now fighting back won’t accomplish anything, and he hears about his grandmother’s capture and (though he knows she can more than handle herself) he‘s scared because he can’t bear the thought of losing her. He cares so much, it almost tears him apart, but he carries through it all and does everything in his power to win the war for the people he loves.

•He only explains fully to his grandmother how he feels after the War ends, and everything has settled down.

•“I love my friends”, he says, “and I love you, but I’ll never love anyone in that way. Like, romantically. Don’t ask how I know, I just know” He holds in his breath as he waits for her reaction, but to his surprise his grandmother just stands up from her chair and hugs him.

•”I don’t care anymore if you ever marry or not, Neville”, she tells him. “Merlin, after everything I’m just glad you’re even standing here, you stupid boy”

•Despite it all, that makes him grin.

•He hugs her back.

[little-chikadee]

A Date by the Lake

Hey guys! I wrote this for the @aroacehogwarts fanworks competition, and to earn Headcannonpoints for Hufflepuff (H) on that blog! I just wanted to write something cute and fluffy involving my favorite aroace dragon boy and my MC from Hogwarts Mystery. I hope you enjoy!

“This day is perfect,” Charlie thought as he tilted his face towards the beaming sun. It was slightly chilly; the wind softly carried rustling leaves across the castle grounds. The Black Lake rippled before him, the giant octopus waving its tentacles around for more cereal. A melodic giggle sounded from beside him before another bit of cereal was thrown towards the begging creature. Charlie turned towards his companion, his heart swelling with the love he felt for her.

              Brigid Morrigan, amateur Curse Breaker and the infamous Jacob Morrigan’s younger sister, smiled back at him. Charlie knew by that smile that she loved him as much as he did her, though it wasn’t the kind of love their peers expected.

              “What’s that look for?” She asked. Charlie stuck out his tongue in response, eliciting another giggle and a playful shove to his shoulder.

              The past seven years had been filled with growth and self-discovery for both of them, eventually leading to the relationship they had now. Brigid, having some Muggle family and therefore easy access to information about the LGBT+ community, had marched into Hogwarts at the beginning of fourth year having found labels that finally pertained to how she felt. After a late-night heart-to-heart while investigating the Forbidden Forest, Brigid introduced those terms to Charlie, who latched onto them as well. Upon learning about aromantic asexuality, Charlie’s life made a whole lot more sense.

              As soon as Charlie returned from the Forest, he went immediately to Bill’s private dorm (perks of being a Prefect). He jumped onto his brother’s bed, nearly scaring him to death in his excitement and nonstop chatter.

              “Bloody hell, slow the fuck down mate,” Bill hissed. Charlie excitedly told him about the ace and aro spectrums, confiding in his brother that he himself was aroace. The longer Charlie talked, the more thoughtful Bill became.

              “And there’s also demisexuality, where you don’t feel sexual attraction until after you form a bond with someone—”

              “Wait, isn’t that just normal?” Bill interrupted.

              “Apparently not. I mean, I’ve heard several people fawning over Gilderoy Lockhart portraits, and they definitely don’t know him personally.” Charlie rolled his eyes.

              “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Bill remarked. He was quiet for the rest of Charlie’s babbling, eventually allowing his brother to fall asleep in his bed. He came out to Charlie about a year later, after some serious soul-searching.

              Coincidentally, Brigid asked Charlie to be her QPP at about the same time. That was one of the best days of Charlie’s life, right up there with his acceptance to the internship program in Romania. Which reminded him of why he’d asked Brigid to accompany him to the Lake in the first place.

              “Brigid,” he started, his tone earning her undivided attention, “I got accepted to the Reserve in Romania.” Brigid squealed excitedly.

              “Merlin, Charlie, I’m so happy for you!” she explained as she hugged him tightly. He hugged her back just as tight.

              “What will this mean for us,” he murmured into her hair. At Brigid’s questioning sound, he continued, “Would we need to break up?” Brigid laughed, causing Charlie to jump at the suddenness. He pulled back, but her eyes weren’t cruel like his anxiety wanted him to believe.

              “If you don’t want to maintain a long-distance relationship, I totally understand, but I’ll be damned if I let a couple hundred kilometres come in the way. And besides,” she continued sheepishly, “I was thinking that once I finished my internship at St. Mungo’s that I can get myself transferred to the infirmary at your Reserve, so we’d only be separated for about a year or so. If that’s okay with you.” Brigid looked at him under her lashes, biting her lip in that adorable way of hers.

              Charlie was absolutely stunned, his mouth opening and closing like a fish while he tried to find his words. How could he have possibly found the most accepting, compassionate person in the world who would never even consider asking him to give up his dream job for something safer? How could he possibly express how much he loved this girl in front of him for accepting him as he is, for not trying to change him? Giving up, Charlie just pulled her in to a gentle peck on the lips and another tight hug. Brigid giggled, one hand making its way up to her QPP’s hair to play with it.

              “I’ll take that as an okay, then!”

[aroacehogwarts]

What do you think would happen if an acearo smelled the Aromatentia potion? I figure it wouldn't WORK, but since it smells like whatever attracts the person the most do you think ace/aros would smell nothing, whatever comforts them/makes them happy, etc.?

We’ve made or reblogged some great posts on this subject over the years! Just check our #amortentia tag. People have said they wouldn’t smell anything, or they would smell what comforts them/makes them happy, or they would smell scents reminding them of family/friends/QPPs. Personally, I think it could be any of those options and more for aroaces. I don’t think there’s one definitive answer. I also don’t think there’s one definitive answer for people who aren’t aro and/or ace, regardless of simplistic descriptions by potion professors and textbooks. That’s a different post though.

- Ravenclaw Mod

[siriuslyacemarauder]

I'm here for both gay ace Sirius and pan ace Sirius. I'm here for ace Sirius.

[shiro-naru]

I headcanon Hermione as lithromantic graysexual. So I wrote a small piece about her lithromanticism

After Ron and Hermione kiss, they decide to start dating. 'It's fine, what happened with Victor was a one time thing, it won't happen again', she tells herself everytime she goes to meet him for drinks.

After the first few days she starts to feel it, or well, she stops feeling it. Hermione panics. She has spent so much time thinking about dating Ron, and now that she's finally doing it, it dissappears so fast?

