#because it's the time of dumbledore's army and all...

[cr1msonpeak]

[ How did you know I was here? From Hannah Abbott to Harry Potter. ]

Harry worked tirelessly to avoid thinking about his own legacy. It's a hard, uncomfortable sensation, similar to the feeling of a toothpick edged unfavourably between the ribs. Never granted a moment of blissful ignorance, sharp reflexes remained consistently necessary— it was too risky to turn a blind eye in the vastly changing world. More so these days, particularly when it came to the apparent "illicit activities" of the new school year; the boy found himself often surveying the members of the underground group, on top of everything else running rampant in that plagued head of his. A connection had undoubtedly risen, a union spoken only in hushed tones inside once safe walls, and Harry realised that his attentiveness, however fleeting, however unaware, grew tenfold regarding said members. So, when @stubborngods was nowhere to be seen in a usually shared Charms class, and he began hearing her name spoken in the halls, a small inkling of dread managed to bubble. Even if he was six feet under soon, at least he'd have gone from child-hero, to a liar, to a teacher; there was a sort of legacy in the notion. Not only for him, but everyone taking part in Dumbledore's Army. They were, to a certain extent, his responsibility now.

He wasn't going to fill her in on how her tearful plight had already circulated around the student body, met by an array of responses, (some unbothered, others finding it rather amusing, most filled with understanding). His stance was somewhat awkward, hovering at the foot of her assigned bed in the hospital wing, though his voice was firm, soft. Eyes drifted briefly to the empty vial of Calming Draught on the nightstand. ‘ I didn't see you in Charms, so I asked Ernie if he'd seen you... and he told me what happened. ’ The last thing he intended was to aid her assumed embarrassment, so he simply shrugged, upkeeping the atmosphere as a merely casual visit, concealing worry beneath a relaxed nature. A half truth presented in his words: unfortunately Harry heard of the incident between classes in a form of gossip, but he did find the other Hufflepuff Prefect to enquire whether Hannah was okay, if she might be up for visitors.

‘ Just wanted to check in— make sure you're doing alright. ’ She was one of the few people who showcased belief in him, after all, (a rarity of late) in company like this, his skin felt less like a waiting corpse, heart a little more open. Open faith was likely to dissipate soon, nothing ever stayed, but he'd desperately cling onto it while it lasted.

[marauroon]

hello !!! can i request a right person, wrong time with siri? maybe they broke up because of the war... and the reason is because siri doesn't want to put the reader into danger and then they meet again, all grown up and they still have feelings for each other and Siri has to grovel to win reader back again? And it ends with a happy ending (please) (Siri was the one who broke the relationship and reader was really hurt) it's very long yet vauge 😅

A CALL TO ARMS — S.BLACK

sirius black was the love of your life, and you were his. but sometimes higher priorities—and deep-seeded anxiety—can get in the way. but the invisible string of fate always brings people back together.

cw — fem!reader, details of the first wizard of war, reader and sirius have a messy and complicated relationship, harsh arguments, character death mentions, happy ending

sirius black x reader || hurt/comfort || 6.2k || requests open!!

a/n — let’s just pretend sirius doesn’t get avada’d like three weeks after this fic ends

The war put a strain on everybody. Some people had to leave their families to join the fight, some had to hide away to protect themselves from the Death Eaters.

Some didn’t have a family, anyone to worry about them coming home at the end of the day.

They threw themselves into it the hardest.

Then there was you and Sirius, a pair of outcasts who found solitude in each other. A pair who paid no greater devotion than protecting the people that you cared about from the ravages of Voldemort’s uprising.

You were barely eighteen when you both joined the Order, fresh out of Hogwarts and straight into the line of fire after the group had been offered a spot in Voldemort’s army and refused, leaving every one of you with a target on your back.

By the time you were twenty it almost seemed fruitless, with James and Lily being sent into hiding to protect them and their son under Dumbledore’s direct orders under fear for their continued safety and a Fidelius Charm placed over them to keep them safe. Sirius denied being their secret keeper with the explanation of it being too obvious a choice. What a mistake that was.

Then order members started dying.

And it all began to fall apart.

The brass framed picture in the entrance of the Black family home offered Sirius no empathy as he escaped the bitterness that October was serving him, the laughing faces of his friends and self-proclaimed family only serving to make his already dwindling morale dampen further.

Twenty-two people in the picture. And how many remained? Fourteen. In the span of five months.

It was Dorcus and Marlene that really did him over, and he could barely so much as glance in the direction of their hopeful smiles without feeling like he was going to throw up.

The trudging of his feet up the wooden stairs was proof enough of his arrival for any present members of the Order to hear, too fatigued and all together bleak at the continued state he was living in to announce his presence verbally.

“Sirius, sweetheart, you’re home thank goodness,” Not even the warmth of your arms around him or the relief in your voice as you pulled his head into your shoulder could satiate him anymore.

You shouldn’t have to be relieved that he walked through the door.

You shouldn’t have to hug him like it’s your final goodbye every time he leaves.

Every time you leave.

You didn’t deserve that. And neither did he.

“Godric you’re freezing, come and sit down,” You pull Sirius into his childhood bedroom with all of the care of a feather floating on a pool of water, squeezing his hands in yours like you’re trying to transfer your own heat to him.

He follows you with no real resistance, though he doesn’t make any move by himself, and you have to push his shoulders down to get him to sit in front of the lit fireplace that would hopefully quell the chill echoing across his skin.

You help him remove his coat with a sigh, dark frown lines marking your features as you take a seat beside him and rest the side of your head against his shoulder, your hand gently tracing over his to capture his palm in your own. He doesn’t return the small squeeze of your fingers.

You can’t blame him for being so dismal, the situation was something that nobody could make it through without a gargantuan crack in their emotional shield, but seeing Sirius display his almost funereal sentiment so fervently without so much as a hint of a mask was devastating.

Displaying even the tiniest glimmer of hopefulness was what allowed the Order to survive for so long, and Sirius couldn’t even muster that.

“Harry said his first word today,” You try to keep the conversation positive, ignore the downfall of everything around you and keep focusing on the small wins. “Dada of course, apparently Lily was pretty miffed,” You punctuate your sentence with a small laugh, although it’s more pathetic than genuine and even you can tell you’re doing a horrible job of trying to uplift Sirius’ spirit.

“They sent over a picture, Remus has it if you’d like to see—”

“Just stop.” Sirius shakes his head sharply, pulling his hand from yours and standing with his back to you.

“Sirius—”

“I don’t know why you keep trying to pretend that everything’s okay, it’s not. Our friends are dying and you’re acting like its completely fine.” There’s more malice in his voice than he’s intending, and logically you know that he doesn’t really mean to get so angry at you. It wasn’t you that was the problem, it was the world in which you were living.

But logic can often times get overridden by other facets.

“I am trying to stop anyone else from dying.” Your words are more desperate than harsh, and they’re not laced in anger like Sirius’ are, but they carry just the same amount of conviction. “If we lose hope then we may as well just hand ourselves over…”

There’s a stuttered exhale as you trail off, and Sirius swears he hears your voice crack as you try to take his hand in yours again. “I can’t bear to see you like this…”

“You should leave the Order.”

You’re almost not sure you heard him.

“What?”

“You don’t belong here, you’re not fit for this,” He sounds almost resigned, and his shoulders drop just enough that you’re not sure he really believes what he’s saying. “You should leave before you get hurt.”

There’s a moment where all you can really do is let out a breath of astonishment, and then there’s an overwhelming need to defend yourself against Sirius’ accusation. “I am perfectly fit for this, Dumbledore agreed that—”

“Well I don’t agree with it!” He cuts you off harshly, turning around so that you can see the anguish that’s drenching his features. “People are dying, our friends are dying, and you are on the goddamn list of whose next.”

He takes your upper arms in his hand and shakes you like it’s going to make you see his point, practically shouting at you as he desperately tries to get you to see his point of view. “You are a brilliant witch, and you are in so much danger that it makes me want to rip my heart out so I don’t have to worry about you any more—”

His rant doesn’t stop once his hands halt, and they stay gripped uncomfortably tight around your biceps to the point where you’re sure it’ll bruise. “Dorcus died because she was brilliant, Marlene died because her father was a muggle, you are like the two of them wrapped up in a package practically serving yourself up to the Death Eaters every time you step out of this goddamn house and I cannot take it anymore.”

Sirius practically pants as his yelling comes to a halt, and he almost immediately regrets getting riled up as he sees the reflection of the fireplace in your glassed over eyes.

“I love you. I love you so much and I can’t live like this anymore.” His hands move from your arms to cup the sides of your face, and you flinch at the contact like you’re afraid he’s going to hurt you.

It breaks Sirius’ heart.

“The Order is falling apart love… I don’t want you to be here when it collapses,”

You pull his hands from your face with yours at his wrists, shaking your head as you blink through clouds of tears. “I’m not leaving the Order, Sirius. You really think I would abandon my friends like that? My family? You?”

“Then I’ll make one of the hard choices for you,” Sirius lets his hands fall to his sides on your prompting, taking a step back from you to hide them in the pockets of his jeans. “I’m breaking up with you.”

“What—” There’s nothing but absolute betrayal written across your face, and Sirius almost breaks down immediately. “Sirius—”

“If you want to stay here and watch shit hit the fan then be my guest, but I will not put myself through watching your downfall.” He doesn’t give you the courtesy of replying before opening and slamming the door behind him as he leaves, but you’re not sure you’d be able to articulate anything even if he did, your only response being the start of a sob that echoes off of the empty walls and back into your ears to amplify your own anguish.

You move your belongings out of his room that same evening, taking refuge under Remus’ open arms as you cried yourself into an uneasy slumber, so emotionally exhausted that you could barely formulate any sense of coherency.

Lily and James died two days later.

The news hit you like a truck when Dumbledore relayed it to you, and whilst most of the Order were left in a blanket of shock, Sirius took off in a rage before he could even finish his sentence.

It was enough for you to push the grief aside to not cost you any more.

“Sirius wait—” You weave your way through the others and past Dumbledore to rush after him, the first words either of you had spoken in the other’s direction since the argument. “Where on earth do you think you’re going the Death Eaters might still be there—”

“I hope they are.” Sirius’ tone drips with venom as he pulls his motorcycle helmet from the coat rack at the front door, and you just barely catch his wrist before he has the chance to leave.

“You’re going on a suicide mission—”

“They murdered my brother, I have nothing to lose.” He again leaves the conversation with a slammed door, and you don’t know whether the possibility of his death or the fact that he’d seemingly accepted it hurt you more.

He had nothing to lose.

It was the biggest insult he could’ve possibly left you with.

And it’s all he did leave you with.

For twelve years.

You grieved the loss of Sirius like you did James and Lily, like he too had entered into an early grave of which he would never return. Azkaban may as well have been.

You were angry at first, disgustingly loathing the thought of what those twelve poor muggles had to endure as their final moments. You were less empathetic towards Peter’s fate, although your grief for him was replaced with a deep-seeded betrayal that sunk into your muscles all the same.

Then it settled into an uneven weight in the bottom of your chest, something that you carried with you from that point onward.

You moved out of England soon after, with nothing but a silent vow to Remus that if Voldemort were to ever return, that you’d be there, a final standing against the allegiance that stole your life from you.

You couldn’t stay there anymore, every street of London reminded you of him, of them, of all the people that you lost and how the prime years of your young adulthood were unceremoniously ripped from you under the false belief that you could actually make a difference.

As weeks turned into months, and then into years, there were days that passed where you didn’t think of what happened, of how your previous life had fallen apart and left you as a shell of yourself, and eventually, you managed to pick up the pieces and live your life like it hadn’t happened.

Apart from a single shard of your heart that had lodged itself at 12 Grimmauld Place, underneath the black silk sheets you and Sirius once shared.

You were thirty three when a letter from R.J.Lupin was sent through the letterbox of your house, and it was like those twelve years of growth and acceptance disappeared in an instant.

—

‘I hope this letter finds you well, I know I promised to contact you only for something of the upmost urgence regarding the resurgence of you know who, but I believe this is appropriately important.

Wormtail is alive. He was the one who caused those muggles to die without reason. Which leaves no question of Padfoot’s innocence.

I don’t know if you have kept up with the wizarding news, but he escaped from Azkaban, and is in a safe and secure location known only by the Order.

I understand if this news is too much for you to digest, but he has asked me personally for your consideration in returning to the place where everything began.

Yours sincerely,

R.J.Lupin’

—

The aftermath of your reading was a mess of shallow breaths and an elevated heart rate.

Panic.

You hadn’t felt so horrible since the day that James and Lily had died, the day one of your closest friends betrayed you and the love of your life was taken away presumably to never be seen again.

And now he was just out there? You were just adjusting to living without him, and now he was being thrust back into your life by his own doing.

He threw you away right before your house of cards toppled, and now he was trying to worm his way back into your life?

It took you almost three weeks of staring at the sheet of parchment before you made a decision, and it ended with the letter going up in flames and you watching on with a sunken expression, no tears left to cry over the man who’d ruined you.

All of those months where you’d pondered, where you’d asked yourself over and over again what might’ve happened if you’d have just not spoken to Sirius that day, if you’d just let him rest like he’d obviously wanted rather than try pathetically to lift his mood.

If it might’ve meant he would regard you as something to live for and stop him from blindly running off to avenge James and Lily without a second thought.

All of it went straight down the drain. Because you could have him back if you wanted. But you didn’t. You didn’t want to go back and see him again because the minute his name invaded your mind all you could think about was that god awful argument and it’s aftermath.

And it ripped you apart every single time.

—

“She’s not coming Pads…” Remus’ hand on Sirius’ shoulder was almost apprehensive as he gave it a soft squeeze.

It was almost three months of having to watch Sirius treat the front door like it was his lifeline, his head turning at the smallest creak of the wood in the fruitless hope that when it opened you would be on the other side.

“I know…” Sirius lets out a small, pathetic laugh as he rakes his fingers through his hair, his facade of indifference threatening to break with every breath he took. “Can’t blame me for trying though right?” His voice betrays his devastation, tone wavering and quiet, cracking when he tries to push it to sound more convicting.

“Pads…”

“I’m fine,” Sirius shakes his head with a dismissive hand, clearing his throat and blinking away the starts of tears from the corners of his eyes. “I’m gonna go get some sleep, gonna need all I can get if we’re gonna fight these sons of bitches hey?” Sirius nudges Remus with his elbow as he plays a characature of his former self, although it’s poorly executed at best.

“Yeah…” Remus consciously suppresses a sympathetic sigh that tries to escape his mouth, pressing his lips together. “Goodnight Pads,”

“G’night Moony,”

—

There’s eighteen months of radio silence before another letter is slotted through your door, and you have half the mind to burn it on sight when the familiar red seal is left face up on your patio tiling, but the handwriting on the back wasn’t Remus’, and it was definitely not Sirius’ either.

The scrawl of your address was almost unmistakably Dumbledore’s, and you were left in an emotional state of uneven limbo as you debated why he of all people would be personally sending you a letter.

Logically, you already knew the reason, but your brain chose to ignore that logic as you ripped the envelope open, only for that denial to be thrown right back at your face once the seal of the Order inked itself into the folded parchment.

You didn’t even need to read the letter to know what was inside it.

Three words.

Invitatio ad arma.

A call to arms.

You barely remember packing your bags, leaving the sense of normalcy you’d built over the past fourteen years to throw yourself back into the line of fire and more devastatingly, right back to Sirius Black.

The train ride to England almost felt like a fever dream, your body left in a state of dissociation where you couldn’t discern whether your actions were real or just a part of some vivid nightmare that you couldn’t wake from no matter how much you tossed and turned.

And by the time you reached the front door of number 12 Grimmauld Place it felt like you were right back where you started, just barely twenty one thrust into a war that could leave you in your grave at any unfortunate minute.

It felt almost foreign to you as you entered, the hallways that once proved to be your substitute home reduced to unfamiliar sights covered in dust and peeling wallpaper. There was no brass lamps to warm the sight, no picture of your closest friends on the wall, not even the mirror that had been hung beside the door had survived, reduced to a half shattered mess that hadn’t been replaced under higher priorities.

“Oh—” The slightly surprised sentiment draws you away from your almost depressing nostalgia, drawn instead towards an almost perfect capture of teenage James Potter, down to the slanted circular glasses sat over his nose bridge.

It’s enough for you to genuinely consider for a second that you’d actually stepped back in time, right into your graduation year when you were all so young and full of hope.

But it couldn’t be James. As much as your heart desperately wished it was.

“You’re another member of the original Order of the Phoenix right?” The boy takes a few steps towards you, wonder still lingering in his eyes despite the film of knowledge that cloud them. Knowledge of just how unfortunately dark the world actually is. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m—”

”Harry…” Your interruption is barely more than a breath of air as you take in the sight of one of your closest friend’s child, a child that he never got to see grow into an almost perfect replica of himself. “You look just like your father…”

There’s a mix of shock and a small amount of sadness in his expression at your statement, and it’s enough for the glimpses of Lily to shine through in his demeanour. “Thank you,”

It’s enough for your eyes to well with tears, and you blink them away with a small clearing of your throat to regain your composure in front of the boy. He didn’t need to see you cry over the fact that he looked like one of your dead friends with the personality of another. That wasn’t fair.

“It’s nice to finally meet you Harry, properly,” You extend your hand almost hesitantly as you introduce yourself, and he takes it graciously in his own with a small sympathetic smile. Being proxy comforted by a teenager, how pathetic.

“It’s nice to meet you too, my parents have good friends,” You give the boy a small nod with a small, sad smile, and he mirrors it himself in turn.

“I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve any of this,” You let your hand rest on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly in a terrible attempt at consoling the sadness riddling his expression. “You’re just a boy Harry,”

“I know,” He gives a small sigh and a more confident smile, sympathy lingering in the creases of his cheeks in a perfectly Lily fashion. “I’m sorry for your loss too, I know they probably meant a great deal to you,”

“They still do, that’s why I’m here,”

“Thank you,” He sounds more confident in his thanks this time, more determined, and the remnants of his parents continue to show on full display as his focus returns to the reason you’d arrived here in the first place. “We’re about to sit down for dinner, join us?”

“I’ll be there shortly,” You give Harry a small nod and another small squeeze of his shoulder before excusing yourself up the stairs to leave your belongings.

—

“Good evening everyone,” Your voice is taught and awkwardly flat as you push open the door to the dining room, and you stand there with your hands wrung together behind your back as your eyes flicker over the room.

There are so many people that the table is almost entirely too crowded, and a mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces in your presence, although those who do recognise you leave their seats almost immediately to greet you properly.

“It’s good to see you,” Remus reaches you first, wrapping you in a secure hug that you happily return with your own.

“It’s good to see you too, Remus, it’s been too long,”

“Welcome back, we need all of the human shields we can get,” Mad Eye’s reuinionative statement is much less heart felt, but you give him a small laugh and a “Thank you,” nonetheless.

Then there was Sirius. Stood at his chair, not daring to walk into your little bubble under fear of whatever consequences that might come from it.

He looked almost as you remembered him, but he was leaner, more gaunt, his hair more unruly and his skin even more paper-white than the almost impossibly pale complexion of his teenage years.

He was still Sirius, but he was different, and it took less than half a second of eye contact for him to realise that you were different too.

“Welcome back,” His voice is hesitant, almost catching in his throat as his brain catches up to the fact that you’re stood in front of him, less than ten feet away after all of those years he’d spent desperately dreaming of what it would feel like to have you in his arms again.

Now you were here. And you were a stranger.

“Thank you,”

Dinner progresses pretty much how you expected, a mix of awkwardly introducing yourself to the Order’s new members and horrifically failing at avoiding eye contact with Sirius from across the table.

Then the topic of interest moves to the Order’s plans, and things seem to spin into a downwards spiral all too quickly.

“We don’t have enough members to reliably be able to pull this off,” The argument was entirely valid from a logical standpoint, a weakness that quite a few of the Order seemed to have choice opinions about.

“Yeah well we’re not getting any new members are we?” Sirius leans back in his chair exasperatedly. “With the way Fudge is portraying Dumbledore and the lack of official credibility, we’re on our own here, there’s no use in waiting around,”

“I’m inclined to agree, we all know you know who isn’t going to waste any time,

“It’s reckless,” You shake your head with furrowed eyebrows. “We not ready to face something like that head on.”

“We’re never going to be ready,” Sirius shakes his head with a sigh. “We have to take action before he has the chance to build himself back to where he was all those years ago.”

“Sirius is right, we need to do something,” Sirius gestures towards Harry’s response like it’s the final nail in the coffin against your reasoning.

“Harry, sweetheart, I appreciate your enthusiasm but you don’t know the extent of what we’re dealing with,” Your voice is as gentle as it is assertive, not wanting to put him down too much but also wanting to make sure he understood the true extent of what was going on.

“He killed my friend in front of me—”

“And he’s killed dozens of ours,” You shake your head softly but firmly. “Jumping in without a plan is only going to make things worse, trust me.”

He seems more than a little shot down, but he gives you a small nod of understanding nonetheless as he backs down from his standing.

