#but git is like ‘no actually you’ve made no changes :)’

[yellobb]

Could Git be less complicated please???

[leclsrc]

mr. nice guy ✴︎ ms47

genre: 18+, pwp (very little plot), very very filthy, fem!reader

word count: 4.3k (of smut. you’ve been warned)

Mick Schumacher is the paddock’s golden boy. He likes upholding this reputation, but there’s something nagging at him lately that makes it... difficult.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because… penetrative sex, anal sex; like descriptive anal, dirty talk (praise central!!), crying, breeding, rough sex, size kink, some squirting?, requires suspension of belief regarding the inner workings of anal lol

hope you like it everyone! :) i finished it early so revising can kiss my butt ahhaaha.

Mick has a secret.

It’s more of a problem than a secret (to him at least), and it concerns you. But it’s not that he feels the spark is gone, and it’s definitely not that he feels like breaking things off with you. Between you both, everything’s been good and steady despite how demanding his career is. Sometimes, if time permits, you’ll go out to dinner during a race weekend, or even spend more than a few days with each other.

Point is—he’s more than happy with your relationship. Even the sex is good, and like everything else, you two are just compatible in that department. Up until last month, actually, Mick had been okay. And then Lando just had to open his loud mouth during a game of poker in Charles’ hotel room, during a conversation about a girl he’d slept with the night before.

“I didn’t know girls were into that,” George had said, curious. Nobody was really paying attention to the poker anymore, everyone turned toward Lando. He’d smiled, a smug, cheeky little git.

“Oh, some are. But if you want to try, chances are you’ll be the one asking.”

“Really?” Mick had interjected. He’d been quiet for the duration of the discussion, so it comes as a bit of a surprise. George and Lando had shared a smirk, a look. Then Lando’d said passively: “Yeah, Mick. Didn’t pin you as a guy who’d be into that, though.”

“Hmm,” Mick mused. He didn’t pin himself as that kind of guy either. Sex with you isn’t necessarily vanilla—it can get rough—but for some reason, Mick just isn’t that guy. But with Lando, being into that had made sense. His sexcapades always have a thrill to them, an edge. 

“Yeah,” Charles had quipped, smirking now, too. “Because… well, you’re a nice guy, Mick.”

He is a nice guy. A sweet guy. Fans call him cute all the time. So he figures this new pressing dilemma won’t press. Except it does press—thoughts of being able to play with you, possess you that way irk him well into the night.

So, now, Mick’s faced with the resulting problem-and/or-secret, and it won’t be solved unless he tells you. Because, really: how does any sane guy respectfully tell his girlfriend he wants to fuck her ass?

He’ll try. Anyway, he figures the timing is perfect: you’ve taken time off work to come and visit him for a week at the Las Vegas launch. As soon as you’d arrived at his room, he had you on his bed being fucked within an inch of your life—an instance that repeated itself many times over the course of the last few days.

Mick tries to trace the reasons why he feels a bit shy about telling you. Maybe because everyone thinks he’s a sweet guy, and sweet guys aren’t into things like these. Even if you know he gets a little less sweet in bed, he thinks this is still uncharted territory for the both of you.

“Babe?” He calls, snapping out of his reverie.

“Still changing,” you yell, muffled by the door to the bathroom.

He gets up, stretches, and knocks twice anyway; the sight of you unclothed isn’t novel to him. You open it and stare up. “Yeah?”

“I need to get my AirPods, I think I left them on the vanity.”

“Oh, fuck. Sure. Come in.” You let the door open all the way and he enters, pressing a kiss to your hair as he searches for his earphones. You’re half-dressed, in a tiny tee and lace panties, hair disheveled and thrown over one shoulder. You bend over to rifle through your luggage and he gulps. He’s a sweet guy. 

You huff, yanking a pair of jeans out of your suitcase. “I have no good clothes anymore.”

“Nonsense. Everything looks great on you,” your boyfriend replies, taking his AirPods from where they rest on the dresser.

You smile and scoff playfully, placing the jeans back inside before pulling out a dress. “The Mick Schumacher complimenting me? God, what’d I ever do to deserve this?” You turn to the large mirror, holding the dress in front of your body to envision how it might look. From this angle, your back is to him, ergo, he can see your pert ass clearly, flexing with every pose you make for the dress. He blinks hard.

You even lift your hair into a makeshift bun to try and see how the dress looks, but still you seem frustrated. “It looks great, babe,” he cuts in. “I promise.”

“Does it?” You turn back around to show him the dress, pouting. “I dunno. Something’s a bit off. Or maybe the shirt’s just ruining the look.” You toss him the dress, which lands on his face—it’s satin and smells like you. When it slides off his face and into his grip, you’re already halfway through tugging your shirt off.

Underneath you’re wearing a bra that matches the underwear—pretty, white lace—and Mick feels his heart thrum heavily. He’s a sweet guy, though. So he tosses you your dress when you reach out for it and watches you pull it on for real this time. “Huh,” you muse. “You were right.”

“Of course I was,” he says with a laugh, coming up behind you. His height advantage lets his chin rest comfortably on your head. “You look very pretty.”

“Mmm?” You ask with a light giggle, leaning backwards. “Danke, Mickie. What time do you need to be on the paddock?”

“In two hours. Minimum,” he says, his big hand resting on your waist. He lets it slide downward, until he’s at the top of your thigh, where the dress sits. He pinches the hem, traces it until he’s touching the back of your dress. “Don’t worry. No rush.”

“No rush…” You repeat, nodding, letting him feel you up, encouraging it. 

You shudder, feeling his hand venture underneath your dress, in the process raking it up. Everything happens in the mirror, like you’re watching it in real-time—Mick’s teasing, his slight smile, the way his eyes have totally darkened.

Already growing wet, you reach your hand behind you and it wraps around Mick’s bicep for leverage. It’s solid, defined under your grip, and it makes you even more aroused.

His hand rakes your dress up to your waist, so he gets a clear view of your panties. You meet his gaze, lidded and impossibly aroused, in the mirror. “This the pair I bought you?” You bite a smile back and nod. You remember the day he gifted this particular set to you; it’d come to your apartment in a pink box. You’d written him a thank you text and a This is so unnecessarily pricey Mickie, to which he’d replied with Nonsense, send me a picture. “I like it,” you say hoarsely.

“Ah, believe me, so do I,” he groans, his head coming down to press against your neck. “More than like. I love how good you look. All for me, yeah? You’re my pretty girl.”

You shiver at the show of possession, and your grip tightens as you nod. You’ve grown quiet, an air of anticipation surrounding you both. “You like that,” he says, and it’s more of a statement than a question. “You like being my pretty girl, huh? All dolled up and so, so good for me.”

“For you,” you confirm. “Yes.”

“Can you trust me?” He asks. And then, to push you further, “Will you be good for me?” His fingers travel to your front, press against the seat of your thong. His touch is strong and persistent, and he stuffs the fabric a bit into your cunt, just to watch you squirm; just to feel how wet you are. Not to make you wait, no. Not to edge you either. Because, he reminds himself before the strands of his sanity leave, because he’s a sweet guy.

“Always,” you say, shuddering. Already you’re showing signs of wanting to cum.

“Come on, let’s go to the bed, baby.” You nod and follow silently, letting him lift you up and lay you down. You giggle, watching him stare down at you before reaching out for him, craving a kiss.

Like always, Mick gives you what you want, dipping down to press your mouths together.

It turns hot and messy quick, your arms coming up to wrap around his broad shoulders, trying to pull him closer, feel him against you, his hands all over you. He grunts, stumbling a little, and parts from you, much to your chagrin.

You sit up, shifting yourself onto your knees so you’re more-or-less level—except he’s standing up and you’re on the edge of the bed. Your hair covers your eyes a little when you lean closer, pouting.

“Come on, fuck me, Mick.”

“Yeah?” He asks. When he’s horny, and when you’re coaxing him like this, like a vixen, like something he just can’t deny, his words get sharper, actions harsher. You’d look at your bruises in the mirror—angry thumb prints, hickeys where your tops and dresses won’t give it away (he’s a gentleman in that regard), bruised knees from bad race nights when he needs to fuck your throat raw and rid himself of frustrations—and smile. “You want me to stretch this little pussy out?”

He pushes you backwards again, and you flip yourself over, wiggling your ass at him. “Please?”

Christ, it’s like you know his pressing secret, like you want him to let it out, and stuff you full, and make you dumb.

He blinks. He’ll be sweet about this. As sweet as he can get, anyway. He sheds his shirt and gets behind you, holds you still when he tugs your thong to the side. His palms are big and rough against your skin, a bruising grip left on your hips, but still you can feel how gentle he is with you underneath it all.

You hear him pull his cock out, the elastic of his sweats stretching. He slides his cock in between your cheeks, and even through there you can feel how heavy, how big it is against you. You whimper at the feeling of it. “Come on, Mick,” you try again, voice airy from impatience. “I’ll take it.”

He lets his cock glide messily over your pussy, lubing himself up from the slick gushing out of you. You get wet so easily, he thinks. One touch, one word, and you’re like putty around him, needy and clingy and oh so aroused. You’re so wet, he mumbles, stupefied. You clench around nothing, grow even wetter. 

He pushes inside then, impatient as you are.

A series of fucks erupt from his mouth, finally sinking into your entrance. It’s just the tip, but still you’re tight around him, your legs shuffling to accommodate the stretch. “I’ve got you,” he says. His vision’s cloudy. He keeps thinking—if you’re this tight now, this good, this pliant, what more if you let him fuck you there?

You’re dizzy with pleasure—every fuck with Mick is as dizzying as the last. You urge him to stuff you further, your whimpers lost in your head, but you can hear them faintly. Please, Mick. Yes, deeper, fuck, more. And, as if to encourage you, he goes, yeah? Like it like this, baby?

He knows you do. He’s sweet that way, always giving and giving. But you know something’s different—you feel it, even as you gasp from the feeling of his dick fucking you open. He wants something different. Something more.

You’re so tight, so sensitive, throbbing hotly around his dick. He fucks you hard and dirty, keeping a hand on your back, making sure you’re always in an arch, perfect and poised just for him. Your eyes flutter. Mick, you say, but it’s lost in your own moans. I’m so close—I might—fuck—

He grunts, feels you tighten around him. He fucks you harder, splits you open. You let him. “Go on,” he says, and the authority of his voice brings you both back to a state of semi-lucidity. “Go, make a mess of yourself on my dick.”

He utters the instructions with an edge to his voice. It’s husky and a bit lazy, but still you follow, letting the coil in your stomach unknot itself. Your jaw hangs open, eyes rolling backwards, letting your moans leave you noisily and breathily. More, Mickie. I want all of it. I want more. You’re so wet, you’re practically squirting slick all over him.

You’re cumming hard and slow, dragging out your orgasm by fucking back against him. Each thrust is punctuated with a squelch of your cunt around him. You dig your nails into the cotton duvet, feeling slick run down your thighs. His words spur you on, and his pace doesn’t let up, instead going harder, deeper. You cum so fast for me, princess. Gonna go again? 

His shaft is almost dripping with how much you’ve released on it, a wet noise sounding every time he moves. Come on, he coaxes gently. Give me another. You’ll give me another, hmm?

Yes, Mickie, you moan. It’s loud and unashamed. Yes, fuck.

Still sensitive, clenching and squeezing, you let the stimulation take you over, drown you until you’re barely breathing, let alone speaking coherently. Already the coil twists again, and you anticipate the pending orgasm, the high, the release. You let Mick fuck it out of you. You let him give.

You cum again, building up and up and then crashing messily around him, whimpers leaving your mouth and shudders racking your body.

It hurts, almost, with how intense it is; it comes in the midst of heavy, rough thrusts pressing against the deepest parts of you. You’re almost wailing with how good it hurts, your arms giving and letting you collapse on the sheets. You convluse weakly, feeling him pull out, a gasp leaving your mouth.

In response, Mick presses a reassuring hand to the small of your back. You breathe deep, tension leaving your body, walls still fluttering. You’re so good for me, princess. You take whatever I give you. My good girl. It comes in waves, the praise.

He wrangles you atop him, so you’re semi-straddling him. Somehow, lying on his hard, sweaty chest, with your legs on either side of him, both of you barely clothed—you still in the set, Mick in his boxers only—feels so much more comfortable than the bed. “How are you, baby?”

You nod.

“So good. You take me so well every time.”

“You didn’t cum, Mickie,” you pout into his chest. You grind lazily against him, smiling when you feel his dick swell against your still-dripping cunt. He grunts. You’re insatiable, he says. Absolutely crazy.

“I want it,” you say quietly, into his ear, hot. “Give it to me again. Again.”

It’s like time slows, when your lips bite into his earlobe, your fingers lithe and dextrous between your bodies, tracing over the solid indents of his abs. His own arm sneaks over your waist, wraps around it, lets it rest over the sticky skin, and thinks. Maybe this is when he can solve his problem, let the secret spill out of him.

He grits his teeth, brought back to reality when your grip moves south to palm at his dick. “Princess,” he says, breathing unsteady. “You trust me, right?”

The air shifts. You stare down at him with big eyes, glassy from your previous stimulation. And you nod. “Yeah, of course.”

“Okay.” He says. “Good.” He brings his other hand up to his mouth, covering two fingers with spit, and then, like a dam has broken: “M’gonna play with your ass, princess.”

Your eyes widen, but he starts nodding, smiling that sweet smile of his. So this is what he wanted. You inhale shakily, your hand leaving his dick to find purchase on his abdomen again. He heaves the both of you into a sitting position, so you can both breathe easier, but also so his access to your ass is easier, better.

He covers his digits with spit again. “It’ll feel good.” He reaches behind you and your hands are iron on his shoulders, your body rigid with anticipation, but also excitement.

He spreads you open, sinks his hands into the flesh there. “Trust me. Be a good girl.” He smears spit over the rim of your ass, thinks fuck, finally. “Relax for me.” 

Ah, you whimper. Ah. He feels you take his cock in your grip, jerking it twice, slurring a whimper into his ear: Fuck me, please. And because he knows you need a distraction from the stretch, he gives you the familiar kind, his dick tight and hard in your cunt. 

He thrusts upward to hit your sweet spot so you’re distracted when he’s rubbing tight circles, coaxing relaxation out of your ass. He feels your tension roll away. He’s got you like putty again. You’re caught up in the feeling, of bouncing on him; his hand momentarily leaves your ass to unclasp your bra and palm over your tits like a man starved.

Absently he thinks, is this what a nice guy does? Fucks his girlfriend’s pussy raw so he can claim her ass next? He squeezes his eyes shut, lets the thoughts filter out.

A strangled moan leaves you when he breaches your little hole. Just a bit more, he thinks, letting his finger back out, rubbing again, dipping lower to collect slick from your gushing cunt. He can tell you’re going to like this. “Okay?” You nod desperately, bouncing faster. Your slick is everywhere.

One hand leaves your tits to rub at your clit; the other stays rubbing circles over your rim, occasionally breaching. You nod. More, Mickie. Needy again. His fingers are wet and insistent against your clit and your ass, and the sensations flood you, knocking you into a state of euphoria. He stretches your ass open around one of his fingers, rubbing faster as he goes, feeling you get wetter.

“Mmmmf m’god,” you murmur, dazed. “Mick, I—I want more, fuck.” You cant yourself backwards to catch him.

He thrusts it, experimentally, collects more slick to make the glide easier. I know, he coos. I know, princess. Why don’t you give me one more? And you nod, because it’s easy, like this—when his dick is hard and deep in you. You bounce, each moan louder than the last, until finally your thighs are trembling and you’re releasing everywhere. 

It’s a lot—a lot of slick, a lot of pleasure. You can’t tear yourself away from his cock, or his hand insistently pressing into you from behind. You whimper, sensitive, eyes vacant with overstimulated pleasure. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips, and you moan into it.

“Just fill me up,” you beg. “I can take it.” He uses your release to shove another finger in, relaxing you further, drawing moans out of you that interrupt your flow of thought. It feels so new. It feels so good. 

“Patience, princess,” he says. “I’m being nice this way.” He wants to split you open now, to be rough with it, to hear you whimper, to stuff you full of his cock and then his cum. But he’s patient. He’s sweet. He can wait.

He pulls out, rubbing the tip of his dick along the wetness of slick there. Your fingers dig into his broad shoulders, anticipating the breach. It comes, a dull burn that’s muted and slow, slow, slow. Mick grunts. “Can—” he tries, but the feeling is getting to him, the innate desire to fuck you stupid, to take advantage of how tight you feel. “Can you relax for me a little? Loosen up for me, princess.”

Okay, you murmur. I will. And you do, nodding as you allow yourself to relax. You can’t fathom the stretch. Mick’s already big—big shoulders, big arms, and feeling him so deep in you is addicting to a fault. 

He slips in further, eliciting a moan from both of you. Expletives leave his mouth in rapid German, and he tries to wedge a sorry in there for the language—but he can’t, just keeps grunting as he wrestles himself deeper inside you.

Relax, he grits. Almost there, so good, baby. You lean into him, nodding, letting him coax you through it, through the stretch, the pleasure. He wishes he could see how well you take him, but he knows that after this, it’s going to happen a lot. He’ll get his chance then, to bend you over, or to flatten your legs against your chest, make you take it better.

Give it to me, Mickie, you whimper. Your hole’s so tight around him, pussy wet and dripping everywhere; he doubts he’ll last long with how you squeeze him. Your tiny hole, so little just earlier, is stretching so well just to take him.

He grunts. He’s so deep in you. He’s positive you can feel him in your stomach. When he finally bottoms out, after a few moments of prolonged silence (save for the intermittent moans), you both exhale. “You’re,” you say, breathless. “You’re so deep inside me.”

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Love this dick,” you hum mindlessly, smiling, starting to grind on it. And fuck, why’d he ever keep this secret for so long?

Once you’ve started moving, he takes it as a greenlight to go faster, progressively speeding up his thrusts until they’re sloppy, loud with the noise of your slick and his precum. His hands are big on your waist, controlling how you move and how you stay still. “Fuck, baby,” he says, desperate. “You’re so perfect.”

For you, Mickie, you moan. 

He doesn’t realize how brash his actions are until he has to readjust his grip and sees indents of his thumbs on your hip, ones that will no doubt leave dark bruises. But he ignores them, and ignores the throb of arousal that ignites through him seeing you so wrecked and debauched like this, and thrusts harder. “Shit,” he grits. “Shit, shit, shit.”

You encourage him, bouncing back to meet his thrusts, embracing the burn of it. You’re certain you’ve cum twice already with how spent you feel, but the pleasure comes in waves every time he thrusts, sending you into a new kind of dizzy. You can feel just how split open you are, because your boyfriend is thick, and you can sense how wide open you are just from how well his dick fits. He sizzles into a space of just talking, talking, talking, to somehow redirect the stimulation—it falls into praise, questions, mumbled pet names.

Gonna fuck your little ass so full, he grunts. Full of my cock, my cum.

You cry out. Yes, you respond. Mickie—I want it.

I know you want it, he says. He mumbles something nondescript in German, voice heavy and rough. Then: Wanna take this dick, hmm?

He pulls out to the tip, then sinks back inside fast. It’s like whiplash, like the stretch has been played back at twice the speed. You moan loud, open-mouthed and desperate, nodding. Your mind is cloudy, cock-drunk, the way you always get when Mick’s been fucking you this long.

Gonna, he says, guttural. Gonna fuck this little hole. Stretch it out.

Then he’s fucking you fast and dirty, wetter and wetter, and you’re cumming again, watching yourself gush slick all over his lower abdomen and his dick, making the glide faster, easier.

You whimper all through it, prolonging your own release so you never have to let go of this euphoria. You hear him like he’s six feet below you—good girl, good girl, good fucking girl, yeah. Give me another.

Another—it seems impossible. But still you say, “Yeah, I’ll give you another,” your voice sticky with thirst. He fucks another one out of you, his pace rapid fast, dick pressing perfectly into your ass. It’s messy, your cum is everywhere, but you wedge another gush of slick out, and that’s what does it.