She's scared of telling Ron much more than she was when she told Victor, much more than when she told her parents. Everytime she tries to tell Ron her throat snaps shut and she forces herself to act normal.

When Hermione realizes she can't keep on like this, she does a very ungryffindor thing. She flees. She starts avoiding Ron, making up excuses that don't even make sense.

She's crying silently while reading when she feels Ron's hand on her shoulder.

"Please tell me what's wrong, 'Mione. I really really can't read your mind." She's ready. She can do this. She opens her mouth to tell him but what comes out is "I'm fine, really".

"You're crying. Of course somethings up. I confess you were right when you said I had the emotional range of a teaspoon, but I'm not that dense."

Hermione smiles, and finally she realizes she's not talking to 'Ron, her boyfriend'. Well she is, but most importantly she's talking to 'Ron, her best friend'.

"I'm lithromantic. I- It means that whenever my feelings are reciprocated, in my case it's whenever I enter a relationship, my feelings dissappear. I do love you. I do. But... I can't have a relationship like the one you want. It suffocates me." She's red. And looking at the table with her eyes closed, listening to her breathing. To his breathing, to the ticking of the clock.

After what feels like an eternity Ron speaks. "What kind of relationship do you want?"

She opens her eyes slowly and looks at Ron. He looks determined, slightly scared, and most of all, he looks brave.

"I want a QPR. That is, a queer or quasi-platonic relationship. I want to be with you but without the hand holding, or the word boyfriend and girlfriend. I want to spend time with you like we did before but also... I want to tell you all my secrets, I want to cuddle sometimes, talk to each other about things we discovered or learnt over some butterbeer or hot chocolate."

After what felt like showing her insides, she felt breathless, scared, but also hopeful. Her heart was banging against her chest but she felt hope growing in her chest.

Hermione was pleasantly surprised, and also proud, that Ron took his time to think over what she had just said. She went back to her book, rereading the same three words over and over.

After a while she heard Ron clear his throat. "I've never thought about what exactly I wanted from this relationship, but I do know I like being by your side. I want to do all the things you just said. If I want to do something you didn't state there I'll ask you first. But... What should I call you?"

Hermione smiled at him warmly. "'Mione is fine".

[pheuthe]

seeking the crazy [Viktor/Charlie]

Written for @aroacehogwarts​ “Aro/Ace Harry Potter Fanfiction and Fanart Competition”

Read on AO3

Viktor stumbles when the Portkey drops him off in warm sand. It takes a few deep breaths for the initial wave of nausea to pass, and then he straightens, closing his eyes and enjoying the salty breeze coming from the sea. It’s strange how much this place always feels like coming home, this secluded, picturesque cliffside in Cornwall – much more than his own house, that’s for sure. For a moment, he allows himself the memory of the walls that always feel a little too bare, the bed that always feels temporary and not quite right, and he knows he’s made the right decision in coming here.

It’s not just the scenery, though: ever since he announced his official retirement, all the wizarding magazines in Europe have been betting on his return, hounding his every step, constructing more and more ridiculous theories about his life, and there’s just something about finding a couple of Extendable Ears in his front garden every month that would grate on any sane person’s nerves.

So when Fleur’s letter arrived, it did not take much thinking to decide. You could come early, she wrote, even though you probably won’t have much peace. Apparently, the whole Weasley family has been in an uproar about the upcoming wedding for weeks now, and Bill has set his mind on acquiring some rare magical politics book for Hermione from a peddler in Cayenne; and I refuse, Viktor, I REFUSE to put my child through transatlantic travel if she has a perfectly responsible godfather who could watch her while recovering from his sordid affairs with Romanian vampire models.

How she keeps finding the articles about him in all the obscure South-European wizarding tabloids, Viktor does not know; what he does know is that she will tease him mercilessly while also offering sympathy about the horrible, horrible ways of the wizarding press.

And despite that, he’s here, sand already in his trainers and a smile creeping up to his face as he approaches the tiny cottage decorated with sparkling white shells. He’s almost at the door when it opens and Victoire bursts out of the house, golden hair trailing after her as she runs to him, screaming ‘Vic! Vic!’ in the high-pitched, loud voice of an excited child.

The immense love he carries for her ignites in his chest and his knees hit the sand as he spreads his arms and allows Victoire to fall into the first of many hugs she will no doubt demand. Not that Viktor minds: he was lost the moment he first saw her, tiny and sleeping in Fleur’s arms, before he learned her name, before Fleur asked him, misty-eyed and serious, if he would be her godfather. It meant the world to Viktor then, weary as he was of the media craze even four years ago, starting to feel the loneliness of constant travel, of training a little too hard, a little too much. It still means the world, to be allowed to be a part of this little girl’s life, to be considered a distant, yet undeniable part of the Weasley clan, great as it is in comparison to Viktor’s one paternal great-aunt he hasn’t spoken to in months.

Maybe that’s why Shell Cottage always feels like home, in the end: because there’s always someone to return to, and Viktor tries not to dwell on that as the old notes of discomfort spread through his belly. He focuses on Victoire instead, mumbles nonsense to her and lets her climb onto his shoulders to carry her home, promises gifts and doesn’t even wince when she shrieks happily right into his ear.

“Welcome back,” Fleur tells him, leaning against the doorway with a soft smile playing on her lips. He never thought domestic life would suit her, but she’s tackled the role of a wife and a mother the only way she knows how, with dogged determination, with bravery and wit that Viktor has always admired in her. It becomes her, this quiet, comfortable life in a tiny cottage, more than he’s ever thought possible, and she always says the same thing to Viktor when he arrives, says it fondly and honestly, like she somehow senses she’s welcoming him home rather than saying hello to a guest.

They have dinner around the round table that is leaning a little to the left, and Viktor teases Fleur about the peas. She promises to hex him in his sleep, just like she always does, with a glint in her eyes that lets him know she’s (probably) not serious, and then he repents by doing the dishes. Bill fills him in on the latest wedding news, on Audrey and Angelina’s pregnancies and George’s outrageous suggestions for baby names, on Molly’s acceptance of the fact that the Quidditch Witch magazine might’ve misinterpreted Viktor’s friendly dinner with Ginny last year.

Which is a relief: the Howler was incredibly long, and the few Weasley gatherings he was invited to were nothing if not awkward, with the Burrow’s matron very obviously making sure that Viktor was never in the same room as Ginny.