Sirius doesn’t pay you the same mind.

“So you’re suggesting we just wait in hiding for what, forever? We need to act,”

“The last time you ‘acted’, Sirius, you spent twelve years in Azkaban for it.” Your rebuttal holds none of the softness that was present when you were talking to Harry, and you can see it eroding the calcified shield behind Sirius’s eyes.

“That wasn’t my fault,” Sirius presses his teeth together to keep himself from raising his voice, his back straightening alongside his defensiveness. “At least I’m trying to do something, if you don’t want to contribute maybe you shouldn’t be a part of the Order at all,”

“I will not have this argument with you again Sirius!” His chastation seems to finally get under your skin as you rise yourself from your chair with your hands on the dining table, ignorantly ignoring the uncomfortable gazes of everyone else present as you’re forced back into that evening fourteen years go all over again.

“Okay, I think it’s time we called it a night,” Remus, seemingly the only normally functioning person at the table, rises from his chair slowly, taking your shoulders in his hands to guide you away from the group and calm you down.

“Yes right you are Remus,” Molly stands up with a nod that’s almost too enthusiastic clasping her hands together. “Off to bed, all of you,”

You can practically hear the lingering exasperation in Remus’ breathing as he leads you up the stairs and into the room he was staying in, and the second he shut the door behind you you knew what you were in for.

“You need to speak to him.”

“I know,”

“Properly.”

“I know,”

You’re sure the sigh you let out echoes across the house’s first floor, and it’s enough for Remus’ eyes to shift into displaying a concerning amount of sympathy in your direction.

“He misses you, you know,” Remus takes a seat on the edge of his bed with a soft sigh. “He said the thought of seeing you again was the only thing that got him through Azkaban,”

“Yeah well he wouldn’t’ve gone there in the first place if he hadn’t’ve been such a hot-headed twat,” You wouldn’t lie that Remus’ statement didn’t hit you a little where it hurt, but the lingering anger towards Sirius’ situation was clearly still more forefront in your mind.

“It’s a carried trait in all of us ’m‘fraid,” Remus tilts his head knowingly, and you have half the mind to roll your eyes at the clear implication of what he’s saying.

But he isn’t wrong, not really.

“You know where to find him,”

There’s a small moment of silence, then a sigh. “Do I have to?”

“The longer you wait the worse it’ll be,”

Sometimes you hate how logical Remus can be.

With another sigh and a loll of your head, you reluctantly stuff your hands in your pockets and turn towards the bedroom door, muttering a soft—and only half genuine—“thanks,” in his direction as you leave.

The wooden door that barricaded you from the former love of your life felt more like steel than anything else. Tall, dark, and intimidating to the point where you couldn’t even consciously lift your hand to knock against it under the blood rushing behind your ears from how fast your heart was pounding in your ribcage.

It really shouldn’t be so scary, you’d spent weeks, months in that room when you’d originally joined the Order, yet now it felt entirely foreign to you.

Maybe it was the fact that the wood was slowly rotting away with how unkept it was. Maybe it was the knowledge of what—who—was on the other side of it. Or maybe, your mind was just so completely and utterly fucked that the idea of confronting the consequences of your own actions was more nerve-wracking than the idea of standing face to face in a death match with Voldemort himself.

You stand there staring dumbly at the door for almost two minutes, and when it opens your eyes widen like it’s a new form of magic that you’d never encountered.

Sirius halts halfway out the door, arm stretched straight with the doorknob still in hand as his face seems to go through an insurmountable number of emotions in the half-second it takes for him to realise you’re there.

You don’t say anything as you make eye-contact, head immediately ducking downward and stepping aside so that he can leave without you blocking his path, but he just stays there, staring at you like you had been the door, and it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable by the second.

You clear your throat with a feigned cough, pursing your lips together with a muttered “excuse me,” as you turn around to leave, but Sirius catches your wrist in his hand before you even manage to take the first step.

“Wait—” He loosens his grasp almost immediately after he feels a resistance, but his eyes convey just how determined he was to keep you where you were. “Let’s talk, please?”

There’s a hint of desperation in his tone, and you almost crumble on that alone, but you manage to maintain your composure with a small shake of your head and a gentle pull of your wrist from his hand. “I don’t think it’s worth it Sirius, not anymore,”

“Don’t say that, we can fix this,” Sirius mirrors your head shake with his own. “You just need to talk to me,”

“I tried talking to you Sirius, and look where it got us,” You gesture between the two of you with exasperation in your tone.

There’s a small pause where the two of you share and almost identical mask of composure over your agony.

“It just wasn’t meant to be, that’s it,”

“That’s not true,” Sirius shakes his head again, more confidently this time, and his inky black curls bounce against his shoulders like they’re trying to torment you with the memories of your fingers raking through them. “We can fix this, us, we just have to try,”

“I don’t want to argue with you anymore,” You lower your gaze away from his so you don’t have to see the heartbreak in his irises. “Especially not over this…”

“Then don’t, let’s work this out properly, like adults,” He reaches out his hand cautiously towards yours, and you flinch away as your fingers make contact. “Please,”

“Sirius…”

“I’m sorry.” Sirius lets out a heavy, pathetic breath as he retreats his hand to run it through his hair. “I am so sorry. I made the biggest mistake of my life and it cost me the person that I love more than life and I have suffered the consequences of it every day for the last fourteen years.”

Sirius lets his hands fall to his side with a start, voice beginning to tremble under the strain of his emotions as he desperately tries to voice everything that he’d bottled up over the last decade and a half before you leave him to rot in his own depression again. “I spent every hour in Azkaban imagining what it would be like to see you again, to hear your voice, to hold you and tell you that you’re the one thing in this goddamn hell that we live in that actually makes anything worth fighting for,”

The breaths between his words are shallow and weak, and your expression starts to blur as his eyes glass over with the beginnings of tears. “I love you so much, and I’m so— sorry that you had to live through everything I forced on you and I just—“ He takes a sharp, stuttering breath in. “—I need you to know that I will spend the rest of my life devoted to you, to correcting what I’ve done even if you don’t so much as spare me a glance,”

He’s not sure when the tears started running over his eyelids, but he can feel them fall in drops to dapple the ivory skin of his fingers. “And if I die tomorrow, I’ll take whatever punishment hell has to give me so that you can rest easy,”

The end of his rant is echoed by laboured breathing and a horrific attempt at muffling a sob that leaves his throat, bouncing off the walls of the hallway to settle into your muscles as you stand stationary in an astonished silence.

You’re not sure what to say. You’re not sure there’s anything you can say. How on earth are you supposed to respond to something like that? Something so desperate and raw and real?

Sirius Black, after fourteen years of radio silence, still loved you like you’d never parted.

“Sirius…”

And you’d be absolutely damned if you weren’t the same.

“I forgive you…”

It’s like a tsunami of relief ravages Sirius’ body at your words, barely a whisper escaping your mouth but invading his ear canals like a nuclear explosion, and it’s enough for that sliver of composure remaining to erode under the waves of his tears until he’s sobbing into his hands, hunched over with trembling shoulders as he lets everything go all at once.

“I’m so sorry—“

His final apology is doused in so much heartbreak it might as well rip your heart right out of your chest, and your at his side almost immediately, gently pulling his hand from his face to pull his head into your shoulder with a soft shush of consolation.

He clings to you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance to, tears damping the shoulder of your shirt and his arms wrapped so tightly around your torso you’re not sure he intends to ever let go. You’re not sure you’d complain if he didn’t.

That familiar musky scent of cigarettes and faux leather hits your nose once he’s close enough, and that’s where you break too, silent tears streaming down your face as you bury your nose in his hair.

You’re eternally grateful that everyone on this floor of the house is already asleep, either that or just polite enough not to interrupt the two of you out in the hallway, because the state the both of you were in was definitely not meant to be seen by other people.

A desolate, broken side to the two of you only trusted in the company of the other.

“Stay with me tonight, please…” His plea is barely more than a mutter against your shoulder, and you’re sure he wouldn’t even have to ask to know what your answer would be.

And so you find yourself back where you started, tangled up underneath the silky black sheets of Sirius’ bed in the warmth of his embrace, that tiny shard of your heart finally recovered and back in it’s rightful place.

Right where you belong.

[emeritusemeritus]

You think you know someone. [Fred Weasley x Reader]

Title: You think you know someone.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Timeline: OOTP- canon and timelines altered for purposes of the story. Some bits have been exaggerated for artistic purposes. Based more on the films than the books. Reader joins DA but what if instead of Cho ratting them out, it’s you?

Summary: You had everything during your time at Hogwarts- good friends, Fred Weasley as your boyfriend and a promising future, until Dolores Umbridge turns up.

Warnings: This one turned out a little dark. Mentions of injury, torture, bullying, wounds, blood. Umbridge is a bitch. Snape is a bully. Use of unforgivable curses. Punishment. Kissing, pranks, swearing. Dumbledore’s Army and resistant forces. Brief mentions of Voldemort and probable war. Pet names: baby, sweetheart, princess. Not beta read. Happy ending I promise.

Word count: 9.3k (I feel like I’ve written a novel here)

This work is gifted to @kellyxo1 thanks to the wonderful request that I couldn’t turn down! I’m sorry it’s taken me a while to get this out but it’s been a complete labour of love and I hope you like it!💕

You knew Dolores Umbridge was trouble the moment you spotted her in the Great Hall, her gaudy pink outfit and matching pink cheeks made her stick out like a sore thumb amongst the classic, muted colour pallet you knew to be Hogwarts. Her smile unnerved you, the cold expression in her eyes never once matching the infallible twisted, sadistic smile that so often painted her face. Everything about her rang alarm bells in your mind.

Fred and George had been sitting either side of you at the banquet table in the Great Hall as she took centre stage and delivered her speech about being very good friends, as ominous and foreboding as it seemed.

"That's likely," the twins had mumbled, resting their heads on their hands, elbows on the table as a small act of rebellion against the airs and graces she clearly put on. You'd subconsciously scooted closer to Fred when she stood, reaching for his spare hand under the table that he'd offered you, sensing a little of your discomfort. Fred was always acutely aware of your emotions, able to read you like a book, you supposed it was a natural consequence of being together for so long.

You'd met on the first day of Hogwarts when you'd stepped into the train compartment he shared with George, locked eyes and the rest was history. You'd been dating since your second year, both of you unable to deny the childlike crushes and stolen glances of your attraction and as you grew up, you grew together. Now you were in your last year, with big plans ahead of Fred and George's business which you'd planned to help them with initially and bigger promises of moving in together in the flat above the shop. The natural progression of a happy relationship and an exciting prospect that kept you motivated to finish school on a high.

The atmosphere at Hogwarts was different this year: understandably tense and foreboding, not just because of Cedric's death and the rumoured return of Voldemort but of the disquiet around Harry's claims and the propagandistic reporting from the Daily Prophet refuting Harry's claims. It seemed everyone was divided into wether they believed Harry or if they believed what they were reading in the media. It was evident that the ministry had worked hard to deny and deflect Harry'a claims, disparaging and slandering him publicly. Of course the arrival of a certain Pink adorned dementor didn't help things, especially when she, as new defense against the dark arts teacher, did away with the old curriculum and removed any defensive, practical teaching in favour of simple theory- which would be of no use in real life situations, of which you were all undoubtedly facing. Then the educational decrees began where she was appointed Hogwarts' high inquisitor and sought to change anything she was as unsatisfactory, backed by the ministry, which seemed to propel the whole school further and further away from what it should be teaching and how it should be preparing it's students for what was inevitably happening.

"She can't do this! It's ridiculous, George is fuming, never mind Fred," you overheard Ginny say as you were about to take a seat for dinner but quickly stopped as you gave her a questioning look, not knowing what she meant, her eyes focusing in on your frozen form.

"What?"

"You haven't seen the new decree?" She asks curiously, placing down her fork onto the plate. You shook your head briefly before walking quickly out of the hall, dinner be damned to examine the wall of decrees, trying to fix your eyes onto the new plaque on the wall.

Educational Decree No. 30: All Weasley products will be banned immediately.

You rushed upstairs to the common room, split in two minds about wether they would be there or on the quidditch pitch, trying to expel their frustrations... until you remembered that broom flying had been outlawed unless part of a lesson or during Quidditch games, as few and far between as they were coming due to the constant cancelling.

When you found them in their dorm, George was pacing the room, kicking the wooden frame of his bed after every circuit whilst Fred sat perched on his own bed, face downcast and eyes filled with anger.

You knew it wouldn't stop them, nothing ever did, but the business they forged from nothing had suffered for a while as students were afraid of the repercussions of being searched and found with their products.

"Can't sell my products, can't fly a broom, can't even kiss my own girlfriend unless I find a way to snog her from six inches away!" Fred had been furious and rightly so but there seemed to be no hope in sight.

It seemed no one was unaffected by the drastic measures Umbridge was taking and you were all facing the consequences of the increasing restrictions, in multiple ways. You'd been given detention for the stupidest things, including casting a spell to undo the jinx Malfoy had placed on Neville one afternoon, another leg lock jinx that you'd fixed for him, received another for the muggle book in your possessions and another for deigning to be within six inches of George. The punishment was cruel and twisted but you'd hidden it from Fred, knowing how protective he was and how he'd act out to retaliate against her which would only land him in worse trouble. She seemed to focus on you in particular, for whatever reason you weren't sure but she hardly hid her distaste for you publicly. Fred said it was because of your connection to him and George but you weren't sure, it seemed more personal than that.

It had been Hermione's brilliant idea to forge a sort of rebellion in order to actually learn the practical side of defence and you'd been eager to sign up after attending the first meeting at the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade, knowing that you had to arm yourself in whatever way you could, the feeling of unease at the current climate always looming overhead. You'd been pleasantly surprised by the turn out, seeing many familiar faces as you'd walked hand in hand with Fred into the small, freezing cold room as you waited for Harry, Ron and Hermione. Cho, Luna, Neville, Ginny, Michael and so many others from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had turned out to fight for the cause and as you looked around the room of friends and familiars, it was evident that this could work.

You'd signed the parchment Hermione had brought with no hesitation, lining up between Fred and Ginny, clearly marking your name under his in the pencil provided. As you walked back to the castle in a group, Fred's arm around you and his hat in your head to keep the cold away from your ears, you felt determined and inspired to make this work. You'd just need to find somewhere to practice away from the prying eyes of the inquisitor.

Then came Educational Decree No.68: All student organisations are henceforth be disbanded. Any student in noncompliance will be expelled.

This time, you weren't angered or afraid of the newly instated restriction but instead felt empowered to rebel. Neville, in a feat of brilliance, had discovered the room of requirement one Saturday afternoon as he made his way down the seventh floor corridor. It was perfect, exactly what was needed, and you'd all wasted no time in putting the room to good use.

Within just two weeks, you'd mastered disarming spells, stunning spells, hexes, jinxes and defensive charms that you'd never thought you could do. Ginny had proven herself to be incredibly skilled and you'd stood watching in amazement as two magpies flying around the room, both coming from your boyfriend and his twin. The twins had taken to placing bets, mostly against Ron, all of you in good spirits about finally being able to do magic again. You and Fred took full advantage of being shielded away from the eyes of Hogwarts and had taken to lingering in the room after the sessions so you could be close to each other, to kiss freely and be intimate again. It had seemed so long, so cruel to have to keep away from him, at least in public and as you watched him master spells so effortlessly and looking so deliciously hot as he did it, often with messy hair and rolled up sleeves, it was exactly what you needed to relieve yourself of the building frustrations.

Fun and laughter had once again returned to Hogwarts, though shielded from the regulating eyes, it was just like before. The twins had even taken to pranking again, no longer concerned by the changes, including giving Filch laced chocolates which made him erupt with giant, puss-filled boils on his face when he got too close to the scent of your secret gatherings.

Educational decree No. 82: All students will submit to questioning about suspected illicit activities.

Umbridge had began to gather students for an inquisitorial squad which would earn them credit for joining, most notably the Slytherin students that weaselled their way into Umbridge's good books. Most probably by being pure bloods. They took great pleasure in pulling up the younger students in particular for punishment or questioning and abused their powers frequently.

Then you returned to school after winter break and the news of the Azkaban breakout happened, constant storms were forecasted, Umbridge's cruel regime heightened. Everything felt so restrictive, so unnecessary, so twisted. The only place you found solace was during DA meetings when you could be yourself, free to act and perform as you wanted surrounded by your friends and boyfriend. Always alert at the imposing threat, knowing Filch was on to you all and the rest of the inquisitorial squad which only fuelled you to keep discreet.

It had been a regular day of classes until your DADA lesson where you'd been required by the toad to write an essay on the benefits of conversational reasoning as opposed to practical magic to handle disputes with half breeds and lower class species, such as centaurs. You'd almost immediately refused to write such things, particularly due to the disgusting terms used to class different species but also due to the ridiculous concept.

"I am teaching you verified way of effective communication, in which you do not have to use your wand," she defends with a sickeningly fake smirk.

"Or our brains by taking away our autonomy," you'd argued, not even under your breath.

"Are you questioning my methods of teaching miss y/l/n? By all means if you think you can do better I should like to see you try."

"Can't be hard, Professor Quirrel did a better job and he shared a head and a singular brain cell with Voldemort."

A murmur of concealed laughter burst from the students around you and for a singular moment you felt the victory of it, empowered even.

"Detention!" She's utterly outraged, her face turning a dangerous shade of fuchsia. You could feel the eyes on you, most notably your boyfriend and his twin from across the room but you didn't care. Since returning to school you'd been torn away from Fred, unable to be anywhere near each other and certainly not in a group with your friends as it would break at least three decrees. You were frustrated and had hit breaking point, anger simmering in you but why you didn't know. You'd completely had enough.

"It's a date Dolores," you said sarcastically with the sickliest smile you could muster. More snickers erupted around you and even a clap that sounded suspiciously like it came from the direction of your future brother in law.

"My office, now!" She screams, pointing with her pink tipped finger towards the door. You grabbed your stuff from the desk and walked out without a single look in anyone's direction. On your way to her office, you pulled the special coin from your pocket and checked over the date and time to check you had it right. There was a DA meeting later that evening and you'd hoped this would be over quickly so that you could still attend.

Only, that never happened. Instead you'd been tortured for hours in the cruelest of ways, repeatedly questioned over your involvement with the alleged group and had been forced to drink truth serum until the words had slipped out of your mouth. You'd had no control over it, no way of resisting any longer and with great shame, you'd told her about the room of requirement, completely unable to stop the words from coming out.

The inquisitorial squad was on you in mere moments, as soon as Umbridge had signalled them from outside the door and Malfoy's grubby hands were pulling your weak and exhausted body from the chair before you could even register the intrusion. The things you'd been through, the pain and the anguish, it was nothing compared to the fear you felt at the DA being discovered; you could only pray that you'd held out long enough so that the meeting was over.

"Where is it?!" Umbridge screamed into your face when you wouldn't disclose the exact location of the room of requirement, having already inadvertently let slip that the room was your meeting place. You gave her your darkest look, no longer feeling controlled by whatever she had obviously put in your tea. When she didn't get an answer, her hand struck you hard right across the cheek but you hardly flinched, hardly feeling the pain anymore.

"I know the way Ma'am," Filch said, his saggy face appearing around the corner creepily, his features twisting into a vulgar, perverse smile. You could hardly look at Umbridge's face as it twisted into a pleased, twisted grin as she fixed her jacket and allowed Filch to lead her. Malfoy grabbed hold of your robes tighter in his fist and you were dragged along with them until you reached the seventh floor.

You felt sick to your stomach, wanting to scream and cry, resist in anyway you could as you fought against Malfoy's hold but you were physically tired and weak. Crabbe had grabbed hold of the other side of you, your thrashing too much for Malfoy to hold down by himself and his hands were much tougher against your skin, no doubt leaving bruises in their wake. When the door to the room of requirement didn't appear, you felt hopeful that she'd realise you were lying, even if that meant horrendous consequences for you. There was no way of warning them, nothing you could do to allow them to flee, you'd have to watch as they were all caught redhanded. They'd think you ratted them out, your friends, the love of your life. You knew it was exactly what Umbridge wanted, to turn everyone against you- and she was undoubtedly going to get it.

"Bombarda Maxima," her eerily calm and squeaky voice rang out as she pointed her want at the wall. Your scream mixed in with the large bang as a giant hole was created in the wall, depris and dust flying everywhere.

When the dust cloud cleared, you were dragged off from the side viciously by Malfoy and Crabbe until you were presented in front of the Army- your friends. You didn't want to look up from your spot on the floor, still fighting against their holds on you but something made you look up. And then you met his eyes.

Fred had never looked at you that way, ever. The looks of love and adoration you'd become accustomed to over the years, the playfulness and the intimate looks, it was all gone. The look in his eyes would haunt you forever, the coldness, betrayal and the resentment and it was explicitly clear what his expression told you.

He believed that you ratted them out, believed that you could ever do that to him, to them all.