This time it’s you asking: cum in me, Mick. Make me full, please.

Mick looks down, watches you take him, your release everywhere, and grits his teeth. He presses his forehead to your bare shoulder, grunting, then filling you up. You moan at the feeling, already anticipating how good it’ll feel when he pulls out, lets it gush out of you in spurts. 

You both breathe heavily. Then: “So, anal, huh?”

And then you’re laughing, albeit tiredly, Mick lifting you up to run you both a bath where you make him cum one more time.

Later that night, when you’re asleep (a day of racing and anal sex is not for the weak, you’d said before skipping on Haas-sponsored dinner), he retreats to Lando’s room to play poker.

“Where’s your girl?” The Brit asks, a cheeky smile on his face. “She passed out?”

“Woah, locker room talk much,” Alex says defensively from the couch. “Keep it down, you nymphos.”

“Just trying to gauge if Mick here tired his girlfriend out.”

Mick reviews his cards and offers a smile. “I would never.”

“Yeah, Mick’s vanilla,” George jokes. “Lando, stop bringing your porn addiction into our poker games.”

“Vanilla?!” Alex says, interest reignited.

“Have you seen the guy?” Lando points blank at Mick, who stares back with an amused smile. “The press calls him F1’s golden boy. The cutest little puppy on the paddock. He just isn’t into tiring sex.”

“Let alone”—George stifles a laugh—“what you’re into, Lando.”

Mick hums, shrugging. “What can I say? I’m a sweet guy.”

[inherstars]

Rest | The Last of Us (3,407 words)

This takes place the first winter after Joel an Ellie return to Jackson. The two versions of Joel need to be written differently, and I had the TV version in mind when penning this one, but I actually think it works for both. Joel gets sick, and Ellie takes it upon herself to care for him.

His voice wavered with amusement. Maybe exasperation.  Where Ellie was concerned, it was usually both.

“You have to--you can’t skip the rest.”

“The what?”

“The rest.  Look--you see this thing here?” He reached out, tap-tapping a fingertip to the sheet music before her.  Ellie frowned at it.  “Yeah, that’s not just there to look pretty, it means something.  All the notes mean something.”

She was getting aggravated.  Joel estimated she had another five minutes left in her before she declared the lesson done for the day.

“Well what does that note mean?”

“It means rest.”

“I’m not tired.”

He draped both arms atop his guitar and put his forehead down on them. Christ, this fucking kid.  Ellie’s head hung back, taking her turn with exasperation.

“Whaaaat?”

“Okay.”  He sat up again, fixing the grip on his own guitar.  “Look--no, don’t look at me, look at the notes and listen while I’m playing.  I’m going to slow it down, but follow along.”  He tapped the measure on the paper. “You ready?”

Her head bobbed in a single nod. “Ready.”

“Okay.”  At a slightly-less-than-annotated pace he strummed through the chords, the coarse timbre of his voice moving calmly through the lyrics as he went.  “...I keep a close watch on this heart of mine--rest--I keep my eyes wide open all the time--rest, rest--do you see?”

“Ohhh.  There’s more than one.”

“Right.  You need to learn them and watch out for them, at least until you start to pick up the natural rhythm of how the song flows.  Usually after the first go-through it will stick in your head where you’re meant to pause, and for how long.”

She reached out, picking up the folded booklet and scanning ahead.  She reread the notation, the rests, the lyrics.

“Holy shit, is this song about you or what?”

Joel took it from her with a sigh.  “Wow, you made it three whole minutes longer than I thought you would.”

“What? No--wait, hey!  Give it back!”  He held it easily out of her reach, pivoting his arm away when she tried to stand and grab for it instead.  “How am I supposed to practice without sheet music?”

“You’ve got like three books in your room, you can practice with those.”  He closed the music, tossing it behind him on the bed.  “Besides which, you need to work on your chord progressions some more.  Focus on that for now.”

Ellie sulked at him with an exaggerated pout, by which he was moved not an inch.  He bumped her with his elbow.

“Git.”

She stood, swinging her own guitar around by its strap, letting it rest at an angle across her back.

“Stupid Johnny Cash.”  Her voice dropped a mocking octave. “Steady like a train, sharp like a razor.”

Joel shook his head, looking back and forth between his picking and his silent fingering on the frets.

“Should’ve never let you watch that movie.”

She made it to the doorway and turned in place as she backed out, batting her eyes at him.

“Love youuuuuu.”

“Git,” he said again, head bowing further, but the crooked curl of a smirk betrayed him.

Ellie was halfway down the hall to her own room before she heard the distinctive sound of Joel’s sneeze.

“Bless you,” she called out, and paused to listen for a response.  Nothing.

Then, faintly, “M-hm.”

He was so weird.

In good faith Ellie practiced for awhile, grimacing through the slow but unavoidable pinch and pain of developing the stupid calluses Joel kept going on and on about.  After a half hour she could no longer feel two of her fingers, so she supposed that was a good start.

All throughout, and in-between the occasional inept chord change, she heard bursts of his crackling cough from the other room.  When she finally unslung the guitar and returned it to its case, she realized it had been a background noise for most of the day.

“Hey Joel--” she called out, standing, then startled as he appeared abruptly in the doorway. “Jesus!”

“Hey,” he interrupted, snagging in a rough sniffle.  “Tommy’s on the horn, bunch of the hogs got out. I’m gonna run over and give him a hand, but I don’t know how long I’ll be.  You OK fixing yourself dinner, if I’m not back in time?”

“Oh shit,” she said excitedly. “Can I come?”

“No.” Unflappable. “You got homework.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do.  Do your homework.  Maybe clean this up while you’re at it,” as he backed a way he made a vague gesture around the perfectly… well, mostly acceptable state of her room.  “Already looks like a sty.”

Ellie followed him only as far as her own threshold, frowning as he picked up his buckskin coat and shrugged into it.

“How do you know I have homework?”

“It’s like you forget I already did this with one smartass kid before you ever came around.”  He barely got his arm into a sleeve before he had it pressed to his face, shoulders hunching with another shotgun sneeze.  He sighed.  Sniffled.  Muttered a barely audible, “Shit.”

Ellie came forward a bit more, zeroed on him. “Hey, what’s with--”

“Homework.”  He snagged a scarf and was already halfway out the door.  “And eat something other than pickles for dinner.”

She stood frowning, even after the shudder of the shutting door had quieted, then turned reluctantly back to her room.

“Fuck you, pickles are awesome.”

*******

Ellie polished off homework in record time, and even managed a dinner of something that contained, but was not exclusively comprised of, pickles.  She was a woman of her word, if nothing else.  Halfway through packing both their lunches for the next day, the front door finally blew open with blustering drama, and Joel made his return.

Or something vaguely in the shape of Joel.

The overall size and dimensions were right, the buckskin coat was the same, though both it and his hair were heavily mantled in snow.  He was nothing but mud and slush from the knees down, hands evidently so frozen that all he could do was stand there and paw ineffectively at his gloves, trying to get them off.

Ellie took in the exhausted, punch-drunk slump of his shoulders with sympathy and amusement.  Good thing she didn’t join him after all.

“You look like you smell awesome.”

“Fucking hate hogs.”

“But you love bacon,” she countered.

“After tonight, I only like it for the sense of revenge.”  After watching multiple unsuccessful attempts to remove his gloves, Ellie finally came to his assistance.  She didn’t even want to touch them, gunked as they were with mud, ice, and probably pig shit, but it was either that or watch him stand there all night, swaying like a Mortal Kombat character.  Just as she got the second one off he planted a bare hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her from him as he raised his other arm to his face.  

“Ellie, stand clear--”

“Huh?”

He buckled into his elbow with another sneeze, this time lingering his arm in place afterwards, long after he should have simply relaxed and moved on.  By the time it dropped away, he found Ellie ogling him with arch worry.  He sighed, apologetic, and the hand still at her shoulder squeezed once before letting go.  “Sorry.”

But she just stood there, still holding his gloves, having unexpectedly run dry of all sarcasm.  She didn’t like this.

“Are you sick?”

“Nah, I’m…”  Well, yeah.  But also, no.  “The weather’s just kicking the shit out of me.  I’m fine. It’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

“You’re saying fine way too much for it to actually be fine.”

Joel had just enough strength for another sigh.  He took the gloves from her, doing an awkward flamingo balance from one foot to the other to climb out of his boots.  The feeling of ice-cold, mud-soaked denim on his bare skin made him grimace. “You finish your homework?”

No no no.  She wasn’t being put off.  Not like this.  “Joel.”

He flicked a mild look to the kitchen. “That pickle jar looks a lot emptier than I remember.”

“Joel.”

“Hey.”  He reached out, cupping the subtle angle of her jaw, framing her entire face in the warm, rough cushion of his palm.  Calluses, burred knuckles, wind-chapped skin and a touch so gentle she could cry.  “It’s fine.  I’m just beat.  Gonna leave all this shit outside, I’ll worry about it in the morning, then I’m gonna shower and hit the sack.”  Her eyes were searching him still, burrowing into him the same as when he’d sworn that his story about the hospital in Salt Lake was true.  That was the look of reckoning, and it chilled him worse than any winter storm.  “Homework’s good?  Got enough to eat?”

Her gaze softened and dropped, the same as when she’d chosen -- willingly or otherwise -- to believe his last lie.

“Yeah.”

His hand fell away, and he gave her a small, punctuating nod.

“Alright, good.  You lock up for me?”

“Okay.”  

Joel finally got free from both boots, his coat, depositing everything carelessly on the snowy mat outside.  He squeezed her shoulder again as he soldiered tiredly to his room.  “Night, kiddo.  Love you.”

Only her eyes tracked him.

“Love you too.”

*******

She didn’t know why she thought sleeping would help.  Useless idea.  Total mistake.

Ellie even put it off for as long as she could, hoping that if she fucked around and wasted enough time doing other dumb, meaningless, time-consuming shit that eventually her brain or body would concede that, okay, sleep did sound pretty appealing.

Nope.  No part of her was having it.

It didn’t help that, despite his best efforts, Joel couldn’t just lay there and suffer in silence.  With clockwork regularity the silence and stillness broke with his wracking cough, the occasional bedframe squeak revealing the restrained force of it.  By midnight he just gave up trying to sleep altogether.

Ellie lay awake, listening, and saw his dark silhouette lean into her room just enough to gently close her door, trying to preserve her own presumed sleep.

Five minutes later she fumbled a hoodie over her pajamas and padded out after him.

He spotted her just as he heaped limply onto the sofa, and immediately sighed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, El.  Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”  She yanked the hoodie’s zipper up with satisfaction. “I’ve been up the whole time.”

Joel loosened a slow breath, regarding her… then the empty living room… then back to her.

“On account of me?”

She didn’t want to lie, but also didn’t want to burden him with any additional guilt.

“One way or another. Kinda.”

He grunted, disappointed in himself, and his own once-again-stellar parenting. “...you oughta be in bed.”

She roughened her voice in an approximation of his own, mimicking a slightly surly swagger to the couch before flouncing down beside him. “So oughta you.”

Joel side-eyed her.  She tucked her chin down, eyes upturned, lips pressed in a thin but irrepressible smile.

“...fuckin’ hard-headed, stubborn, pain-in-my ass--”

“Yeahyeahyeah, I’m a total superstar, I know.”  Ellie reached for his arm, lifting it well over her head, then curled it around her shoulders.  Joel let her manipulate him without complaint, only turning his head away and uncurling his fingers to shield her from a single, congested cough.  When he turned back, she plastered her hand over his forehead like she’d been waiting for the chance.

“What is this,” he asked.

“This is what it feels like when somebody cares about you.”  She met his eyes.  “Dumbass.”

“Hm.”

Her palm was heavy and cool, the pressure of it on his brow oddly comforting.  Judging by the way she frowned, and searched him, and nervously licked her teeth, she didn’t like what it told her.  Joel sighed and reached up, taking her hand down in his own.

“Come on.  Enough of this.  You need to get back to bed.  Get some actual sleep.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll… I don’t know, try to lie down for a couple more hours before work.”

“Before work?  Are you kidding me?” “Shit’s gotta get done, Ellie--”

“Yeah,  by somebody else, Joel!”

“More hands makes--”

“Fuck that dirty-south, cowboy, Marlborough-martyr bullshit for two minutes, would you?”

He leaned way back, rolling the whites of his eyes at her.  “Dirty south?”  When she thumped her palm against his shoulder he feigned an injured, “Ow!”

Inwardly he struggled not to laugh. Holy Christ was she angry.  Despite his perfect deadpan, there was still a tiny warble of amusement in his voice as he demanded, “What’s got into you?”

Oh, she’d been waiting for that.  She’d knocked at the door and he’d opened it all the way.

“Rest,” she accused, emphatic.  “You can’t skip the rest.”

Joel rubbed sorely where she’d thumped him, relaxing from his recoiled lean.

“Don’t know why you’re so mean to me.  Probably too many pickles.”

Ellie stuttered with a sniggering laugh, shoving him with both hands.  Gently, this time. “Asshole.”

“Hm.”

“I mean it.”

“Alright, you mean it.  I’ll tell Tommy in the morning, I need a day.”  He checked her with a look and leaned away again. “Maybe two.”

“Good.”  She pushed up from the couch, hands jammed into her hoodie pockets as she marched off.  

“Now where are you going?”

“To get you a blanket.  And I don’t know… soup, or something.  On account of you being so bad at looking after yourself.”

He watched her go, itching a knuckle under his nose.  “Think you can manage tea?”

Ellie cheered immediately, already detouring for the kitchen.  “Oh yeah, good idea.”

“Alright, then.”  He let his head rest back, smirking faintly. “Hope I don’t regret this.”

*******

Ellie stared, fascinated, the TV battering them softly in blue and white light.

“None of this makes sense.”

“Yeah, that was pretty much the entire theme of the 1980s.”  Joel set his tea aside and picked up the cardboard VHS sleeve beside him, garishly patterned with the box art from season one of Full House.  “You had to be there.”

“I’m kinda glad I wasn’t.”

She’d managed to brew him a decent mug of tea, heavy-handed on the honey, just how he liked it.  He’d been hesitant to waste a bowl of perfectly good soup on his already anemic appetite, but Ellie brooked no argument and brought it to him anyway.  They’d decided what to watch by reaching blindly into the box of old VHS cassettes, and now she was nestled close against his ribs, head rested back on his shoulder, marveling at the grainy, laugh-tracked evidence of a world gone before she was ever conceived.

Every now and then Joel looked down at the crown of her head, grateful, always returning to the TV before the little fragments of thankfulness could become too much for him.

Despite the contentment, the cold remained a persistent thorn in his side.  Every time Ellie felt his chest expand abruptly against her she sat forward slightly, giving him room to half-twist away with a cough or sneeze muffled to the inside of his far arm.

He’d let the breath back out of his lungs, bleary, and face the TV with a few blinks to clear his eyes.  Ellie would retake her place, squirming to close the gaps between her back and his ribs.

“You OK?”

“I’m a’right, kiddo.”

“OK.”

Every time, deliberate, with a sincerity that tattooed her like ink, ever deeper and indelible, into his skin.

Every ache and pain and exerted muscle from the past few days was catching up with him now, his sinuses blocked miserably shut.  After a particularly strenuous coughing fit he turned back around to find Ellie’s eyes more focused and ferreting and worried.  He needed to work a little harder to put her back at ease.

“Here, look,” he croaked, redirecting her to the TV.  “See this guy?”

“Mr. Goofy Fucking Hawaiian Shirts?”

“Yeah.  He used to date Alanis Morisette.”

“No way!”

“Yeah.” He chuffed, head shaking.  “Wild, right?”

“She’s so angry!  I love her.”

“Yeah, well. She’s angry about a lot of stuff you hopefully won’t have to worry about for quite awhile.”

“I guess. She still wrote good songs.”

“That she did.”

“Hey, speaking of, what does it mean to go down on somebody?”

Joel paled, making a long, desperately uncomfortable noise in his throat.  Ellie let him suffer for a good five seconds before donkeying with laughter.

“Relax,” she cackled, ear-to-ear grinning.  “I’m fucking with you.”

He flattened a hand at his chest.  “Jesus. How is this helping me feel better?”

“Oh my God. That was amazing. I almost wish I’d saved that one until I could actually see your face.”

“You know you can go back to your own room any time, right?.”

“And miss this?  Hell no.”

Joel quieted, checking her again in the dimness, watching the play of light on her face, her lingering grin.  He smiled faintly to himself before his eyes relaxed back to the TV.

“Yeah, it’s pretty alright.”

“Yeah it is.”

He didn’t remember drifting off, but at some point his mind disconnected from the brightly-colored spectacle glowing in the dark before him, the rising and falling tide of canned laughter.  Eventually Ellie’s hand spread lightly open at his chest, jostling him just enough to stir him awake.  His head picked up, eyes cracked open to see her cast in luminous blue.  Her face, serious but calm.  She curled the backs of her fingers to his forehead.

“You’re still really warm.  How come we don’t have a thermometer?”

“Someone’s gotta have one.” He blinked groggily.  “We’ll ask tomorrow. I’m sure I’m running a temperature… suppose it doesn’t matter how much.”

She started to peel the blanket from him, and he stopped her.

“Joel,” Ellie chastened.  He stilled her hand with a touch.

“No, it’s alright.”

“You need to lie down.”

“I know, I will. I’m gonna sleep out here.  I wake up coughing if I try to lay too flat.”

She wasn’t entirely pleased with this answer, but it was enough of a concession that she was willing to negotiate.

“Okay, I’ll help.”

He technically didn’t need the assistance, but clearly it was important to her to be a part of his recovery.  She lifted and transferred his legs to the couch by the ankles, assembling exactly the right pillows behind him so he could recline without hurting his neck.  His eyes followed her, lips softly smirking, as she pulled the blankets back over him and tucked them in at the edges.  When there was nothing left for her to fuss at she stood back, hands jammed into her hoodie pockets.

“You want me to turn the TV off?”

Joel’s head lolled to observe the glowing blue square, a single white NO INPUT blinking in the top corner.

“No, leave it.  It’s comforting.”

She looked at the screen.  Looked at him.

“You’re super fucking weird.”

Joel’s hands lifted, rotated outward from the wrist, and dropped limply back to his chest.  Look, what can you do?

“Get some sleep,” he urged.

“OK.  But you’re not going to work tomorrow.  We have like… I don’t know, forty more seasons of this stupid show to go through. Somehow.  Hopefully that hideous baby gets cuter.”

“She really doesn’t.  You know there was actually two of them playing the same kid?”

“What?”  She broke into a helpless grin.  “That’s… awful.  Imagine giving birth to a horrible-looking gremlin baby, and you’re like, oh well, at least there’s just the one.  And then: OH NO.”

Joel erupted with sniggering laughter, hiding his face against the inside of his arm as it devolved into another coughing fit.

“Fuck me,” he crackled. “Get out of here, please. Go to bed.”

“OK.”  Ellie leaned in and bent over him, kissing his forehead.  “Feel better.”

“Working on it.”

She started to turn, but Joel caught her wrist.  Ellie looked back, expectant, but he just lay there a moment, holding her hand, his thumb caressing into the crease of her palm.

“Thank you.”

She softened, awkward, fingers curling around his thumb in a single, meaningful squeeze.

“Of course.”

“I love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too.”  She held onto his hand until both their arms were extended, then let him go with an impish smile. “I ate like six pickles.”

“Jesus Christ, girl.”

She receded into the dark, giggling, leaving him in the backwash of blue light.

“Good night.”

[faibleprompts]

A New Dawn

A Dramione fic based off of today's Faible prompt:

Hermione Granger walked through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, the air still humming with latent magic. She glanced around, her brown eyes absorbing every crack and corner, every shadow that seemed to whisper memories of the past year. The battle had left an indelible mark, not only on the castle but on the hearts of everyone who survived.

As she turned a corner, she collided with Draco Malfoy. For a split second, the ghost of their past animosities surfaced. But instead of the sneer she expected, Hermione saw something else—a flicker of sorrow, perhaps? 