“She’s going to knit you a Weasley sweater by way of apology, just you wait, mate,” Bill laughs, and Viktor tries his best not to look pleased about the idea, but he apparently fails, because Bill claps his shoulder and chuckles: “It’s going to be garish orange, I think. Or perhaps beige. She hasn’t subjected any of us to beige yet, so it’s either you or whoever Charlie brings to the wedding.”

The sudden mention of the one Weasley who has been kept out of the conversation trips up something small and suppressed in Viktor’s heart, and he shrugs.

“Is he bringing a date?”

“He’d better,” Fleur snorts as she joins them, curling into her husband’s side. She must have succeeded in putting Victoire to sleep, because the sounds of wheedling from upstairs have died down, and Viktor almost feels regret that he’ll have to wait until tomorrow to give Vicky her present. “Molly has been on a warpath ever since Hermione proposed. She thinks it’s high time Charlie settled down too, preferably closer to home than a dragon reservation in the middle of nowhere.”

Viktor laughs at that: even with Fleur’s rolling ‘r’s, he can practically hear Molly complaining about that. He understands, though; it’s hard to be so far away from family, and he can only imagine how difficult it must be for a parent.

The conversation detours towards the proposal then, the first piece of information that Viktor can offer since he fielded Hermione’s anxious letters for the better part of three months before she finally did it. They only talk for a short while before the Portkey-lag sets in and Viktor starts yawning more than contributing to the conversation. Fleur kisses his cheek when she says good-night, and she and Bill both hug Viktor like they’re truly glad he’s here with them. It’s a strange, bittersweet joy, to have this kind of comfort only a few times a year: Viktor knows that he’s lucky he gets to come back, but he always wonders what it would be like if he didn’t have to leave. It’s not necessarily about Shell Cottage and its inhabitants: he loves them dearly and always relishes every moment here. But when he settles into the cool sheets that smell of lavender and salty breeze, he can’t help the ache in his heart at the thought of having this, a home in a person, for himself, every day.

…

“You’ll do just fine,” Fleur says in the doorway, looking like she’s trying to convince herself more than Viktor. “If anything happens, you can always fire-call Molly. Or Percy. Or George, he’ll be-“

“In his shop, I know,” Viktor smiles. No need to take her worry personally: he knows that Fleur trusts him, absolutely and completely. After all, if she didn’t, he wouldn’t be here, a sleepy kid in his arms as they wave goodbye to Victoire’s parents. “Go, or you will miss your Portkey.”

“Right. You be good, Victoire, yes? Don’t make Viktor go bald, it will not suit him.”

“Maybe it will,” Vicky mumbles stubbornly, glancing up at Viktor’s hair, kept short for practicality but nowhere near as short as his Triwizard Tournament days. Viktor still remembers Fleur complaining about it then – even now, she snorts and rolls her eyes:

“It will not, trust maman on this, darling. Have fun, you two,” she smiles and then she’s touching the old shoelace in Bill’s hand and they’re off, blinking out of existence with a quiet whoosh.

“It’s just two of us now,” Viktor tells his goddaughter, but she has nodded off in the last half-minute, and her only response is in quiet snores. He carries her back to her room, carefully lowering her to the bed and making sure she won’t be cold – the early mornings are quite chilly here in Cornwall, even in July. He busies himself with making breakfast, pancakes and eggs because he might not understand the combination himself, but Victoire, like her father, seems to like it, and Viktor has the irresistible urge to fulfil any and all of his goddaughter’s wishes, even those not spoken out loud.

It’s a little odd, being in the house alone: he’s been, and cooked, here before, but there were always more people around, visiting Bill or Fleur, helping or being helped, chatting and laughing and sometimes arguing. There’s a sense of calm that borders on loneliness now, and not much to do when the food is ready and under a heat-preserving spell. Viktor makes some coffee, more out of habit than any pressing need to wake himself up, and settles into one of the tall armchairs by the fireplace, ready to wait a couple hours for Vicky to wake up – she has enough energy for three children, but she is not an early bird most days, that’s for sure.

And then, the knock comes. Viktor startles, and coffee sloshes over the rim of his cup, making him curse quietly under his breath. He gets up, waving his wand over his shirt to get the stain out, and moves to open the door, guessing it will be Harry, if Fleur has talked to him about Viktor’s arrival, or perhaps Hermione, in need of someone to tell her to stop driving herself up the wall with the wedding.

What Viktor does not expect is to find himself face to face with Charlie Weasley, hand raised in greeting and a wide smile on his freckled, sunburnt face.

“Surpri- oh. Hi. Um.”

The smile disappears, leaving room for confusion, and Viktor feels a hint of regret like pressure in his chest.

“Hello,” he says politely. “Bill and Fleur are away. They went to get a wedding gift.”

Charlie nods. There’s silence, only for a moment, but Viktor feels the awkwardness of that moment roll over him like a tidal wave. He doesn’t know what it is about Charlie that makes him act weird every time, but there’s just something about the man that makes Viktor feel eighteen again, clumsy and shy to the point of coming off as grouchy. There’s less than four years’ difference between them, and at their age, it truly shouldn’t matter, but Viktor can’t help but remember the Triwizard Tournament, his stupid solution to the First Task, and oh, how the dragon keepers mourned the crushed eggs. Viktor hardly remembers the other ones: but Charlie Weasley’s regret and fury burned into his memory then, and Viktor could never find a way to make it right, to get rid of that guilty feeling whenever he had to face Charlie.

Which, up until now, hasn’t been that often.

Charlie breaks the silence first, rubbing at the back of his neck:

“Uh. I guess I’ll go, then – I can come back later. I just wanted to surprise them, come a bit early, but I’ll just. I haven’t seen Tinworth in a while, so I can spend a few hours down there, huh?”

“The gift is in Cayenne,” Viktor says. “They will be away for two or three days, at least.”

He wonders if there’s enough room at the Burrow for a surprise visit, this close to the wedding – but he’s spared the terrifying task of asking because tiny feet stomp down the stairs and Victoire’s out the door and around Charlie’s knees before either man can react.

“Uncle Charlie! Are you my surprise? Vic said he had a surprise for me, but he didn’t give me anything yesterday so I thought he forgot, but now you’re here!”