You had to look away, desperate to see any hope that someone believed you, that someone sympathised with the torment you'd endured but as your eyes travelled across to George, you stopped short. He looked furious with you, disgusted and despite everything you'd been through in the past few hours, you'd receive no sympathy or chance to explain yourself to the people you loved.

You were dragged away as Umbridge dealt with the Army, bestowing threats and punishments upon them that you couldn't hear. You no longer fought against the holds of the Slytherins but instead went willingly, feeling guilty, shame and simply dirty for your role in all of this, even if it wasn't your fault.

Members of the ministry arrived not too long after, having been alerted prior to the discovery of the DA. You couldn't look at Kingsley, much too distraught to see his look of disgust at you, no doubt planning to tell the Order what you'd done. Harry was ushered in not long after having been caught in the skirmish. His newfound hatred of you seemed to radiate off him as he stood beside you and this alone made you want to scream and cry out of frustration, tears welling in your eyes that you wouldn't allow to spill.

The final straw was when Percy walked in, without so much as a glimmer of recognition towards you and took over from Malfoy to restrain you and Harry, keeping the shoulder of your robe balled up in his hand. The minister ordered him to dispatch an owl to the Daily Prophet and he diligently nodded, trying to manoeuvre you along with him.

"Get off me Weatherby," you demanded viciously, fighting against his hold and managing to break free, only to be stopped as you all looked on in amazement as Dumbledore disappeared out of sight in a magnificent display.

You'd hoped after that, you'd be able to get Harry alone, to explain yourself to him, to tell him what had happened but he'd completely avoided you, blanked you entirely. You hardly blamed him but you needed to explain, to clear your name. Umbridge then commanded Harry to join her in the hall where the punishment was being conducted, all of the DA together.

You'd been permitted to return to your dorm after the meeting had finished but you stood outside of the hall doors, desperate to see Fred and explain yourself, hoping he could bring you at least an ounce of comfort. Your head was pounding from the pain earlier and the marks on your arms were throbbing, sore and weeping though you fought not to look at them, knowing the pain would only be worse when you saw what was tormenting you. You couldn't go to Madame pomfrey, Umbridge had made that very clear and so you suffered in complete silence until you could reach out for your friends.

You lingered outside of the door for what felt like hours, the anxiety and the nerves you felt seemingly freezing time. When the doors opened, the members of the DA began pouring out with soured looks on their faces which only heightened when they caught sight of you. It was never hard to spot Fred and George amongst a crowd, their towering height easily distinguishable amongst a sea of people.

The look on everyone's face was near identical, the disgust and the resentment evident in their eyes as they spotted you but none clearer than the twins. George looked like he detested you, his face scrunched into a look of utter distaste, eyes glaring into you as he walked past without a care. Fred looked away, ignoring your presence completely as he glided past you without muttering a single word, his face stone cold and void of expression.

"Freddie, please," you said weakly and emotionally, with tears in your eyes, turning around in the spot as he walked past you. But nothing, he didn't turn, didn't react, simply walked away without so much as a single glance.

"Harry," you implored, taking a step towards him but he too blanked you again, pushing past you and walking quickly up the steps to avoid you.

You stood alone in the cold and empty corridor, feeling more isolated and alone than you ever had and finally allowed yourself to cry. Silent tears fell down your cheeks, shoulders sagging as you cried for everything you had undoubtedly lost, for the treatment you'd received and for the pain you still felt in your head and arms. Finding a spot in a hidden corner, you finally allowed yourself to pull up the sleeve of your robe and look upon the damage that Umbridge had inflicted with her sadistic quill. It was horrendous, an onslaught of slurs and vicious words etched into your body, no doubt intentionally done to leave the scars as a permanent reminder.

You sobbed your heart out in that little nook between two cold, stone pillars as you tried desperately to heal the marks but no spell was strong enough even to numb it in your weakened state.

You eventually made your way to Gryffindor tower, stepping through the portrait and finding the common room practically deserted. You sighed and walked up the stone steps to your dorm, only to find that the door had been shut and your blanket and pillow had been thrown outside of it, a clear sign you were not welcome even within your own dorm. You were painfully exhausted and wanted nothing more than to curl up in your bed and cry into your pillow until you eventually passed out. But you didn't even deserve that.

With a heavy sigh, you collected your blanket and pillow and trudged down the steps back towards the common room, eyes blurry through a mixture of tiredness and tears. You stopped short the second you crossed the last step, seeing Fred and George step in through the portrait hole, your stomach flipping nervously as you anticipated a barrage of insults or horrible pranks, their allegiance turning from you now.

"Fred, Freddie please," you begged, dropping your makeshift bedding to walk towards him, trying to reach out for him. You paused as you saw the redness on the back of his left hand, a clearly fresh punishment, 'I must not break rules'. George intercepts immediately and barges past you, blocking you from getting to Fred as he turns his twin away from you.

"You think you know someone," George mutters as he gently nudges Fred up the stairs, sending you a vicious glare before he walks up after him, once again leaving you alone. Fred didn't even spare a single glance at you, not even to recoil away.

You curled up in a corner armchair as soon as the tears appeared, pathetically dragging the blanket over you and cried until you fell asleep in the uncomfortable chair.

The two weeks that followed were the absolute worst weeks of your life. Umbridge had stripped you of everything you loved in one fell swoop, turned everyone against you and left the place you called home feeling miserable and lonely. You deserved it, you knew that, having ratted them out. You'd antagonised her and now had to live through then consequences, as cruel and twisted as they were.

The glares from everyone you had once called friends hadn't stopped, especially from George, which hurt the most. Fred had outright ignored any effort you'd made to reach out to him, no matter how desperate you'd sounded or how hard you'd tried to make him understand. He didn't care. He believed the lie.

The first week you'd tried to take your meals with the rest of the Gryffindors but it was made abundantly clear to you that you were not permitted nor welcome to join your friends and had been cruelly banished to the end of the table, beside the first years. The second week you'd stopped attending meals at all, not able to push through the shame and embarrassment of being cast away, exiled from your group. Lessons were monotonous and any down time was utterly excruciating as you were left enclosed with the other Gryffindors, namely your ex boyfriend, though no one would make any contact with you. You'd tried to sleep in your dorm but the girls had done nearly everything to prevent you from actually sleeping, talking loudly, setting off whizzbangs inside your curtains and had even transfigured your blanket a few times to varying degrees of horrid things. At the end of the night when you were certain everyone was asleep, usually very late, you'd creep down to the common room and huddle into your uncomfortable chair to sleep, only to be woken mere hours later when the first of the easy risers woke up. Your life was hell.

"There's just something I don't understand," Hermione says as they all stand on the bridge, the golden trio, Ginny and the Twins, all wrapped up in warm clothes and sweaters as they discuss the changes put into place since Umbridge had taken over as Headmistress. Naturally, the conversation had diverted to you, something Fred was entirely displeased about. The group turn to Hermione after her words, intrigued by the change in tone. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes before opening them again, as if building the strength to say her next sentence.

"I jinxed the enrolment parchment, for Dumbledore's Army," she admits, not quite meeting the gaze of the group around her. "It was purely a preventative measure, incase we were betrayed by one of our own. The person who disclosed any secrets would be jinxed to break out in spots, to spell out 'sneak' across their forehead, so we knew who the betrayer was. Y/N didn't have that, she never even had a single spot."

"Blimey Hermione," Ron says a little breathlessly, disbelieving she'd have actually gone that far.

"I know," she says a little defensively, "I just can't work out how she got around it!"

"Maybe she wrote her name wrong? Did she know about the jinx?" Harry suggests but Hermione shook her head, at the very same time that Ginny replied.

"I was behind her, I saw her write her name. It was right."

"Maybe the jinx didn't work?" Harry suggests carefully but stops himself when he receives a forceful glare from Hermione at the very notion of her failure.

"What does it matter? She dobbed us in wether or not she's covered in spots!" Ron says rather harshly, leaning against the wooden bannister.

Fred can't listen anymore, completely overwhelmed by the conversation and the thought of you betraying them. He turns and walks off back towards the castle without so much as a word to the others, not even his twin, and ignores their calls of his name as they watch him fade into the distance.

Spotting you sitting alone in the corner of the room when he returns to the common room, he frowns to himself. He'd known you since the moment you stepped on the Hogwarts express and had loved you for nearly just as long. It was wrong to see you sat alone, so sad and without the usual spark you naturally emitted. Everyone had always been drawn to you, your humour and wit, your dazzling smile, the fact you made everyone aroun you feel comfortable and valued. Too many boys had been drawn to you for his liking but you'd never even given them the time of day, never once wavering in your loyalty to him or ever made him doubt that it was him you wanted. You'd spent years supporting him, helping him and George develop their products, cheering for him loudly at every Quidditch game and had wormed your way into the hearts of every single one of his family members. Secretly, it crushed him to see you so lonely and tired, even if he still felt the sting of your betrayal.

It didn't add up, though he wouldn't disclose this to any of the more angered members of the group, why you would do such a thing. You'd been excited to start the DA, had joined in enthusiastically, kept the secret for so long and most of all you completely despised Umbridge. He couldn't deny that he still loved you, even though he was conflicted with his feelings now, he still held out hope that this would all go away, that there was a reasonable explanation but his anger wouldn't allow him to listen. It killed him to push you away, wanting nothing more than for things to return to normal but he felt a deep sense of betrayal that he couldn't shift.

"Fred?" He heard from behind him, pulling him out of his musings making him realise that he'd been staring at you all this time as he turned towards the person addressing him. Her name was Emery Atkinson, a Gryffindor from the year below that he'd never really acknowledged or spent much time with.

"Yeah?" He replies politely though he couldn't escape the edge of irritation after being pulled away from his thoughts. He watches as the girl giggles as soon as he acknowledges her and tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Oh good I got the right twin!" She giggles, ignorant to the blank look she received from Fred. "I was wondering if you had some canary creams I could buy? My brother loves them and it's his birthday soon. Your inventions are so clever, I don't know how you and George find the time between your studies and Quidditch, it must be exhausting. You're so good as Quidditch, I always cheer you on. Plus your girlfriend, but I heard that you weren't together anymore right?"

Truthfully, Fred had only registered the first half of her speech, tuning out after Canary Creams but his attention had been drawn back at the mention of you. He can't help but feel that little stab of sadness at the mention of you, especially someone referring to you as his girlfriend, or Ex rather. In the back of his mind he wonders if you heard that, from your short distance away, he hoped not.

"I still can't believe it, why would she do that? If I was with you I wouldn't even dream of ruining it." She sounds faux-scandalised and quite frankly, rather bitchy as he reaches out to touch the sleeve of his sweater. Fred doesn't humour her and instead takes half a step back subtly, reaching to scratch the back of his head as a discreet way of getting her off.

"Er, yeah I think we have some creams leftover, I'll send George over with some later, alright?"

"Not you?" She says with a sad little face, trying out her best puppy dog eyes that have absolutely no affect on him.

"George deals with the confectionery," he says a little too quickly; which is a complete lie. "Sorry, I've got somewhere to be but I'll let him know you're interested in buying."

He breaks away, giving her a forced but polite smile and a brief, parting wave but it's awkward and he's inwardly cringing as soon as he puts his hand down. Turning to where you had been sat in the chair, he notices you've disappeared and he is instantly overcome with a wave of guilt. You'd heard it all.

—

The next few days passed in blur for Fred, his mind wandering between what he was doing and thoughts of you, like he couldn't concentrate for more than a minute. He felt so conflicted within himself, made worse by the time spent apart from you, the longing beginning to set in. He'd never really been apart from you for very long, at most only a few weeks during the summer holidays and even then you'd have sent numerous letters by now, keeping in contact as much as you could until you were back beside each other. Now it was just torture, having you so close but so far away and the knowledge that he was the one that had pushed you away only furthered his guilt and internal conflict.

Fred was in a terrible mood, battling his thoughts, surviving on very little sleep and now the threat of her sadistic punishment was the icing on the cake of a really crap day when he and George had been forced to Umbridge's office. Harry had been caught trying to use the floo, to alert the order or escape and had been caught red handed by Umbridge. Each member of the DA had been frogmarched into the office, shoved and restrained by members of the inquisitorial squad and each member looked as uneasy as the next. His stomach turned when he saw Ginny held down by Goyle and he fought to get out of Graham Montegue's hold but it was useless when Umbridge mindlessly cast a spell to subdue him.

Harry was sat in the chair in the centre of the room, the first to be questioned with Umbridge hovering dangerously close to him, her temper boiling over as she speaks frantically in his face.

"You were going to Dumbledore weren't you?" She says, leaning down threateningly in front of Harry.

"No," Harry responds.

"Liar!" She screams back and in a move that shocks each member of the DA, she pulls back her hand and slaps Harry hard around the face, the harsh sound echoing through the otherwise silent room.

She pauses for a moment, simply glaring at Harry until her face twists into a sick, twisted grin as she straightens up and composes herself, each movement carefully thought out as she turns her back to him.

"Very well, you give me no choice Potter," she says with an even cadence, her tone dangerously low. "As this is an issue of Ministry security, you leave me with... no alternative, unless Professor Snape arrives within moments."

Fred feels like he can hardly breathe, the tension and unease in the air so thick that the room feels like it's getting smaller by the second. The unpredictability of the woman before them was alarming, the dangerous undertone of her voice despite her light and breezy tone was almost scarier than his worst nightmare.

"The cruciatus curse ought to loosen your tongue," she says, adjusting her pink jacket.

"That's illegal," Hermione states in outrage but Umbridge hardly flinches. Instead, she reaches out for the photo frame of the minister on her desk and pauses briefly to look at it before turning it over and lying it down flat on the desk, so that Fudge could not see her next move. She straightens herself and extends her wand, only to stop when Snape appears by the door, his eyes fixed to her outstretched wand that was pointed directly at Harry.

"You sent for me Headmistress?"

"Snape, yes," she says, taking a step back and everyone in the room exhales, relaxing only slightly. "The time has come for answers, wether he wants to give them to me or not," she says, her eyes flicking to Harry only briefly.

"Might I suggest against the cruciatus curse this time headmistress," he says evenly and carefully, "the consequences of such an audience might be... disagreeable. In fact I would hesitate in conducting any of the prior disciplinary methods in this instance.""

This time? She'd used the cruciatus curse before? And on a student? Prior disciplinary methods? Fred thinks, did he mean the quill?

"Very well," she says after a moment of pondering, her arm falling to her side as she relents, eyes wandering over the all too familiar Quill that sits proudly on her desk before her gaze shifts back to Snape. "Have you brought the veritaserum?"

"I'm afraid you've used up all my stores, the last of it interrogating Miss y/l/n."

Snape carries on speaking but Fred doesn't hear a single word, blood rushing to his ears as his heart pounds. He feels like he's received a stray bludger straight to the chest, his stomach dropping with fresh shame, sadness and overwhelming guilt.

Suddenly it all made sense. She'd tortured you into giving out the information- the cruciatus curse, veritaserum, what else had she done to you?

He couldn't help but let out a dry sob at the information, sensing everyone's eyes on him at the news. He struggled against the holds with everything in him, needing to fix what he'd broken.

He'd believed them, so quickly, believed that you could have betrayed them like that. The pain you must have felt, the loneliness and the guilt and then after your whole ordeal he had cast you aside, pushed you away and never given you a single chance to explain.

He eventually turned to look at George who looked utterly broken by the news, his regretful inner thoughts so evident upon his face. Each member of the DA looked a mixture of guilty, sheepish and sad, realising how wrong they'd been about you and what they'd done to someone who had once been their friend, someone who had suffered so much for all of them.

The meeting seemed to go abhorrently slowly until Umbridge left with Harry and Hermione on a sort of mission based upon a quickly constructed lie and Fred didn't waste a single moment before turning around on the spot and punching Graham Montegue straight in the face as soon as Umbridge had left. Seizing the momentary upper hand, the remaining members of the DA turned on the inquisitorial squad and fired an array of jinxes and spells at them in order to get away.

"Fred, Go!" George had urged whilst stunning Crabbe, allowing Ginny to step free. Malfoy fought back but he was quickly matched by Angelina who covered for Fred, blocking the exit.

"Go, she needs you!" Angelina shouted as she sent a jinx flying towards Cassius Warrington's smug face.

Fred didn't hang about and immediately ran out of the office and towards the common room where he was praying you'd be. It was quiet on the main staircases, perhaps it seemed much quieter because of the lack of portraits and bare walls but even to the few people Fred passed, he offered no explanation nor cared about what they thought. He needed to find you.

"Y/n!" He said bursting through the portrait hole and scanning the common room for you, checking the chair you'd so often occupied but found nothing except a couple of bewildered faces at his strange outburst.

"Y/n?" He called again, walking up the stairs towards the dormitories but received no reply. In his haste, he accidentally misstepped as he climbed up to the girls dorm and nearly triggered the blocking slide to appease but fortunately managed to regain his balance and stress carefully over the path he'd taken so many times before, the secret message in the steps that allowed him to breach the rules.

He threw open your dormitory door and stopped blankly when he found nothing. Your bed looked like it hadn't been slept in, there was hardly any of your things around the bed and the room. Had he come to the wrong room?

"Fred?" Your voice said shyly from behind him and he whipped around to see you looking up at him hesitantly from near the door, holding a few things in your arms and your robe tied tightly around your chest.

"Y/n," he says with a sigh of relief, moving forwards quickly to reach out to you but once again stopping short as he noticed you visibly flinch at his sudden movement. Suddenly the overwhelming agony of guilt and regret hit him anew and he vowed to slow down, hoping not to scare you away.

"I'm so sorry," he said, voice breaking slightly as he looked at your tired, sullen face and those wide, scared eyes. He'd never seen you look so broken and it killed him.

"I didn't, I don't ," he stutters, dropping to sit on the side of your bed. "You haven't been sleeping here have you?"

There's a minor pause and he wonders if you're actually going to reply to him, if he even deserves it, until you step forward and place your things down onto the bedside table. He watches in silence, noting the large book and a few packaged bandages that slip onto the table as you gingerly take a seat beside him, your feet no longer touching the floor.

"Kind of hard to when you're banished by the rest of your dorm," you reply quietly. He can't detect the tone of your voice, expecting it to be sarcastic or unhappy but it actually sounds flat and completely void of emotion.

"The chair," he realises, "you've been sleeping in that chair?" He's slightly bewildered and profoundly ashamed now, not having clicked until now that you'd been there early in a morning and late in the night, much later than you'd ever typically stayed up before. You shrug and turn your attention away, though you're yet to actually meet his eyes.

He drags a deep breath in through his teeth, resisting the urge to hang his head low on his shoulders.

"Y/n, I am so sorry, I, I don't even have words," he says, stumbling over his words- something so uncharacteristic for him that it briefly startles you. "You didn't deserve this, even if you had told Umbridge about us, no one deserves this. We were all so shocked that it could be you, of all people. We never stopped to think of why," he pauses again, steadying himself. "Snape admitted what she did to you, she tried to use it on Harry but he stopped him."

"But the quill was broken? How could she use it on Harry?" You say, finally looking up with a look of complete confusion.

"What quill?" Fred asks, completely lost himself, "the black quills? I meant the cruciatus curse, she, I mean she, on you, didn't she?"

Your silence says everything and he has to close his eyes and steady his breathing at your silent confirmation.

"What quill?" Fred feels a little bolder now and reaches for you but you pull your arm back and place it in your lap, trying not to wince as you catch the healing scars. "This one?"

He holds out his hand and shows you the faint markings from his punishment, 'I must not break rules' barely visible now. He frowns when you shake your head but don't offer any other explanation. He's frustrated that he's not getting anywhere but it's internal and he knows it's not your fault, he just wishes he could help, or go back in time and fix everything.

"Tell me, please," he says, keeping his eyes locked in the side of your face, trying to urge you to look at him. "What happened in that detention?"

"It doesn't matter," you say quickly, hopping down off the bed and stepping over to your trunk to get a fresh shirt from the laundry pile, knowing it would need changing. "I've got to shower."

You go to turn away but Fred lunges for you and grabs your arm to stop you from leaving, making you cry out in pain as soon as his fingers make contact with the tender skin. As soon as the shock wears off, he frowns, looking down at your arm before looking up to your face, seeing tears falling down your cheeks.

"Please baby, please just tell me," he says, voice breaking as his own tears well up in his eyes.

"She told you about the veritaserum?" You ask, assuming anyway and Fred nods. "Then you know what you need to know."

"No, I don't," he says quickly, trying to think of ways to stop you leaving without hurting you. "She used an unforgivable curse on you! Gave you truth serum, you cried when I touched your arm and you have bandages on your bedside table, please just tell me what happened!"

"Fine," you say, pulling your arm back. "You want to know? She tried to force it out of me, tried to get me to drink the stupid tea but I wouldn't. When that didn't work she pulled out that little stupid quill and wrote anything she wanted all over me. You wanted to know about the bandages? Fine," you said viciously, clawing at the fastening of your robe. Underneath was your once crisp, white shirt that had a considerable amount of red blood staining the sleeve. You didn't stop undressing, all but ripping the buttons away as you fought to show Fred what was underneath.