"Granger," Draco greeted her, his voice devoid of its usual derision.

"Malfoy," she replied cautiously, her guard still up. "How have you been?"

Draco's eyes flitted away, as if searching for something in the cobblestones of the floor. "I'm... here," he said, barely above a whisper. "Trying."

Hermione nodded, her own emotions a tempest. She wanted to believe that people could change, that they could be better, but Draco? Still, the war had changed everyone. She had to admit, he looked more human now, less the caricature of pureblood arrogance he once was.

They stood in silence, the weight of unsaid words hanging heavily between them. It was then that Professor McGonagall's voice echoed through the corridors, announcing the beginning of the welcome-back feast. 

Shouldering her apprehension, Hermione walked past Draco and into the Great Hall. 

—

Hermione found herself sitting between Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor table, the Great Hall alight with enchanted candles and the murmur of reunited friends. Plates of rich food appeared before them, but her appetite was nowhere to be found. Harry and Ron were animatedly discussing Quidditch—again.

She glanced at her two best friends, feeling a pang of nostalgia. How many times had they sat like this, unaware of the dark days ahead? Now, everything was different. The shadows in their eyes mirrored her own.

"Hermione? You okay?" Harry's voice broke through her thoughts.

Ron looked up from his plate, concern knitting his brow. "Yeah, you’ve been awfully quiet. Everything alright?"

Hermione took a deep breath, staring at her untouched plate. "I ran into Draco earlier," she said quietly. The effect was immediate—Harry's jaw tightened, and Ron's fork clattered onto his plate.

"What's he up to now?" Ron scoffed, his voice laced with bitterness. "Trying to steal our seats at the table, or just being an overall git?"

"Actually, he seemed... different," Hermione admitted, feeling the weight of their scrutiny. "He wasn’t rude or anything. He seemed almost... remorseful."

Harry looked skeptical. "Malfoy? Remorseful? Are you sure it wasn't a trick?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don’t think so. There was something in his eyes. I think he's genuinely trying to change."

Ron snorted. "I'll believe that when Malfoy starts hugging Muggle-borns and singing 'Ode to Joy.'"

Harry leaned in closer, his voice softer but serious. "Look, Hermione, you’re one of the smartest witches I know. If you think he’s changed, then maybe he has. But be careful. He’s hurt you before, and old habits die hard."

Hermione nodded, grateful for Harry's understanding. "I know. I just wonder if people really can change after everything. If he can, then maybe there's hope for all of us."

Ron sighed, relenting a bit. "Just promise us you won’t let your guard down too easily."

Hermione gave a small smile. "I promise."

The chatter of the Great Hall continued around them, but among the trio a comfortable silence fell.

—

The next morning, Hermione made her way through the corridors of Hogwarts with purpose, her mind abuzz with questions and uncertainty. If Draco Malfoy had truly changed, she needed to understand why and how. As she approached the Slytherin common room, Hermione hesitated. 

Taking a steadying breath, she continued, her footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. Just as she reached the entrance, the door swung open, and Draco stepped out, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw her.

"Granger?" he said, a puzzled look crossing his face. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione squared her shoulders, determined to get to the bottom of things. "I wanted to talk to you. The encounter we had yesterday... left me with a lot of questions."

Draco's expression shifted, a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. "Alright, where do you want to talk?"

"There's a bench near the Black Lake. It's secluded and... private," Hermione suggested.

Draco nodded, and they made their way out of the castle in silence. The morning was crisp, the sun casting a golden hue over the grounds. When they reached the bench, Hermione sat down, and Draco followed suit.

"Why are you here, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, her voice steady but laced with genuine curiosity. "And I don't mean here at school. I mean, how are you here, now, trying to be...different?"

Draco sighed, looking out at the shimmering surface of the Black Lake. "I don't expect you to understand, but the war changed me. Made me see things differently. I did terrible things, Granger—things I can't take back. But I want to try to be better. I owe it to myself, and to everyone I’ve hurt."

Hermione studied his face, searching for sincerity. "And what about your family? Do they feel the same way?"

Draco's jaw tightened. "My parents are... complicated. They have their own regrets, but change is harder for them. I'm not doing this for them. This is something I need to do for myself."

Hermione nodded slowly, absorbing his words. "Do you really believe you can atone for everything?"

Draco met her gaze, his green eyes unyielding. "I don't know. But I have to try."

—

In the days that followed, Hermione and Draco found themselves gravitating towards each other more often than not. The initial tentativeness blossomed into an unexpected partnership. Hermione agreed to help Draco make amends, and their first project was a school-wide initiative to restore the castle archives, many of which were damaged during the war.

It was during one such session in the dim, dusty archives that Hermione began to notice small but striking changes in Draco. His once haughty demeanor was replaced with a quiet earnestness. Each time he carefully mended a torn scroll or restored a faded text, she saw a glimmer of the person he was striving to become.

One afternoon, as they worked side by side, Draco paused and looked at Hermione. "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere. "For giving me this chance."

Hermione looked up, surprised yet touched. "Everyone deserves a second chance, Draco. Even you," she replied softly.

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, the weight of the past seemed to lift, replaced by mutual understanding…and maybe longing?

As days turned into weeks, Hermione found herself looking forward to their time together. She was learning to see Draco not as the bully of their past but as a complex individual seeking redemption. 

One evening, as they wrapped up for the day, Draco surprised Hermione with a small bouquet of wildflowers. "You mentioned you liked these," he said, a shy smile playing on his lips.

Hermione accepted the flowers, her heart fluttering. "Thank you, Draco. That's really kind of you."

Draco leaned against the ancient wooden table, his eyes thoughtful. "You know, Granger—Hermione—" 

"Oh it's Hermione now?" Hermione teased, laughing slightly as Draco’s face reddened. 

"I'm trying to be nice here! Will you let me?" Draco said as Hermione rolled her eyes and motioned for him to continue. 

Draco cleared his throat and continued, "You've shown me that it's not just about proving myself to others; it's about proving myself to me. And that means more than I ever thought it would. I…I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me."

Hermione nodded, feeling a strange warmth spreading through her. "I'm glad, Draco. Truly. I'm proud of you."

As they stood there, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun filtering through the dusty windows, something unspoken lingered between them. A sense of potential, of uncharted territory.

—

The cold, crisp air of autumn wrapped around Hermione as she stood by the castle gates, her breath visible in the morning light. Draco approached, carrying two scarves and a hint of nervousness in his eyes.

"Here," he said, offering her a deep green scarf. "Thought you might need it."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Draco." She hoped she could blame her red face on the chill in the air and not the fact that Draco was looking at her so softly as he wrapped the scarf around her. 

As they walked down the cobblestone path towards Hogsmeade, a comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the crunch of leaves underfoot. The village soon came into view, its shop windows adorned with festive decorations, a small escape from the heavy atmosphere of Hogwarts.

"Where to first?" Draco asked, glancing at Hermione with a tentative smile.

"How about The Three Broomsticks?" Hermione suggested. "We could use some hot Butterbeer to warm up."

Entering the pub, they found a cozy corner table away from prying eyes. The warmth from the fireplace engulfed them, and the smell of rich, spiced Butterbeer made Hermione’s heart flutter with nostalgia.

As Madam Rosmerta delivered their drinks, Draco leaned back, his shoulders finally relaxing. "It's strange, being here again after everything."

Hermione took a sip, savoring the sweet brew. "It's different, but in a good way. We can make new memories here."

Draco's eyes softened. "I never imagined I'd be sitting here with you. Pleasantly, I mean."

Hermione chuckled. "Life has a funny way of surprising us."

They talked about everything and nothing, from their favorite books to their plans after Hogwarts. For the first time since the war, both allowed themselves moments of simple joy, the shadows of their pasts momentarily forgotten.

As they left The Three Broomsticks, Draco's hand brushed against Hermione's, a spark igniting between them. He hesitated but then grasped her hand firmly. Hermione felt like her heart jumped out of her chest when she felt him grab her so resolutely. 

"There's something else I wanted to show you," Draco said, leading her through narrow alleys until they reached a modest but charming shop. The sign above the door read "Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Ice cream in this weather?"

Draco grinned. "Trust me."

Inside, the shop was warm and inviting. The owner, a kind elderly witch, greeted them warmly. "Ah, young lovebirds seeking a sweet treat, are you?"

Both blushed furiously but managed to laugh it off. Draco ordered two sundaes, one with pumpkin spice and the other with chocolate frogs.

Sitting down, Hermione took a bite and closed her eyes, savoring the flavors. "This is amazing."

Draco watched her, his expression softening. "I'm glad you’re enjoying it. I wanted today to be special."

"It is," Hermione assured him, her heart warming more than any Butterbeer could. "Thank you, Draco."

As they lingered in the cozy shop, the world outside seemed far away, and for a little while, it was just them, wrapped in the fragile warmth of newfound friendship and the sweet beginnings of something more.

—

The walk back to Hogwarts was filled with quiet contentment. Draco and Hermione lingered in each other's presence, savoring the moment as they approached the castle gates.

As they entered the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, the hum of the student body continued elsewhere, leaving the passageways almost eerily silent. The flickering torchlight cast elongated shadows on the stone walls, creating an intimate cocoon around them.

Hermione felt a nervous energy tingling in the air, as if the castle itself was holding its breath, watching over them.

They reached the fork in the hallway where they usually parted ways—Hermione towards the Gryffindor Tower and Draco towards the Slytherin dungeons. They paused there, standing quietly for a moment, neither wanting the day to end.

Draco shifted his weight, glancing at Hermione with uncertainty. "Hermione, I—"

Before he could finish, Hermione took a bold step forward, her heart hammering in her chest. "Draco, wait. There's something I need to say."

Draco's green eyes softened, an unspoken question lingering in them. "What is it?"

Hermione took a deep breath, feeling the significance of the moment. "These past weeks, spending time with you, seeing the person you're becoming—it's meant so much to me. More than I can put into words."

Draco's gaze locked with hers, the vulnerability in his eyes mirroring her own. "Hermione—"

Without letting herself think too much, Hermione closed the gap between them. She reached out, gently cupping Draco's cheek. "Draco, I care about you. And I think... I think this could be something…more"

Draco’s breath caught, his pulse thundering in his ears. Taking the leap, he covered her hand with his, leaning into her touch. "I've felt the same, but I was afraid... afraid that it was too soon, or that I'd ruin everything."

Hermione's heart swelled with emotion. "You won't. We won’t."

In that charged moment, Draco's hesitation melted away. He leaned in slowly, giving Hermione time to pull back if she chose. But she didn't. Her heart knew what it wanted, and her courage held steadfast. Their lips met in a gentle, tentative kiss at first, then deepened, passion building between them. Draco pulled Hermione closer by her waist, feeling her arms wrap around him as he did so. At that moment, Draco never wanted to let her go. 

When they did eventually pull apart, Hermione's eyes shimmered, a smile playing on her lips. "This is just the beginning, Draco."

Draco nodded, his heart soaring with a newfound sense of hope and possibility. "Yes, it is."

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #288: HEAVY METAL!

February, 1988

"When Wakes THE SENTRY SINISTER!”

The Avengers are dealing with a lot of old robots lately.

Super-Adaptoid, the Awesome Android, and now the Kree Sentry-459.

Almost like its a theme, of some sort.

Or maybe the Super-Adaptoid is just lonely and is trying to make friends with other robots.

Maybe if he had better role models, he’d be a good guy?

So of what happened previously: during the Masters of Evil attack on Avengers Mansion, Super-Adaptoid got out of capsule captivity and changed places with the Fixer.

In guise of the Fixer, he got captured and sent to jail but broke out because the Fixer’s gear had a failsafe that mind-controlled some poor schmuck named Todd Martin.

The Fixer-Adaptoid tried to retrieve the Awesome Android but took off when the Avengers showed up. The Avengers fought the Android and She-Hulk defeated him by punching him in the armpit.

Next, the Fixer-Adaptoid went to meet with the Fixer’s old pal, Mentallo, and tortured him to lure the Avengers out. The Avengers survived the boobytrapped villain lair and rescued Mentallo but by that point the Fixer-Adaptoid was meeting with Machine Man.

Which brings us to now. Maybe Machine Man will be a good influence on the Adaptoid?

Or maybe the Adaptoid will be a bad influence on Machine Man.

Aaron “Machine Man” Stack doesn’t need a lot of prodding to be an asshole, let’s be honest.

So Fixermentallo-Adaptoid (yes, that red and goatee is because he absorbed Mentallo’s powers too) and Machine Man arrive at a BIG TOURIST ATTRACTION! in the Texas Panhandle.

Where people can SEE THE AMAZING GIANT ROBOT from OUTER SPACE!

There’s some skepticism from some of the tourists.

Not that amazing giant robots from outer space exist. I mean, geez, this is the Marvel universe. Amazing giant robots from outer space are plausible. One of the tourists is prettyyyyy sure that the military has a bunch of aliens in Nevada.

But this? Total scam. Yeah, no way

this thing is a real amazing giant robot from outer space!

Hi, Kree Sentry-459!

You’ve had a long and eventful life to wind up as just a tourist attraction.

There’s actually something charming about that. You’d think that the military or Avengers would haul the sentry off out of the public eye but everyone just left it where it was and some enterprising local made a business out of it being on his property.

Good times.

Well, they were good times.

Because, Machine Man and the Fixermentallo-Adaptoid show up.

They start repairing the Sentry, thanks to the amazing fixing powers of the Fixer and the mental powers of Mentallo.

The stereotypical old Texan man with a gun, beard, and suspenders running this tourist trap tells them to stop fucking with the attraction.

This guy is a treat.

Delightful.

After the two don’t listen to him tellin’ them to amscray, he immediately unloads his gun into the Adaptoid, claiming no jury would convict.

And when the Adaptoid is unscathed this guy is just... baffled. He’s like wait why am I seeing things I’m not drunk, people die when they are killed.

The Adaptoid and Machine Man Aaron just ignore this dude’s comedy stylings entirely.

I feel in a more 90s-ier comic, this dude would be as dead as Farmer With A Shotgun from Dragon Ball but it’s actually funnier that they just give him no attention.

Anyway, they get the gol-durn thing working and the three go traipsing away, on a route the Adaptoid calculated to face the least resistance.

And the dude who ran the amazing giant robot from out of space attraction just loses his mind.

Old Texan Man: “Hey, dadburnit! Get back heah! Ah can’t make no livin’ just ranchin’ this dust pile! Ah got bills tuh pay! What am ah gonna show folks when they come around heah... the spot yuh used’ta be in?! What am ah gonna tell ‘em? The man from Mars plum got up an’ walked hisself away?! Git back heah, yuh ungrateful pile ‘a scrap! Ain’t ah always been good tuh yuh? Ain’t ah always washed an’ scrubbed yuh Saturday night an’ polished yuh up proud fer Sunday visitin’? Answer me, durn yuh! Answer me, yuh big bag ‘a bolts! COME HEAH!”

Supervillains are so insensitive to the plight of the small businessman.

Later, at Hydrobase....

What the fuck.

I...

Okay so I knew a few things about Hydrobase.

But I don’t think I knew that the Avengers moved THE ENTIRE MANSION TO THE ISLAND!

Geez, they’re really going all in on Hydrobase being their new base of operation.

And, hey, this is a way for the new to be tempered with the old. Maybe I’d be more receptive to the Clearly The Last Dungeon In An RPG Avengers Tower if it had the Mansion plopped on top, like how Xanatos Gargoyles did with a castle.

Why the hell does Avengers Tower look like a doom fortress anyway?

Anyway.

Dr Druid comments on what a momentous occasion this is and says that its a shame that nobody is videotaping the moment.

Captain Marvel clearly takes this as a passive aggressive jab.

Captain Marvel: “As leader of the Avengers, doctor, you know I’ve had a great many things on my mind -- the least of which was filming this occasion. Please stop questioning my every move.”

Here here. Hear hear? Whichever.

Dr Druid says he meant no offense. But he would say that, wouldn’t he? -squints suspiciously-

But Black Knight arrives on his Atomic Steed with news! Literal news! A literal news clipping from an actual newspaper!

My god!

So, this is how superheroes get their leads.

I joke but I like the worldbuilding detail of the Avengers having an off-panel support staff of people paid to read every newspaper for stuff that the Avengers might need to deal with.

Wonder if I could get that job. I can read. I can cut paper with scissors.

I also like that when Dane says he has news, the first thing Captain Marvel wants to know is whether its about Captain America. Good to see that she’s still on that plot thread.

Anyway, a small Texas newspaper printed a story with a picture of Machine Man, the Super-Adaptoid, and the Kree Sentry.

It’s the lead on the Super-Adaptoid that the Avengers have been waiting for!

And I remain shocked that news media is the Avengers’ best leads on supervillain activity. I know that the government cut them off but... Uh. I don’t know how I was going to finish this sentence. I guess I don’t really think about how superheroes get their leads. Spider-Man just swings around, I guess. The Avengers watch the news and have people clipping articles. Hmmm... that makes the X-Men the most fantastical in terms of superhero teams because at least they use a psychic helmet to get leads...

Captain Marvel draws a line between the data points and notices that the Super-Adaptoid is recruiting other robots. And its enough of a lead to investigate.

Black Knight says that they should just track down the Adaptoid, find out that way. Captain Marvel expects that the Adaptoid will probably lead a cold trail so it might not be worth chasing their tails until they have a better idea of what he’s up to. Dr Druid suggests that since the Adaptoid went after Mentallo, maybe the robot pattern isn’t a pattern at all.

And Black Knight re-suggests that Captain Marvel should go to Texas to check out the trail since she can get there at literally the speed of light.

While she’s gone, she orders Dr Druid and Black Knight to pull up all the files the Avengers have on super-robots and androids. Get started on that lead.

And then she nyooms away.

As she flies, she ponders how frustrated she is about this Super-Adaptoid situation. How he escaped in a truck while the Avengers were busy with the Awesome Android.

Meanwhile, Machine Man, the Super-Adaptoid, and the Kree Sentry walk along the Grand Canyon.

Machine Man suggests that maybe they should hijack an airplane. Because the Sentry is really slowing them down by being unable to fly.

The Adaptoid doesn’t really answer his concern. Just says that they’ve got an additional stop before New York.

Machine Man reminds himself that he’s doing this for Jocasta and wonders if humans would find it weird that a robot can love.

And then he gets philosophical.

Machine Man: “Adaptoid, are you familiar with how baffling the concept of robotic life is to most of humanity... yet, how pervasive the idea of the machine is in aspects of many cultures? I’ve read extensively -- It’s startling how humans see themselves so often in machine-like terms. In 1662, the philosopher Descartes, published DeHomine, a theory of man and animals as machines. He even made a theoretical model of a mechanical man -- like me. By the beginning of the 20th century, every major model for the explanation of human behavior was mechanical. Darwin even used the machine model for evolution. Newton saw the universe in mechanistic terms -- like an unwinding clockwork. The humans refer to their most advanced societies as the most mechanized. It’s fascinating.”

Super-Adaptoid: “Have your vast readings on the subject led you to any practical conclusions?”

Machine Man: “Practical? I read only to learn -- to discover what it is I am. Knowledge is its own reward.”

Super-Adaptoid: “Then, in truth, your time was ill-spent, for your knowledge has brought you nothing.”

Wow.

He just listened to Aaron’s entire speech and then told him he was an idiot for not focusing on more practical things.

Super-Adaptoid is pretty incurious about the arts, I guess.

Anyway, Captain Monica Marvel returns to Hydrobase and oh wow!

Look at this new Situation Room for the Avengers!

Its huge! Possibly unnecessarily huge!

Rooms in Avengers Mansion tended to shift between appearances. But meeting rooms, communication rooms, computer rooms... they tended be cramped more than cavernous. Having to fit everything under a mansion that wasn’t originally intended to be a superhero base will do that.

I guess Hydrobase gives them more room to work.

Captain Marvel reports that the trail in Texas had run cold, as she feared. And she wouldn’t know the Super-Adaptoid if she ran into him since he can change his appearance.