Charlie’s eyes go comically wide and when he glances up at Viktor, for a moment it looks like he’s blushing, but then he crouches down and teases Victoire gently, making her shriek and laugh and then huff before she wraps her tiny arms around his neck.

“You’ll stay, right?” she demands, tugging at the leather cord around Charlie’s neck holding a small bronze dragon. “Mom and Dad aren’t here so you can stay in their room, or you can stay with me, or with Vic, but you’ll stay!”

Nobody could resist a plea like that, Viktor is sure. But Charlie looks up at him, like he’s asking what to do, asking for permission, and that’s ridiculous; the Shell Cottage is his brother’s home, a Weasley home, and if anything, Charlie has more right to be here than Viktor. The thought stings, for a second, and then Viktor pushes it down and shrugs:

“There’s breakfast, if you want. Pancakes and eggs.”

Victoire yells happily into Charlie’s ear then, making the man wince. Charlie smiles a bit and ducks his head down as he rises, Victoire still in his arms. The awkwardness subsides, a little, and he nods:

“Yeah. Okay. I could use some pancakes. Always been my favourite breakfast food.”

Viktor tries not to feel absurdly pleased about that, and steps out of the doorway, making his way to the kitchen.

…

“Ahhh, that feels good,” Charlie sighs happily after breakfast and pats his stomach, purposefully puffing up so that his belly looks way rounder than it actually is. Victoire giggles and berates him for eating way too much, and Charlie plays it up, demanding more. He launches himself out of the chair, making absurd grimaces and promising to fill up with little kids, and Victoire shrieks as she half-falls, half-jumps off her chair, stumbling through the house, yelling at Viktor to save her.

He waves his wand to catch a few of the trinkets knocked down from the tables and shelves as the two hurricanes whirl past, and smiles to himself. Victoire doesn’t get to see her Uncle Charlie as often as the other Weasleys, not even as often as Viktor, seeing as he’s been fully retired for almost a year now and the only thing holding him back from showing up at the Shell Cottage every other week is a sense of propriety. That she takes to Charlie so easily is a sign of how happy a child she is, open and loving and ready to assume the best about people; and maybe, a little, it’s a sign of how wonderful a man Charlie must be, so easy to like, so ready to make a fool out of himself just to make his niece laugh. It warms something in Viktor’s chest, but the fondness is tinged with regret – maybe they could’ve been friends, he and Charlie, if only he had been smarter, thought of other ways to get that golden egg… and maybe it’s silly, deep down, Viktor knows it is, to hold on to an unfortunate accident from more than ten years ago. But there’s always been this distance between them that has gradually trickled away with the other Weasleys, and Viktor is not good enough with people to know how to breach it. If an attempt like that would even be welcome.

Considering how Charlie is with others in the family, probably not.

“Vic! Save me!” Victoire screams with laughter and launches herself at Viktor, grabbing his knee and twisting herself around his leg. “Save me from the monster!”

She tugs at his shirt and Viktor picks her up just as Charlie barrels from around the corner, hands like claws held up and his face caught in what is probably supposed to be a dragon’s roar. Victoire giggles and holds on to Viktor, cutting off his air supply a little, but he wraps his arm tighter around her anyway.

“Go away, dragon,” Viktor says, feeling a bit awkward at first, but getting into the game in the next moment. “This one is protected! You will not have her!”

“Roaaaaar,” is Charlie’s only response, brown eyes twinkling in amusement. He leaps forward, and Viktor jumps out of his reach; Charlie changes directions and lunges left, making Viktor duck right. Victoire giggles and Viktor twists away, holding on to her as he runs for the door, a roaring dragon at his heels, although the effect is somewhat spoiled when the mighty beast snickers here and there. They’re slowed down by the door, but Viktor runs for his life when it opens, sand flying and sun shining bright up high. Victoire giggles and urges him on, slapping his shoulder and yelling, and Viktor turns to see how far Charlie is-

His leg twists in the sand, finding a small stone, and he’s down the next moment, managing to twist like years of Quidditch have taught him, shielding Victoire from the fall and landing hard on his shoulder. He oomphs at the impact, air leaving his lungs in a rush, and for a moment, he doesn’t know which way is up and how to move.

Then, hands on him, large and warm and a bit rough, his sides, his shoulders, neck, then his cheek, “Viktor! Oh bugger, Viktor, you alright, mate!?” and Charlie sounds genuinely worried. It shouldn’t make Viktor feel so warm inside, but maybe, it’s just the sun and sand all around him. He opens his eyes, and Victoire laughs:

“The dragon wins! Now he’ll bite me and I’ll be a dragon too! And then we can bite Vic and he’ll be a dragon with us!”

“That’s not how dragons work, pumpkin,” Charlie chuckles and sits heavily in the sand, running his hand down his face and getting sand in his hair and eyes. He looks like an offended cat for a moment, and Viktor laughs; Charlie looks at him, and for a split second, there’s no distance, no awkwardness, just two men smiling at each other.

But Charlie looks away almost immediately, and Viktor’s left feeling a little cold. Perhaps the sun has not warmed the sand enough; he pushes himself up and checks on Victoire, making sure she’s fine after their untimely loss to the dragon (and the beach).

Victoire asks about dragons all the way back to the house, which is considerably further than Viktor would’ve thought. They must’ve ran longer than it seemed, but Victoire doesn’t seem to mind: perched atop Viktor’s shoulders and asking ‘why’ about everything Charlie says, she seems to be having a good enough time. Viktor remains silent for most of the exchange, listening to Charlie talk. The man becomes even more animated when he talks about the dragons, hands flying and his smile wide, eyes bright with the same sort of excitement that Viktor remembers once having about Quidditch. But the distance between them is back full-force, an invisible wall without any doors – it’s in the way Charlie carefully doesn’t look at Viktor, in the way he keeps just out of reach so he doesn’t accidentally brush Viktor’s shoulder when gesturing about flight patterns or wingspans.

Viktor tries to forget how warm and safe those hands made him just a few minutes ago. He’s almost succeeded by the time they get back to the house.

…

Victoire is not disappointed by Viktor’s actual gift. The dress is mostly white, smooth, soft cotton reaching down to her knees, the embroidery bold and colourful around her arms and down her chest. The little cross-stitch birds around the hem of her skirt have been charmed to chirp and flutter their red wings when she twirls around, and Victoire laughs and tries to chase the movement with her tiny hands.