Bandages littered your forearms, with blood oozing out the sides. Fred's frozen as he looks at the bandages on your body, sick to his stomach already.

"Did you know Snape is a skilled occlumens? I didn't, I do now. So after she was playing with that sadistic little quill, writing whatever she wanted into my skin, he enters my mind and shows me every single fear I've ever had, every nightmare. But I didn't say a word, not a single fucking word. Do you know what it's like to have visions forced into your own mind of your boyfriend dying in front of you repeatedly, over and over until you start to go mad? All whilst your skin is slashed open just to get you to talk? Only it didn't work, so she dropped the quill and picked up her wand. I've never felt closer to death in my life but still so far away from it. But I wouldn't talk. So she forced veritaserum in my mouth and I couldn't stop it, she got what she wanted no matter what I'd fought for. And the best part? They don't heal, not truly. Nothing I do stops it, like a constant reminder of what happened."

"Princess," Fred chokes out, tears streaming down his cheeks, fighting to hold back his sobs at your words.

"No, not princess," you say sternly, emotions all falling from your face. "Not anymore."

"Please, I want to make this right, anything I can do, I want to support you," he says, nearly begging. "I have to make this right, I can't lose you."

"No."

Your voice is harsh and stern, your face expressionless again. "You believed them so easily, you all did. You believed I could do that to you, without hesitation. You didn't let me explain, never even looked at me because you were so certain that I could have done it. I've been exiled, banished and forgotten by all of you I called friends without a single thought. So you and your stupid brother and the rest of Dumbledore's friggin army can go fuck yourselves, it's not my fight anymore."

Fred flinches as the door slams shut behind you and he's left to sob openly, his devastation consuming him. Eventually when he returns to his own dorm, George says nothing upon seeing his twin's stricken face and his curtains fully closing around the bed.

The next morning, Fred has already left the dorm by the time George wakes up and doesn't see him at all around the common room or the hall, though he's not surprised. But when he doesn't show to his lessons, George worries and goes in search for his twin with increasing worry. Eventually, he finds him in the library, pouring over an array of books from the restricted section, most of them about healing spells and anatomy.

"Freddie?"

When Fred looks up with red rimmed eyes and an intense look in his eyes, it's clear to George that Fred hadn't slept. "Whatever it is, let me help."

One week. It took one week of endlessly pouring over book after book until they finally found options.

It's early morning on a Saturday when Fred creeps down to the common room was before the sun has risen, seeing you hunched over in your chair. Angelina had told him that they'd apologised profusely to you and had accepted you back with open arms back to the dormitory but you'd simply walked away and carried on sleeping by the fire, not yet willing to forgive them for the treatment you'd endured.

"Y/n, y/n, wake up," he says quietly, carefully touching your shoulder, trying to avoid anywhere that he had seen bandaged.

"Freddie?" You ask sleepily and his heart soars with hope at the noise, the familiarity of it abs the softness of your voice so heartwarming.

"I have something to show you, me and George," he says lightly, waiting for you to wake up.

"Told you both to get fucked," you mumble, squashing any hope he had, but he perseveres.

"Just this once prince-y/n, please," he says quietly. You open your eyes, seeing him still dressed in his pyjamas, pleading with his eyes and looking so vulnerable that you relent and agree to whatever he had planned. Throwing back the blanket, you surprise a groan at the stiffness in your neck and diligently follow him back up the stairs towards his dorm, accepting his hand as he guides you. Your hand fits perfectly into his, just as it always had.

"Where's Lee?" You say as you walk into the dorm room, seeing only George who gives you a small but timid smile.

"Bunking with Ron," Fred says somewhat vaguely, gesturing for you to sit on his bed. The room looks exactly as you remember albeit slightly less dishevelled than you'd experienced previously, but you don't mention anything. Fred takes a seat beside you and George moves forward, grabbing a book from the chair beside his bed.

"We don't know if this will work," George says.

"But it's better than nothing," Fred finishes, gingerly reaching out for your hand.

"What?"

"The wounds," George says gently, "Fred told me, we just want to make them better. Might not get rid of them completely but it's worth a shot."

"Found this in an old healing book, it's a counter curse for wound healing by curse," Fred says, taking the book from George to show you. "Figured Umbridge's quill must have been cursed so this might work. Please let us help."

All it takes is a nod from you, albeit slightly hesitant but truthfully there was no one you trusted more than the twins, before at least.

You could hardly look them in the eyes as you pulled away the bandages, the vile words etched into your skin by her personal sadistic quill. You heard George inhale at the deepest cut along your inner right forearm but didn't react, knowing it would be shocking to anyone.

"Take my hand, if it hurts too much all you have to do is squeeze and we'll stop, okay baby?"

Biting down on your lip to stifle your cries, you hold Fred's hand tightly as George begins to cast the counter-curse, each of you watching on with rapt attention and slight amazement as the cuts begin to slowly knit together. It was working.

You whimper as he works over the deepest, the same one Fred had accidentally caught the week before and Fred's hand squeezes yours automatically for support.

"You're doing so well sweetheart, it'll be over soon I promise," he says quietly in your ear, comforting you in anyway he could.

After the last cut is sealed, George immediately drops down to sit onto his bed, his concentration and energy depleted from focusing so hard. You can't believe it as you look down at your arms, no longer seeing blood and only able to see the faintest of marks and redness where the wounds had once been. Only then do tears begin to fall from your eyes as you launch yourself towards Fred, throwing your arms around him in appreciation. He steadies himself after a moment of being caught off guard and holds you tightly against him, shushing you gently as you cry. His arms wrap around you so perfectly, so protectively and his smell comforts you like to no other, exactly as you remember.

"You did so well, so well, it's okay baby," he coos into your ear. You pull apart slowly and immediately walk over to George, pulling him into a hug though it's a lot less intimate.

"Thank you both so much," you sniffle.

"You're welcome," they answer at the same time, making you smile.

"We've missed you," George says after a moment. "I'm so sorry for what you went through and for what I said. I should have known it wasn't your fault, you've been my best friend for so long and I'm so ashamed of myself for how easily I believed her over you, that should never have happened."

"And you know how sorry I am," Fred says, walking over to you and kneeling down until he's directly in front of you.

"You're the best thing that has ever happened to me and I was an idiot for ever thinking it was you. I know things can't ever go back to how they were before, but I love you so much that I can't lose you. Seeing you hurting almost broke me and I know that you might need time or never see me again but you need to know exactly how I still feel about you."

"It's not just you," you say in reply, heaving out a long breathe, "I pushed people away."

"We deserved it," George says.

"Baby," Fred says gently, getting your attention. "I don't know how to fix this or how to make things better, but I'll do anything. I was an idiot, a complete git but I'll spent the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. Please say this isn't ruined."

For the first time since the incident, you allow yourself to feel hopeful that things could get better, that Fred could love you again. Sat surrounded by the two people you loved most in the world, you finally felt the love and protection you'd been needing since that awful night.

"I want that," you say quietly, picking at the blanket under your fingers, "I just want things to just go back to normal." You raise your eyes up to Fred's to see him smiling back at you, clearly pleased with your words.

"Well, let's start with this then," he says with a mischievous smirk, leaning towards you painfully slowly as if he's giving you plenty of time to say no or push him away. His soft lips press against yours gently and you can't help but feel a warmth spread all over your body, almost like you were defrosting and returning back to you're usual self. His hand reaches up to cup the side of your jaw and you're certain you can feel a fear hit your cheek, though it doesn't come from you.

The next morning, you walk hand in hand with Fred into the great hall for breakfast and sit right back at the centre of the table with your friends. You assume Fred or George had threatened them not to say anything as everyone around you acts normal, pretending the previous weeks didn't exist, though one by one they all apologised to you, most notably Ron and Harry. Ginny thought you were badass for everything you'd been through, not relenting even though you'd been tortured into eventually revealing the secret. Hermione had apologised so eloquently and thoroughly that you both ended up crying in the common room as she explained about the jinxed parchment and how she'd held out hope that it hadn't been you.

Each person made it up to you in anyway they could, admitting their mistakes and regrets and though you would probably never forget, you chose to forgive.

Taglist requests

@ferntv

@aigowen

@that-lame-ghoul9000

@jules-with-stars

@sleepiemocha

@seppys-return-to-madness

@wtvbabes

@the-mrs-malik-styles

@cedslover

@nisapoosworld

@dashhhhkaaa

@ghostlytv

@nerdymesss

@costheticbabe

@cliffburtonscig

@lildrunkjkk

@levylovegood

@jewelsrules

@jphxnix

@asuperconfusedgirl

@staceys-moms-thighs

@nighttimewrites

@egghasnoleg

@mel119g

@angelrioter

@minatozsana

@quinny921

@blahhh819

@comicgollum20

@moonieseyelash

@marisimps

@xslashers

@70s-chic

@shadyunknowncreation

@rockabieesstuff

@moon-2424

@chx-la

@malenk

@jimmywoosimp

@soulessfictionaddict

@twistedlaces1909

@brookiecookiez0

@nightowlgirl

@fiathefirst

@football1921

@in-the-middle-of-the-sadness

@rk-ceres

@kisses4fred

@apolloleprince

@slashersimpshadow

@slytherinambitious

@screamingoverfiction

@rhunew

@tomhockstetter7-111

@hagridshaircare

@ellouisa17

@fonderaura

@clemlament

@jennapancake

@murderisfunlol

@ohantonia

@storytime-20

@guavacookie23

@satansdarlin

@smartoneamia

@littlelillysjs

@victorylr

@nanamisfootrest

@nulixity

@03michi01

@deadgirlsrunning

@wzardweasley

@katarinealbers

@catarinemirandax

@moon-shu

@bob1234567908

@tommysaxes

@hayleygray08

@skivingsnackbox

@slashersimpshadow

@smholbrook

@bbybunnyxxx

@thatonepersonwhocantwrite

@heyareyoulistening

@buskuitsssss

@now-that-we-dontalk

@xluanstuff

@lunacurlclaw

@jelloangela

@distortedfrog888

@justromaaa

@maeganme

@havenater1920

@weasleywheezer

@whotfskai

@zvummyummy

@rogertaylorsgrippers

@fandom-taylor

@justwannaread12

@foreverthemaraudersera

@sonnysshine

@superduckmilkshake

@tkyemfk

@megablonde22

@feralasteria

@s1xthirty

@thatoneuchiha

@agaypurpletoaster

@fudge13

@honeysucklepotter

@crazycat-ladys-blog

@yanqiiuver

@winisposts

[awyeahitssam]

“Expulso!”

The force of the magic slammed him through one wall and into another, and Harry could not breathe. It felt like the time Dudley sat on top of his chest, pressing all of the air from his lungs. He gasped and choked to no avail, the sensation of breathlessness more distressing than the stars dancing before his eyes and the ringing of his ears. 

He was dying, dying, dying.

After a too-long moment Harry managed a shuddering inhale, getting a lungful of concrete dust for his troubles. He doubled over, coughing violently. His wand. He needed his wand.

His right arm was screaming in pain, and Harry squinted through hazy eyes to find a bone sticking out of it at a decidedly odd angle, having ripped through his shirt and robes. Harry had a half-hearted thought of relief that Lockhart wasn’t here to vanish all the bones, which was strange because he should be focusing on the fact that he still couldn’t breathe properly. 

He blinked blearily and twitched his left hand with a desperation that had his wand—blessedly whole—slapping into it. Harry wasn’t used to casting with his off hand, but he was still able to twist it enough to cast a bubble-head charm. 

The spell was silent, because he had no breath for words and no time to think that he couldn’t manage. He had to.

Harry gasped again, this time into a clean pocket of air, and the panic receded a little more at the hard-won oxygen. The pulsing of his temples began to ease on his next breath, but the world still looked too-bright and decidedly crooked. 

“My Lord,” came a smooth, even voice, “shall I take his wand?”

Harry’s eyes focused slowly on the two figures in front of him as his fingers tightened almost compulsively around his wand. His.

“Let the child learn his lesson in full first,” said Lord Voldemort generously. 

Harry swallowed around a dry mouth, glad to taste no blood. At least he hadn’t bitten his tongue or gotten any teeth knocked loose. He inhaled deeply again, revelling in his ability to do so, though the motion made him notice an ache in his sternum as well. Bruised ribs, maybe?  

‘Lesson?’ Harry wondered blearily, a few beats too late. 

Though perhaps he said it out loud, because Voldemort replied, “That you are no match for Lord Voldemort.”

Of course he wasn’t. What a stupid point to try and make. He was fifteen. He barely knew any magic at all. Voldemort had been given decades to learn, versus Harry’s five years. Any competent adult—and wasn’t that an oxymoron—could easily outmatch him, nevertheless a Dark Lord. 

“Well,” Voldemort’s voice came dryly, “you have more sense than I expected, having been raised on Dumbledore’s knee.”

Harry let out a vague approximation of a laugh. He hadn’t known Voldemort had a sense of humour. Dumbledore couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as him. They’d spoken—what, six times since he was eleven? Dumbledore hadn’t so much as looked his way the entire year. 

Not that Harry exactly wanted his attention. He was still angry with the Headmaster for that stupidity with the Triwizard Tournament, and his assault after returning from the Graveyard, and the resulting announcement made (on Harry’s behalf, as if he had any right to speak for him) that Voldemort was back. Really, Harry could have avoided a year of carving ‘I must not tell lies,’ into his own hand if it wasn’t for Dumbledore deciding to tell the world about Voldemort’s resurrection. 

Or maybe not, if Umbridge was one of Voldemort’s and he’d told her to torture Harry for revealing his return. Who knew? That would certainly have been a neat, simple solution. The woman was prejudiced enough to be on par with Malfoy, and he was a Death Eater. But if being prejudiced was the only qualifier to being a part of Voldemort’s army, or movement, or whatever the hell it was, then everybody would get an invite. Dudders could be a Death Eater; make his parents proud. 

“He has quite a mouth on him, My Lord.”

Wow, how observant. Snape would love this guy. 

Was Harry concussed? That was weird. Normally if he was concussed he stayed very, very still and quiet until he was able to sleep and his magic saw him to rights. If he got talkative with a head injury, the Durlsey’s would’ve probably dropped him at an orphanage like they always threatened, or maybe just left him in the middle of nowhere in hopes that he’d drop dead.

“What nonsense is he blubbering about?” the voice said again, and the trace of discomfort was slight but obvious to a boy who had been forced to pick up on such subtleties to survive. Did he not like to hear about the fact that some kids did not get coddled?

Did Death Eaters coddle their kids? Like, as a whole? Draco Malfoy had definitely been coddled; he acted just like Dudley, if not as stupid. He’d definitely grown up with a bed and food and people that would say ‘yes’ to his whims. He just had that sense about him.

Not that Harry wished that the boy hadn’t grown up with that stuff. Harry wouldn’t be intentionally cruel enough to hope for that. Just, he didn’t have to rub it in people’s faces so much. Then again, the brat would have to have manners or something not to do that, and with each passing day Harry was becoming increasingly sure that no witch or wizard actually possessed any matter of manners at all. Everyone was so rude, all the time. Well actually Riddle hadn’t been rude at first, but then he sicced a basilisk on Harry, which was not only rude but also attempted murder. 

Wait, where was he again? Oh. Halfway into the wall he had flown into after bursting through the first. Attempted murder again. That made sense.

The only question was, why was Voldemort so bad at actually murdering him? That had to be a little embarrassing. Oh wait, no, ‘lesson’. The man wanted to teach him something. Harry wondered if he wanted to be a good student for the Dark Lord, or if he’d rather just decline the opportunity. So far, he taught like a muggle.

“A muggle?”

Ouch. Harry’s scar hurt more than his arm; how did Voldemort do that? Harry needed to learn so he could hurt the man right back. Fairs fair.

A finger pressed cruelly into Harry’s brow, right over his scar. It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurtithurt!

“Just like a muggle,” Harry gasped out. Physical violence. Just like Vernon. Voldemort. Vernon. Maybe everyone in the world who had a V-name was the worst.

Cold fingers felt surprisingly nice against Harry’s overheated face. The pain of his scar ebbed abruptly, leaving a dizzying confusion in its wake. Harry might throw up sometime soon.

“Would you like non-physical violence, boy?” Voldemort asked.

Harry carded through the options. Isolation and containment. Starvation. Maybe mental violence, the kind that Snape preferred. Verbal violence of Petunia’s ilk seemed a bit below the Dark Lord, but then her words about how much of a worthless, unnatural freak Harry was did circle his head to this day, so there was no doubt that kind of thing was effective. Just, probably it would’ve been effective if Voldemort had started before he could remember like Petunia had. 

“Do you have a non-violent option? Or is there a box I can check to be killed quickly? Is this a survey? I would rate your services as abysmal. Or wait. Uh. Troll. That’s it, right? Yeah. Bad… bad grade. Probably your first. You’ve failed pacifism. A truly bleak thing for a Dark Lord. You have my greatest sympathies. Surely this will hurt your future career options and they’ll have to lower your salary.” 

Are revolutionaries paid? Or does Voldemort take his own payment? What would be a suitable payment for a Dark Lord? The bodies of his opposers? But then, all his opposers are magical, and didn’t Riddle have that Magic is Might thing? Or was that just something he said? The man had ordered the death of Cedric, who had been the most worthy of age wizard at Hogwarts according to the cup. Apparently Cedric’s completely attractive competency hadn’t mattered, because Voldemort hadn’t hesitated to kill one of the brightest of a generation when a stunner and memory charm could’ve worked just as well. 

Then again, he’d wanted to kill a baby, once, and the death toll of the last war had officially been tallied at one-hundred and seven magicals, after Harry’s parents, so obviously he could care less if he was decimating their population, so long as he got to rule the world or whatever. 

“Potter, do shut up.”

Huh? Had Harry been talking?

“Rambling,” the voice of the oddly not simpering sycophant chimed in helpfully. 

Well. That was something. Normally Harry went very quiet when he was concussed and waited for his magic to—oh. His magic. Harry had magic. What had he done last summer, when Sirius was no longer an adequate threat? He could probably just… 

Harry looked down to see his wand in his left hand. He set it down very gently, then stared blankly at said hand for a long, long moment. Then the air around it began to do that cute little vibrating thing that his magic would do when it hadn’t been let out for long enough, because of the stupid Dursley’s, and the stupid rules, (why the fuck weren’t students allowed to use magic at all over the summer? Didn’t it make them feel like they were going to burst apart with all the suppressed energy? It was near painful sometimes unless Harry found some way to use it, which invariably the Dursely’s gave him.) 

A hand grasped over his wrist and held him at bay. “Do not do whatever you are considering, you stupid, reckless child—”

Harry was a child, and he had chosen to be reckless when he had chosen Gryffindor over Slytherin, so he let his wrist spark with electricity that was enough to get the touch away from him. Why did people always feel so entitled to touching him? He shivered in revulsion even as he placed his hand to his head and let his eyes fall shut.

His magic went to work, effective as always. This was only the second time it hadn’t waited until Harry was asleep. That was very nice of it.

“Thank you,” he told it quite seriously, in the middle of its work. It buzzed against his temple, a current of energy, and Harry quieted and let it continue.

When Harry re-opened his eyes, his vision was not blurry, his head not pounding, and the world not an unsteady bouquet of water colours with a diagonal slant. When he opened his eyes, he met the red gaze of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and swallowed.

“Oh. Just… lovely. Hi?”

The man behind the Dark Lord snorted. Harry spared him a glance—no features were visible beneath his cloak and mask. 

Harry’s throat worked around a swallow. “Fancy seeing you here,” Harry offered, and then set his hand on his arms, because why not, and winced when his bone snapped back into place. 

Ithurtsithurtsohshit. 

Voldemort’s eyes were gleaming with an odd sort of hunger. “I wonder if you will be so eager to talk now, Harry Potter? Tell me… when was the last time you encountered me treating you politely?”

Voldemort didn’t know about the Chamber?

Harry swallowed. “Okay,” he said.

Voldemort stared. “Just like that.”

 “It’s not like I’m opposed to you knowing. I thought you already knew, but apparently you and Tom Riddle weren’t as connected as he implied. Though, you know, if you want me to spill all, you should at least say please.”

Harry’s scar ached, but his arm didn’t any more. Unlike his ribs. “Pardon?”

“You would actually prefer to use Crucio than say please,” Harry noted. “That says mildly concerning things about you, you know. Common courtesy—Troll.”

“He’s stalling,” the Death Eater noted, when Voldemort moved as if for his wand. 

“Of course I am,” Harry rebutted. “He’s clever; you should keep him around to control your terrible temper.”

Why was Harry doing this? Was he waiting for a rescue that would never come, or an opening that was twice as unlikely given the multitude of people involved. 

The Death Eater laughed, and Harry saw a flash of green light. Heard his mothers scream. 

“Oh,” he said, eyes going a bit wide. “There’s two of you.”

Both figures went unnaturally still. “Why would you say that?” The cloaked Voldemort asked. 

Harry tilted his head. “Your laugh,” he said simply. “Your voice is different, but your laugh is the same. Also, you’re not nearly frightened enough of ‘Your Lord’’.”