But at least while she was gone, Dr Druid and Black Knight have been busy pulling up information on all the robots and androids in the Avengers’ files.

Lotta robots.

Aww... poor Jocasta.

Captain Marvel asks if its necessary to bring up information on destroyed robots but Dr Druid says its better safe than sorry.

AND Y’KNOW. MONICA. The Adaptoid reactivated the Kree Sentry. So maybe don’t discount the possibility that he’d fix a robot considered destroyed?

Black Knight tells her that the most likely suspects are Ultron, TESS-One, Machine Man (womp womp), and the Sentinels.

So she calls an Avengers meeting to go over what they know with the Avengers who haven’t been on research duty.

New meeting room!

My god. Everyone has elbow room. But there’s no icons on the chairs. Kind of a mixed bag in terms of an improvement.

Chair icons are top tier as a superhero base design element. So goofy, yet so charming.

Anyway, Captain Marvel splits the Avengers between the various deactivated robots/possible targets of the Adaptoid.

Dr Druid and Black Knight will investigate TESS-One. I’m reading on marvelpedia that Tess-One was a prototype super-soldier hunting robot greenlit by FDR out of fear that an army of super-soldiers might return home from the war and take over the country.

Wow, they really didn’t trust their boys in blue, white, red, and cowl.

But when Professor Erskine was killed after making only one super-soldier (Captain America, duh), FDR decided ‘why the hell am I funding this?’

Anyway, the scientist creating TESS-One decided to take the project home and finish it on his own terms and also program it to kill Captain America. As ya do.

Anyway.

Namor and She-Hulk will look into the Sentinels in Washington DC.

And since the West Coast Avengers (specifically Wonder Man) destroyed Ultron most recently, Captain Marvel has asked them to take care of that.

Marinna is on Operation: Stay at Hydrobase because she’s not an Avenger and Monica isn’t about to be responsible for her safety.

Namor gets mad and says that only he decides whether his wife has to stay out of danger or not!

This time Marrina tells him that its fine, they should listen to the team leader.

And She-Hulk, being She-Hulk, thinks ‘oh sweet, alone time with Namor.’

God dammit, Jen.

While everyone is doing what she told them to be doing, Captain Marvel will investigate the robots marked destroyed.

If anyone sees that Adaptoid, contact Hydrobase.

As everyone leaves to their tasks, Captain Monica has some private doubts.

Captain Marvel: Yeah. Good luck. Sure wish Captain America would come back to us. I don’t know if I’m cutting it with these folks. I seem to be going through the motions of leadership. I’m not sure I believe it any more than I think they do.

Hmm.

I should talk a little about this.

So in the upcoming future, Captain Marvel’s tenure as chairwoman of the Avengers is gonna end so that Captain America can be leader again. This was an editorial mandate from Mark Gruenwald, who did quite like Captain America.

Writer Stern agreed to make this change but drew the line at Gruenwald’s insistence that Monica be shown as incompetent as chairwoman, to justify Cap(tain America) taking over.

This is likely why last issue was the end of Stern’s run.

Yes. Right in the middle of a story. Ralph Macchio and Mark Gruenwald handle the rest of the story. And then Walt Simonson’s run starts.

(Spoilers: Which does indeed end Monica’s leadership and her superhero career for a time. And leads to the Avengers breaking up. Fucks sake, Simonson or Gruenwald.)

So all this recent stuff about Monica feeling like she isn’t suited to lead the Avengers or other characters thinking badly of her... I have to wonder whether it was intended to be part of whatever is going on with Dr Druid. Or editorial pressure to undermine Monica as a character.

Quite a bad look for Gruenwald.

So if this is the beginning of the end, I will say that Monica has done a good job so far as a competent if believably green team leader.

ANYWAY.

Black Knight and Dr Druid, who is here for some reason, arrive at an air force base in the Midwest.

They don’t have the special priority clearance, since the government is still mad about Vision trying to take over the world, so in order to get clearance to land, they faked engine trouble.

Then, in order to get the soldiers to let them see TESS-One, Dr Druid uses his vast MENTAL POWERS to Jedi mind trick the soldiers.

Under the influence of his MENTAL POWERS, the soldiers load TESS-One onto the Quinjet and then the Avengers take off with the deactivated anti-super-soldier robot.

Black Knight is worried that the soldiers will snap out of it and try to shoot them down but Dr Druid reassures him.

Dr Druid: “You see, the military mind is quite used to receiving orders, therefore, they are sometimes more susceptible to commands than the undisciplined mind.”

Black Knight: “You don’t say.”

Black Knight also points out that Captain Marvel wanted them to watch TESS-One where it was, not bring it back to Hydrobase.

Dr Druid: “Hmmph, she lacked foresight in this matter. What were we to do -- stay on the Air Force base until the Super-Adaptoid attacked? She will see that we did right.”

Then they lose control of the Quinjet and Black Knight is forced into an emergency landing.

Black Knight tells Dr Druid to send a message to Captain Marvel that they may be under attack by the Adaptoid but Druid refuses.

Dr Druid: “Uhh -- Perhaps the ship has malfunctioned naturally. We mustn’t turn in a false report. We need evidence.”

Then the Kree Sentry tears open the Quinjet.

HOW DOES BEING WRONG TASTE, DOCTOR?

The Kree Sentry pulls Black Knight out of the Quinjet but he uses his extremely cursed sword to lop off its hand.

Unfortunately, its still holding on tight, forcing him to very awkwardly cut himself free finger by finger since if the sword draws any blood, the curse will overwhelm him.

Its such an awkward position which requires so much focus, that Black Knight can’t keep his cape from leaking into his thought bubble.

I’m sorry colorist Max Scheele. You don’t deserve me mocking coloring errors thirty-six years later. And yet.

Dr Druid tries to levitate away from the Super-Adaptoid but can’t outpace the robot’s jetpack.

So he changes tactics and uses his MENTAL POWERS to summon illusions of Thor and Namor.

Which has no effect on the Super-Adaptoid.

Super-Adaptoid: “Hah! Such parlor tricks, doctor! An all-encompassing intellect such as mine -- cannot possibly be fooled by these phantasms! I see through them -- beyond them -- as no other brain on Earth could!”

That having failed too, Dr Druid concedes that he needs to send a message to Captain Marvel but he can’t do it if he isn’t given room to concentrate.

Over with Black Knight, he’s finished cutting himself free of the Sentry’s hand. Only for Machine Man to show up with snark.

Machine Man: “Well, I’d give you a big hand for that performance -- but it seems as if you’ve gotten one already!”

Womp womp!

Seeing that Machine Man is on the Adaptoid’s side, Black Knight doesn’t waste any time. He immediately swings his sword to decapitate Machine Man.

Unfortunately, Machine Man can just decapitate himself to avoid the blow and then pummels Black Knight with his detachable fist.

Huh. I thought Machine Man had stretchy telescoping limbs... not ones that popped off.

Anyway, Black Knight has a bad time.

He has a bad time and then he gets smooshed by the Kree Sentry.

Meanwhile, Dr Druid gets chocked out by the Super-Adaptoid. Insult to injury, the Adaptoid also copies his MENTAL POWERS, adding them to his repertoire alongside Mentallo’s.

Since the Fixermentallo-Adaptoid already had a beard, is he going to get Druid’s mustache? Or his bald head? I demand that he change shape for every power he absorbs.

Dr Druid manages, with his last bit of consciousness, to send a psychic distress signal toward Hydrobase. According to the narration. Except it really goes to a cave in Northern Florida where Captain Marvel is.

Make up your mind, Druid.

Anyway.

Where Captain Marvel is is in a small cave melting the Doomsday Man.

He was already destroyed but can’t hurt to melt him into a puddle.

Fix that, Fixer-Adaptoid!

But as she turns to light and nyooms away, Dr Druid’s psychic distress call arrives a micro-second too late and hits the slag.

This raises a lot of questions about how psychic powers work!

Like... I pictured it more like brains are senders and receivers. So a psychic signal wouldn’t go to a geographic location, it’d go to a brain.

The psychic signal does follow after Captain Marvel so maybe it is homing in on her brain. But the signal missing her and hitting where she was threw me into a confusion.

When Monica arrives at the Avengers Situation Room, she hears a faint voice but dismisses it as her imagination.

Womp womp.

Back at where Dr Druid is being choked out by the Super-Adaptoid, the Super-Adaptoid finishes choking him out. Although, the robot actually claims he used the combined Druid-Mentallo psychic powers to besiege his mind.

Feels unnecessary if you were already choking him out but I guess he wanted to flex on Druid. Completely understandable.

With Dr Druid and Black Knight out of commission, the Super-Adaptoid tells Machine Man to get rid of them.

Machine Man flies off with them.

Later, Captain Marvel, Namor, and She-Hulk meet in the Situation Room. The government actually cooperated with the two Avengers, telling them all the Sentinels were accounted for and promising to alert them if anything happens to their Sentinel storage area.

Since Dr Druid and Black Knight didn’t report in, Captain Marvel flies off to go check on them.

Nyoom.

Just missing their torn-open Quinjet arriving on Hydrobase.

The Super-Adaptoid, Machine Man, Kree Sentry, and TESS-One used it to get to Hydrobase without setting off the artificial island’s defenses.

Super-Adaptoid: “But the time for stealth is past. We are here to conquer, not skulk! This island is ours! I, the Adaptoid, claim it in the name of HEAVY METAL!”

Aw, that’s cute. He gave his new friend group a name.

Follow @essential-avengers​ if you like heavy metal or any genre of music. Like and reblog if you have neutral to positive feelings about music. Or about this post!

[twelvegods]

after all this time

pairing/s; fred weasley x fem!reader

warning/s; angst to fluff, mentions of pregnancy and post partum depression

word count; 4.4k

summary; fred leaves you on the day you were supposed to tell him that you were pregnant with his child. three years later you see him again, and secrets are unearthed.

a/n; feedback is very, very welcome! i just love reading them aaa this was such a weird thing to write bc i wanted it angst but it’s not angsty enough so watch out for more angst deuces

"i don't understand, freddie. why are you—"

"[y/n]! that's enough!" your boyfriend furrowed his brows, blowing out an exasperated breath that had you feeling offended. he ran a hand through his already unkempt hair before meeting your eyes. "don't you get it? i'm done. we're done. we're through."

there was no emotion behind his words. no meaning. nothing that told you of the two years you've spent together. and to be perfectly honest, even if you wouldn't admit it to yourself, you expected this. deep down you knew he'd fallen out of love somewhere along the way.

you didn't know when and you didn't know how, you just did. it was evident in his eyes. his tired brown eyes.

it was evident in the way he didn't bother looking for you after classes like he used to do. in the way he brushed you off on date nights when in the past he’d always make an effort. in the way he spent more and more of his time away from you, so different from the way you used to be practically inseparable.

in the way he felt like a stranger when he was your lover.

yet something burned hot in your belly that told you to fight. for this relationship. for your future. but is it really worth fighting for when you know you’ve already lost?

something painful found itself lodged in your throat. maybe it was all the things you wanted to say, but couldn’t.

you knew he wouldn't let you say any of them. nothing could change fred weasley's mind when he's decided.

he was stubborn like that; it used to be one of the things you loved about him. now it came back to bite you in the ass.

you had been fighting against this, against him, for over a month now and it was chipping away at your self worth. enough was enough. you had to let him go. he wanted you to let him go.

"alright. i'll…" you just let the words hang there, unable to find the right ones.

after a moment of steely silence, you just nodded resolutely and turned away, wanting nothing more than to finish this. the sooner you can, the sooner you can start moving on.

how you would do that? well, you supposed you'd figure it out as you went.

"i just," fred spoke up just before you stepped out of hearing range. but you didn't dare turn back around, not when tears were already streaming silently down your face, your heart twisting with every breath.

you were surprised that he had anything left to say to you.

"i can't deal with—with mum breathing down my back, and umbridge, and the shop, and—and you on top of all that. i just can't."

excuses. the git was actually giving you excuses. the audacity.

"so that's that then." your throat was tight, voice hoarse, and you prayed fred didn't notice. not that it mattered. as if he'd do anything about it.

he sighed. "that's that."

without anything else, you started climbing the steps towards your common room, not bothering to spare another glance at fred weasley, who just watched as the love of his life slipped away, numb.

your hand, lodged deep in your pocket, crumpled around your first ultrasound. you were going to tell him, you really were. but how could you when he practically wanted nothing to do with you anymore?

you were three months along.

and that afternoon, fred and his brother made their dramatic exit, throwing up fireworks and tearing up exam papers as they left on their broomsticks. it was the first time you’ve heard of fred so jovial. maybe you really were holding him back. of course, that was something you experienced through word of mouth.

what you didn't know was that prior to their grandiose display, one twin sent the other to look for you, but couldn't find you. not in the common room, or the library, or any classroom. what they didn't know was that you were too busy throwing up in madam pomfrey's clinic to make the time to watch the love of your life leave you all over again.

that same afternoon had you seeking out hermione granger, the brightest witch of her age. you'd approached her in the library, lip quivering, throat tight, as you showed her the crumpled ultrasound, asking for the best cloaking spell she's got.

you could only reuse the 'bloated' excuse so many times before it became suspicious, especially at three months along when 'bloated' isn't really the first word that comes to mind.

hermione took one look at your belly, manually cloaked by your loosest robes, and performed the spell, but not before hissing; "does fred know?"

you didn't meet her eyes. "why would you assume it's his?"

"oh please," she scoffed, crossing her arms. "you don't have the room in your heart for anyone else."

you hated how three years later that was still true.

when it came around to the battle of hogwarts, it was gruesome on both sides of the war, and you were glad your twins, the splitting image of their father and yourself, were safe in the company of your family while you ran through the castle, taking down death eater after death eater, covered in ash, blood, and bruises. and when their faces flashed through your head as a gut feeling pulled you in the direction of the room of requirement, you were running like hell.

you didn’t know what it was that was leading you there, only that your gut feeling grew heavier and heavier the closer you got until it felt like your life depended on it. only when you saw the flash of red did you realize why.

one moment, fred weasley was saying something to his brother, percy, humor etched on both their faces. the next had the back wall exploding and collapsing faster than you could react.

and right smack in the center of the impact zone stood the father of your kids.

you didn’t think. “depulso maxima!”

the spell sent him flying back at an alarming rate. it choked you with worry that you may have caused more damage than you wanted to avoid and that had you running across the hall to check. percy had gotten there first, his face stricken with panic as he gripped fred’s wrist before looking up at you.

“is he…?” you dropped to a kneel, your trembling hands subconsciously moving to brush fred’s hair away from his face before you pulled back.

percy swallowed nervously, feeling for a pulse and letting out a relieved sigh that lifted a tremendous weight off both your shoulders. “i think—i think he’s just been knocked out.”

“oh, thank merlin.” you tried to blink away your tears, but they were coming faster than you could stop them.

“wha…?”

just then, fred started coughing up dust and you were on your feet faster than lightning. percy eyed you worriedly as you stepped away, looking between you and his brother, piecing two and two together.

“wait, stay!” he called just as fred started groaning, no doubt wracked with pain from having just been blasted across rubble. “i think my brother would like to properly thank you for having just saved his life, [y/n].”

“i… i can’t. you know i can’t, percy.”

and once again, you started climbing the steps towards your common room, in search of anyone else in need of help, not bothering to spare another glance at fred weasley as you swallowed back the urge to kiss him right where he laid.

when the war was won and the dust settled, it found you lying fragile on a stretcher in what used to be the magnificent great hall. your body lay exhausted and bones were broken in several places, your hip having taken most of the blunt force after an encounter with fenrir greyback.

“i know the spell, but are you sure you don’t want to wait for madam pomfrey?” lavender brown was sat next to you, sniffling and shaking, but otherwise fine. she refused to leave your side after you saved her life, dutifully watching your back as you continued to fight, broken hip be damned.

“i need to go home, my—my family’s waiting for me.” you groaned when you accidentally put pressure on your fractured knee, feeling like a pathetic ragdoll. “just do the spell please lav.”

“o—okay.”

and so she did, going from top to bottom as quickly and efficiently as she can so that the sooner she finished, the sooner you could start healing. the whole time you were holding yourself back from crying out behind clenched teeth.

“all done.” lavender sent a smile your way that you gratefully returned as you sat up, sore. then her eyes flicked up at something behind you. “oh, i think that’s george coming over.”

your smile dropped, you head whipping around at fred storming through the great hall, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering purpose. merlin, you couldn’t deal with him. not today. you weren’t ready yet.

you gripped your wand tight. lavender shot you a confused look.

fred didn’t break eye contact as he called out to you. then he broke into a run just as he realized what you were about to do. “[y/n], wait, i—!”

you quickly apparated away before you could hear the end of his sentence.

and just like that, once again, fred could do nothing but watch as the love of his life slipped away.

that was last year. the war was won, the wizarding world was building itself back up again, and the daily prophet had just announced the weasley's wizarding wheezes grand reopening. your twins, theodore and jonathan, or theo and jace for short, were three years old now and they were absolute hurricanes.

jace was practically a carbon copy of his dad, his flaming red hair and clear brown eyes a painful reminder of your past lover. he did take after you personality-wise though, which was a comfort.

theo, on the other hand, was every inch you but with fred's antics set on a permanent sugar high. and being a single mother to these two boys was heaven and hell, but you honestly wouldn't have it any other way.

you lived in a fixer-upper farmhouse just outside of london, real estate you bought simply because of the vast expanse of land surrounding it and also maybe because it slightly reminded you of the burrow. a place you once considered a second home.

theo was running through the halls, mimicking explosions and pilot calls with his toy planes as you painted the last unfinished portion of the living room wall, your jeans stained and your hair a mess. jace was sitting on the kitchen floor within your line of sight, playing with his lego set, tongue stuck out as he focused on putting the pieces together.

you were just about finished with the wall when something suspicious fell upon your ears. complete silence.

jace wasn't in the kitchen mumbling to himself as he put together lego anymore and theo was being uncharacteristically quiet, his loud footsteps gone. that was never a good sign.

but before you could drop your paint brush and set out on a search around the house, your twins were calling out to you.

"mummy! there's aliens at the door!”

“and they have jace's hair!"

aliens? where did theo get that? and jace's—? your heart dropped. no. it couldn't be. it wasn't possible.

"what do we do mummy? they said their names were gred and forge." you didn't know if jace actually missaid their names or if that was how they actually introduced themselves, nevertheless, when your boys came bounding towards where you stood frozen, one look at their confused little faces had you shaking out of your stupor.

"stay in the kitchen, okay? mummy will only be a minute."

you would just open the door, tell them to get lost, and shut it back in their faces. maybe invite george in for tea. you didn't really know. your heart was beating so hard against your chest that you couldn’t hear yourself thinking.

you gripped the door knob tight, breathing in deep before you wretched it open, steeling yourself for what's to come.

you didn't expect to be wrapped in a bear hug.

"you don't know how long i've been searching for you."

your arms were stuck to your side and your mind was wiped blank. you blinked confusedly over fred's shoulder at george who just shrugged sheepishly at you.

"let go of me please," you looked away and spoke, your voice barely above a whisper.

but fred was more than close enough to hear. you feared he could feel your heart pounding, or the way you physically had to hold yourself back from embracing him just as tight.

he jumped back, nervously rubbing his elbow. "right, yeah, sorry."

you cut straight to the chase, even though the words are struggling to move past the lump in your throat. "why are you here?"

it's been two years since you've been able to properly look fred in the eye. you saw so much of your sons in them. you yearned to have him back in your arms even though he’d just left them, but why were you feeling that way?

you were so confused. it didn’t help that fred’s claiming to have been searching for you when he’s the one who adamantly pushed you away.