Charlie provides great backdrop for her own excitement, poking at the little birds and chuckling when they fly away from his touch, their song louder for a moment. Viktor thinks that Fleur and Bill might want to know about the silencing charms on the fabric, later on, but for now, he’s content to let Victoire (and Charlie) have fun with trying to discover just how loud those birds can be.

He moves to the kitchen, quickly checking for ingredients, but as usual, the Shell Cottage is well-stocked. He settles on a simple pasta dish for lunch, and possibly dinner. He doesn’t mind cooking, especially if there’s someone to share the food with, but he would prefer spending his precious time with Victoire away from the stove.

“You’re cooking?”

He’s just started to cut the tomatoes and he almost slices his finger off – Charlie’s voice comes from way too close and when Viktor half-turns, he finds the other man looking over Viktor’s shoulder with an unreadable expression.

“Yes?” Viktor says, not sure what the question is supposed to mean. But Charlie’s eyes light up even before Viktor can ask if the man would prefer another dish.

“A man of many talents, huh?” Charlie smiles, swiping a bit of tomato. The juice drips to the floor before it makes the journey to Charlie’s mouth, and Viktor can’t help but chuckle at the guilty look Charlie gives to the mess before waving it away with his wand. Charlie’s eyes are all warm chocolate when he looks up again: “No, really, that’s impressive. I can’t cook to save my life… I went from the Hogwarts feasts straight to the preserve’s canteen.”

Viktor doesn’t know what makes him offer up the knife, but it’s too late to take it back once he’s holding the handle towards Charlie, motioning for him to take it.

“You can help,” he says. “It’s not so hard, once you try.”

Charlie stares at the knife as if Viktor has offered to stab him in the gut.

“Are you serious? I don’t know any kitchen spells-“

“No spells,” Viktor shrugs. He’s never been that great with those either – but he’s seen the way Molly Weasley’s kitchen seems to be flying around her in an eerily coordinated dance, so he understands Charlie’s high standards for the craft. “It’s easier when you know where the knife goes.”

“I’ll hold you responsible if I cut my hand off,” Charlie grins, but he takes the knife, and Viktor turns away before his face can betray the fluttery warmth that settles in his stomach when their fingers brush on the handle.

…

Charlie doesn’t cut his hand off, but it’s a near thing. He proves an attentive student, though, listening to Viktor’s instructions and nodding away as he cuts and slices and stirs. Maybe it’s not the height of culinary experience, but they manage a passable tomato sauce, and Victoire messily finishes her whole plate, so Viktor counts it as a win.

She yawns without demanding dessert, too, and Viktor takes her upstairs for her afternoon nap, tucking her in and yielding to the demand for a story. She falls asleep before the good witch even takes off for the rescue mission, snoring lightly and clutching a fluffy three-headed dragon that must’ve been a gift from Charlie because Viktor doesn’t remember seeing it earlier.

“Alright, seriously, though, you have to be bad at something,” Charlie laughs quietly when Viktor comes back downstairs. He’s lounging in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, a Butterbeer in his hand and another, unopened, at the table, presumably left there for Viktor. The simple gesture twists a knot in Viktor’s chest, but he pushes it down – he’s being silly about this, about Charlie, and he doesn’t like feeling so off-balance. “No, really. I’m having a moment of insecurity here – tell me one thing you’re really bad at.”

Viktor chuckles and shakes his head – if there’s someone who should be feeling insecure, it’s definitely not Charlie, so lively and adventurous. It’s a grumpy ex-Quidditch player who might be alright in a kitchen, but who is so bad at this, at talking to people he doesn’t know well, at all the things that seem to come naturally to Charlie. He’s bad at apologizing for the folly of youth, at making connections, at figuring out how to reach for the things he truly wants, as soon as they’re not a Golden Snitch… but he can’t say that out loud, lay the heavy stuff out there into the relaxed atmosphere, and so he sits down and shrugs, reaching for the Butterbeer.

“I am bad at knitting,” he says, thinking of Molly and her sweaters (and not wondering, not at all, if he would indeed get one for Christmas this year).

Charlie blinks. “You knit?”

“No. That’s why I know I am bad at it.”

Charlie laughs then, a deep, earthy sound that echoes through the room and settles somewhere close to Viktor’s heart.

“See? That’s another thing you’re good at, that doesn’t count.”

Viktor blinks, confused. “What is?”

“Being funny. I never thought you were funny, but you are, and it’s not fair. What’s left for us goofy uncles then, huh?”

Viktor tries not to preen; not many people have accused him of being funny before. Hermione, maybe, and Fleur, here and there. It feels good, to have someone laugh at his jokes, even though he’s only half-aware of making any: it feels even better for that someone to be Charlie, although Viktor shies away from the reason why, even in the confines of his own mind.

“You can always be the brave uncle. With all the dragons,” he offers, and Charlie laughs.

“Vicky’s got much braver family members to spare, I’d say. Dragons aren’t that dangerous, when you know how to talk to them. They can be very territorial, but also loyal. They also get attached to humans, in their own way.”

Viktor hmm-s under his breath, understanding for a moment, and then grins:

“With how that sounds, the position of crazy uncle is yours.”

That makes Charlie laugh again, long and loud, and the thrum of warmth in Viktor’s chest is back. The walls are crumbling, and it’s comfortable, effortless for the moment. Viktor keeps waiting for Charlie’s defences to snap back up, for himself to say something awkward and wrong that would shatter the moment.

He doesn’t get the chance to speak before a knock on the door sounds, and then the door opens, and Charlie groans.

“She’s gonna kill me,” he whispers loudly, looking pained, and then Viktor realizes it must be-

“Viktor? Vicky? Is anyone home?”

Fleur must’ve told Molly that Viktor would be watching her daughter: he should’ve known that Molly would stop by to make sure that he knows how to feed a child.

She spots him in the next second and smiles wide, ‘Viktor, how nice to see you again-‘ but the she stops in her tracks as her eyes fall on her son, and the smile instantly turns into a scowl.

“Charlie! Why, I didn’t know you would be coming early – you don’t fire-call, you don’t write, how am I supposed to know anything! And you still haven’t told us anything about your date for the wedding! The seating plan will be completely ruined! But I have the perfect girl for you, she’s Ginny’s teammate, a lovely young-“

“Mum, I have a date,” Charlie groans, and Viktor’s stomach twists in a painful knot.