The cloaked figure hummed, then lowered his hood. “Clever boy,” he said lightly, eyes just as intent and intense as Voldemort’s own, though they were dark rather than bright. His hair was curly, Harry noticed, longer than Tom had kept it when he was in school, though this man didn’t look very old at all. He still had his nose, though his cheekbones were sharper than they had been as a boy, and unlike Voldemort he had lips as well. Harry catalogued these differences with some interest. The evolution of Voldemort, he thought vaguely.

“Technically,” he adds, as he finishes taking the other Dark Lord in, “I’d be doing the both of you a favour by sharing the story of my Second Year.”

His implication was clear. He wanted two pleases. 

“You’re positively suicidal, aren’t you?” the human Voldemort murmured. “Very well, Harry. Please tell me about the circumstances surrounding your encounter or encounters with Tom Riddle, as well as the encounters themselves.”

Harry watched him thoughtfully. “What are you going by?”

“Marvolo,” the cloaked man answered easily. 

“Marvolo,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Your middle name. Tom wrote it in the air for me—rearranged the letters to spell,” he gestured to Voldemort with his newly healed arm. It didn’t so much as twinge. He was more than a little impressed with his magic. 

“How did you take the revelation?” said Voldemort, something cruel in his voice. 

Harry's lips quirked. "I told him he was nothing special," Harry admitted easily. "I told him Dumbledore was the greatest wizard in the world. Mostly, I just wanted him to shut up. He kept asking questions,” he allowed his gaze to drift over both of them, mouth speaking absently even as calculations flashed through his mind. How was he going to get out of this unscathed? There had to be something… some way… 

“He was desperate to know about the night you lost your body,” he told Voldemort. “He thought I would have the answers, somehow. I told him it was my mum. Muggleborn,” he informed Marvolo, in case he didn’t know. Harry’s lips curled in amusement. “He didn’t like that very much. Went on and on about how alike we are. Then he decided it was luck and chance that had saved me, said I was nothing special, and called the basilisk.”

“Maybe I proved him wrong when I killed it and then shoved a basilisk fang into the diary.”

Rage bloomed in two sets of eyes, but it was Voldemort that hissed, “You what?”

“Well, I was dying too at the time,” he defended. “I’m nothing if not spiteful. If I died, I was going to take him with me.”

“Yet here you are,” Marvolo said with clear menace. “Apparently you did not get close enough to death.”

Harry watched him, unimpressed. “The diary wasn’t the only thing that got stabbed with a basilisk fang.”

“You lie,” hissed Voldemort, redrawing Harry’s gaze as if he’d ever truly lost it. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s the liar, here? My parents died begging you for mercy?”

“Didn’t they? Your father begged for his wife's life, and yours. Your mother for yours alone.”

Harry’s lips pressed tight. “Really fucked yourself, didn’t you? You told my mum ‘very well’, when she begged to trade her life for mine. You agreed. You didn’t think she was powerful enough to form an unbreakable vow without the official bindings? You would think you would be smarter than pureblood rhetoric when you’re hardly pure yourself.”

“That's it?” Marvolo murmured, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You couldn’t tell me that?” He glanced at Voldemort, then straightened. “You didn’t know.”

Harry felt the silent chastisement in the words. ‘How is it that a child realised what you didn’t?’

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

i get that the blitz basically shapes your characterisation of tom, but the way jkr has dumbledore treat tom in canon makes it seem like... did she just not realise he was growing up during ww2? i just FEEL like she intended to make it seem like oh, he only wants to stay at hogwarts because he has no family at home, not because hes literally getting BOMBED 😭

The absence of the cultural impact of WWII in Harry Potter is weird and a constant mystery to me. It's not just Tom's backstory (being set in a period and from a place where this is very relevant) but the entire story for that matter.

Could be she just didn't want to include any of it/didn't want to get into it at all. Which is fair because this is a children's fantasy series that's deliberately set in the 1990's and not about the war (vs. Chronicles of Narnia where Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe is deliberately set on the premise of "children are sent out of London to mysterious countryside house they've never been to and are exploring" or Bed knobs and Broomsticks which has pretty much the same premise of "children sent away to mysterious household where woman turns out to be a witch")

Except that she then goes on to make very strong parallels between the Death Eaters/Muggle-born Registration act and the Nazis, Dumbledore and Churchill, etc.

So... it feels like she kind of forgot the whole part where Britain was under severe threat of invasion (army across the channel, submarines in the channel) as well as the bombing campaigns particularly against London and how much of the city was destroyed and many people died.

I haven't read any interviews, but this woman is awful with dates and history to begin with so... I'm left wondering if JKR either didn't know. Somehow. Or forgot. Somehow. Or got her dates wrong. Somehow.

The treatment of Tom Riddle definitely seems to be she intended just "oh he's a poor orphan who feels Hogwarts is his home and wants to stay because of that" to parallel with Harry who also wants to stay over the summer and is told no and not, well, de bombs. (Added to this that Dumbledore/JKR never tells us where Tom is sent during the war. Dumbledore implies Tom was just chilling at Wool's the whole time.)

[sideprince]

Do you have any thoughts on how Snape would have acted if Harry had been sorted into Slytherin? While I can’t help but feel that there would be a part of him who would want to joyously gloat about James Potter’s son ending up in Slytherin, I can’t help but wonder if he wouldn’t still hold a mountain of resentment that would be incorrectly targeted towards Harry? Do you have any thoughts on this? Thanks!

I think one of the key aspects of Snape and Harry's relationship is that they don't really know each other and don't get a chance to. If you look at how the rest of the staff treat Snape, there seems to be respect for him and while I'm not sure how many of his colleagues actively like him, they certainly don't dislike him. We see this in how the rest of the staff treat teachers they don't like, such as Lockhart and Umbridge:

...Dumbledore announcing that, unfortunately, Professor Lockhart would be unable to return next year, owing to the fact that he needed to go away and get his memory back. Quite a few of the teachers joined in the cheering that greeted this news.

-Chamber of Secrets, Ch. 18

The upshot of it all was that Professor Umbridge spent her first afternoon as headmistress running all over the school answering the summonses of the other teachers, none of whom seemed able to rid their rooms of the fireworks without her. When the final bell rang and the students were heading back to Gryffindor Tower with their bags, Harry saw, with immense satisfaction, a disheveled and soot- blackened Umbridge tottering sweaty-faced from Professor Flitwick’s classroom.  “Thank you so much, Professor!” said Professor Flitwick in his squeaky little voice. “I could have got rid of the sparklers myself, of course, but I wasn’t sure whether I had the authority...”  Beaming, he closed his classroom door in her snarling face.

Order of the Phoenix, Ch. 28

This leads me to think that since the staff have had some opportunity to get to know Snape, even if it's superficially (given how guarded he is), their treatment of him indicates that he's not as terrible and repugnant as characters like Harry make him out to be. And while it's possible that they were deferential to him because he can be intimidating, I don't really see a bunch of talented, established Hogwarts professors cowering. After all, Umbridge had more authority than Dumbledore and even fired a staff member, but the rest of the teachers didn't seem to be affected by whether or not they were intimidated by her. They also literally took on Voldemort and his army to protect the school.

The reason Snape is able to project so much of James onto Harry is because they don't know each other outside of the classroom. This is the same reason why Harry is able to resent Snape so much. We see a chink in both their armors during Occlumency lessons in OoTP, as Harry shows curiosity and Snape encourages it, but before they can start to get a fuller picture of one another as people, Harry wrecks it by invading Snape's privacy when he goes into the pensieve. It's integral to the plot - and the big reveal at the end of DH - that these two characters maintain a resentful distance.

If Harry had been sorted into Slytherin, they would have had more of a chance to get to know each other. The same way Harry was told by other Gryffindors as soon as he started school that Snape was strict, mean, and played favorites, if he'd been sorted in Slytherin he would have been influenced by their bias in the other direction, ie. in favor of Snape (and potentially against McGonagall given the rivalry with Gryffindor). Whatever resentment Snape had against James would have had an opportunity to soften over time as he inevitably got to know Harry better.

By his fifth year Harry would have been sitting down with Snape, not McGonagall, to discuss his career ambitions, and as his head of house Snape would have known Harry enough to advise him. We see throughout the books that heads of house like McGonagall pay attention to students even if they don't interact with them all that much directly. Had Snape had the opportunity to do so with Harry, and had he been motivated by his role as his head of house to defend him where necessary, he would have gotten to know Harry as an individual enough that whatever of James that rested in Harry's facial features would have fallen by the wayside.

That's only one part of how Snape relates to Harry, though. He's vocal about James, his friends, and his hatred of them, but he never mentions Lily once. We know Snape is a guarded man who frowns on wearing your heart on your sleeve:

‘I told you to empty yourself of emotion!’ ‘Yeah? Well, I’m finding that hard at the moment,’ Harry snarled. ‘Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!’ said Snape savagely. ‘Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked so easily - weak people, in other words - they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!’ ‘I am not weak,’ said Harry in a low voice, fury now pumping through him so that he thought he might attack Snape in a moment. ‘Then prove it! Master yourself!’ spat Snape.

-Order of the Phoenix, Ch. 24

So it's no surprise that he doesn't mention Lily. He protected Harry at risk to his own life for the sake of honoring Lily's sacrifice. Clearly their friendship meant the world to him and left an impact, and because it's so tied up in emotion for him, Snape never talks about it. He isn't the kind of man to show emotion willingly, as we know. He smirks, he speaks softly when angry, he hisses, and he only loses the tight grip he has on expressing his feelings when he's triggered. There's a fair bit of information on the page about his relationship with James and how he feels about it, and how much of it he projects onto Harry (though I think that diminishes significantly from OotP on, especially after Sirius' death), but nothing at all about Lily except in his very private moments with Dumbledore.

What's even less straightforward is how much of Lily he sees in Harry. I wonder whether this was intentional on the author's part, but I'm curious whether Snape might get angry when Harry sasses him and talks back because his personality is so much like his mother's. So while there isn't much to go on, I think it's interesting to consider whether if Harry had been sorted into Slytherin, Snape might not have seen more of Lily in him given the opportunity to get to know each other a bit, and whether he might not have appreciated that about him.

[saintsenara]

In Marauder era (or 1st Wizarding World era) fics, all the characters that we know from the actual books/movies (i.e., The Marauders + Lily, the Malfoys, Bellatrix, etc.), or just characters that are more known, are all put in Hogwarts together at the same time, and it confuses me.

They couldn’t have all been at school together, could they? And even if they were, most of them would have to be years ahead, no? It especially confuses me when Bellatrix is the one in school with them, but her and Narcissa are the only ones that are ever mentioned. Andromeda is literally not that much younger than Bella and older than Narcissa, so you would think that she would appear, yet she doesn’t. Why exactly are they always all bunched together? And what are their actual ages?

this is a bit of worldbuilding which i'm not fond of either, anon.

i get why it happens - hogwarts is a school and, therefore, requires a large cast of characters as fellow students, and since marauders-era writers don't have the advantage that lightning gen writers do of being able to lift these characters directly from the text, the few names we do know from canon of people who lived and died during the first war get used to fill in the gaps.

there are also - obviously - some inconsistencies in the text itself caused by jkr's functional innumeracy. if we take the date of birth given for bellatrix on the black family tree she drew in 2006 - 1951 - then she would graduate hogwarts in either 1969 or 1970, depending on when in the year her birthday is. but sirius says in goblet of fire that she was friends with snape at school.

i ignore sirius and go with the given date of birth because it works better for my worldbuilding - and i have andromeda born in 1953 [leaving hogwarts in 1971 or 1972] and narcissa born in 1955, as per the family tree, but in the autumn [therefore leaving hogwarts in 1974 - and married in 1975, allowing narcissa's wedding to be the last time sirius sees bellatrix, since, as he tells us in order of the phoenix, this took place when he was fifteen] - but i think authors can shift the sisters' birthdays later if they do want to have them overlap more with the marauders generation without it being too much of a problem.

lucius malfoy's date of birth can be worked out fairly easily from canon. in the autumn of 1995, he's forty-one - as we're told in order of the phoenix - which means he was born in 1954 [or - if he has a winter birthday - late 1953] and was at hogwarts between either 1965-1972 or 1966-1973 depending on when in the year his exact birthday is - if it's october 1953-august 1954, he's in the former cohort; if it's september 1954 [which is when the article in which his age is mentioned is published] then he's in the latter. we know he overlaps with the marauders cohort very briefly - since he's shown meeting snape in the prince's tale - but, since he's either a sixth- or seventh-year at the time, i find it unlikely that he paid james and sirius much attention, or that they paid him much attention in turn.

[lucius must - let's be real - go rather under the radar, since he's clearly able to recruit death eaters while at school - and immediately after leaving it - without being noticed.]

what i'm much less inclined to be flexible on is the fanon which has characters like dorcas meadowes, marlene mckinnon, emmeline vance, and so on all be at hogwarts with the marauders - which doesn't work for me for the very basic reason that the order of the phoenix is not an army of child soldiers.

the implication of canon is definitely that the four marauders and lily are an exception to the make-up of the rest of the order - likely for the sensible tactical reason that dumbledore had all the ministry infiltrators he needed, but didn't have people who would be able to provide information about voldemort's recruitment of younger death eaters, which the marauders were clearly able to do by virtue of having been at school with them all [and - in sirius' case - being related to two of them].

it's also clear in the text that dorcas meadowes [who is the only person in the first war other than james and lily we know was killed by voldemort himself] must have been an important political figure - otherwise the dark lord would have left her for one of his minions - and that james and lily don't know marlene mckinnon well enough for her to have been a school friend.

[if she was - as is the common fanon - sirius' teenage girlfriend, i would like to hope that lily's letter to him mentioning her death would devote a little more space to the event than it canonically does...]

what i love to see is the rest of the order - hardened aurors and civil servants who've been locked into the war with voldemort since the marauders started school - being a combination of faintly amused and supremely irritated by the group of cocky young bastards who've just turned up at their meetings, and who seem to think the whole "being a paramilitary" thing is a big laugh.

[especially because it's then so much easier to explain why everyone involved could believe that sirius was guilty...]

[lovepotionsandlust]

All Of The Ways We Differ

This is my first ever fic I have written. this will be MULTIPLE parts. *please note this is an AU* Not proof read

no use of Y/N

no warnings for the first chapter

enjoy!

“Explliarmus!” you watched as Harry’s wand flew from his hand. For your first try at the disarming spell, you were shocked how well it had worked. You were late to join “Dumbledore’s Army,” making you the newest member. You could not stop the nerves of feeling behind everyone’s progress. “Well done!” shouted a student whose name you were yet to be aware of. As you strode away from the center of the room, enjoying the praise from your peers, you joined your group of friends.

“Fred Weasley,” he said, extending his right hand to you. Looking up at him, you reached out, shaking his large hand. From his right stepped out his identical twin.

“Now Freddie, don’t take all of the star students’ attention.”

 He bumped shoulders with his brother making more room for himself.

 “George Weasley at your service” you couldn’t help smiling up at the red headed twins.

 “I wouldn’t call myself the star by any means but thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“it’s about time you three met,” interrupted Ginny, your best friend. “I’ve only told you about her a million times.”

“ah so you’re the infamous twins I have heard so much about” you chuckled up at them.

“so what brought you to join the big boys?” they asked in unison.

Rasing your hand, showing the back of it. Still red and irritated, “I shall not speak disrespectfully to my superiors.” You mocked Umbridge’s voice. “after she decided to insult my work in class, I promptly asked if her hairstyle was some form of curse we would be learning about in the upcoming chapters.” You smiled to yourself, still staring down at your hand. “Was well worth it though, the look on her face was a thing of dreams.”

Shooting your eyes at the twins, both looking amused. “absolutely brilliant if you ask me! We were thinking of slipping her some puking pastels in her tea, they are an invention of ours.”

Your interest peaked, you had to know more. As you stood taking in all of the information regarding the skiving snack boxes, their deliciously devious contents. “here, consider me a founding member, and remember who supported you at the beginning.” You handed them each ten galleons.

Right then and there Fred knew he had fallen, and fallen hard.

***

Every meeting since then, you had always held Freds attention. Frequently catching him watching you in the mirrored walls when your back was to him. Typically ignoring it, “he’s just watching you because you’re a fast learner, don’t think too much about it.” Today you decided to stick your tongue out at him, letting him know he was caught. Quickly straightening himself up, his face turned a darker red color than his bright hair. George leaned over to whisper something in his ear in your general direction. Whatever he had to say clearly upset him as he gave his shoulder a quick shove. Leaving George to walk away looking far too smug.

 You turned walking your way to Ginny, noticing the expression on her face.

“Now what is that face about Gin?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious? You clearly have caught my brother’s attention” she tilted her head in Freds direction. “he was so busy trying to impress you with his patronus charm, that he sent it flying  into the back of Nevilles head.”

“Yeah, bloody hurt too. If I didn’t have a hard enough time remembering things, now I have a head injury to worry about.” Neville exclaimed joining the conversation.

Rolling your eyes, shaking your head, you did your best to hide the blush that had risen to your cheeks.

“You both have gone mad, he has got most of the sixth years wrapped around his finger-“

“Well, your finger is the only one he is wrapped around. All he can ever do at home now is ask about you. Speak of the devil, look who’s coming.”

You could feel his approach from behind you. Ginny leaned in closer adding.

“At this rate we will be in-laws before the semester is through.”

“you keep pestering me and I will send Goyle a love potion with your name on it.”

With this she put her hands up in surrender stepping back, “hey, I have always wanted a sister.”

You stepped forward at her causing her to turn around, exiting the room. A throat clearing behind you caught your attention. Turning on your heel, there Fred was, standing much closer to you than you had expected. Catching you off guard you stumbled backwards slightly, he reached out catching your hand helping you find your balance. Both of you blushing, avoiding each other’s eye contact.

“Sorry about that, I just wanted to come to with you a happy Christmas.” He smiled down at you in a way that made your knees feel as if they were going to give out.

“Thanks Freddie, Happy Christmas to you as well.”

“Going to visit your family I trust?”

“Not this year actually, ill be staying at the castle. My family is traveling around Europe visiting relatives from all over the country. They won’t return for quite some time after either. With O.W.L.s quickly approaching, figured it would be best to stay behind to catch up on my potions preparations.”

“Well, now if I knew you were staying behind, I would have signed up to stay as well. Percy, Bill and Charlie, all cannot make it home this year. Should be a quiet day at the burrow.”

“don’t you worry about little ol’ me. There is always trouble somewhere that I can find myself in the center of.”

A low chuckle left him, as if without thinking he replied “That’s my girl” with a grin.

Your eyebrows raised at him, biting back a smile.

“Oh- uh- I just meant- um” he stammered.

You watched as he tried to back his way out of the corner, he had just put himself in.

“For the biggest prankster in Hogwarts history, I really thought you would be quicker to get yourself out of trouble Weasley.” Without breaking eye contact, you slid your bag over your shoulder.

“I hope you have a very merry Christmas Freddie.”

Without another word shared, you exited the room. Attempting to hide the amusement on your face. Fred watched you intently as you exited into the large hallway, rejoining your friends.

George joined his side “ugh, I missed her! Did you at least wish her a Happy Christmas from me?”

Without moving his attention from you, he leaned closer to George, “ do you remember how much trouble I had got in for turning moms knitting needles into snakes last summer?"

“How could I forget? She wouldn’t let me out of the house either for fear you were lying to her to get out of the house. Wait- why?”

Fred nodded in your direction “that one over there is more trouble for me than that, I assure you.”

***

***

As the campus refilled with student, you could not help but feel eager to see Freddie again. Too many nights to count over the last week you had found yourself in the astronomy tower yearning for his company. Classes roared back up with the looming O.W.L. examinations nearing closer. Sitting in the library you could not focus on your text books, your mind often wandering. You were so distracted you didn’t even notice Ginny join your table. Your name being called pulled you from your day dream.

“Lost in the clouds again?” she teased.

“just cant seem to keep my feet on the ground, nothing out of the ordinary. Did you enjoy your break Gin?”

“well, I tried to, but most of the time I was being harassed. Do you want to know by who?” she smirked up at you.

“Yes, absolutely I do.” You thought. Keeping your eyes on your textbook, afraid she would read your facial expressions too easily. “oh, here we go again, I do not want to hear your theories- “

She promptly interrupted “Fred would not stop pestering me regarding what you were talking to me about before break. He overheard my comment about wanting a sister. You should have seen his face when I told him that we were discussing your schoolgirl crush for Ron. He turned just about the same shade of red as you have now.”

You crumpled up a near piece of paper and threw it at her.

“You did not!”

“Well what else was I supposed to tell him?”

You hid your face in your hands with a sigh.

“tell me you’re joking you did NOT tell him-“ you looked around your surroundings quieting your tone, “that I fancied Ron of all people.”

Pushing your arm gently, prompting you to remove your hands, your eyes flashed up at her.

“well would you have preferred I told him the truth about who has caught your eye?”

There was no point in trying to lie to her at this point.

“you open your mouth and I will tell Harry about that dream, in which I swore never to repeat”

She placed her hand over her heart dramatically. “you wouldn’t!”