"i…" it seemed like, for the first time since you've known him, fred was at a loss for words.

george watched this exchange for a few more painful moments before gently butting in. "he wanted to apologize, [y/n]. and to thank you f—"

"apologize for what?" you cut yourself off, then shook your head, knowing it doesn't really matter. "and you don't need to thank me for anything. i was merely at the right place at the right time. it was the right thing to do."

you took a tentative step back, holding onto the edge of your door. "if that's all…"

"no, wait." fred held out a hand to stop you from shutting the door in his face. he was done acting like he wasn't still in love with you. it was time to come clean. "i'm—"

"mummy! theo's being bad again!"

just then, jace ran up to you, lip trembling and tears running down his face, making grabby hands at you. your heart softened at the gesture.

"hold on," you muttered to the two dumbfounded adult twins outside your door as you picked up your son, theo making his appearance known by clinging to your thigh.

“what did theo do, love?” you started patting jace’s back as he cried into your shoulder. you could feel fred and george’s gaze burning into your back.

"i made his lego fall but mummy, i didn't mean it!" theo cried, and you knew he was feeling bad. whenever jace cried, theo always empathized. yeah, maybe theo was being a little over the top, but he didn't always mean to make his brother sad.

"c'mon, bub, you should apologize to your brother first." you carried a sobbing jace further into your home, gesturing at fred and george to come inside. "love, theo said he didn't mean it."

"a—apology first," he sniffled, rubbing at his eyes, still frowning. he took your face into his small chubby hands and you booped his nose with your own, sending him into a fit of giggles.

"i'm sorry, jace." theo touched jace's foot from where he stood holding onto your waist, his own face screwing up. you knew that he wanted the attention you were giving his twin. "i won't do it again, okay?"

"okay." jace nodded and wiggled, silently asking to be put down. "i won't talk to you anymore if you do it again, though."

theo's eyes widened at the threat and he pinky promised he wouldn't do it again. "i'll even help fix it!"

then he looked at you expectantly and you softened at his look, booping his nose too. but before he ran back into the kitchen to put the pieces of jace's lego set together again, he glanced up at fred and george and whispered not-so-conspiratorially at you, “why do they look like daddy, mummy?”

your eyes widened and your stomach contracted with a bout of nervous nerves. none of your boys were expert whisperers and were too curious for their own good, so you were sure that fred and george had heard.

maybe showing them pictures of you and their dad back when you were in school wasn’t the best idea after all. but then again, you didn’t really want to keep secrets from your twins, they more than deserved to know who their father was.

“mummy will tell you later, bub, okay?”

theo nodded resolutely. “otay!”

with that, your son bounded towards the kitchen and you were forced to finally face fred and george, their mixed emotions evident on their faces.

"daddy?" fred breathed, his eyes following the two toddlers as they left. “is he… is he mine?”

you furrowed your brow at the question, glancing down at the ground as you tried to evade his question. "why does that matter? how did you even find me?"

he knew that tactic. he invented that tactic.

“what do you mean, ‘why does that matter?’ of course, it matters! i’ve been looking for you ever since hogwarts and…” he breathed, rubbing a hand across his face. “and i bumped into lavender earlier today, didn’t take much to get your address out of her. came as soon as i knew, reckon she knows then?”

“maybe you should…” you glanced at george, sensing that maybe this conversation wasn’t for him to take part in. you gestured towards the kitchen where your sons were noisily playing with their toys.

george’s eyes widened with realization before he nodded frantically. “of course, yeah.”

when he left, you turned back to fred who had taken it upon himself to pace a hole in your floor. "so what if lavender knows? and also, i don’t know why it matters if they’re yours because you pushed me away, fred! you left me!"

“they…?” fred froze. “both of them? twins? you’re not married?”

you scoffed, crossing your arms. “you’re not hearing me, of course you’re not hearing me. bloody fucking typical.”

“i’m sorry, i’m just having a hard time digesting the fact that the love of my life saves me then just leaves me during a fucking war and when i finally find her to thank her and beg to take me back, she’s got two kids that, judging by the fact that one's bloody ginger, are probably mine!”

“no,” tears welled up in your eyes as fred lets everything out. you wrapped your arms around yourself as if to shield you from his words. “no. that’s not fair. you don’t get to say all those things. not anymore.”

fred steps forward, gingerly touching your elbows with warm hands. “it’s all true. and i thought you knew, i’ve only been sending you letters ever since i left. apologetic letters, telling you of how big of a git i was for pushing you away. i wanted you back so bad, but it came to my knowledge that you weren’t getting them because you moved. and i couldn’t find you, merlin knows i’ve been trying though.”

it was too good to be true. you shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut as tears leaked out of them. “then why…?”

he knew what you meant. “george was telling me that he needed me to focus on our future, he wasn���t explicitly telling me to break up with you, but with mum putting pressure on us about school, i was just so, so stressed and when i snapped i… i took it out on you and i haven’t stopped regretting it since.”

he rubbed your arms up and down as you absorbed this new information. you were now faced with a decision, forgive him or tell him to get lost? or… door number three; tell him that you want him back just as much? your thoughts were a messy whirlwind that had you quiet for a moment too long.

breaking your train of thought, fred lifted your chin with his finger to meet your eyes and suddenly you were sixteen all over again. even after everything, he still had this pull on you that had you feeling like a lovesick teenager. he smiled gently, moving his hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“you’re killing me here, darling. are they mine? not—not that that really matters—”

“i thought i saved you, fred.” you snorted, interrupting, a playful smirk tugging on your lips, one that he mirrored. you searched his brown eyes, both swimming with emotion, before you spoke again. “and yes, theodore james and jonathan thomas are yours. they’re three.”

at that statement, fred blinked, unfocused, and you knew he was doing the mental math in his head. “then that means…”

“that i was pregnant the day you broke up with me.” you nodded, confirming his suspicions.

his shoulders drooped. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“merlin, fred, i didn’t know if you even wanted to see me, much less have me showing up on your doorstep with a blown up belly.” you looked away, leaning against the wall for support, but not before checking if the paint was dry. “you have to understand how much you hurt me when you left. you completely broke my heart.”

your lip trembled as you reminisced all the trials and difficulties you had to face on your own. how you had to drive yourself to monthly check ups and eventually st. mungo’s. how painful the labor was and thinking about holding fred’s hand the whole time. how you had to have lavender and hermione constantly around as you spiraled into a post-partum depression.

fred immediately took you into his arms, tears falling down his own face as you cried into his chest. “i know, i know. and i’m so sorry, [y/n]. but i’m here now, and i’m going to pick up the pieces i broke. if... if you’ll all have me.”

he started peppering your face with kisses, taking your silence as a positive thing. and it was, because eventually you were gently laughing at his constant attacks.

he eventually pulled back though, somber, as he seriously looked at you. “i was away from you and my sons for three years too long. i want to change that. i’ve always wanted a family with you and now i get to have that chance. please, [y/n] take me back, please.”

you lifted a hand to run your hand through his hair, missing the feeling. he leaned into your touch. you were finally getting your freddie back.

after all this time.

you rested your hand on his cheek. “consider this a clean slate.”

“a fresh start.” he nodded resolutely, kissing your palm, a broad grin plastered his adorably freckled face.

suddenly, he let go of you and took a step back, making you tilt your head confusedly at the action. then he reached out a hand, grin turned mischievous.

“hullo, i’m fred weasley.”

you rolled your eyes good naturedly as you shook his hand, your laugh lines deepening with the way you were smiling so wide.

“[y/n] [y/l/n], nice to meet you.”

the sound of clapping from behind startled the both of you.

george was leaning against the archway leading into the kitchen, chewing on a breadstick that the twins had probably given him. “merlin, you guys are still weird, even three years apart.”

the twins in question came bounding towards you from between his legs, jace running up to fred with his mouth open wide. “are you my daddy? mummy says my daddy has hair like mine! i asked that mister but he said no.”

“yes, love, this one’s your daddy. that one’s your uncle.” you lifted theo into your arms as he made grabby hands at you and fred followed suite with jace, their resemblance uncanny. “they’re twins like you two are.”

“is he my daddy, too?” theo was whispering again, turned unusually shy by the presence of two adult males that didn’t look like him when they both looked like jace. your heart clenched with the fact that he was probably feeling left out.

fred spoke up before you could reassure him and he swiftly picked theo into his arms, designating a son on each hip. “yeah, you’re both mine and you, theo, look so much like your mummy, it’s scary.”

theo clapped his hands gleefully, unfiltered happiness on his face as fred started zooming around the hall with the twins. your gaze turned soft at the sight of your kids and their dad finally reunited. you touched your lips as your heart swelled with love and pride and an abundance of other sappy emotions.

“you know, i gave him so much shit for breaking up with you when i found out.” you met george’s eyes across the hall as he came to stand beside you. “but it wasn’t long until i realized that it was just a spur of the moment thing... fred really loves you and i can personally vouch that he missed you terribly.”

he chuckled as you both watched fred walk out onto the porch as theo and jace started talking his ear off. “you wouldn’t believe how shocked he was when percy told him you were the reason he’s alive. if anything it fueled his need to search for you even more. i’m not supposed to be here, but he dragged me along in the name of ‘moral support’, the bloke.”

you nodded in understanding, laying a comforting hand on his arm. “i’m glad you’re here, george.”

“you know, it’s not too late to fight him. we both know ‘moral support’ means someone to drag his unconscious ass away after you’ve had your way with him.” he looked down at you from where you stood next to him, teasing.

you laughed at the comment, grabbing the attention of fred who approached you with a open mouthed smile. the twins then ran past you, talking animatedly as fred breathed deeply, no doubt spent from theo and jace’s hyper-ness. but he just puffed out his chest, leaned against the doorway, and kissed you on the cheek.

“told them about the joke shop, reckon that was a bad idea, ‘cause now they’re putting on their shoes.”

“what? fred, no!”

your heart was so full.

[theweasleysredhair]

An Exhibition of Muggle Duelling [G.W.]

Character: George Weasley

Word Count: 2042

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: Angry George is hot. He’s even hotter when he’s fighting. Based on that scene - you know the one - in Order of the Phoenix.

Tags: @gracemayhateyou @criminalyetminimal @angelinathebook @iprobablyshipit91 @potterverseimagine @slytherineheir @kpopgirlbtssvt @rexorangecouny @mytreec @hemmoporro @thisismysketchbook @acciotwinz @shadowsinger11 @aaannabbanana @lestersglitterglue @anyasthoughts @lxncelot @harrypotter289 @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @valwritesx @hufflrpuffforfred @cappsikle @kiwi-sloan @potter-redheads @pigwidgexn @twinkyjohnson @sarcasticallywitty15 @tyyyweasley @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @wonderful-writer @marauders-loving-queen @vogueweasley @marvelettesassemble @thisismynerdyself @gcdric @loony-loopy-lupinn @gloryekaterina @tinylumpiaa @locke-writes @wand3ringr0s3 @ickle-ronniekins @sehunasbitch @cryingforcrystalpepsi @kashishwrites @girl-next-door-writes @susceptible-but-siriusexual @crissdanvers @whiz-bangs78 @oh-for-merlins-sake @heavenlymidnight @aylinw3asley @vivianweasley @andineversawyoucoming @nkjktk | message or send an ask to be removed! unfortunately, my taglist is closed until further notice due to hitting the max. amount allowed on one post!

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: shoutout to kaylah ( @pit-and-the-pen ) for finding the pages that the fight scene takes place and sending them to me - literal angel, thank you sm my love!! ❤️ also the ending isn’t great, i had a breakdown trying to figure out what to write, but hope you guys like it anyway 😂

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

Gryffindor had won.

It was supposed to be a happy occasion, despite the song Malfoy had gotten many of the Slytherin students to sing, but as you ran down the steps from the stand and onto the pitch, followed closely by Hermione, you realised something was wrong, Malfoy’s laughter being the most prominent sound.

You approached the Gryffindor team, wanting to make sure Harry was okay after the fall he took at the end of the game, though seeing Katie and Alicia hugging him assured you he would be fine.

“But we couldn’t find rhymes for fat and ugly - we wanted to sing about his mother, see. We couldn’t fit in useless loser either - for his father, you know-“ you heard Malfoy jeer.

“You’d know all about being a useless loser, wouldn’t you Malfoy?” You spoke out, arriving by George’s side as his arm automatically moved to slide around your waist, his head turning in Malfoy’s direction, jaw clenching as he realised what he was talking about.

“Leave it,” Angelina looked towards you and the twins, particularly Fred who had taken a step in Malfoy’s direction, “Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he’s just sore he lost, the jumped-up little-“

Malfoy smirked in yours and Harry’s direction, a nasty look on his face as he sneered, “But you like the Weasleys, don’t you Potter? And you, L/n.”

He spat out your surname with a grimace. You felt George trying to move and gripped his wrist, running your thumb softly over his skin. He swallowed, hands curling into fists as he glared at the blonde boy.

“Spend holidays there and everything, don’t you?” Malfoy continued, laughing with his usual sidekicks, enjoying the way he was winding you all up, “Can’t see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you’ve been dragged up by muggles even the Weasley’s hovel smells okay-“

George suddenly lunged forward out of your reach, his name leaving your lips just as Harry caught his arm, pulling him back and holding onto him, trying to prevent him from pouncing on the blonde.

Angelina and Alicia were holding Fred back, helped by Katie who had a grip on his shirt and one of his shoulders, though he was still struggling to get away from them, pulling them forward as they dragged him back.

Malfoy laughed again, the sound piercing your ears and making you scowl, “Or perhaps you can remember what your mother’s house stank like, Potter, and Weasley’s pigsty reminds you of it. And don’t get me started on you, L/n. The fact you’d even allow a Weasley to touch you-“

“You git-“ you yelled, moving to grab your wand. But before you could even throw a hex at him, Hermione grabbed your waist, keeping you back as you realised Harry had let go of George, and they were both now on top of the blonde boy, having shoved him down into the mud, throwing punch after punch. You stopped struggling as much as you watched the scene unfold before you.

“Harry! Harry!! George!! No!”

The Gryffindor chasers yelled out their names, but couldn’t do much more as they were still holding Fred back, who was still trying to get to Malfoy.

You held your wand loosely but couldn’t bring yourself to use it, watching as your boyfriend’s fist collided with Malfoy’s nose, his muscles straining and abs prominent as his Quidditch shirt rode up, showing off his toned back as he threw more punches, easily blocking Malfoy’s weak attempts at fighting back. He was swearing at the Slytherin boy, angry growls escaping his lips and you felt your mouth drop a little.

Swallowing, you couldn’t pull your eyes away from the scene, George’s ginger locks sticking to his forehead with sweat, both from the previous game and from fighting, a snarl on his face as he continued his attack.

You’d never seen him like this, so aggressive, so in control of his actual movements yet not his emotions as he allowed his anger to fuel him, his eyebrows furrowed, clenched fists accentuating the veins in his lower arms as he landed punch after punch, before suddenly Madam Hooch was yelling out, and he was hit by a spell, one that paused his actions - or rather, slowed them down.

Harry jumped to his feet, as the Quidditch coach yelled out, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Malfoy lay on the floor, curled in a ball however you could see his nose was bloody. Fred was still struggling to escape the grasp of the chasers. And George, his lip was swollen and he was breathing heavily, but otherwise he seemed okay, for which you were thankful.

He pulled his shirt back into place angrily, a string of curses being muttered under his breath. His hands were still pulled into fists, his biceps clenching under the jersey, his jaw tensing, before he and Harry headed up to the castle without another word, practically marching away angrily towards McGonagall’s office, under Madam Hooch’s orders.

Fred pulled himself away from the chasers, though he was careful not to hurt them, and they hesitantly released their grips, ready to pull him back again if he attempted to finish what his twin and Harry had started. He scowled as he turned towards the changing rooms, grabbing his broom and heading off.

Hermione let go of your waist and you stomped after Fred, who was grumbling under his breath, and though he nodded at you in reassurance he was okay, you knew the twins and anger didn’t usually end too well.

***

No one seemed to want to celebrate Gryffindor’s win after the match. In fact, you were sat in the common room completely alone, waiting for your boyfriend (and Harry) to come back from being reprimanded by McGonagall. Fred had sullenly stomped to his room a while ago without a word, simply kicking the wall beside the stairs in anger as he passed by it.

Even Angelina - who you’d expected to have been happy by her first win as a new Captain - had retired to her own dorm room with a frown, along with Alicia and Katie.

The common room felt odd, being so quiet, but you appreciated the calm. That was, until the portrait door slammed open and two familiar - angry - faces stormed in.

You didn’t have chance to acknowledge Harry before George had pulled you up off the couch and, despite his split lip, he brought you into a rough kiss, one that made your toes curl and caused your greeting to become muffled, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself against you.

His tongue ran across your bottom lip, before pushing into your mouth, desperately kissing you as though it were the last thing he’d ever do. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

You weren’t aware he’d started moving you until your back hit the stone wall beside the fireplace, his hand moving to grab your bum, travelling to the back of your thigh to lift it round his waist, his hips pressing against yours.

“Did you hear what he was fucking saying?” He mumbled against your lips, parting briefly to take a breath before kissing you again, “‘Bout my parents, and Harry’s Mum. And you- Merlin he’s lucky he didn’t say much more about you, he’d have had more than a broken nose, I’ll tell you that much.”

Your breathing was heavy, fanning across his lips as you replied, “Trust me, if he’d said much more, I’d have been right there with you breaking more than just his nose.”

He hummed, his mouth hovering over yours as his eyes grazed over your face, your leg still resting around his waist, your hands now gripping his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” You asked. Perhaps a redundant question, considering the events of the day, however as George briefly screwed his eyes shut before opening them again, you knew he understand what you meant - there was something else bothering him, and he knew you could tell.

“‘M fine, love,” he gave you a quick nod, before sighing at your pointed eyebrow raise, “Aside from being banned from Quidditch.”

You blinked, not expecting that answer, lips parting in surprise as his hand moved from your hip to your thigh, tracing random shapes on the skin showing, “Wait McGonagall banned you? She wouldn’t do that! She adores your team! They don’t stand a chance of winning without you!”

“Not her, the toad. Gave me, Freddie and Harry a lifelong ban. Can she even do that?” He swore aloud, his head dropping to your shoulder and you ran a hand through his ginger hair.

“Oh Georgie,” you breathed out, your heart almost breaking at the idea of him losing out on something he loved so much, “I’m sorry to say but you know as well as I do... she can pretty much do whatever she wants, sadly. She’s got the Ministry behind her. I’m so sorry.”

Your gaze moved to the back of your hand, where you knew there was light scarring from a previous detention with her, knowing that if she could get away with something like this, then she’d do it.

“‘S not your fault, is it? Should’ve controlled myself and not fought Malfoy. No matter how much the git bloody deserved it,” George curled his hands into fists as memories of the fight danced through his mind, a snarl setting across his features as he buried his face into your shoulder.

“He definitely deserved it. Least you got in a few good punches, eh? And if it wasn’t you, it would’ve been Fred. If it makes you feel any better though...” you trailed off, causing George to look up at you in anticipation of your next words, “I kinda maybe definitely thought that it was hot, the way you fought Malfoy. Just a little bit.”

He looked you up and down with a smirk, seemingly calming down at the revelation of this new information, “Me fighting is hot is it?”

“Oh Godric yes. You’re sexy when you’re angry anyway, but seeing you punching Malfoy?” You bit your lip and he let out a low groan, “Baby, that was attractive.”

George grinned cheekily, though a tad too wide causing his lip to split again, making him swear and dab at it with the collar of his shirt, reaching his other hand out to squeeze your thigh, “Well now I know that I might cause fights more often.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, watching as his tongue darted out across the cut, before leaning up to press your lips against his again. He kissed back immediately, almost as if he was waiting for you to do it, then began trailing kisses down your jaw, your eyes fluttering closed, before he pulled away suddenly, making you open them again, ready to protest.

“What is it about me fighting?” He asked, the corner of his mouth curling up, as if he was trying not to smile too smugly.

“Now you’re just begging for compliments,” you shook your head.

“Humour me. Humour me and I’ll go back to kissing you,” he countered.

You rolled your eyes, absent-mindedly moving to stroke his biceps through the Quidditch jersey he was still wearing, “Couldn’t tell you if I wanted to. Guess it’s your muscles...”