“Oh?” Molly raises an eyebrow, obviously only half-believing her son. “Who is it, then? Tell me all about her!”

Charlie sets his Butterbeer down and gets up from the armchair, and Viktor braces himself for the imminent talk about the virtues of Charlie’s girlfriend, although he doesn’t want to acknowledge the reason why it bothers him this much.

But Charlie, Charlie takes one step forward, then two, and then he’s standing by Viktor’s side and draping an arm around his shoulders, and Viktor tries not to tense, but he doesn’t quite manage.

“I’m going with Viktor,” Charlie announces, and the knot in Viktor’s stomach loosens and then swoops towards the sky, lodging in Viktor’s throat. He doesn’t dare look at Charlie, for fear of seeing laughter in the man’s eyes that would make this just one big joke, for fear of betraying that he would not mind if Charlie’s words were true.

Molly scoffs, waving her hand around:

“Why would you go with a friend when you can-“

“No,” Charlie interrupts firmly, and his hand on Viktor’s shoulder tightens almost imperceptibly. “Mum. I’m going with Viktor. Together.”

That sure takes the wind out of Molly Weasley’s sails – she blinks, once, twice, opens her mouth, then closes it, eyes darting between the two of them and narrowing suspiciously.

Viktor swallows and leans into Charlie – they’re nearly of height, with an inch or two in Viktor’s favour, maybe, but Charlie’s chest is broad and warm and holds Viktor’s weight well.

“Oh,” Molly says, and then claps her hands together: “That’s all very well, my dear… but you could’ve said something. The seating plan will have to be completely rearranged now, you were supposed to sit with Auntie Muriel, you know how she loves you… ah, nothing to be done. Did you boys have anything sensible to eat?”

And then Viktor’s brain checks out – he can hear Charlie telling his mother that Viktor is actually a very good cook, that she doesn’t have to worry because Charlie, and Victoire, have been fed wonderfully. There’s something about Victoire, and Bill and Fleur having gone to Cayenne, but Viktor is having trouble focusing though the haze in his mind: eventually, he realizes it might be Charlie’s closeness that’s causing the trouble and he pats Charlie’s chest awkwardly, stepping away from him. His mind doesn’t clear that much, and Charlie gives him an odd look that could be a question or a warning or just confusion, but Viktor doesn’t have the time or energy to dissect that.

He offers Molly something to eat: she gives him the kindly look of a mother who doesn’t believe that her children could produce anything edible, and counters his offer, saying that she could send something if they want.

He makes his retreat to the kitchen anyway, thinking they need some time to talk without him, but Molly pops in just a moment later, looking rather worried.

“Viktor, dear, you know that you’re a part of the family even if you don’t date any of my children, don’t you?”

Warmth floods Viktor’s chest, because he knows, but he’s still weak in the face of a Weasley telling him that he belongs. But he really doesn’t want a repeat of the past year, so he nods:

“I think about Ginny like my sister.”

She smiles and pats his cheek.

“I know, Viktor. I know. It’s just- ah. Charlie is… he’s had a lot of girlfriends, in Romania. He never brought any of them home, though, so I think you’re special to him. I hope you two will be very happy together. And that you’ll give me a lot of beautiful grandchildren.”

Before Viktor can unpack all of that, she’s gone, yelling at her son again for never calling. Victoire joins in on the yelling soon, her nap decidedly over and the sounds of chirping loud from the living room. Viktor splashes his face with cold water and dries himself off with a quick spell, and then stares out of the window, trying to draw some strength from the steady motion of the sea, but his mind is whirling too loudly for the waves to have much effect.

Eventually, he hears his name in the conversation and he decides that he’s been hiding too long already. He finds his way back to the living room and Molly smiles warmly at him. It will be terrifying when she learns about the lie – Viktor is not looking forward to the silences and scowls. Maybe they could tell her that it simply didn’t work out between them in the end…

He’s torn out of his spiralling thoughts by Molly’s voice.

“Viktor? Viktor! I was just telling Charlie, I can spare some time for my favourite granddaughter, so you can have some time for yourselves,” she says, and Vicky whoops, twirling around again and making the birds chirp.

“She’s your only granddaughter so far, Mum,” Charlie grins, and Molly frowns at him:

“You should take this seriously, Charlie. It’s important to keep the relationship fresh! Your father and I-“

“Merlin’s pants, Mum! We’re going, we’re going!”

And then Charlie’s grabbing Viktor’s hand, the hard, callused palm closing around Viktor’s fingers, and Viktor is being dragged to the door, Molly yelling after them.

“Charles Peregrinus Weasley, don’t you swear at your mother! I will-“

The door closes behind them and Charlie’s laughing, dragging Viktor down the short walkway and up the dunes, running until they’re out of breath and collapse into the sand, Viktor chuckling along with Charlie’s quiet huffs. Viktor would’ve thought it would be awkward, after what happened inside, but they lay in the sand in companionable silence, watching tiny white clouds roll over the sky. Charlie stops laughing eventually; Viktor glances back, and the Shell Cottage is just an outline in the distance by then. The long grass sprouting from the sand dunes dances in the breeze, and the sea beckons, even though Viktor knows it may still be way too cold for a swim.

“Peregrinus,” Viktor says then, and Charlie nudges him with a knee.

“Not my fault that all the crazy uncles in my family had weird names,” he says, and his voice is full of his smile, even though Viktor’s not looking at him.

“Mine is Aleksandar,” Viktor says. Charlie laughs.

“Of course even your middle name has to be impressive. Go figure.”

Viktor smiles up at the clouds.

“My crazy uncle was hit by a Muggle ice-cream truck, if that helps?”

Charlie laughs and laughs, and then there’s silence again, and Viktor’s heart is beating in time with the sound of waves washing over the shore.

“Do you still love her?” Charlie asks, out of the blue, and it takes a moment for Viktor to emerge out of his content daze.

“Who?”

“Hermione,” Charlie clarifies, and the direction of his voice changes a little, like he’s turned his head to look at Viktor. Viktor doesn’t look back. “I mean… I know she’s getting married to my brother, and they’re perfect for each other, I just… I need to know how ready I should be to drink your sorrows away, mate.”