Smiling back at her, you waited a moment acting as if you were dep in thought.

“but you promised!”

Pure embarrassment and panic flushed over her expression.

“you’re right Gin, I wouldn’t. even thinking about having to repeat that depravity and I’m feeling ill. Have been doing my best to forget it since you told me about it.” You placed your hand over your mouth pretending to fight back vomit.

“you and Fred are perfect for each other, you know that? Glad to see you finally admit that you do in fact fancy him, don’t think I missed that.” Swiftly you kicked her under the table.

“Now it is your turn to promise to keep things between us Gin.”

She extended her pinky to you, interlocking them in a promise the way you would as a child.

***

Days had passed since your conversation with Ginny in the library. No practice sessions took place in the room of requirement as everyone prepared for the O.W.Ls. Tensions continued to build as Umbridge had really supped her retaliation against the students and now the staff. With her rules prohibiting students of opposing genders to interact in the halls, your chances of spending time with Fred any time soon were dwindling.

As students sat quietly in the rows of desks that now lined the great hall, the only sounds to be heard were the quick movements of quills and the swinging of the pendulum. That was until a fizz and pop noise caught everyones attention. Before you knew what was happening, Fred and George were flying through the air above you. Throwing more fireworks than you had ever seen. You could not keep your eyes off of him. The loud cheers of the fellow students gave him the courage he needed to make a move. Swiftly he flew down to you slowing only for a moment to leave a kiss on your cheek. Turning to wink at you as he returned to his brothers side. Ginny grabbed your hand pulling you closer, the smile on your face could not be removed with the cruciatus curse. Between the twins antics and the sound of Umbridge screaming as she ran, the previous months of stress seemed to melt away. As a large dragon made of fireworks chased her out of the room, all of the students followed. Chasing after the twins as they entered the courtyard, a large “W” filled the sky in shimmering colors. As they were out of eye sight, something else caught your attention. A small paper bird flying near your side. You extended your hand allowing it to land softly in your hand. Noticing the ink bleeding through from the other side, you quickly opened the parchment.

“tomorrow 6pm

3 brooksticks

Back booth

Don’t be late xx

Freddie”

[jokeringcutio]

The Grabber x Hufflepuff (f) Reader [1] (Explicit, warnings)

Because I noticed an astonishing amount of my Grabber readers have this one thing in common. It's the house. Hufflepuff. They all have Hufflepuff on their profiles. Summary: You're a Hufflepuff student and you get caught by the Dark Lord's infamous snatcher known as The Grabber.

Fandoms: The Black Phone, Harry Potter Rating: Explicit Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, clad touching, non/con or dub-con touching, Reader is a Hufflepuff, Reader is Innocent. Reader is a virgin, Reader is a Mudblood/Muggle-born, use of little witch/littlegirl/little one, Reader is of age, Grabber has an innocence corruption kink, Reader gets kidnapped. Harry Potter 2nd Wizard War AU.

Grabber x Hufflepuff [ 1 ]

The Room of Requirement shimmered with the focused intensity of young witches and wizards, secretly preparing for the fight against the Dark Lord and his followers. You were among them, your wand tracing arcs in the air as you practiced defensive spells like all others. Some students here were younger than you, some slightly older. But everyone was practicing with the same passion. The air was thick with concentration, punctuated by the occasional crackle of magic gone awry.

"Hey," Ginny's voice cut through the hum of activity, pulling you aside. She was in the same year as you, although you hadn’t truly talked until you joined Dumbledore’s Army. Her eyes held an edge of urgency. "I need you to fetch some Hellebore Herb from the Forbidden Forest."

You nodded, a quick, sharp motion. "I can do that," you murmured, feeling the weight of the task settle on your shoulders. Slipping out of the school was a grizzly task nowadays. Students weren’t allowed to leave as it was said to be too dangerous out there now that the Dark Lord had returned. But you knew danger lurked inside the walls of your school as much as it did outdoors. Most of the staff at Hogwarts was sympathizing with the pure-blood radicals. If one of them caught you sneaking out of the school, they’d be taking their time punishing you with heavy torture spells.

Luckily, you were quite skilled at being silent, always alert, and excellent at not being noticed. Ginny knew this. It was why she usually asked you or Clementine Felley, a Ravenclaw with similar skills but a year below you two, to do these sorts of assignments.

Because you’d been doing this for a while, you had grown confident in your skills. In the shadowy corner, you slipped into your school robe to protect yourself from the cold outside. You made sure to flip your hair from underneath it before donning the hood and hiding it again.

The yellow and black of Hufflepuff covered you, and you were glad you belonged to that house. Somehow, the yellow became just another shade when you were out in the dusk or dark, resembling green or brown and adapting to your surroundings. You ran your fingers over the emblem, feeling the rough embroidery against your skin, before you grasped a wicker basket, its weave tight and firm.

Creeping out of the Room of Requirement, you clutched the fabric of your robe close. The corridors loomed silent and watchful. You knew the stakes — capture meant punishment, Crucio, or worse if the Carrow siblings got their hands on you.

As the doors groaned closed behind you, you drew a deep breath. Every shadow could hold a spying eye, a guard, or an enchantment meant to betray your step. But like so many times before, you made it out of the school with practiced ease. The Forbidden Forest loomed, a dark maw ready to swallow you whole. Your heart thudded against your ribcage, but you pushed forward, feet whispering over fallen leaves and twigs.

Like you had hoped, nothing happened. You weren’t spotted. There was no alarm raised. And the deeper you got into the forest, the more at ease you started to feel. Not that there weren’t countless of dangers here, but with your wand and your knowledge of spells, you felt you could handle the forest’s creatures.

The underbrush crunched beneath your knees as you knelt, fingers sifting through the damp soil. You found the Hellebore — a sinister beauty with its deep green leaves and delicate blooms that belied the poison lurking within. Your breath came in careful puffs, visible in the twilight of the forest.

"Aren’t you a brave girl?" The voice was like gravel, grating against the hushed whispers of the trees. It struck a chord of fear, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your gaze lifted, heart beating high in your chest. There, a few feet away from you, a devil's mask leered down at you, eyes hollow pits of malice. You instantly recognized the foul creature from pictures in the newspaper. Moving images of the same mask, two hands raised next to it, showing the same rings you saw now glinting on his fingers in the light of the moon.

The Grabber.

His name slithered through your mind, conjuring images of snatched souls and vanished faces. His jacket hung open, revealing a swath of bare chest, skin pale in the moonlight, betraying he was just another man.

“What are you doing, lovely?” The voice was so deep and low that you felt it deep in your core. You squeezed your legs together uncomfortably, hoping the man didn’t notice the gesture, as you slowly rose from your knees.

Even standing, the man was at least a head taller than you. If not more.

“Well?” He tilted his head, the mask mocking you as it slanted.

"Collecting herbs," you managed, voice a mere wisp of sound. You tucked the Hellebore behind your back discreetly.

"Oh,” the man made a mocking sound that was almost called gentle. “Sweet thing, aren't you? Voice like honey." The Grabber cocked his mask, angling it in such a way that his eyes could trace you up and down. You could feel it, felt his gaze as it roamed over every inch of your body. It felt intimate, the way he studied you.

He stepped closer, the scent of earth and something darker emanating from him.

“Well, aren’t you going to tell the big bad man what kind of herbs you are collecting out here, on your own, at the cusp of midnight?”

You knew he had you there. No student was allowed in this part of the forest or indeed allowed to roam outside at night. In fact, no students were allowed out at all. And by your robes, he could easily tell you were still a student, that you belonged to the school nearby.

A man like him, working for the Dark Lord himself, would not let you go unpunished. He would either hand you back to the school, or he would dish out the punishment himself. But with his reputation for being a man who tortured his victims and made innocent people disappear, you had a feeling which one it would be. The others wouldn't get their herbs today. You had failed them. For a short moment, you wished one of the Carrow siblings had caught you on your way out instead.

“I-I will,” why was your voice trembling? Why did you stutter? Were you truly this scared of the legendary snatcher who was said to be more demon than man?

“Very cute all the stumbling,” the man interrupted you. “I don’t care what you came here to collect. All I care about is that you are being naughty. Being out here, on your own, late at night. There are all sorts of bad men prowling about. Hadn’t you noticed?”

You blinked, clearly confused by his words because he obviously was one of these bad men himself. Why else would he trod around wearing a demon’s mask, bare-chested, in the middle of the night? He was out here, hunting.

Did that mean that others were nearby? That you somehow had been unlucky enough to cross paths with the ones he was chasing. People the Dark Lord wanted to see dead.

“I-I am s-so sorry. The H-herb I needed only grows at night and I thought-" you lied.

“Hellebore Herb,” he interrupted, cutting you short yet again. Of course, he must have caught sight of it. You nodded, realizing that although you had been trying to hide it behind your back, there was some more Hellebore near your feet. It would have been an easy guess.

"Well, well” he muttered, and you watched as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. The way his jacket swayed about revealed a hairless stomach with trained abbs, slightly pudgy but you supposed that came with age.

“Are you a full or half-blood?"

Huh? It was a sensitive question, but you could guess why he would ask it. The Dark Lord wasn’t keen on anyone not considered pure. You could lie to him. You knew you should. But something about the glint behind the dark holes of eyes in the mask told you he already knew the answer.

"Neither,” you reluctantly admitted, hanging your head in defeat. The herb dropped from your hands, fingers outstretched behind your back. “Muggle-born," a reluctant whisper and most definitely a death sentence. To lie was folly; he would know. To think all your bravery and good intentions would end here, tonight. That your defiance would be squashed down by one man and an unlucky encounter. Fear danced along your nerves, yet you forced stillness upon your frame.

"Charming," he murmured, surprising you as he closed the gap between you. The brush of his fingertips against your hair sent an unwanted tingle down your neck. "I would love to take you home."

You stiffened, the words wrapping around you like chains. There was no mistaking the implication, the threat veiled as a compliment. He wanted to snatch you the way he had done so many others. But there was something else underneath, something thick with arousal.

His presence loomed, a specter of dread. His breath grazed your cheek, slipping out from underneath the mask as he studied you with a sidelong glance. You let him touch your hair, let him believe he held sway. Inside, your thoughts raced — plans, strategies, hopes all tangled in a desperate knot.

"Would anyone miss a sweet little muggle-born witch?" he cooed, playing with a lock of your hair. His closeness disgusted you, but you tried to use it to fool him. Your hand slipped into your robe, ever so carefully, and searched for your wand, mentally preparing to knock him back with a spell.

"Everyone is missed by someone," you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

"Ah, but will they look for you?" The Grabber's tone was a taunt, a predator enjoying the quiver of his prey.

They would. They had to. Ginny and the others would notice if you didn’t come and deliver the herb. They would alarm the others, start a search for you, make sure your parents were informed. And then, the true search would start. No matter how influential the Dark Lord was, he couldn’t stop your loved ones from searching for you. They would, you just knew it. You were loved. You clutched your wand in your fist, preparing to attack.

"Let's find out," the moment the whisper reached your ears, his hand left your hair. You felt how his hand slipped into yours, disarming you by taking your wand. How had he known that you'd reached for it? That you held it? "You don't need that, little girl. Wands are for grown-ups," he teased, voice sing-song. And you silently fumed because you were an adult. Even if it hadn't been for that long. How belittling the man sounded, how he seemed to take pleasure in making you feel small. Then, his mask came closer again, forcing you to lean a little more backward.

"Run, little girl," the Grabber hissed, and without a second thought, you spun on your heels and you ran. With a twist of your body, you broke free from his grasp, feet pounding against the forest floor as you sprinted toward safety.

You could hear him, the laughter that bubbled up from his throat, rich and deep and terrifying.

"Run, little witch, run," he taunted, delight evident in each syllable. "I do so love a chase."

Branches whipped against your face, leaving hot, stinging trails in their wake. Your lungs burned with exertion, the distance between you and the safety of the school shrinking with every desperate stride.

You could reach it, you had to. At this point you didn’t even care if any of the guards spotted you and if they crucioed you until you wished you had never been born. Anything was better than this. Anyone was better than this man. This demon who you’d read about.

Kidnapping. Torture. Unethical spells.

If he got you, you’d never see the light of day again. You’d be done for. You'd die a horrid death.

The outline of the school loomed into view. Just a little further. You pushed yourself beyond your limits, limbs stretching, going faster than you ever had, before your freedom was snatched away. An arm snaked around your waist, making you tumble. His hands clamped over your mouth, stifling the scream that tried to escape. Together, you crashed into the underbrush, his chest, a wall of heat and hardness, pressed against your back. The scent of him enveloped you—earth and sweat and something darker, unnamable.

You fought to breathe, feeling the strain of his fingers against your lips, pushing tightly so they couldn’t even part. You tried to wiggle out of his grip but he only tightened it, hissing in your ear as something hard poked against your butt and you instantly came to a still, eyes wide open. That wasn’t…?

"Shhh," he hissed as a guard's lantern light flickered in the distance. "Not a sound."

You had no choice but to wait in his embrace, feeling his chest heave rapidly up and down behind you. His palm warm against your lips, his heart hammering against your spine. Sweat from his naked chest brushed against your robe.

The moment stretched, an eternity wrapped in seconds, until silence returned and the light of the lantern disappeared into the dimness of the night. Then he rose, pulling you with him, his grip ironclad and unyielding.

"Be silent. Don't make this difficult," he commanded, his hand was upon your arm, gripping you tight, as a wand was raised by the other. It took less than a second for you to realize what was about to happen, but you didn’t have time to counter his spell or try and get away.

You knew what came next—the sensation of being squeezed through an impossibly tiny space, the world blurring into darkness. Apparition. A forced journey to an unknown hell.

You now stood somewhere else, in someone’s living room by the sights of it, too busy taking in your surroundings to stop how the Grabber replaced his hand from your arm to your neck. The squeeze was painful, bringing tears to your eyes, and your hands darted up to try and alleviate his grip. But to no avail.

The man forced you to walk from the living room to the kitchen. Standing in front of a white door, you couldn’t distinguish the soft muttered words that were muffled by the mask, but it was clear he was using some kind of magic to unlock and open it.

A deep and dark room appeared, a staircase leading down to it. Like a basement full of concrete. Then he pushed you through the door.

The grip he had on your neck was firm enough that it became difficult to breathe, as he guided you down the stairs and into what seemed to be a grey and mostly empty room.

The basement was a tomb of dampness and decay. You were thrown onto a mattress that reeked of rot, each spring groaning in protest. He loomed over you, a shadow stripped of humanity.

"Let me have a look at you," he demanded, settling before you and reaching out without expecting an answer.

You felt like a trapped animal and tried to crawl away, but your robes obstructed your movements. And where would you go? There was only a wall behind you, the grey concrete looked chipped and filthy, but also sturdy. You’d need your wand to get out of here.

The man’s hands were already untying your robe, pushing the cloak aside at both sides. Fear twisted inside you, a serpent coiling tighter with every passing second. Veins were visible on the male’s hands. He must be an older man, you thought. And strong.

You tried to struggle and pushed your hands against his arms in an attempt to stop him. But he only stopped his movements to shush you, angling his mask your way before his hands slid past the fabric of your clothes once more.

"Yellow and black," he mused, fingering the edge of your school robe with a touch that was both reverent and mocking. "I always had a thing for Hufflepuffs... loyal, kind, innocent. Wouldn't harm a fly." His voice dripped with sarcasm even as his fingers delicately parted the fabric to reveal your uniform beneath.

You held your breath, trying to shrink away from his probing gaze, but here there was no safety for you. He leaned in closer, heat radiating from his body as you deliberately tried not to look at the bulge he was sporting in his pants. "But innocence is often just a facade... physically they are pure. But mentally," here he chuckled.

"Please..." The word escaped your lips as a whisper, a feeble attempt to preserve some dignity.

A low growl rumbled from the depths of his chest and his nails pressed into your skin as his grip on you became more bold. “I like it when you beg. Makes you look cute, honey.”

You whimpered sadly, realizing that begging wasn’t going to save your life.

"Quiet now," he murmured, his voice a velvet threat. "You won’t need this."

The robe was pushed down your shoulders without a fight.

"Shh," he hushed you, his fingers sliding up the sensitive flesh of your bare thigh, just above your stockings, causing an involuntary flinch.

His coarse fingertips traced dangerously close to your skirt now. You couldn’t help it. You weren’t a fighter like the Slytherins or Gryffindors were, but you had your boundaries. With a sharp movement, you brought your elbows down to harm the man, but the Grabber was quicker. He caught your wrists with just one hand. A sad realization that his hands were large and strong enough to subdue you. You wiggled ineffectively, feeling the grip around both your wrists tighten.

"Cute," he chuckled darkly, taking pleasure in the shiver that coursed through you.

"See," he breathed out, his hand venturing beneath the pleated skirt, touching you where no one had ever touched before. "You are going to love this." His words were poison, staining the rawness of the moment with vile certainty.

"Stop," you tried to command, but it came out as a whimper, your own body betraying you under his invasive touch.

His fingertips stroked past your covered folds, the crotch of your panties dampening with each intimidating stroke. The pressure was just right, pressing down tightly enough to stimulate your clit through the soft cotton layer until he had you squirming. Soft mewls escaped your lips instead of pleas while he still held your wrists up with one hand, making it impossible for you to fight him off or crawl away from his touch.

"Ah, there it is," he whispered triumphantly as his finger traced over your damp core. "Your mind's as filthy as they come, little witch."

Panic clawed at your insides, yet amidst the terror, a spark of rage ignited. You hated him, hated his touch, his violation of all you held sacred. You loathed the way he made you feel; exposed, vulnerable, and worst of all, responding despite yourself.

"Doesn't this prove your point?" you spat out with venomous defiance, despising the trembling of your own voice. You were wet, you could hear it now. You felt your nipples peak underneath the fabric of your blouse, their tips pressing through the layers of clothes you were still wearing. But you had no doubt he had caught sight of it.

“Who said I wanted to prove anything?”

For a moment the two of you sat in complete silence while his fingers still rubbed your clothed core. Slick sounds emerged from between your legs while the Grabber stared at you. Was he waiting for an answer?

You tried to control your breathing, thankful when he finally lowered his other hand and with it your wrists. Your arms were starting to feel sore. Yet, that didn’t distract you from the warmth that was slowly building up inside your core. A tight coil was inside your tummy, your legs started to tremble. Whatever function your panties were supposed to have was rendered nihil as he flicked and fondled your clit through the now-soaked-through piece of garment. The fabric clung to your folds, making it easier for him to brush his fingers and the cloth deeper inside, even being as bold as to try and dip a fingertip in until you moaned and thrashed against him.

You turned your head aside, unable to look at him and his devilish mask as an orgasm was rapidly approaching. Your body trembled under his touch as the finger pushed against your entrance once, twice. And then suddenly withdrew.

Shaking, you sat there, blinking confused before you turned your head to face him. Your body felt hot, between your legs, it was burning with desire. The orgasm was so near that you could feel the first tremors already racking through your body. But he had stopped on the cusp of it, withdrawn as a form of pure torture. Leaving you undone, a trembling and whimpering mess on the dirty pale mattress.

You looked up at him, cheeks red and eyes full of arousal. Even forgetting to lower your arms now that his hold on you was gone. Not that you wanted him to have sex with you, but you were the epitome of a woman on the cusp of ecstasy - eager to have your bodily desire fulfilled. You wanted to feel good. Your mind was now conflicted, torn between wanting him to finish and wanting him far away. You looked at him, flushed, eyes begging him to finish what he started. No wonder a low groan escaped him while he squeezed the bulge in his pants as he rose to stand tall again.

“So innocent,” was all he announced before trying to run a hand through his shoulder-length hair. It must be a habit, you realized, mind still hazy with lust, because the movement had no purpose. The man’s mask was clasped behind his head with several bands. His fingers couldn’t properly run through his hair, and he had to halt his movement and lower his arm again.

You smirked up at him, as if you’d just found out a secret about him.

If you could undo those clasps, you could see his face. If you could escape, you could pass that information to the others. He’d finally be an easy prey.

A sudden movement shook you out of your thoughts when he suddenly dipped his hand inside the pocket of his own jacket. Your wand slid out, the hand in which he held it still glistening in the dark from your juices.

"M-My wand," you whispered, the sound barely escaping your lips.

"Shhh, little Hufflepuff," he cooed mockingly before holding your wand up high, seemingly to study it.

And you finally propelled into action. Your wand was an extension of yourself, of your magic, and it shouldn't be in his possession. You scrambled onto your hands and knees in an attempt to jump up and snatch the wand out of his hands, even if he was that much larger and even if you probably couldn’t reach it when you jumped anyway. But you had to try it. You had to get it back.

Your wand was the only thing that could get you out safely.

The Grabber seemed to have predicated your move. It only needed a whisper of his lips, and you sat frozen.

“It works well,” he muttered, words muffled by the mask. And you had no choice but to watch as he lowered his arm. Your breath caught as his fingers, rough and calloused from years of unforgiving work, slipped into the pocket of his dark robes, taking with them your wand—your lifeline.