You pressed your lips together as your gaze caught his, “And how strong you are.”

“Strong?”

You hummed, fingertips dancing up his arms and towards his shoulders, “Oh yeah. You could hold my wrists above my head and I could struggle with everything I have and you’d keep me in place with ease.”

“That a hint?” His voice had dropped a few octaves as he brushed his lips against yours gently, grabbing both your wrists in one hand and pinning them against the wall above your head as you shot him a cheeky grin, gazing up at him.

“A challenge.”

His free hand was already moving under the material of your skirt, as he casually glanced over his shoulder towards the staircase to the dorm rooms, before pressing himself against you further, his lips hovering over yours once more,

“Oh yeah? Then challenge accepted, love.”

[thatsassyhufflepuff]

Estrangement

Could you write something where Draco gets mad at reader and he says something like "you don't understand cause you're a sunshine Hufflepuff" but he doesn't know her family hasn't talk to her ever since she started going to Hogwarts. Maybe friends to lovers (fluff)

Summary: She could never understand. She's just a Hufflepuff without a care in the world. Little does Draco know that Y/N has a shadow that follows her everywhere.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female Hufflepuff reader

Year: 7th

House: Hufflepuff

Blood status: Pure (it just works better for the plot)

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: SO. MUCH. FLUFF. i even made my own heart flutter i-

A/N: Thank you for your request, lovely anon! I hope you like it! <3

If Y/N Y/L/N had known bringing up the upcoming Malfoy Christmas Ball would bring her this much trouble, she never would have bothered.

"What's the big deal?" She asked, plopping into an armchair in the Slytherin Prefect's dorm. "We've been dating for over a year, Draco! I've been to plenty of the family events."

Draco ran a hand through his white-blonde hair, expelling a breath. "I realize that, love, but this one is different."

Y/N snorted. "I highly doubt that. These parties haven't changed for centuries." She hesitated then. "Are you still afraid I'll embarrass you? I swear I've gotten better at dancing!"

His gray eyes settled on her, startled. "What?" He shook his head, crossing the room and grabbing his girlfriend's hands, tugging her to her feet and wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her so close that she started to giggle.

"Of course not, you darling Badger." Draco murmured into her ear. He held her away from him just enough to begin swaying her in his arms. The Slytherin hid a grin against her hair. Y/N had gotten better at dancing.

He let out a contented sigh when she rested her chin on his shoulder, still swaying lazily with him. "Then what is it?" she whispered, her arms dangling about his neck. "I just want to spend Christmas with you, Draco. Is that so wrong?"

Draco sighed, tightening his arms around her waist. "It's just..." he twirled her. "Well, you know how my parents are, Y/N.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What problem could they possibly have with me? I’m a pure-blood.”

“Yes, but...” he chewed on his lower lip. “Your House isn’t ideal.”

Y/N stepped out of Draco’s reach, folding her arms as she lifted her chin. “And what’s wrong with being in Hufflepuff?”

“Nothing!” Draco held up his hands. “I don’t think think that way, you know that. It’s just that we’ve always been a family of Slytherins. No one in my family has ever married someone of another house.”

“That’s stupid.”

He shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Hufflepuffs are very respectable,” Y/N said with a sniff. “It’s time for your family to start new traditions.”

Draco couldn’t help but bristle. “That’s not how this works, Y/N.”

“Why not?”

“Because it just isn’t!”

“That’s not an answer.”

“God, you don’t understand because you’re all sunshine and unicorns!” Draco cried. “Miss Pure Hufflepuff. You don’t get it! You never have!”

Hurt seeped into Y/N’s features, making Draco regret his words instantly.

“So that’s how it is,” Her voice trembled, tears sparkling in her eyes.

“Y/N, I...”

The Hufflepuff held up a hand. “No. Merlin, I’m such an idiot. I actually thought I’d have...” She swiped at her tears impatiently. “But I suppose not. I hope you have fun without me, Draco “

She walked to the door, but Draco blocked her path. “Y/N, please!” He ran his hands through his hair. “You act as if you have nowhere to go! It’s just for the holiday.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go!” Y/N burst out, weeping in earnest now. “That’s what you don’t understand! I haven’t talked to my family since I started at Hogwarts, Draco. Seven bloody years ago!” She sniffed.

Draco blanched. “What?”

The witch smiled bitterly. “We’ve been estranged ever since they learned which house I was sorted in. Apparently a family of Slytherins has no room for a Hufflepuff.” With that, she opened the door and left the room before he could stop her.

The Slytherin sat on his bed numbly, then put his head in his hands.

What on Earth have I done?

***

Draco gave her a few days to cool off before he approached her.

“Y/N?” he asked gently as he opened the door to her room. As he had predicted, she was laying back on her bed, tracing mindless shapes into the air with her wand. Her eyes flicked to his, but she said nothing. Draco exhaled, sitting on the edge of her bed carefully.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, smoothing her hair away from her face. “I’m a bloody git, I know.”

Y/N sat up so she was at his eye-level. “You didn’t know,” she mumbled, twisting her hands together in her lap. Draco grabbed her hands, untwisting them and bringing her fingers to his lips for a kiss.

“I should have known,” he said as he lowered her hands, though he still held onto them. “The times you’ve stayed here over breaks...I didn’t even question it. That’s my fault, Y/N.” Draco squeezed her hands.

“It’s fine,” his girlfriend whispered, but he shook his head.

“It’s not,” Draco insisted gently. “You’re my girlfriend, Y/N. It’s my job to know these things about you.”

Y/N, ever the Hufflepuff, tried to shrug it off. “Well, now you know.”

“Y/N.” Draco placed his hands on her shoulders, ducking his head so she would be forced to meet his eyes. “I should have known, because you are my family. I shouldn’t have made you feel as though you were anything less.”

Tears filled her beautiful eyes as she scooted closer to him, draping herself across his lap. “Why am I not enough?” She whispered, burying her face into his chest. “For them, I mean. All because I’m in Hufflepuff.” His heart broke when she sobbed against his chest. “I wish I wasn’t.”

“Look at me.” Draco waited patiently until she lifted her tear-stained face on her own. “It’s their loss, my love. You are kind, brilliant, loyal, you are sunshine and unicorns, yes, but in the best way possible.” He wiped her tears away with the pads of his thumbs as he chuckled lowly, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips.

“Thank you,” Y/N whispered, resting her forehead against his. He rubbed his nose against hers, kissing the tip when she scrunched her nose like a rabbit. “Does this mean I can come?”

Draco threw back his head and laughed. “Salazar, I love you. No, sweetheart. We’re staying here. Just you and me.” He pulled her closer, splaying his hands across her ribs. “All alone...” He flexed his fingers, his heart fluttering at her sweet laughter. “While I shower you with gifts and sweets. How does that sound?” He tickled her again, relishing the feeling of the laughter shaking her beautiful body.

“Draco, stop!” She squealed, calming down when he started to plant tiny kisses all over her face. When he pulled back, she whispered, “That sounds perfect. Thank you, Draco.” Y/N lurched forward, throwing her arms around him in a hug, wrapping her legs around his waist. Draco squeezed her gently in return, rubbing slow, soothing circles on her back.

“I mean it, you know.” He kissed her temple.

“Mean what?” She asked as she played with the hair at the nape of his neck. Draco pulled back just enough to gaze into her eyes.

“I love you. So much that it physically hurts me sometimes.”

Her expression softened as she smoothed a piece of hair out of his eyes. “I know. I love you more.”

“Does this mean you forgive me?” Draco’s gray eyes settled on the curve of her lips.

She smiled. “I’ll forgive you a thousand times if it means I get a lifetime of loving you.”