Viktor has a feeling that Charlie was going to say something else, before the drinking and the sorrows and the half-failed attempt at a joke. If he were truly heartbroken, he would hate it: but he hasn’t felt like that about Hermione in a long time. If he’s honest with himself…

“I’m not sure I ever loved her, not like that,” he says, letting his confession soar up to the clouds so they can carry his embarrassment away. It works, mostly, and suddenly, courage washes over him like the sea, courage to say what he’s never told anyone, not even himself.

Charlie is still looking at him, Viktor can feel it, but if he meets Charlie’s eyes, he will never say it out loud. And he needs to, in this quiet moment, among the dunes, under the bright blue sky. He needs to say it, for Charlie’s sake but mostly for his own, so that he can finally stop reaching for something that isn’t there, for something he doesn’t truly want to catch.

“She was safe,” he says quietly, looking for the right words. “She was smart, and didn’t like Quidditch at all, and she was fifteen and I… I think I knew that she would not want anything from me. I liked her, and I am very happy that we are friends. But I don’t think I knew what it means to be in love, at eighteen. I don’t think I know it now.”

He can hear Charlie breathing, and for a second he thinks Charlie will interrupt with the usual platitudes, you will meet someone and how come a Quidditch star like yourself and it’ll hit you when you expect it last. Viktor has heard it before, thought himself odd for not knowing what to do with the hopes forced upon him, but he’s closing in on thirty now, and he is beginning to settle in his own skin, ready to face those platitudes with firmness, ready to stand his ground if Charlie Weasley tells him what he should want.

But Charlie remains silent, and the urge to fight dies down in Viktor’s chest, leaving behind clarity and peace he never would’ve expected.

“I tried to date other girls. Two. It didn’t go well,” he says, thinking back to all those moments of gut-wrenching discomfort. “It was like everyone knew and felt these things, and I was looking at the couples and I wanted what they had, when they were holding hands and talking. But then they wanted to kiss, and… the other things. And it just felt… wrong.”

Charlie draws in a sharp breath at his side. Viktor turns to him without thinking, and his heart stops. There’s a storm raging in Charlie’s warm eyes, emotions swirling by faster than Viktor can decipher them, but a hard, callused hand shifts in the sand and covers Viktor’s fingers, and the world settles a little firmer around him.

Charlie speaks then, his voice rough, catching on every other word.

“I had sex once,” he says, “when I was seventeen. Everyone in my year has done it, or so they said, and I didn’t want to be the odd one out, so when Alvina Culpepper put her hand on my thigh, I thought I’d… I don’t know, I just, I thought I would figure out what it was about and then I’d finally be normal.”

The word resonates painfully in Viktor’s chest, reminding him of all the times he has asked himself the same thing – whether that magical one day that people kept promising would make him feel what everyone else did, would make him capable of talking to people without worrying about whether they wanted something from him that he couldn’t give. He doesn’t interrupt Charlie, though, just tightens his hand under Charlie’s and nods ever so slightly. Some of the tension leaks out from around Charlie’s mouth and he almost-smiles, even though there’s something slightly bitter in it, too.

“It was so empty,” Charlie sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “She was… I liked her, I did, she was funny and she liked Care for Magical Creatures, too, and she didn’t mind that I could only really talk about Quidditch or animals back then. Well. Not that I talk about much else now.”

Viktor chuckles at that. “They are not bad things to talk about.”

“Can you stop being perfect?” Charlie laughs, a little quieter than he usually does. “Or else I will never get over this stupid crush and you will hate me and then we’ll have to draw up a schedule to visit Victoire and it’ll be awkward for everyone.”

Viktor’s heart leaps in his chest, wild and panicked, an ingrained response by now because he’s learned to associate the word ‘crush’ with failure and despair and discomfort.

“Crush?” he croaks, and Charlie’s eyes widen, reflecting the panic that Viktor feels.

He sits up abruptly, and Viktor’s hand feels cold without his touch, and he’s mumbling ‘Merlin’s balls, Merlin’s balls’. Viktor thinks about Molly, and what she would say if she heard her son now, and he chuckles, pushing himself up on his elbows and waiting.

“I… didn’t mean to say that,” Charlie mumbles, his head resting on his folded-up knees. There’s sand sticking to his hair, his neck, the wide expanse of his back, and Viktor wants to reach out and brush it off, but he’s not sure the gesture would be welcome. He’s learned to curb his need to touch and hold, to reach for anyone, for fear of it being taken the wrong way, and it’s hard to push past those self-inflicted limits now. Not when he’s still not sure that’s what Charlie wants – not when he doesn’t know if he should trust the quiet spark of hope in his chest that maybe, he could have something real and good and not lonely.

“I thought you didn’t like me very much,” Viktor admits when the silence stretches on for too long, tension where peace used to sit not too long ago.

Charlie’s head snaps up, and then he twists around, staring at Viktor like he’s just announced that he’s marrying a Basilisk.

“Are you out of your mind? I’m sure my face looked like a tomato half the time when you were around. Why did you think that?”

“The eggs,” Viktor mutters under his breath, his face doing a very close approximation of what Charlie just said about tomatoes.

“What?”

“The eggs,” he manages, a little louder. “The Triwizard Tournament. My dragon smashed her eggs, and you were so angry.”

The beat of silence that follows is the longest Viktor has experienced in his life, and then Charlie starts laughing, and Viktor wishes the beach would open up and swallow him whole.

“Merlin’s pants, are you for real- I wasn’t upset with you. You were a kid with no training, facing a protective dragon mother with nothing but your wand. Before we left the preserve, I kept telling Constantin that we should swap out the eggs, that using the real ones is asking for a disaster, and he didn’t listen, and that’s why I was mad. Because it could’ve been prevented, if my boss didn’t think that fake eggs would detract from the ‘simulated reality of facing a dragon’ or some such rot. Did you really… oh Merlin. This is… you’re really nothing like what I imagined.”

In the sea of relief swishing around in Viktor’s chest, there’s a pang of worry, of defiance. “Is that a bad thing?”

Charlie smiles, and he turns his body towards Viktor. His fingers touch Viktor’s in the warm sand.