He patted the pocket of his jacket as if to taunt you, the jacket smacking against his hip as it still hung open to reveal his naked chest. You could see his belly roll with each deep breath taken. He was still aroused, taking delight in playing these games with you.

A whimper escaped your lips, unbidden, raw with the fear of helplessness.

"Isn't that just adorable," the Grabber mused, his voice a low rumble that resonated through the cavernous basement. You watched, heart pounding, as he prepared to leave, the satisfaction in his stride unmistakable. "Don't worry, pet. You won’t be needing that while you’re here."

You watched him as he made his way to the door. If only he hadn’t put that spell on you and you could still move… But as it was, all you could do was sit and watch as he carried your only hope for survival with him.

“I think I’ll just add your name to the list of deaths," the low husky murmur of the Grabber surprised you. It came unasked, just another way he was mentally manipulating you, you guessed. "No one’s gonna ask for you. But you know, future reference. In case anyone decides to start prowling,” he paused, turning his mask to face you from over his shoulder. “It'll just be another whoops. My hand slipped. Killed a pretty little girl out in the forest. Mud-blood witch. I had my orders.”

Anger raged inside of you, boiling under the frozen surface. You wished you could grit your teeth, curl your hands into fists, growl even. But you could do nothing.

He'd report you as another casualty, another life claimed by the darkness he served.

"It’s a cheap trick, but it works every time," he said casually. "Mostly had boys before you. This will be new." The implication hung heavy in the stale air, a sentence without an end, and it was suffocating.

Why? You wondered. Why not just kill them? Why take them home?

The Grabber paused, the mask changed direction until it almost looked like the demon grinned. "I like to play a game. Only with the cute ones though.”

Panic seized you and you felt like you suddenly couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t just read your mind, had he? Merlin, please don’t let him be a Legilimens.

The Grabber fully turned back to you, the demonic mask’s expression seemed to have changed. But surely, that must be your imagination. Or had he cast a spell on it?

“Want to know what it’s called?” he taunted. And you thought. No. No, I don’t want to know what the game is called.

But instantly after, a different voice inside your head said otherwise. What game did he play with his victims, you wondered?

You almost heard the smirk that was hidden underneath the mask. “Since you asked so nicely,” he murmured, confirming your fear that he was someone who could read minds.

“It’s called the naughty game.”

Then he smoothly turned on his heels while a thousand thoughts clouded your mind. You watched him, his back to you as he ascended the stairs, leaving you to contemplate the twisted rules of his game. What happens if you're naughty? you wondered, a desperate plea for some semblance of understanding.

He halted, his silhouette framed by the dim light at the top of the staircase.

"You lose," he answered, the words echoing ominously off the walls.

And with that, he disappeared from sight, leaving you alone with the chilling silence, your wet panties, and your racing thoughts. ~ AN: More? ~

~~ Support me on Ko-Fi - Masterlist  - Request Box ~~

[dragonfly0808]

That girly urge to drop everything and write a 50k Harry Potter fanfic about Draco running away from home post 4th year and being scared and all alone and somehow running into Sirius who sees a young boy fending for himself after realizing his family are not good people and seeing himself and thus taking him in and letting him stay at Grimmauld Place despite protests because “He’s my nephew, he may have made mistakes but he’s also 15 and doesn’t deserve to be on his own fuck off”

That urge to write about him being oh so awkward with Ron and Hermione but still forming a begrudging, tentative friendship but it isn’t until he goes on an errand with Hermione to the muggle world and finding out about muggle hair dye and deciding to dye his hair to distance himself from the Malfoy name that Hermione decides to help him and whilst dying his hair Draco just spills his guts and apologizes to her for everything and admits that he was an ass and that he doesn’t want to be that anymore and that’s when their friendship begins for real

And immediately after that Ron also softens a bit and they start getting along just a tiny bit more.

He and Hermione somehow become besties though neither will admit it, like, they’ll be up at 2am arguing over their potions textbooks and Ron is just like ‘oh god there’s two of them now’ before getting them to take breaks and eat and teasing both of them.

Draco truly looking up to Sirius, who is just proud of him for being able to see his past mistakes and they’re just… UGH

That urge to write about Harry finally making it to Grimmauld Place and thinking he must’ve hit his head when he sees Draco standing behind Hermione and Ron, leaning against the door with slightly washed out light blue hair and a soft sweater

Harry being so confused when Hermione and Ron both vouch for Draco. Harry nearly passing out when Draco apologizes to him before anything else can happen and he looks so good in those hand me down sweaters WHAT IS HAPPENING?!

Them going back to Hogwarts, Draco, Hermione and Ron together as prefects.

Draco wondering where to sit during the first day since he’s not sure if his friends will want him anymore just for Ron to call out ‘Oi Malfoy, where you going?’ When he’s resigned to eat outside

Him and Harry bonding in Potions class, mainly laughing at Snape’s reaction to see Draco’s newly dyed pink hair that Umbridge nearly expells him for

And before you know it the Golden Trio has become the Golden Quartet and Harry spends most of his time trying to figure out why his heart does backflips every time he sees Draco smile or laugh at lunch

Then Dumbledore’s Army starts and Draco is Harry’s right hand man, helping him with what lessons to give and working as a double agent since he still lives in the Slytherin dorm he helps with avoiding the Inquisitorial Squad and even gets new members from Slytherin.

The urge to write about Draco and Harry spending so much time together figuring out what to teach next and how to make the lessons easier and Draco being so soft with Harry and letting his guard down and Harry opening up about his anger and Draco nearly murdering Umbrige when he finds out about the ‘I mustn’t tell lies’ thing

Ron talking about Hermione, wondering if maybe she has a crush on someone and Draco just staring and going ‘Weasley… you’re an idiot’ (with love)

Draco and Hermione being so competitive but also always studying together and Draco trying to get Hermione to make a move on Ron because ‘It’s so obvious it’s painful! I could tell from two tables away how you two drool for each other!’ Because Harry is so adamant about not getting involved in that mess. Just- Draco and Hermione being besties and platonic soulmates

The urge to write Draco and Harry staying in the Room of Requirements after the Army leaves and just hanging out and Harry being so weirdly happy because Draco never expects him to be the ‘Chosen One’ or a Dark Arts master or even calm and rational, he just expects him to be… Harry… even if that means dealing with his swing moods every once in a while

Harry writing to Sirius about feeling oh so confused and not knowing what to do and Sirius just being so amused and trading glances with Remus like, ‘…this boy is so dumb’

All four spending Christmas together and Draco is totally not crying when he gets his own Weasley sweater what are you talking about? And the trio crushes him into a hug to tease/comfort him. And well if Ron and Hermione wind up under the mistletoe and/or locked in a closet and the twins hand Draco a few coins well whose to say that was anything but a coincidence?

Harry not being able to concentrate as a seeker cause Malfoy dyed his hair a violet that makes his cheekbones pop out and his eyes look so pretty and FUUUUCCCCKKKK

Umbridge cornering Draco and trying to get info out of him and threatening him and trying to make him think that there’s no way Harry forgave him and that he’s just using him but Draco doesn’t care because being used by Harry would be better than being manipulated by his family Draco begrudingly admitting what happened when the Trio can tell he’s upset and all of them nearly killing Umbridge and affirming that they’re friends against all odds and that they wouldn’t trade him for anything, Draco dying his hair red in honor of that conversation

After a particularly bad Occlumency lesson with Snape, Harry sneaks out and finds Draco at the lake and they just talk and maybe just maybe Harry can’t help but kiss him because he just wants one good thing and- AAAAAHHHH

Anyways… yeah… the girly urge jeje

Might do it someday who knows, go back to my roots as an HP fanfic writer

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (IV) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Dumbledore's Army gears up in the Room of Requirements and Regulus reveals information that demonstrates the extent of his magical prowess.

Part III / Part V / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x Gender Neutral Reader

Notes: Not canon compliant, Tweaks to canon magic, Cursing

Harry made a fine teacher and if you weren't positive that he was leaning towards becoming an auror, you would have jumped at the chance to sing his praises to Dumbledore.

The meeting at Hog's Head started off rocky, but by the end of the trio's speech, everyone was convinced to sign the membership paper that carved their fates.

Of course, Umbridge somehow had ears and eyes everywhere and not even a week went by before she became suspicious of your group.

Thus, her proclamation for the dissolution of all student organizations went into effect.

Bloody ministry folks and their paranoia.

Regulus found her "Educational Decrees" to be the most ridiculous abuse of power and you had never seen him so fired up about something before.

He sure did take education seriously.

Despite Umbridge's warnings, everyone who was a part of the D.A showed their commitment by attending every meeting regardless. Soon, the tense air that uneased everyone dissipated as lively chatter and adrenaline dominated the space.

Your latest meeting in the Room of Requirements left you flabbergasted by the depth of skill and perseverance shown by a few individuals.

Currently, you were lazing on your bed, fawning over everyone's progress, "Hm, Reg, you should have seen it. Ginny's reducto was truly marvelous."

Your eyes glitter as you recall the moment Ginny managed to absolutely demolish the practice dummy, stunning her older brothers into silence.

Which reminded you that you would need to ask her about her acclaimed Bat-Bogey hex in the future.

"No need for me to see it. I heard it. Indeed, she is quite a formidable witch."

There was a weird edge to his tone, but you tried not to think much of it because you were having a strange gut feeling that he was off-put by your praise towards Ginny.

He was being quite strange today.

You still weren't quite sure how far you could push him for answers and the last thing you wanted was for your friendship to be strained.

Instead, you opted to gloss over your observation and continue rambling on. It was currently past curfew and you had warded your bed with silencing charms a couple of times, too paranoid to risk exposing Regulus.

There was a certain subject that you couldn't help but dwell on. Frankly, it was eating away at your patience and sanity.

After a few moments, you worked up the courage to bring it up, "Reg."

"Hm?"

You hesitated, peering down at him and meeting his attentive gaze, "This is going to sound crazy, but do you think there's any way for you to... not be a painting? I mean, I've just been wondering about it. Like, what if I could somehow bring you into the physical plane."

"Is that why your head has been up in the clouds so much, little bird?" He smiles teasingly at your offended look, having taken a liking to ruffling your feathers as of late.

(Fuck. Did you just accidentally make a pun out of that nickname?)

You gape at him before replying, more flusteredly than you appreciated, "Little bird? I know you said that to throw me off, Reg. So, don't try to change the topic!"

Regulus sighs quietly before looking at you steadily, "I just don't want you to be disappointed, Y/N. You shouldn't worry about me, I'll be just fine as your personal pocket portrait."

He pauses before continuing, posture growing rigid at his next words, "Besides, I don't need you experimenting with dangerous magic. In fact, that is the last thing I want you to do."

"But-"

He fixes you with a stern look, eyebrows raising in challenge.

You nod in defeat, deciding to file away your thoughts for another time. It wouldn't do any good to try and bring Regulus back while Voldemort was still running amuck, anyway.

Successfully placated, you conceded, "Okay. I just care a lot about you is all. Promise you'll tell me if you become dissatisfied with this arrangement."

He smiled faintly, shaking his head in fondness, "I know. I promise I will. But you don't have to worry your little head about it anytime soon."

His teasing was insufferable. But you‘d let him win the argument this time.

Your heart was racing in your chest and you flipped over onto your back, dazedly staring up at the canopy of curtains above your bed.

You were growing worried. At first you had assumed you were suffering from a minor medical condition, after all your heart had some pretty brutal scares from the twins over the summer. But as time passed, you concluded that you were suffering from a crush.

A minute, itty-bitty crush. On Regulus.

Who were you kidding. You were smitten for a bloody portrait. It was incredulous. Seriously, you were tempted to ask for a psych evaluation, but Madam Pomfrey would likely dose you into a coma and have Dumbledore ship you off to St. Mungo's.

But, the more you thought about it, the more you realized that Regulus wasn't just some dusty painting. He was vibrant and sarcastic. He could read you like an open book and he always looked out for you.

He was so alive.

Whoever had painted him captured his magical essence and personality so well, you were almost certain that he was exactly like his deceased, human counterpart.

Really, you couldn't decide if you were grateful towards the artist or if you wanted to hex them for making you feel the way you did.

You were like a bloody crup puppy tripping over your own tail for him.

How maddening.

Luckily, you didn't have much time to beat yourself up over it as Harry had approached you the very next morning with his own romantic dilemma.

"So...you guys kissed?"

"Yes."

You teetered with your thoughts for a few seconds, trying to make sense of Harry's grimace, "And it wasn't...ideal?"

"Well, she was crying so it was more wet and salty than anything."

"Bloody hell. Was that your first kiss, Harry?"

The boy gapes at the question and seems to come to a realization, lips furling down at whatever he was thinking about.

You couldn't stop the chuckle from leaving your lips, laying a comforting hand on your friend's shoulder, "It's okay, Harry. Besides, now you can move on from her. Plus, not everyone can say that their first kiss was with their first crush."

The boy shakes his head to rid of his thoughts, fixing his glasses (a habit you noticed he did whenever he was stressed).

Sighing, you tilt your head, "I'm assuming there's more to this story then?"

Harry looks like he's conflicted on whether or not to answer, but ultimately gives in, "She was crying over Cedric."

Ah, shit.

You eloquently mustered up a quiet, "Oh."

Harry nods along as if he was used to being the scapegoat of all of the universe's jokes. You couldn't help but feel terrible for your friend, it seemed that every school year was more traumatizing than the last.

"Don't worry, Harry. You're both going through your own issues, and you'll have plenty of chances at love in the future. Plus, you're going to look bloody cool today when you demonstrate that Patronus charm of yours."

Regulus had worn you down with his teaching, but you could perform most of the spells in the curriculum in your sleep now. The only spell you had never attempted before was the Patronus charm, always being daunted by the difficult spell.

Harry seems to perk up a little at your words and you could see the gears turning as he planned out his approach to the next lesson.

He really would make a fantastic professor.

A little bit later, after your classes, you figured that you could chat with Regulus for a bit before the D.A. meeting. As you tugged the curtains to cover your bed, casting a silencing spell, you quickly pulled Regulus out of your robe pocket.

You couldn't help the bright smile that overtook your face at the sight of him, "Hey there, Reg."

The boy smiles gently at your excitement before it's wiped away by a serious look. He was certainly much warmer with you than when you first met, but he was still quite guarded.

No matter. You were stubborn. You could wait for him to open up.

"Little bird. Did you want to discuss Harry's unfortunate love life or did you want to learn the Patronus charm ahead of time?"

You groan a little at the nickname, "I swear, I need to come up with a nickname for you now. But, wait, Reg, you can cast a patronus?"

The boy looks ready to retort, but you're quick to clarify your words, "I mean, not that I doubt your skills. It's just that I've always assumed that..."

Regulus, luckily, is not offended by your explanation and saves you from your fumbling, "That death eaters are incapable of casting it, right? Well, you're not wrong in the assumption. To my knowledge, many are unable to. I know the mechanisms of the spell, but I have only ever been able to cast it once."

Merlin, why did you even ask, he was literally capable of everything.

"Once? While you were still a student here, then?" Your defeated mumble of questions only slightly gave away your disappointment at his inability to be flawed.

Regulus looks as if he was expecting the question, a small smile tugging at his lips, "No. I was able to cast it after my death."

After his death?

Oh.

OH.

Your eyes were nearly bulging from your head, "Portraits have the capabilities to cast magic? No. No, that's just a you thing, right? Merlin, I was already in awe by how sentient you are, but this exceeds all my expectations."

Yes, Regulus was flawless. He was not merely blessed by Mother Magic, he was dearly loved by her.

Your nerves were buzzing and you were suddenly more awake than you were before. While you brung your finger to run along the frame of his portrait, Regulus seemed to finish gathering his thoughts.

It appeared that he was debating whether or not he should satiate your curiosity. Apparently, this topic was another one of his secrets.

Crossing his arms lightly across his chest, he answers quietly, "Yes, it is highly uncommon for any portrait to be as aware as I. Being able to cast magic was more of an experimentation of mine. Many wizards and witches do not delegate the necessary time frame to their portraits so it may be this nuanced. They usually only cover the basics: appearance, humor, and eccentricity. But, I just happened to spend many years before my death transferring all my knowledge and memories into this portrait."

"Years?" you echoed.

"Years." He nodded in confirmation, eyes unfocusing as he seemed to delve into past memories, "I always knew I'd take his mark growing up, so I commissioned for a portrait to be done beforehand. Luckily, I had it repainted over shortly before my death."

His explanation is a heavy, but not an unwelcome one.

So this was what Regulus looked like before he died. He was so young. You had always assumed that his portrait looked like him years before his passing.

The gears in your head were turning as you processed this new information, realizing that likely, very few people were privy to this knowledge on portraits.

For the sake of the wizarding world, you would keep this information from public ears.

It would be cataclysmic to have Voldemort live on and command his followers through a portrait.

"Thank you for telling me, Reg. I appreciate it."

The boy simply nods, a heavy weight seemingly easing off his shoulders. This was the first time he had divulged heavy information about his past, and despite how fleeting it was, you were appreciative nonetheless.

Suddenly a realization hit you and you perked up on the spot, "Wait, Reg. You said you can cast the patronus charm, right? Was it corporeal?"

Regulus doesn't grace you with an answer, but the twinkle in his eye and the smirk on his face already told you everything you needed to know, a youthful glow suddenly shrouding his face. Unbelievable. A bloody portrait casted a fully corporeal patronus before you.

Your awe only grows once the D.A. meeting starts.

Harry doesn't even begin the meeting by saying anything, he simply takes his wand out and casts his spell into the air with a firm Expecto Patronum.

A burst of bright, blue light whirls like a tide before manifesting into a large stag, the light of the patronus illuminating Harry's gleeful eyes.

Everyone in the room stares in wonder as his patronus galianty runs in circles above their heads before bursting into a sprint through the wall, disappearing, just as Harry tucks his wand away.

"Well that's one hell of an opening."

Your words are met with a few nods and chuckles as Harry grins in your direction. Harry then begins to break down the wand movements necessary to cast the charm and supplies everyone with tips on how to cast it quicker.

You were not going to let Regulus beat you out, you were going to cast a bloody patronus today if it's the last thing you'd do. So you continue to listen to (Professor) Harry attentively, fiddling with your wand in anticipation.

You remember what Harry had told you in third year, the year he learned to cast it. You needed to bring forth a strong, happy memory in your head.

Taking in a deep breath, you maneuver your wand in front of you and narrow your eyes into the air, almost as if willing your patronus to sprout from your wand just from desire alone.

A happy memory. Happy. First year. Meeting Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Running around Hogwarts and beating up the troll in the lavatory. —You wondered if Harry's memory had anything to do with your friend group.

The little blue light that peeked from your wand immediately evaporated as you lost concentration, causing you to silently curse yourself. Focus.

Happy. Third year. Sneaking around with your friends and watching Harry blast Snape across the Shrieking Shack. Happy. Fourth year. Laughing with Ron as Harry got flustered around Cho. Happy. Happy. Finding Regulus.

The small wisp of blue light that you conjured grows a little bigger and brighter.

Yes. Regulus.

Laughing with Regulus. Laughing at Regulus. Learning from Regulus.

Making Regulus smile for the first time in the disappearing room at Grimmauld Place.

Regulus giving you his ring. Feeling the cool silver against your skin for the first time. Watching Regulus‘ eyes unconsciously drift towards the ring whenever you waved your hands around.

Suddenly, you're pulled from your thoughts by a sudden burst of blue light in front of you. You are still rather overwhelmed by the thought of Regulus. Until you're not.

You don't exactly register the next few moments of time, being vaguely aware of Harry's shout of pride and everyone's murmurs of awe.

No, you're too distracted. Not because it was the thought of Regulus that allowed you to cast a fully corporeal patronus.

No, it's because as you're watching your patronus move around in the air, you realize that you're screwed.

A sparrow. A little bird.

Your patronus. Did it manifest from how much you secretly enjoyed the nickname? If so, you certainly did not like the implications of that.

The sparrow circles around your stunned body one last time before flying through the ceiling and disappearing. Your shock recedes as you see Ginny and Luna successfully cast their patronuses as well, just in time for a deep rumble to reverberate around the walls.

Turning to face the entrance of the room, dust clouds your vision as your ears begin to ring. Rubble lays astrew on the floor and you blurrily bring your hand to swat away the dust in front of you, feeling someone grasp at your shoulder to keep you upright.

As the dust settles and you're pushed back into the coherence of reality, you bring your gaze towards the perpetrator.

Standing proudly at the newly blasted hole in the wall were Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad, a shamefaced Cho held by Draco's side.

Merlin be damned. Harry's love life is a proper mess.