His breath ghosted across her lips. “I think that can be arranged.”

~~~

*hyena screech* THIS IS SO FLUFFY OMG I CAN’T-

Taglist: @rosiehufflepuff @beforeoursunsets @typewriting101 @sadgirlnumber92899

[ginnyweasleymybeloved]

summer breezes / george weasley

hi crew :) idk why i wrote this but i was in a george mood so here we go ;)

summary: george acts like he hates you, he doesn’t really hate you. you act like you hate him, but you don’t really hate him. chaos ensues.

slight neville x reader for a second

word count: 6.9k

warnings: swearing, george being mean, lil angsty, fluffy at the end, reader’s house is not specified <3, mentions of food, kissing

let me know what you think ;)

“And what do you expect me to do? By the time I’d even realised I was falling I’d already landed face first on the proverbial concrete,” you groaned out in exasperation, while your best friend looked at you with so much distaste that anyone would’ve thought you’d murdered his family pet.

He shook his head, a scowl as clear as day splashed across his lips as he reprimanded you for your heart’s foolishness, “Of all people…” he scoffed in disgust, “Honestly, Y/n.”

“You know, you shouting at me isn’t going to fix anything,” he rolled his eyes at your statement and racked his eyes over your disheveled state. You’d obviously been battling with yourself over your—unfortunate—crush for some time. As your best friend, Ron Weasley knew he’d have to soften up on you eventually, but honestly, it was your own fault for falling for one of his disastrous siblings.

You were currently sprawled out on Harry’s bed, across from the red-headed boy you’d known since you were in nappies, your arms hanging off the edges of Harry’s four-poster. Neither you or Ron had a clue where Harry, or Hermione, had disappeared off to today. Harry was probably on the quidditch pitch practicing while Hermione haunted the library, you supposed as you listened to Ron’s rantings, wishing they’d been there to mediate.

“—of all of my siblings too! You couldn’t have picked, oh I don’t know, Charlie? Or Fred even? Merlin, even Ginny! But no! You just had to go and bloody fall for the only Weasley who actively cannot stand you.” You only caught that portion of his rave, having gotten lost in the idea of being coddled sympathetically by Harry or Hermione. You adore Ron, really, he’s your loyalist and longest friend, but Merlin was he a total drama queen.

“Charlie is five years older than me, Fred is my wingman and honestly, I snogged him on a dare last summer and I wasn’t that impressed and in case you’ve forgotten, Ronald, Ginny is dating Harry,” you lectured, ignoring how he rolled his eyes as you continued, “Also I’m well aware that he hates me. You don’t need to keep reminding me.”

His composure cracked after hearing your depressed mumble, and with a sigh he moved from his spot on his own bed and made the short trip over to Harry’s. Ron gently pulled you into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress and sat himself down next to you. He let out a heavy sigh, still slightly shaking his head—he couldn’t seem to stop—, then he dropped a heavy arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side, finally offering you the comfort you’d been seeking out in the first place.

“S’alright, Y/n. Maybe he’ll get hit in the head with a bludger and forget he’s hated you since he was four.” Ron encouraged, very weakly.

You released a sigh of your own at that, “I feel like I’m betraying myself here. Like I’m letting that stupid git win.” Ron couldn’t stop the laugh he let out at your grumble.

“I’ll be honest, I thought he’d be the first to crack. You can be quite scary when you get going.” Ron divulged, shuddering at the memories of when he’d been on the receiving end of your rath.

Your family and the Weasley family had been extremely close since before you or Ron were even born, which meant you’d grown up alongside all of the Weasley children. Of course, because of your ages you and Ron had been attached at the hip as infants and remained that way even now, late into your fifth year of Hogwarts. Most of the Weasley children simply adored you, as you did them. However, there was one boy who, for whatever reason, hated you to your very core and as far as you could remember; he always had.

He is none other than the younger of the two twins; George Weasley. Despite the fact that Fred was actually quite fond of you, his twin refused to warm up to you in any way, shape or form. No, the tall and annoyingly attractive boy had made it his life’s mission not to get along with you, but instead, wage a war on you that spanned for the entirety of your childhood and adolescence.

“When did things change? When did it stop being a challenge? When did it start affecting me like this? I used to take his insults like a champ! I used to get him back worse!” You wondered out loud, letting your head flop onto Ron’s broad shoulder as he let out a puff of air through his nose.

“You still take it like a champ, numpty,” he chastised you gently, recoiling ever so slightly when you lurched forward in complete defeat. Your hands shot up to cover your face as you rested your forehead against your knees.

“No! I don’t,” you murmured dejectly, lifting your face from your hands to make eye contact with Ron. “Do you remember the other night in the Great Hall? When Neville told me he thought my hair looked pretty? And George, out of bloody nowhere, comes over and says and I quote, ‘I wouldn’t waste your time on this one, Longbottom. You’d have a better time kissing that toad of yours.’ Do you remember that?” Ron raised an eyebrow and nodded in confusion, your voice seemed to be steadily rising in octaves as you recalled the events of the other night. He had to admit, it had been an unusually unnecessary comment on George’s part, but the youngest Weasley boy wasn’t really sure where you were going with it.

“Well do you remember how I had said, ‘how’s that girlfriend of yours, Georgie? Figured out a way to make her stop being invisible yet?’ and then remember I rushed off? Do you wanna know where I rushed off to?” You pressed, watching intently as Ron nodded his head, unsure if he even wanted to know. “I went to the bathroom and I cried! I cried, Ron! Over something George bloody Weasley said to me!”

His eyes widened at that. Never once had George ever managed to properly upset you.

“And over something as small as that? I’ve heard him say a lot worse to your face.” Ron said in disbelief and you nodded, expression mimicking his as if you couldn’t believe it yourself.

“Right? And it’s like everytime he says something mean to me now my stomach drops and it actually hurts,” Ron regarded you softly, his eyes sad while he rubbed your back as you buried your face in your hands yet again, “Do you know what’s worse though?”

Ron opened his mouth to hazard a guess but no sound escaped as he drew nothing but blanks.

“I actually care what he thinks of me now. As if I actually value his idiotic opinions of me.”

It was at that moment that Harry entered the room sporting muddy quidditch gear and a confused expression, “May I ask why we’re having a heart to heart on my bed?”

Ron shrugged, continuing to rub soothing circles into your back as he told Harry mournfully, “Y/n likes George.”

“Merlin.” Harry whispered, as horrified to learn of your crush as Ron had been. “But, Y/n, he hates you! I mean he really hates you-“ the chosen one was cut off by a pillow making contact with his face. Ron had chucked it at him the second he felt your form begin to shake beneath his touch.

“Bloody hell, Harry! You’ve gone and upset her even more!” He whispered harshly. Harry quickly set his broom down and plopped himself down beside you, leaving you trapped between himself and Ron. The green-eyed boy rested his cheek against your lightly shaking back and managed to snake his arms around your torso.

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.” He told you genuinely. “Should we go and find Hermione?”

You only shook your head. Embarrassment quickly overtook you as you realised your were crying in front of your two best friends over George fucking Weasley.

“No. No, I’m okay. It’s fine,” you sat up and hastily wiped your tears away.

“It’s okay to be upset, Y/n,” Harry spoke softly, squeezing your middle in a short hug, getting mud from his quidditch practice all over you.

With a resolute shake of your head you stood up and faced the boys, who each looked at you with pity filled eyes, then you spoke as steadily as you could, “I’m not upset. He hasn’t upset me,” you weren’t fooling anyone, really. Your eyes were bloodshot, your cheeks and nose were red and your voice was slightly hoarse when you spoke. The boys entertained you anyway, nodding in agreement.

“I’m telling you this as his brother and your best mate; you can do better.” Ron told you honestly, he wasn’t lying either, you were the type of girl who could get any boy she wanted without lifting a finger. Well, not any boy—obviously— but that wasn’t anything to do with you. Ron had his suspicions in regards to why his brother acted like such a knob towards you, however he’d been thrown off his scent recently when the older ginger stopped being mean to you teasingly in favour of being just plain mean.

You gave Ron the best smile you could muster at his words, “You are absolutely right, Ronald.”

Harry snorted before making his way over to Ron’s trunk, he rifled through it for a few seconds before pulling out one of Ron’s jumpers. He casually tossed, what you recognised to be Ron’s Christmas jumper from Molly, over to you with a grin, “Put that on. I got muck all over you.”

You had plenty of your own Christmas jumpers made by Molly Weasley but they were all the way over in your own dorm. Besides, you liked stealing the ones made for the boys as they were usually far too big for you which made them extremely comfortable to wear.

So you happily pulled the maroon jumper over your head, the wool effectively covering your dirtied t-shirt.

“Oh yes, by all means, you two just work away.” Ron grunted sarcastically. In all honesty, he didn’t care if you stole every piece of fabric he owned, if it made you feel better, he couldn’t care less.

“Right,” you said, making your way to the door of the dorm room, “I think I’ll go for a walk before the sunsets, calm myself down a bit.”

The boys nodded, “See you at dinner?” Ron asked and you gave him a smile and a small nod of confirmation before you set off out of the Gryffindor common room.

Thankfully, you didn’t run into George on your way out. You walked peacefully through the gardens and behind the greenhouses, it was around five in the evening and the sun was beginning to stoop low behind the tree line. The days were beginning to take on a chill as October approached quickly, you’d gone out without grabbing a jacket and you couldn’t deny that you were beginning to feel the cold nipping at your skin despite Ron’s jumper. Pulling the sleeves further down your wrists you carried on, trudging forward through the fallen leaves of the garden, you weren’t ready to go back inside yet. Going back to the castle meant you’d have to look your problem in the face, literally. You settled on the fact that you’d rather endure the physical cold rather than the emotional coldness you were sure to receive from George at dinner.

When you’d reached the back of the third greenhouse you could faintly hear someone humming to themselves and a soft smile found your lips when you saw who it was. Neville sat on a chair in the greenhouse, right by a plant that you hadn’t a clue what it was called, seemingly humming the little tune for the plant in question. Despite his undeniable clumsiness, there was something about Neville Longbottom that soothed you greatly. He has a good soul and his heart is usually in the right place, even if his head is sometimes screwed on slightly loose.

Gently, trying not to startle him you knocked on the closed door of the greenhouse before you opened it and walked in, “Hi, Neville. Mind if I join you?”

Neville blushed slightly but nodded his head, “Course! There’s a spare chair just there,” he pointed nervously to the chair. Once you settled yourself beside him, he let himself relax slightly.

“What sort of plant is this?” You asked him curiously. You really liked plants but you weren’t the best at keeping them alive, Neville though, seemed to be something of a green thumb.

He beamed at your question and quickly began to explain everything about the plant before you. You didn’t absorb a lot of it but listening to Neville speak so freely, something he rarely got to do amidst the other Gryffindor boys, filled you with a sense of serenity. Between his voice and the light wind that blew against the glass building, you’d completely forgotten about your red-headed problem.

“—sorry, I’m probably boring you. My nan says I have a tendency to ramble.” He cut himself off, cheeks heating up as he rubbed the back of his neck bashfully.

With a small giggle you only shook your head at the brown haired boy, “You’re not boring me at all! I quite like listening to you speak,” you admitted although you felt a bit silly after saying it out loud. Neville seemed to grow even more flustered after the words left your lips.

His eyes searched your face for any sign that you were teasing him, but all he saw was your kind eyes and comforting smile. Not exactly sure about what to say to you, Neville made an observation, “You’re cold.”

You gave him a nonchalant shrug, “I’m okay.”

Completely unsatisfied with your answer, Neville shook his head in protest and shrugged off his jacket. He was used to spending a lot of time in the garden so he was usually sporting far more layers than necessary, just in case. “Here, wear this. You’ll catch a cold otherwise,” he fretted and you didn’t have the heart to turn his offer down, you didn’t want to turn it down either, you were absolutely freezing. Gratefully you accepted the jacket and wasted no time in pulling it on.

“Thank you, Neville,” he looked you over for a moment, you could tell he was debating with himself on whether or not to speak, after a long few seconds of his eyes running over you he spoke.

“You look nice- I, uh, the jacket. You look nice in the jacket- I mean, the jacket looks nice on you-“ another giggle left your lips and effectively put the boy’s fumbled ramble to an end.

“Again, thank you, Neville. You are unbelievably kind.” You told him sincerely, quite enjoying the blush that adorned his cheeks.

“We should probably head back to the castle for dinner now. It’s gotten dark,” Neville said, standing up after giving his plant a loving pat.

The walk back to the castle with Neville was nice. The pair of you chatted idly about school subjects and house drama, but you had to admit, you weren’t paying a huge amount of attention to the conversation.

“Thanks again for lending me your jacket,” you said sweetly, shrugging the jacket off as you reached the main hall of the castle.

Neville, who seemed to be in a perpetual state of bashfulness, took the jacket back gently, a rosy blush painting his features, “It was no problem, really.”

Neville had always been incredibly kindhearted, sometimes to his own detriment. He treated people with respect and never turned anyone away if they needed help with anything at all. He is sweet, honest, loyal and, whether you liked him or not, he is indisputably adorable. And you found yourself thinking about how entirely better your life would be if your heart had chosen Neville to have a romantic fondness towards.

After separating from Neville, you made your way towards the Great Hall. On your way you bumped into Fred Weasley, who surprisingly, wasn’t accompanied by his twin. He greeted you with a wide smile and, as he always did, he ruffled your hair.

“So! I have a proposition for you,” the look on his face as he spoke was nothing short of wicked, a pit of nerves began to form in your stomach with the way his eyes were lit up excitedly.

“What are you proposing?” You encouraged exhaustedly. Whatever it was would probably end with you running from Filch.

Fred lopped his long arm around your shoulder, effectively pulling you along with him as he walked in the opposite direction of the Great Hall. Any chance of you getting fed this evening had gone out the window the second Fred clapped eyes on you, you’d made your peace with it. “I’m glad you asked, princess- “ at the sound of the pet name you let out a guttural groan.

“Freddie, please, I’m not in the mood to help you make some poor girl jealous just so you can get a snog,” you whined weakly only for the boy to ruffle your hair and tug you closer to his side.

“Let me finish! As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” he paused to glare at you jokingly and you smiled apologetically, “I have a plan to make George stop acting like a prat.”

A disbelieving scoff left your lips, “Yeah that’s likely,” Fred laughed and pinched your cheek lightly before carrying on.

“Angelina told me that she heard you crying in the girls toilets the other night,” he informed you. Your eyes widened in shock and confusion, you didn’t think anyone was in there with you and you also couldn’t piece together what your moment of weakness had to do with Fred’s master plan. “And before you start, I know it’s because of George.”

“That’s ridiculous, Fred.” You lied, unconvincingly.

Fred laughed again, it was a gentle laugh that let you know he hadn’t come here to tease you but to help you, “I know it’s ridiculous and that’s exactly why I know you’ve been so down in the dumps the last few days.”

“Besides,” he started again when you remained silent, “Why else would Ron be giving his brother the silent treatment?”

“What does any of this have to do with your plan?” You asked, eyes sad and heart heavy for the second time that day. You’d only just managed to get the whole thing out of your mind, and yet, here it was again.

“Well I happen to know why George acts the way he does,” you met him with a raised eyebrow and a bored expression.

“Because he hates me, I know.” Fred’s lips grew into a wicked grin and he shook his head, coming to a stop in the middle of the hallway.

“That’s where you’re wrong. He doesn’t hate you,” he lowered his lips to hover right by your ear before he whispered quietly, “He loves you.”

With a roll of your eyes, you pushed the boy away, fixing him with a hard stare, “Come on, Fred. That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking!” He exclaimed desperately, “We were in potions making amortentia, yeah? And Slughorn called George up to tell the class what he smelled and do you know what he said?” Fred retold madly, knowing full well that this was possibly the only opening he’d get to make the two of you realise your own feelings. Fred was well aware that you developed a crush on George, he picked up on it the second you began looking crestfallen when hit with a snide remark from his twin. He knew long before now that George had loving feelings towards you too, but their recent potions class was the only hard evidence he had to support his theory.

You shrugged helplessly in response, and Fred grabbed your shoulders and looked down at you urgently, “He said it smelled of cloudberries, daisies and-this is a direct quote-‘summer breezes’,” you stared at him numbly, not exactly sure what to say as the description did match the perfume you’d been wearing regularly since you were thirteen.

“That’s you, Y/n!” Fred confirmed and you pulled your lips between your teeth before shaking your head in complete denial.

“Lots of girls wear that perfume-“ Fred cut you off, ruthlessly.

“Name one.” You racked your brain but you genuinely couldn’t name another person who wore the same perfume as you. “You can’t, can you? Because it’s your smell!”

“Ok fine! So it’s my smell, what exactly do you expect me to do with this information?” Fred rolled his eyes in exhaustion at you.

“Blimey, you’re as daft as he is sometimes, do you know that?” Fred ran his hands down his face in exasperation before looking at you softly, “I except you to come with me so we can drive him mental for a bit and if he gets nasty I’ll embarrass him because I’m an incredible brother.”

You let him lead you towards Gryffindor Tower all while complaining about how you were starving only for Fred to hush you each time you let out a hungered whine, “We can raid the kitchen later on, love,” he promised and you sighed in defeat, “That’s the spirit.”

When the pair of you entered the Gryffindor common room, George was already there, probably waiting for Fred to return it. He sat one one of the sofas that faced the fire, completely relaxed and you hated the fact that you thought he looked amazingly ethereal with the way the flames from the fire lit his skin in an orange glow.

He hadn’t noticed you yet and Fred took notice of this. The older twin subtly slid his hand into yours and intertwined your fingers with his before turning his head and shooting you a mischievous wink. Fred Weasley was a nightmare, but when he was on your side, he never failed to make you smile.

Accepting that whatever Fred was about to drag you into would result in nothing but chaos you took a deep breath and followed Fred over to the sofa.

“What is she doing here?” George practically seethed, despite the intensity of his glare, you didn’t miss the nervous look he shot in Fred’s direction. What you had missed, though, was how harshly he’d clenched his jaw upon noticing your intertwined hands.

You decided that tonight you’d play the game slightly differently, if what Fred was saying was true, it would make things all the more entertaining. So, instead of your usual menacing glare and ego-shattering insult you met George with an innocent smile, “Was just hanging out with Freddie, thought I’d come say hello,” you said, sitting in the middle of the two twins.

George stared at you suspiciously, “Hello. That all?”

“Hi. No, actually, I think I’ll sit with you for a while. If that’s okay?” Fred was smirking from his spot beside you as he watched George’s face contort.

“You’ve never wanted to sit with me before.” He told you, squinting his eyes and trying to decipher what you were up to. He couldn’t lie to himself, he definitely wouldn’t mind you staying so close to him for a while, however he’d also sooner die then let you think you had the upper hand.

His and your composure cracked simultaneously at your next sentence, your truthful and somewhat vulnerable mumble of, “Well, you’ve never given me a chance to.” He knew you were right so he didn’t say anymore, opting to shift his gaze to the roaring fire, trying his best not to let his mind linger on the fact that you were wearing his brother’s jumper. His nose perked up at the scent that drifted from your spot, unusually close to him. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d fancied you for a long time, but, there was also no denying that he’d done a perfect job of making you hate him. Yet, as much as he wanted to just cut the crap, tell you that he thinks you’re the most insufferably beautiful girl he’d ever seen and kiss you and never ever stop, his pride would never allow him to cave. Especially not when you challenged him so effortlessly.

“So how come you were headed to dinner so late anyway?” Fred piqued up, growing tired of the lack of hostility between yourself and his twin.

“Oh. I was sort of worked up earlier so I decided to go for a walk ‘round the greenhouses. I bumped into Neville and I suppose I just lost track of time,” you explained halfheartedly.

Fred let yet another smirk overtake his face, “Longbottom, eh?” He wiggled his eyebrows and you let out a short giggle while shaking your head, sure, it would’ve been a good topic to tease George with, however, Neville was simply too sweet to be used as a pawn.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s very sweet. But he’s just a friend,” George looked almost satisfied with that answer, his usual scowl making an appearance once again.

“He could do better.” It was a barefaced lie. Neville couldn’t do better than you. In fact, George was of the firm belief that nobody could do better than you.

“Of course he could, he’s quite the charmer,” you spoke wistfully, finally giving Fred the show he’d been hoping for, as you egged George on.

George pretended to think for a moment, “I’m sure he is. Personally I think you’d be more suited to Filch, although, I’ve heard his standards are quite high.”

You took the boy by surprise when you laughed, the airy giggle left your mouth had such a profound effect on George that he almost wished he’d kept his mouth shut. His heart was leaping and there were butterflies beginning to form in his stomach, he physically had to will himself not to stare at you in awe when your eyes turned to meet his. The glow of the fire only aided in showing him how gorgeous those stupid eyes of yours are. “Mmm, yeah I suppose I should lower my expectations,” you paused briefly and mimicked George’s earlier motion of pretending to mull over your options. Your next action had Fred practically howling with laughter.

“You’re available, aren’t you Georgie?” You’d asked in a mock sultry tone, leaning towards him and lightly brushing your hand down his arm. Loving the way he choked on air you got up from the sofa, not before shooting him a wink, and sauntered towards the portrait hole, “I’ll be in the kitchens. See ya later, sexy.” You directed the last part at George, who looked as though he’d been frozen in time as Fred’s laughter grew in volume.

Upon entering the kitchen, the house elves had fussed around you, handing you food at any given opportunity. You had finished eating a while ago, you were currently nursing a hot cup of tea while chatting away to one of the house elves, only to be interrupted by someone else entering the kitchen.

He set his sights on you and quickly moved to the seat across from you, a look of urgency on his face that reminded you of Fred, “Whatever he told you. It’s not true,” you raised an eyebrow, sipping your tea uncaringly.

“Mind elaborating?” You asked tiredly.

“Fred.”

“Thank you, George, very clear and helpful,” you grumbled sarcastically and the boy let out a huff.

“You were acting different. You know something. What did he tell you?” George demanded through gritted teeth and you only deflated against your chair. It always boggled your mind how everyone described George as the nicer of the twins.

Not answering, you decided to start asking your own questions, “Can I ask you something?”

“Seems like you’re going to no matter what I say,” he sighed out as an elf pottered up to him and handed him a cup full of hot tea. He took it gently and thanked the elf with such sincerity that you wished you hadn’t seen the exchange, simply because it stung to know he’d never treat you with that level of sincerity.

“Why do you hate me so much?” He sat frozen for a second. Your tone of voice took him by surprise. It was needy bordering on desperate, nothing like he’d ever heard you speak before, not to him anyway.

George took a sip of his tea and shrugged as if the question was a stupid one, “I don’t.” A cold, humourless laugh came from you in response, the kind of laugh that made his stomach drop.

“Bollox. I’m being serious, George. Tell me what it is about me that makes me so insufferable to you!” You exclaimed, heart rate increasing and tone raising in octaves as you felt yourself growing more upset by his reserved expression.

George let out a heavy sigh, the jig was about to be up. You were upset and merlin was he tired of pretending that he didn’t want you in every way, shape and form.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.” There was no trace of hesitance or uncertainty in your voice, at this point you didn’t care what the answer was you just had to know.

“Fine,” he said all too casually and you knew by his tone that he, as per usual, wasn’t taking you seriously. “I don’t hate you. The only insufferable thing about you is how annoyingly gorgeous-“ you cut him off right then, with a scoff of pure disbelief.

Shaking your head rapidly, you stood from your chair and all but stormed out of the kitchen. His footsteps began to echoed behind you a few corridors later, he would’ve caught up to you sooner had your response to his would be confession not left him completely immobile. He called your name but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Tears stung your eyes and you absolutely refused to let him know that he’d managed to bring you to the point of tears. Not that it was the first time.

“Bloody hell, Y/n! Hold on would you?” He called, finally getting close enough to reach out and grab your wrist. He spun you around to face him and quickly placed his hands on your upper arms to stop you from doing another runner. When he took you in he swore he’d never hate himself more than he did the moment he looked at you to see your eyes filled with tears, small drops escaping and carving a trail down your cheeks while you sniffed miserably.

“What?” You snapped, hostility the only thing you felt like offering the ginger in the moment. His brown eyes bored into yours with so much intensity but they held something you didn’t recognise. They looked sad, almost.

“I wasn’t making fun of you.” He stated honestly but you furrowed your eyebrows, your eyes set in a glare.

“Then what were you doing?” You croaked, letting your tears fall freely as the damage was already done. The sinking of your stomach and the tightening of your chest didn’t do a thing to ease your mind as George’s hands squeezed your arms.

He licked his lips quickly, he felt they’d become unbearably dry, and then slowly, he let his hands trail down your arms and took your smaller hands into his own. He hoped you were feeling the same electricity he was when he touched you.

“I’ve been a prick to you. You didn’t deserve it and I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere, but you second guessed him. For all you knew it was just some elaborate prank, Fred was probably in on it too.

When your gaze didn’t soften, he continued to speak, “So I understand why you wouldn’t believe me when I tell you that I don’t hate you. But I just-“ he cut himself off with a heavy sigh.

“You just what?” You squeaked when his eyes spent a moment too long observing your lips. You hardly had time to register the feeling of his hands leaving yours before they were cupping your cheeks instead. “What’re you doing?” You wondered, completely dazed by the way he stared at you. His warm hands holding your face causing your stomach to jolt in an entirely different sensation than before. As much as you wanted to push him away and tell him to shove his apology, you couldn’t help but take him in. His lips were parted ever so slightly and his cheeks were flushed, probably from chasing you through the castle, his hair was disheveled and merlin he looked like he wanted to kiss you.

Your question floated in the air, completely unanswered. Next thing you knew his lips were on yours. He kissed you as if you were oxygen and he’d just been drowning and you couldn’t help but move your lips harmonically against his too. Your hands clutched his wrists as he continued to cradle your cheeks. In all honesty you weren’t sure at what point he’d backed you against the wall, or at what point his tongue had entered your mouth or when exactly his hands had migrated to your hips, yours now tangled in his hair. His body was pressed flush against yours and the small groans he’d let out when you tugged at his hair or ran your tongue against his made you realise that you couldn’t care less if this was one big prank or joke. It was happening and that’s all you cared about.