“It’s a very good thing. At first, I thought you were haughty and self-absorbed, like you had every right to be, after being the star of the World Cup at eighteen. But then I saw you at Bill’s wedding, and you were arguing with Xenophilius about the symbol, and then fighting to keep everyone safe, even though you could’ve fled. I liked you, even back then – I liked that you didn’t smile to please anyone, that you weren’t pretending.”

“I was,” Viktor smiles a little at the memory. “I complained about girls, so nobody would ask me why I am there alone.”

Charlie laughs, quietly, contently, and grips Viktor’s hand tighter.

“I think Harry will propose soon. And two of my colleagues might be getting married next spring.”

Viktor blinks, not sure what Charlie is saying – and he sees it now, sees the pink tinge of Charlie’s cheeks underneath all the freckles and tiny burn marks.

“What I mean is… would you like to keep me company for all the weddings? You know, so that you won’t have to pretend. And I won’t have to tell my mum that I really don’t want to marry the neighbours’ daughter. Purely practical, of course.”

The twinge of disappointment doesn’t get much time to bloom because Viktor catches the way Charlie’s mouth quirks up, and he smiles.

…

“I could’ve been the Quidditch uncle, you know,” Charlie says when the sun moves across the sky. It doesn’t sound wistful at all, so Viktor dares to glance at him.

“Yes?”

“Yeah. I think Mum wanted me to accept the offer when it came, my seventh year. We could’ve been rivals.”

Viktor knows that Charlie used to be a Seeker back at Hogwarts: his siblings have bragged about him often enough, as if they thought, at first, that Quidditch was all that Viktor spoke and understood. Ginny took the professional sports in the family then, and Viktor was just as proud of her as her siblings and parents, and the talk of Charlie’s wasted potential was dropped. Viktor tries to imagine it, facing England with this fierce, lively man against him, and his blood sings with the excitement of the chase.

“Do you want to fly?” he asks, and Charlie blinks at him for a moment.

“Oh! You mean, now?”

Viktor shrugs, absurdly worried that this is it, that he has stepped over the line somehow and Charlie will say ‘no’. But the man grins at him:

“You got your own broom here? Because I reserve the advantage of something better than Bill’s Cleansweep, that thing should’ve been put out of its misery before Vicky.”

…

Viktor’s newest Nimbus, the last broom from before his deal with the company was cancelled, handles like a dream, and Charlie whoops loudly as he criss-crosses the sky, hanging upside down and swooping low over the waves. Flying is still in his blood, Viktor can see, even though he is maybe a little rusty on the sharper turns. There is no way that Viktor can keep up the pace on Bill’s ancient broom, but it hardly matters: he lets Charlie circle around him, teasing and grinning, and enjoys the feeling of just flying, without a destination, without deals and money and dozens of other people to think about. Nothing hinges on him being the fastest, the smartest, there’s no Snitch to catch, and it’s liberating in a way flying has not been in months.

Charlie circles him again, and then, he’s hovering by Viktor’s side, cheeks flushed with adrenaline: long strands of hair whip around his face, and up this close, in the sharp light of the midday sun, he’s perfect in a way that catches in Viktor’s heart.

“Teach me the Vronski Feint,” Charlie says, out of the blue, and Viktor snorts, glancing down at the old broom:

“Not on this.”

“Hop on, then,” Charlie snickers and sidles closer, the Nimbus’ tail brushing against Viktor’s thigh.

The added weight will make the manoeuvre almost, if not completely, impossible to execute, Viktor knows that; even he might have trouble with it now, his Seeker’s build having given way to muscle ever since he has discovered Muggle gyms as a safe retreat from the madness of the wizarding world. With Charlie, thick and solid, the Nimbus might hold them safely, but hurtling downwards at full speed is another thing completely.

“Come on, just once!” Charlie wheedles, and all reason leaves Viktor. He swings his leg over the Nimbus, settling close behind Charlie, his chest pressed against the man’s back as he reaches around Charlie’s waist to grip the handle.

“Crazy uncle,” he sighs, but Charlie just laughs and spreads his arms, and then Viktor is angling the broom down, towards the swooping waves.

He tries to go a little slower, tries to angle the broom upwards sooner than he normally would, but he’s never done this with another person, and the weight, predictably, makes the broom groan and whine. Charlie screams and Viktor closes his eyes, and then they’re crashing into the water, salt washing over their heads for a moment, the broom grumbling and then shooting out of the waves, aiming for the shore.

Charlie howls, loud and excited, and brushes his wet hair out of his eyes, grinning at Viktor madly. And Viktor knows then, with a startled skip of his heart, that he would do a lot just to see Charlie look at him like that, wild and open and there. It’s dangerous, and Viktor worries, for a moment, what it will mean in the long run, what else he will do, and whether it’s a good idea to let himself fall further. But then Charlie splashes him with seawater and giggles and declares that the last to swim to the shore will have to ask Auntie Muriel for a dance at the wedding, and Viktor has only met the woman once, but he really, really does not want to lose.

…

He does lose, and Auntie Muriel complains about her toes all the way through the waltz. But Charlie appears as the song draws to a close, the music on the verge of becoming slower, sweeter, and he’s smiling, asking his aunt if he can steal Viktor away.

And when Viktor takes his hand, the hope for something better, something real and true, doesn’t feel forced at all.

[justanotherpendragon]

Their own family tree

Asexual Ted Tonks and aroace Andromeda

[schmorge-quostanza]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin Characters: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Mary MacDonald Additional Tags: asexual sirius, Trans Remus, Asexual Peter, Aromantic Peter, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical Summary: remus thinks it’d be best to stay friends. sirius knows why.

[aroacehogwarts]

I'm not sure if you've done this before...But, aroace Charlie Weasley coming out to his parents.

We got you:

Aroace agender Charlie who comes out to his family at Christmas (headcanon)

After coming out aroace Charlie gets pride socks and a jumper from his mum (fanart)

Aroace neutrois Charlie who comes out to Arthur first (fanfic)

Aroace Charlie who comes out at Bill and Fleur’s wedding and corrects some miscommunications about his dragons (headcanon)

EDIT: Not technically coming out, but here’s aroace Charlie convincing Molly he doesn’t want to get married and have kids (fanfic)

Followers, feel free to reblog with more!

- Ravenclaw Mod

[siriuslyacemarauder]

Asexual panromantic Sirius Black and bi demiromantic gray-a Remus Lupin is what I'm here for