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl @valsarchives @bunny24sstuff @novella12nite @elia-the-bibliophile @txoru @surelysherly

[thefiery-phoenix]

PLATONIC YANDERE SIRIUS BLACK HEADCANONS

Your dad really loved your mother a lot. Loved wasn't really the right word to describe his feelings towards her, it was more of an obsession. But your mother grew fine with it eventually and they had a kid that was you. But because of complications during your birth, your mother passed away which made your father Sirius miserable but he promised himself that he'd take care of you and give you all the love and affection that you were going to be deprived of in life

But sadly his dream was shattered to pieces because of Peter Pettigrew ploy against him and he was soon taken to Azkaban. And as for you, you were raised by your father's best friend Lupin and soon you were sent to Hogwarts

You were two years younger than Harry and when Harry got to know Lupin in the third year, he asked him to just keep an eye out for you but he didn't really tell him who's daughter you were yet. Heck, you didn't even KNOW who your actual father was, till now you thought your dad was Lupin

When Sirius was on the prowl and after all the drama that happened with Harry he finally told him that you were his daughter. And he kept Sirius's word and kept a lookout for you like a protective big brother along with his friends

Sirius started to observe you and his heart ached to be with you but he didn't want to scare you and cause a scene. He'd come and collect you when things died down. You got introduced to Sirius after a while though and he thanked Lupin for taking care of you. You were a bit scared at first since well....he IS THE Sirius Black after all, but you knew that he was innocent now and you decided to give him a chance. You had to admit, he was a pretty cool dad but you didn't want to make Lupin upset so you decided to see them both as your parental figures in your life

However sometimes Sirius made you a bit nervous the way he talked about you like he knew everything about you even if you didn't really remember telling him everything. Oh darling but he knows, he's been watching you and keeping a close eye on you and biting Malfoy and other scumbags who dared to bother you lol. You know... being your protective dad, he's like your guardian angel or dog for that matter lol. And if that slimy slimeball Snivellus decides to give you a hard time since he knows who you're related to, Sirius will have a LOT of things to say to him. And it might also involve his fists and a few hexes too

Now that he's a part of the Order he's even MORE protective of you and part of him doesn't feel like sending you back to Hogwarts with Umbridge and all the other dark stuff going on but Lupin argued with him saying that your education needed to continue. Sirius eventually relented but he still wished he could get to spend more time with you and your shy and cute personality. He made Harry promise that he'd steer you clear from people who'd try to harm you and as much as it pained him to say this, you shouldn't know about the DA (Dumbledore's Army) since it was too risky and dangerous for you

If at all you did manage to find out about it and if you wanted to join, Sirius and Lupin would sit you down and explain gently and patiently why you shouldn't do so. If you're so hell bent on it, he's plucking you out of there regardless of what Lupin says. He wants his daughter to be in one piece and alive, he loves you too much

[claymoresword]

I Choose Her | Chp 1

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Summary: You are the daughter of two known death eaters from one of the oldest and richest families in the wizarding world. Are you truly prepared to give up everything you know for Hermione Granger?

Pairing: Hermione x Reader

Wordcount: 1.6k

Warnings: smut (?) , mention of death, draco malfoy sympathiser, ron weasley hater

Note: i wrote this for completely selfish reasons just like i do most things so i'm not sure if anyone's gonna enjoy this but me.. but if u do let me know! I do plan on expanding on this just not totally sure if i want to continue this as a full fic or just drabbles... again if u have a preference let me know lol

Also this is set during 6th year (half blood prince) if that's not clear.. anyway hope u enjoy!

You are the daughter of one of the richest and oldest wizarding families. Both your mother and father are known Death Eaters. They've raised you to follow in their footsteps, upholding the family's honor has always been taught to be your only priority.

You never had the desire to defile your parents, no goals beyond the ones laid out for you by them.

This all changed when you met Hermione Granger.

The Gryffindor girl turned your world upside down. Your affection for her forced you to question your principles, your morals, everything important to you. Everything you thought you knew.

The two of you were assigned to sit next to each other in potions in year 5. She saw you struggling and offered to help you a few times and naturally the two of you started speaking to each other more.

The chances of you meeting, let alone forming a friendship was slim to none, and yet somehow it happened.

Your relationship blossomed rather quickly, you had just met but it felt like you've known each other your entire lives. Within just a few months she even convinced you to join Dumbledore's Army and you truly believed in the cause, even after Umbridge shut it down.

Although you were a little hesistant to let Hermione in at first. You weren't sure if you wanted her to really know you.

For her, it was different. Meeting you felt like a breath of fresh air. Eventhough you were a Slytherin, she thought you to be the most profound person she'd ever met. She felt that she could truly open up to you without judgement.

She shared everything with you. Her passions, her dreams, her most piercing sorrows.

In turn, you opened up to her as well. Both of you deeply appreciated the solace you provide each other.

Hermione fell in love with you for many reasons, but what really stood out to her was your heart. Your perpetuity for kindness. You don't extend it to just anyone ofcourse. You don't believe everybody deserves kindness, most people use it as a weapon, a way to take advantage of you.

However, the compassion you showed her had always been constant and unconditional.

You were the most selfless person she knew.

Eventhough she couldn't fully understand why you treated certain people harsher than others, she still respected you. She trusted your judgement completely. Hermione was incredibly intelligent and you seemed to be the only other person that was her equal in that respect.

---

You were alone with Hermione in the Room Of Requirement. The two of you spent most of your free periods there because it was the only place you could be together free of judgement from others.

The other Slytherins still made comments about you hanging around Hermione, a Gryffindor, a muggle born. Your own parents have sternly warned you multiple times to keep different company but you will not give them the satisfaction. They just don't understand what Hermione meant to you.

You were willing to give up everything to be with her, this you were certain.

Hermione was sitting on the floor and you were laying down, your head was in her lap. She's stroking your hair as you listened to her tell you the things that have been happening with Ron lately.

She has been aware of Ron's crush on her for a few years now but it had only gotten more intense since year 4. She cares a lot for Ron but she feels no romantic feelings for him.

Hermione can't bring herself to tell him because Ron can be very emotional and might take it too personally, she doesn't want to risk ruining their friendship. She can't exactly tell Harry about any of it so she results to venting about it to you.

You've made a few snide remarks towards the ginger haired boy from time to time because honestly, you found him a bit pathetic but a part of you still empathizes with him.

Hermione is remarkable. Mature beyond her years, exceptionally bright and truly breathtakingly beautiful. You loved and adored her with all your heart and you understood why he would think the same.

Your heart swells everytime you look at her and every moment spent with her you felt the urge to pinch yourself, just to make sure you weren't dreaming.

Hermione finishes telling you about Ron and you're met with a few seconds of silence, your mind started to wander.

You let out a sigh.

"What is it?" Hermione asks, worried she had said something wrong to upset you.

"Nothing it's just-" You started, not quite sure if it was worth sharing with your girlfriend.

You decided to tell her anyway.

"Draco's been really distant lately and I don't understand why." You admitted.

"The more I try to get him to talk to me the more he pushes me away. The only time he ever really speaks to me is to try and convince me to join the Death Eaters." You paused, unsure if this was a topic suitable to discuss with her.

Hermione just hums in response, indicating that she's listening and wants you to continue.

"I don't know, I cant put my finger on it but my gut tells me that something really bad is about to happen." You finish.

"Well from what I've seen your gut is rarely ever wrong. Do you think maybe becoming a death eater changed him? Maybe he's distant because you refuse to become one of them." The brown haired girl suggests.

"Maybe, I just feel like there's more to it. I can't shake the feeling that there's something big he's not telling me." You answer as your eyebrows furrow.

You do love Draco, you understood he acts the way he does because of his father's harsh treatment and expectations of him. Something you can deeply relate to.

You felt for him. He was like a brother to you and it troubled you that he wasn't being honest.

Hermione moves her hand to your forehead, she rubs small circles with her thumb near the crease of your eyebrows. You close your eyes at the sensation, taking in a deep breath.

You feel yourself relax almost immediately.

"I'm sorry he's not speaking to you, I know how much you care for him." Hermione says honestly.

"But maybe its for the best." Your girlfriend voices out and your eyes shoot open.

Hermione notices your confused look so she continues.

"I just mean that since he's with the death eaters now maybe it's better that he's avoiding you. It makes it easier for you to stay away from them." Hermione clarifies.

You close your eyes again and she resumes the pattern of rubbing her thumb across your forehead.

"Maybe you're right." You pause. "I still miss who he was before all of this."

"I suspect you feel the same." You add.

You sit up now looking at her in the eyes.

"Meaning?" Hermione asks her eyebrows now furrowed.

"I meant with Harry. On top of everything that's already going on I heard he lost Sirius. I can't imagine how he's handling it all." You explain.

"He has been a lot angrier lately, I try my best to give him the space he needs. But I think he knows he needs Ron and I now more than ever." She replies.

"Well how are you dealing with all this?" You ask Hermione, earnestly.

She doesn't say anything for a few seconds. A full smile suddenly forming across her face, your girlfriend leans in and plants a kiss on your lips.

Your initial shock dissipates quickly as you kiss her back with just as much need.

"Okay, what was that for?" You breathe out against her lips as soon as she pulled away.

"You are the only person to ever ask me how I am." The brown haired girl states.

You let out a laugh. A smile now spread across your face.

"Well I am your girlfriend I think it would be a bit shitty if I didn't care about your well being." You quipped.

She leans forward and places her lips against yours again, this time she moves her entire body and straddles you, legs on either side of your hips.

"I don't think you understand how amazing you are." Hermione says looking into your eyes as she grabs your face in both her hands.

You lean in to kiss her again, deeply. All your love for the smaller girl pouring out into a single kiss.

Hermione shifts in your lap and your hands reflexively move to rest on her waist. She runs her tongue across your bottom lip signaling that she wanted to deepen the kiss, you allow her.

Her tongue meets yours and she lets out a small moan at the sensation. Your hands glide to her back and eventually settling on her ass.

Your breathing both getting heavier as the kiss becomes more heated. Your hands roam Hermione's body and she squirms in your lap, wanting to feel more of you.

You disconnect your lips to plant a kiss on Hermione's neck, you run your tongue along the base of her jaw and this earned another moan from your girlfriend. Her hand finds the back of your neck and she pulls you in closer.

You move your hands up to find Hermione's tie, you loosen it and she lets you pull it over her head. Just as you were about to unbutton her shirt you are interrupted by footsteps.

You hear someone clear their throat.

"Y/n." Draco says, his tone indifferent to the sight before him.

Hermione scrambles off your lap and you both quickly stand up, gathering yourselves.

"Draco." You respond, matching his attitude.

You step forward, deliberately placing yourself in between Hermione and Draco. You understood that she could handle herself but there is still no telling what he might try and do to her in his current state.

It was then you took notice of the green apple he had in his hand, becoming increasingly perplexed. You didn't understand what his business was.

"Now what brings you here?" You ask, meeting his stern gaze.

[keencroissantgardenflap]

DUMBLEDORE RANTS

I've thought that witnessing Marauders fans blame all the deaths on Dumbledore is annoying enough, until I saw DRACO fans blame Dumbledore for all the wrong choices and stupid decisions that DRACO made HIMSELF????!!!

That person said it was Albus's fault for ignoring Draco's issues, for turning a blind eye on whatever happened to Draco in HBP and only lend a helping hand at the end of HBP.

And I was like???? 😦😦😦🤡🤡🤡??? Seriously???? Can you use your brain? At that time of the story, Dumbledore was a leader of an army and he had a mf WAR to deal with, he had plans to complete and had many other people (children, women, men) to protect. He needed to find out what was happening between Harry and Voldemort and turned that information into something useful that could make his side win the war.

He was old as fuck and still had to worry about several things, he sacrificed himself to make a way for the other, for a ray of hope. He was weak, sick and injured after destroying a Horcrux and coming through all the things in that full-of-inferiors cave. Yet he still made an unsual effort to control the situation and did his best to save as many people as he could. And you still think that he had any free time to worry about some brats putting himself in a fucked up position?

I don't say that everything happened to Draco was all Draco's fault. I know he's just a spoiled child who became cocky, rude, selfish and rac*st because of the environment he grew up in and a secret desire to satisfy his parents's expectations. I know he isn't evil at all and didn't deserve all the bad things happened to him. BUT Draco wasn't the only one who was in danger. Every other students, other children were also facing the same war. Did you see what happened to Dean, Seamus, Nevellie and their families? Did you see what happened to other creatures like the elves and goblins? Did you see what happened to Order and Ministry members when Voldemort chased after them and tortured then killed them brutally? Dumbledore was losing HIS PEOPLE one by one, the war became very dangerous for his side and he couldn't hesitate anymore, he must do something, anything to make it better.

And despite all of those terrible things, Dumbledore still cared for you all precious Draco 😀. He had a plan for saving that boys soul, soothe him with warming advices while Draco's wand was still pointing at his neck. All the things he told Draco at the moment before his death are to make Draco not feel guilty about his actions. What else do you want Dumbledore do to help Draco? How else could Dumbledore help him if Draco rejected even his favourite teacher, the one he used to respect - Snape? Things happened to Draco wasn't only because of his fault, but it also was NOT DUMBLEDORE'S.

You think they would win the war without Dumbledore? You think your favourite character died because of him? Shut up you idiot 😊😊

I'm not even a Dumbledore defender, I know that old man also made mistakes in his life but I swear those ppls and their Dumbledore slander start being annoying as fuck. NOT EVERYTHING is his fault ok???? Urrggggg I'm going to get mad because of those ppls, they start losing their sanity for real 💀💀💀, they should be banned from social media for the peace of the world 🫂🫂🫂🤗🤗🤗

[diana-bookfairchild]

@ladiesofhpfest Sisters Before Misters, Daughters and Female Friendship

Ginny had often wished for a sister as a child.

She had an endless number of brothers, some of whom she could never recall permanently living at home. Bill and Charlie had been at Hogwarts before she had even been able to make proper memories. All she remembered of that time was a stark longing to follow them.

But there were the boys and then there was Ginny. The first Weasley daughter born in seven generations, according to Grandmother.

She didn’t particularly care for the symbolism or the arithmantic significance. All that meant to her was that she was alone in so many ways.

Alone in wanting to play with dolls. Alone in being forced into dresses by Mum (though she badgered Ron into switching clothes with her more often than not). Alone in wanting to stage her wedding to Harry Potter. Alone in wanting to fly but being forbidden to. Alone in getting new clothes (other than Bill, obviously). Alone in being made to learn cooking and kitting. Alone in being yelled at for cutting her hair rather than growing it. Alone in being scolded when she got dirt on her clothes. Alone in being coddled. Alone in having to combat expectations of being a housewife. Alone in wanting to scream that she was more than this.

(Maybe not as alone in the last one as she'd thought.)

It wasn’t, of course, that her parents loved her less. In fact, they sometimes seemed to love her more, probably inspiring Ron’s inferiority complex. But that love went from reassuring to smothering to suffocating a lot of the time, and she had no idea how to tell her mother that she wasn’t the ideal daughter she wanted.

It was at times like those especially when she longed for a sister. Someone who would understand what she went through. Someone she could teach or be taught by how to get through this. Someone she could laugh with about how mortifying Mum’s sex ed had been, like her brothers and Harry did about dad’s. Someone to grumble to about periods without them teasing or going pale and running off. Someone to commiserate with about how overprotective and, well – conservative her brothers were (especially Ron).

Someone to stop her feeling. . . so lonely. At least sometimes.

(She laughed until she cried when she realized how much Tom had taken advantage of that desire.)

(She dated more for the experience and the thrill and the personal contact than she did because she loved them.)

Hermione was lovely, a wonderful friend who advised and fussed over and giggled with her in equal parts, but besides being nearly as overbearing as mum, she was a part of the impenetrable Ron-Harry-Hermione Golden Trio. She’d be her sister when Ron eventually got his head on straight, but. . .

Luna was brilliant, but she was far away even when she was right next to Ginny, and it seemed so petty to talk about how she sometimes hated her Mum even when she loved her when her friend’s mother was dead. Luna always seemed beyond earthly problems.

Demelza and Angelina were great, but they were quidditch mates. They played quidditch together, argued strategy and trash talked each other. Her dormmates talked about Hogsmeade, boys, studies and the latest gossip – not their trauma and loneliness.

Especially after Tom, it seemed she was destined for nothing but loneliness. Darkness and betrayal and despair.

Then, eventually, love crept back into her life. Her parents, her brothers, her Harpy teammates, her sisters-in-law, Dumbledore’s Army, and, of course, Harry.

Harry, who understood and coddled her, all at once. It was a juxtaposition she would have thought impossible. It caused several fights until they learned to trust and choose and talk to one another.

He wasn't a sister, but he was Harry, and they had their family and that was good, too.

She was still alone in many ways, but not alone in so many more.

(When Lily was born, Ginny promised herself she would make her daughter feel only the best parts of the love Ginny had herself gotten from her mother, and none of the bad, especially since she was an only girl too. Still, she made sure her daughter had an excellent support system besides her parents, in her brothers, Hugo, Rose, Lucy and the rest of the family.

She would never long for or feel lonely the way Ginny had.)

[atlasdoe]

Things that The Marauders fandom say that pisses me off

warning: i will not be holding back. if you are sensitive do not read. feel free to disagree or anything in the replies but don't be a dick

i'm only doing this cause i'm bored and have a lot of rage in me

also just to be clear if we're mutuals then i'm not on about you :)

"It's so sad that one of the only things we have in cannon is the prank"

or something along those lines. If knowing that the prank is cannon makes you upset then I have some great news for you. Nobody cared about the prank in cannon!!!! it's literally just another Tuesday for the Marauders and not once does anybody lose any friends or hold any grudges about it!! yay, now you can sleep at night!

"Dumbledore raised an army of children twice"

I've already spoken about this before but for anyone who wasn't here please know that this is a lie! Neither time did Dumbledore raise an army of children. You had to be an adult to join The Order and although the Marauders were young they were not children. As for everyone else, their ages are not confirmed. We are the ones who made Marlene and Dorcas the same age as them. For all we know The Marauder's could've been the youngest in the Order by far. As for the DA, Dumbledore literally had no part in that. It was Hermione, Harry and Ron who made the DA. All Dumbledore did was take the blame for it because they named themselves after him

"Dumbledore could've helped Regulus, Evan and Barty"

Firstly it amazes me how these three are the only Death Eaters yall have any sympathy for. I understand Regulus to a point considering we only really hear good things about him from Kreacher but with Evan and Barty genuinely what makes them so special?? Evan is in the exact same pool as Wilkes and y'all don't give a shit about them. Also Barty helped resurrect Voldemort and tortured Frank and Alice. Either way regardless on if you like them or not trust me when i say that if they would've gone to Dumbledore for help he would've helped them. When have we ever seen Dumbledore turn somebody down because they were a Slytherin. This man literally tried to help Draco as he was about to kill him and help the Death Eaters take over Hogwarts. Dumbledore doesn't know everything and he's never passed on the chance for a new spy.

"This fandom is misogynistic for making Lily/Tonks bad mothers/surrogates"

Fanfiction does not equal headcannons. Just because Lily or Tonks are bad mothers in a fanfiction does not mean that the author dislikes them or thinks that they're a bad person in cannon. Also reading about your favourite ship raise a child is a very common trope in fanfiction and as much as Harry and Teddy are Lily and Tonks children they are also James and Remus'. James and Remus are just as responsible for their children and I see nobody batting an eye when the roles are reversed. On top of all of this, Lily and Tonks were young mothers and it's very likely that they would make mistakes or in other universes not be as good as they were in cannon. That does not make them bad people nor does it make them unworthy of being liked. If you don't like it, don't read it cause i know that nobody is saying that Regulus and James raised Harry in cannon.

"Marlene/Dorcas/Mary/Evan is so underrated!"

No they're not. They're mentioned like once or twice. If anything they're incredibly overrated. Nothing wrong with that. Just facts

"Jily is dying out because people are scared to go against Jegulus"

Don't make me laugh. Jily is one of the only cannon ships we have they are literally the blueprint to the entire series. Jily is not dying out, you're just seeing more Jegulus posts because you keep interacting with them and fucking up your own algorithm in order to argue with people in comment sections

"[Insert ship here] need to stop hating on [Insert another ship here] (same with characters)"

I remember one time in the Riverdale fandom when a Bughead shipper did an interview with a magazine pretending to be Lili Reinheart and told this magazine that Bughead will be cannon just to piss the Barchie shippers off. Y'all would not survive "real" fandoms. Just because somebody doesn't like your ship does not make it hate and even if someone does say something like "Jily is trash and I hate it" so fucking what?? it's one person and trust me there is another room on the internet for the both of you. I don't even think I've seen anyone truly post hate about a ship since 2020 when i was in the instagram fandom and the Wolfstar and Blackinnon shippers had each other by the throat

"Jegulus came out of nowhere and I don't understand why people ship it"

Jegulus has been around for as long as i have (2018) and at least to me it's very obvious why people like it. It's the best friends brother, opposite sides of the war, secret relationship, forbidden romance tropes that people love. it's not that hard to understand. And as I said before we know just enough about Regulus to get some sense of what he was like but not all of the bad parts.

"Sirius was tall but Remus was TALL"

There's nothing necessarily wrong with this. I just hate it. Especially if you're commenting on somebody's post about how Sirius is canonically tall. Half the time, unless they say it themselves, they don't think that Remus is taller and don't care if you do

that's all i've got for now. i may do this again :)