Even as he reluctantly pulled away, he chased your lips with several shorter kisses before separating entirely. He rested his forehead against yours, his guard completely down now as he admired your swollen lips and heaving chest. The feeling of your fingers in his hair made it nearly impossible for him to keep his lips detached from yours, “You’ve no idea how many times I’ve thought about doing that.”

Your eyes searched his face for any sign that he was lying, when you found none you finally let yourself smile. A similar smile formed on George’s face, “I meant what I said earlier. I really do think you’re annoyingly gorgeous,” the boy silently praised himself when you let out a cute giggle.

“You’re quite cute too. When you’re not running that massive mouth of yours,” you teased although you weren’t really joking, to your surprise George let out a bellowing laugh before placing a fluttering kiss against your lips.

When he pulled away again he looked around the hallway, as if he only now realised where he was. Luckily nobody was wandering the halls since curfew was fast approaching and the unwelcoming cold that occupied the hallways left little reason for students or staff to be out and about. George slid his hand into yours again, this time intertwining your fingers with his. He gave you a hopeful glance and asked, “Do you wanna go somewhere?”

You nodded your head and let him tug you into one of the abandoned astronomy classrooms on the upper floor of the castle, Filch rarely ever patrolled up there which is why George decided on it. As well as that, since the classroom, which had been out of use for a good few years, had been used for astronomy the ceiling was bewitched to reflect the night sky.

George hadn’t come to this particular class in a while but thinking on his feet he remembered the cupboard at the back of the classroom used to hold blankets, he remembered when the classroom had been in use during his first year, students would be all but freezing during the winter, so they’d stocked the classroom with blankets to be brought out during the colder months.

He made his way over to the cupboard and grinned happily when his hand landed on a rather large woollen blanket. The material was scratchy but it would do for what he needed it for. He grabbed one more blanket from the dusty press before he made his way back over to you.

George suppressed a chuckle as he watched you, your face completely turned up, watching the stars on the ceiling with awe in your eyes. He busied himself with laying the wool blanket out on the bare floor, the room was devoid of tables and chairs so he didn’t have to worry about finding a space. Once he was finished, he plopped down on the blanket and expectantly patted the empty space beside him, “Come on then, sit down,” he urged and you finally tore your eyes away from the charmed ceiling.

A small laugh left your lips when you settled yourself down beside him, he wasted no time in covering the pair of you in the second blanket. With an exaggerated sigh he laid back and waited for you to do the same, he turned on his side to face you when you did. In contrast to earlier, George had an air of nervousness about him as he deftly took your hand and began playing with your fingers, not meeting your eyes. “Just out of curiosity,” he began quietly, making eye contact with you now, “What exactly did Fred tell you?”

His question forced a somewhat smug smirk to crawl onto your lips and you couldn’t help but take the opportunity to tease him. You leaned up on your elbows and twisted slightly so you could look down at him, trying not to waste too much time admiring the view, you answered him, “Oh, nothing really. Your lovely twin just happened to mention that you had a very eventful potions class the other day…” you trailed off, biting back a smile as he groaned.

“Mhm and what was it that he said you smelled from the amortentia?” You poked his cheek and he closed his eyes, a tiny smile growing on his face despite his blushing cheeks. “Cloudberries…oh! And daisies, now, what was the other thing? Let me think-“ you pretended to ponder before George cut you off by pulling you down on him and pressing his lips to yours in a kiss much softer than any of the others.

“Summer breezes,” he whispered against your lips before connecting them again, “It smelled like you,” and with that his hand snaked to the nape of your neck as he pressed his lips against yours, pouring all of his feelings into it, hoping it was enough. In all honesty, now that he’d felt what it was like to love you, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to go back to pretending to hate you.

Once he pulled away you were completely breathless, however, George seemed to have more to say. “I don’t want us to go back to the way we were,” absentmindedly you brushed his hair out of his eyes, stroking the red strands soothingly as he continued to confide in you, his voice, face and body completely vulnerable to you. Something about him trusting you with his feelings reassured you that his intentions were pure and banished any notion you possessed of the whole thing being a joke, “I didn’t like it, acting like that but you were always so unbothered that I felt like I had keep one upping you,” he confessed.

“You always gave me this feeling in my stomach whenever you’d come over to the Burrow with your parents when we were little and I didn’t understand it. I just thought that it must’ve meant I didn’t like you…” George seemed to get lost in his own mind as he gazed at you regretfully, his fingers trailed the length of your spine sofly, “By the time I realised, we were both older and I suppose I just thought you couldn’t feel the same ‘cause I made you hate me,” you hummed in acknowledgment, your fingers still working his hair, keeping it out of his eyes that looked at you so intently that you could’ve drowned in them and died happy.

“But then the other night after dinner Angie slapped me upside the head and talked my ear off about how out of order I’d been—obviously I agree with her! You weren’t even talking to me but Neville was complimenting you and I don’t know… just got possessive,” he muttered the last part, losing some confidence but regained it upon seeing the little smile on your lips. “Then Ron looked about ready to push me off the astronomy tower when I saw him this evening. Blimey, I knew it had to have something to do with you since Harry was snippy too.” You had to laugh at the exhausted look on his face when he recalled your two best friends.

Mockingly, you gave him a stern look and clicked your tongue, “Well, perhaps if you weren’t so mean to me all of this could’ve been avoided,” George groaned once again, feeling guilty he pulled you even closer and buried his face in your neck.

“M’sorry,” you carded your fingers through his hair, pressing a soft kiss to his head. Your lips against his head caused him to lift his face from the crook of your neck, “Forgive me?” He asked, a cute pout on his lips.

“I’ll think about it,” you teased, giggling at the offended look on his face. George let out a dissatisfied sigh, he pushed a strand of hair behind your ear before giving you a toothy smile.

“Don’t worry, love. I plan on making it up to you.”

[slytherinwh0re]

Dreams

Draco Malfoy x Female Reader

Warning: SMUT (18+ minors dni) and swearing

Summary: Where Draco has a sex dream about his best friend. (I’m such a sucker for friends to lovers).

Masterlist

A/N: I tried a different writing style so it might be a lil funky, idk, lmk.

(Y/n)’s small hand travelled lower, skimming over the happy trail that leads to his trousers. Her lips brushed his neck making goosebumps rise across his pale skin, every touch from her would send a shock of electricity through his veins. She was an addiction, and Draco had no desire to overcome it.

The sounds she made would play in his head forever, he was sure of it. Their hands were everywhere, needing to touch each other’s skin; their clothes long forgotten on the floor by his bed.

“Ready love?” Draco hovered over her, so close to connecting them in the way he always wanted.

“Wake up dumb ass.” Fucking Theo.

He groaned to himself, embarrassed that he’d had yet another explicit dream about his childhood friend. He wondered what she’d think if she ever found out, in his head every scenario ended in heart break.

***

Draco had successfully avoided her all week, every attempt she’d made to hangout he’d shut her down with some bullshit excuse but he should’ve known (y/n) would do something about it. That’s how the blonde found himself limb locked and being levitated to her dorm. He was pissed but so was she, and fuck did she look sexy.

“Why’re you acting so weird Draco?” She asked after lifting the spell. It’s true, he had been acting strange but how could he not? Every time he looked at his the witch he’d think back to the dreams he’d been having. A hard dick is the last thing he needs right now, especially in a room alone with her.

“I’m not acting weird.” He wasn’t surprised when she rolled her eyes, an unimpressed look on her pretty face.

“Yes you are, and you’ve been avoiding me. Did I do something wrong?” He hated himself for turning into such a sappy fucking git over her but that sad pout cuts straight through him. Immediately he’s pulling her into his chest, arms wrapping around her body.

“Of course you didn’t, I’ve just been having these dreams and I don’t know how to feel about them.” He was practically squirming but he knew he had to explain himself to the girl or she’d think it was her fault he was being so odd. Who would’ve thought Draco Malfoy would feel the need to explain himself to anyone, then again (y/n) wasn’t just anyone to him.

“Well why wouldn’t you just say that? I’ve been running around all week trying to hangout with you and you’ve barely spoken two words to me.” He doesn’t answer, instead he gives her an apologetic look that has her eyes rolling yet again. “Go on then, what’re the dreams you’re having about?”

The slytherin can’t look her in the eye, the thought of telling her makes him cringe but maybe talking about it will make them stop. “They’re actually about you.”

“About me? What about me?” She pauses, a shocked look adorning her face, “are they like-” she waved her finger between the both of them, signaling to what she thinks it is and he nods, knowing she’s already understood. “Oh- OH.”

“(Y/n), if this changes everything I completely understand but I need you to know I can’t help it, that’s why I’ve been avoiding you.” The witch was silent, she just stared at him and he was sure he’d lost her forever.

That’s why he was so stunned when she started making her way over to him, not stopping until their bodies were an inch away from each other’s. Her hands went around his neck and started playing with the hair there, Draco leaned into her, deciding that if this is what he could get he’d take it.

“Tell me what I did in your dreams Draco.” He about lost it when (y/n)’s lips brushed across his neck, her nimble finger still tugging at his hair.

“This. You’d do this.” She hummed against his skin, acknowledging that she’d heard him. Her hands moved down his chest and over his stomach until she reached the hem of his shirt. The girl looked up at him, silently telling him to take it off.

Draco immediately yanked it over his head, only to realize in that second she’d taken hers off as well, now her hand was reaching behind her back, undoing her bra. Every inch of her skin that’s revealed to him chipped away at his self control but he wanted to see how far she’d take this.

Her bra fell to the floor, her nipples were peaked and begging to be played with but before he could move, she was pressed against his chest. Skin on skin, and she’s kissing him.

The boy felt as if he were on fire, his hand pressed against her lower back, pushing her further into him, deepening the kiss. They moved in sync, their tongues tangled together and hands touching bare skin.

“Did we do that in your dreams?” She pulled away, her lips a bit swollen.

“Yes.” Her smile was contagious, he was sure she’d stop there and he was more than happy to but (y/n) was never one to do what was expected. Instead, she started unbuttoning his trousers and kissing her way down his chest until she was on her knees in front of him.

He was speechless, the sight of the topless girl on her knees for him was enough for Draco to die happy. She had her eyes fixed on him when she got his pants down, already rubbing him over his briefs. With one last smirk she was pulling them down.

“And this? Did I do this to you?” His dick was already leaking with precum when she wrapped her lips around him.

“Fuck yes.” Her hand moved in rythm with her mouth, flicking her wrist every time. The combination had him throwing his head back but he lowered it quickly, not wanting to miss a second of his dick in her mouth. Draco grabbed her hair, needing something to hold onto, the small moan she let out vibrated through him.

(Y/n) watched him through her eyelashes, the pleasure etched on his face had her rubbing her thighs together, desperate for any sort of friction. The girl was usually bold but even this was a little far stretched, even for her. She knew that if she hadn’t taken this opportunity to see where things would lead she’d regret it and damn is she happy she did.

The control she had over him in this moment is empowering, to watch Draco Malfoy fall apart because of her is beyond erotic. She hollowed her cheeks, running her tongue up the base with every bob of her head.

She let him out her mouth with a pop, stood back up, and dropped her skirt and panties.

“Let me show you what I do to you in my dreams (y/n).” Draco’s voice was raspy, the desire he felt for her made his mind cloudy.

“Show me.” That’s all it took for them to find her bed, lips locked, and his fingers sliding in and out of her sopping cunt. Her walls clenched his fingers deliciously, his thumb rubbed at her clit in a way that made her chest arch into him. The blonde brings his fingers to his lips, needing to get a taste. One day he’d devour her but for tonight just a taste would do.

“Ready love?” He lines himself up at her entrance, the anticipation for this moment was well worth the wait. To see his girl naked underneath him is an image that’d be burned into his mind forever.

“I’ve always been ready for this.” She kissed at his neck, pulling away to watch as he sank himself into her. They both let out an airy moan, her hands were back in his hair, and his were roaming every inch of her body.

Draco hitched her legs onto his shoulders, his hips setting a fast pace, her moans filling the room. The witch gripped him like a vice, her nails ran down his chest, leaving scratches that would be left as a reminder of this night for the next few days.

Her tits bounced with every deep thrust, (y/n) could feel herself getting close but she wasn’t quite ready for it to be over. Instead she lowered her legs and flipped them over, the new position had her screaming his name.

“Oh, Draco!” She bounced on him faster, eyes never leaving his fascinated ones. He looked at her as is she was the most beautiful girl in the world and in his eyes she is.

Her body was on fire, every time the pretty girl sank down on his cock she felt herself get closer to the edge. The blonde felt her walls begin to flutter, his hands that were situated on her breasts moved so one was toying with her clit and the other was wrapped around her throat.

The combination of her riding him and his hands on her was too much for (y/n), with his encouragement she found herself clenching around him as they came together. Their names leaving each other’s lips as their hips jerked and their vision went white.

“That was better than any dream.” He told her as they caught their breath.

*

Tag list: message me to be added/removed

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[drawlfoy]

detention, retention, and draco malfoy being a little shit

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no not really

summary: golden trio friend y/n y/l/n tries to extract information out of draco malfoy after being placed in detention together.

warnings: swearing, panic attack kinda stuff, just the dark war things that would come w having the task that draco does

a/n: ayo so i started this as a fic i was originally planning on writing in a week. i discontinued it bc i didn’t think anyone was that interested, but i’ve written for it on and off. it’s about 16k words right now standing, but i’m reposting this as a 2 part series. here are the first ~12k words....enjoy :) IMPORTANT: if you’re like “hey i started reading this in october why tf are you reposting the first two parts” just keep reading ok lmao i promise there’s more there’s about through part 6 in here hehe. i just wanted new readers to be able to pick up on it without being turned off by the fact that it was part 3. this will b e 2 parts and at least 20k words

word count: 11.6k

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell

happy reading y’all

For legal purposes, the york pudding she lobbed at Pansy Parkinson’s head on Monday evening was simply meant to be a joke. She didn’t know that her aim was bad enough that it was going to get in Snape’s hair instead--honestly, it wasn’t even supposed to get past the Ravenclaw table, much less veer to the left to make a beeline for the professors--but no matter how much she tried to explain this to McGonagall, her sentence remained the same: detention every Friday. For two months.

Her life was ending for sure.

“I honestly don’t know what you were expecting,” Hermione told her as she gently wiped off the nib of her quill later that night in the common room. “Even if you had hit your mark, that’s still technically assault.”

“Did you even hear what she said to me? She told me that I looked like the type of kid that bit people in primary school,” complained Y/N. “I didn’t even think she knew what primary school was!”

Hermione snorted. “How long ago?”

“Two days. I’ve been waiting until there was something throwable on the dinner table.”

“How very analytic of you.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“And you wonder why you’ve got detention.” Hermione tsk-ed at her, her face stone serious but her tone light hearted. “Maybe take this as an opportunity to, I don’t know, do your homework for once? So you won’t have to have a breakdown over the next Potion’s essay and beg me to write it for you?”

“I’m going to go to sleep and think terribly mean thoughts about you.”

“Have fun.”

~ 

Detention.

Something that Y/N wasn’t completely unfamiliar with--she’d done her time organizing Snape’s cabinets, just like every other Gryffindor--but it was different when it came to McGonagall. An impressive old lady, she thought that McGonagall saw something in her. She was always the first to chuckle at Y/N’s jokes and hesitated to reprimand her stupid behavior. And she never gave Y/N detention.

Until now, she supposed. 6th year was changing a lot of things--even their Potions professor--so McGonagall turning a new stone shouldn’t have been anything shocking.

At least, not as shocking as the first thing Y/N saw as she walked into her house head’s office.

“Malfoy?” she spat.

The platinum blonde didn’t even bother to look up from his desk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall chided. “I think we would all prefer if you restrained yourself from getting into any more physical altercations with Slytherins.”

She huffed, plopping down in the chair furthest away from that foul git and reaching for her satchel.

“I’ll be back in two hours,” said the elderly professor. “If I hear anything, and I mean anything, other than the sound of studying, consider your sentence doubled.”

With a swish of her robes, McGonagall was gone, leaving her with Malfoy. 

“So what’d you do to get in here, huh? Did the administration finally get a hold of that video of you licking Voldemort’s toes?”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” he snapped, whipping around to glare at her.

“‘s just a joke,” said Y/N. “Like--how everyone says your family houses him and everything--but whatever. I can tell it’s a sore spot.”

His gaze, never withering in intensity, remained trained on her face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently so. What’re you here for?”

He exhaled sharply. “If I tell you, will you shut up and let me think?”

“No promises, but maybe.”

“Late work. I forgot to turn in the Transfiguration exam last week.”

She made a tutting sound as she lazily shuffled through the crumpled parchment in her satchel. “I expected more from you. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I wound up here?”

“No. I am going to ask you to stop talking now, though.”

~

“That’s terribly unfortunate,” Hermione said over breakfast the next morning. Ron and Harry were nervously chit chatting at the other side of the table over the Saturday Quidditch game against Hufflepuff--supposedly it was supposed to be quite a high stakes match. Not like Y/N cared much, though.

“Yeah! And the worst part was that he won’t even tease anymore. Like, he just sits there all broody and woe is me. We’re all witnessing our nation’s descent into war--he’s not special!”

“Who are you talking about?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just Malfoy,” said Y/N. “We have detention together with McGonagall. He’s such a nasty little greaseball, don’t you think? I mean, look at him right now, glowering over his cereal.”

“Wait! That’s it!”

“What’s it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“It’s genius, really,” he said. “Y/N has to spend time with him alone every week, and we know that something is up with him. Malfoy is absolutely a Death Eater and has connections to You-Know-Who, but I just need to find a way to prove it.”

“I vaguely forecast where this is going, and I hate it already.”

“Listen, Y/N. It’s not for that long, and it’s for the health of the wizarding world. If you just get to know him--”

“Ick!”

“If you just get to know him, maybe get him to trust you and find out his secrets...we’d finally have enough to turn him in and throw him out of Hogwarts for good.”

“Is that really necessary, Harry?” Ginny butted in from her seat further down next to Dean. “Malfoy’s probably just exhausted like the rest of you. 6th year is difficult, and we have no solid evidence that he’s a Death Eater. I’m sure being stuck in a room with him for 2 hours is hard enough without pretending to be nice to him.”

“But what if Harry’s right?” said Y/N. “What if he is actually a Death Eater? What if he’s an active danger to the student body?”

“Exactly!” The joy written across Harry’s face at the prospect of someone else finally agreeing was infectious. “So will you?”

“Er…” She dragged her spoon across the top layer of her porridge. “In theory, sure. In actuality, I’m not sure how I could do it. Malfoy doesn’t want anything to do with me, either.”

“Love potion?” offered Ron.

“I don’t care how much of a prat he is, I’m not roofying him.”

“I rarely agree with you, Y/N, but I think you’re right. If you want to do this, you need to get him to trust you for real.”

“Your back-handed compliment skills never disappoint, Hermione. Do you think you could help me out with a plan?”

A slow smile spread across the girl’s face as she nodded. “That’s my strong suit.”

The plan they laid out over the remainder of the day was ambitious but at least do-able. Each week was split into different subtasks, the end goal being a somewhat tentative friendship between the two. 

“If you can flirt with him and get him to have a crush on you without scaring him off, you’d be in the best possible position,” Hermione told her as they walked back from the Quidditch pitch among the screaming Gryffindor fans. They’d won--yet again. “Obviously I don’t foresee that being likely, but if you pull it off somehow he’d probably be willing to tell you anything. The fact that you’re a pureblood is going to carry you through this whole ordeal. He’ll at least be accepting of your existence in the wizarding community.”

The bitter edge in Hermione’s tone made Y/N’s blood boil. There was no reason for Malfoy to be as prejudiced as he was--he’d spent his adolescence in Hermione’s academic dust. She was obviously smarter than him. 

“You got it, ‘Mione,” she said. Her voice barely carried over the cheers of her peers as they ascended the steps to the common room. “We’ll take this little ferret down. I can’t wait.”

“Don’t get too cocky, now.”

The Gryffindor after-party was crazy...per usual. The charmed self-filling goblets, the blasted playlist of Wizpop pumping through the air, and the buzzing energy of the room was giving Y/N a giant headache. She stood with Hermione and Harry by the edge of the crowd, watching Ron get hoisted up on the shoulders of the chasers. 

“No wonder the Slytherins think we’re Neanderthals,” Y/N mused. For once, Hermione didn’t respond. “Hermione? Is everything okay?”

The second she turned away to look at her best friend, gasps and whistles filled the room. She whipped back just in time to see Lavender Brown, a sweet but slightly ditzy girl in their year, pull away from a kiss with Ron.

“Oh shi--Hermione!”

Harry and Y/N shared a glance before darting after the witch--who had impressively already made it to the door. 

“Hermione, wait!” Y/N called as they jogged after her, throwing open the common room entrance and finding her sat by the tapestry on the other side of the hall, knees to her chest.

“‘Mione, what’s wrong?” asked Harry.

“Don’t be daft, Harry,” said Y/N. “You saw exactly what the rest of us did.”

“I don’t understa--”

“Harry.” Her voice was taut. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I think that it might be best if you let us be. Go back and enjoy the party.”

He gave her a tight, grateful smile before darting back through the door. Y/N wasted no more time in walking over to Hermione and throwing her arms around her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hugging her tight. Hermione made no move to detach them, so she continued. “Ron is an idiot. You deserve so much better--your first kiss was Viktor fucking Krum, after all. You’re hot stuff and this place is just unfortunately running dry of men who are impressive enough for you. Once you’re out of here and working in the Ministry, you’re gonna have the time of your life with men actually in your league.”

Hermione managed a sniffly laugh as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s just so fucking embarrassing, you know. Like, I have a crush on him because I think he understands me and I smelled him in my Amortentia and I thought he’d like me back, but…” She hiccuped. “Then he goes off and kisses Lavender Brown, of all people. There’s nothing particularly wrong with her or anything, but she’s so different...I’m so bookish, and she’s so girly and everything I’m not…”

Y/N took the opportunity to tuck a lock of Hermione’s hair behind her ear as she listened.

“And it can’t help but make me think--was I ever anything to him but a friend? If the girl he ends up choosing is the opposite of me?”

“Girly, don’t think like that,” murmured Y/N. “He’s a teenage boy. They don’t think of love the way that we do--to them it’s a game of availability, not of choice. At least for Ronald. You intimidate him, and by extension, you’re not available.”

“That shouldn’t matter!”

“You’re right. It shouldn’t.” Y/N drew a long breath. “So you should find someone who always has you as their first choice--someone who isn’t intimidated by your intellect. They’re out there. I promise.”

Hermione managed a shaky smile. “Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. Do you mind if I have some alone time? I don’t think I’m ready to go back to the party but I just want some quiet.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need me,” she said, brushing herself off and making to walk down the hall.

“You’re not going back to the party?”

“Nah. It hurts my head and I want fresh air. If I’m not back here in a half hour, assume that I’ve been kidnapped.”

With that, she started her walk. She wasn’t planning on going on a long stroll--there was a small balcony that she often went to when she needed to clear her head. It was beautiful, especially on a snowy night like this.

But the walk was creepy.

There was only one way in and out--a narrow, damp hallway that had absolutely no light fixtures. If Y/N really wanted to, she could cast a quick lumos, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see what lived on the walls. The stairs were steep, too, but she managed to bound up all 40 of them in record time. 

“Who’s there?”

The sudden voice ripped a scream out of Y/N’s throat as she reached the top, catching a glimpse of the shadowy figure at the edge of the balcony that spoke. She clasped her hand over her mouth and she crept forward to the opening, getting a better look at the person that was in her secret spot.

The clouds shifted in the sky to allow more moonlight to cast a soft glow on Malfoy’s face, hardened with irritation.

“Malfoy?” Y/N asked, rather dumbly.

“What stellar observational skills,” he drawled. 

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “What are you doing here? This is part of the Gryffindor tower. Shouldn’t you be...I don’t know...playing hide and seek with the sewer rats in the dungeons?”

“Very funny.” His flat tone exposed the fact that he did not, in fact, find it very funny. “There’s no rule barring me from coming up here.”

“But why? This is my spot!”

“Because I wanted to get out. Now, I was here first, so unless you want your detention extended, I suggest you leave.”

Y/N bit the fiery comebacks on the tip of her tongue as the memories of her plan with Hermione began floating back to her. 

Week 1 -- Hold one neutral, civil conversation with Malfoy.

“I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here,” Y/N decided upon. leaning up against the balcony. The rogue snowflakes that made it past the overhanging roof melted on her cheeks. 

“That isn’t a suggestion,” said Malfoy. “I’m demanding you leave.”

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Y/N asked, pointedly ignoring his words. “I’ve always loved the snow. It��s so quiet.”

“And it would be even quieter if you left.”

“Aren’t you the conversationalist?” said Y/N.

“If you don’t leave, I will hex you,” Malfoy told her through gritted teeth. 

“I just love how the moonlight reflects off of the snow,” continued Y/N. “It’s so...pure.”

“Please leave.”

On her walk back down the dank stairwell, she allowed herself a little smile. 

Task 1? Technically done.

~ 

The first week went largely as planned. Malfoy was cold and certainly suspicious of her, but he wasn’t completely venomous when Y/N asked where he got his quill from in Potions. It was silver, charmed to shimmer with flecks of forest green. He told her Barnaby’s in France, and that was that. She walked away from his table with all of her limbs attached. Perhaps that was all the progress she was going to make in the next few weeks, but the task at hand certainly made the prospect of her lost Friday afternoons more bearable. 

Harry was going completely batty, rambling on about how Malfoy was behind the mysterious cursed objects that had been floating about the castle without explanation. 

“And why would Malfoy bring cursed objects to Hogwarts if he has aspirations other than being expelled?” Hermione would ask over their books.

“You don’t understand, Hermione! You girls need to be careful walking around at night--especially you, Y/N. I don’t want you going missing after detention because of that slimeball.”

Y/N always gave him a laugh, berating him for his slight misogynistic commentary and turning back to whatever her task was, but the truth was that she was worried for him. The mental weight of the impending war and the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it was certainly getting too difficult for him to bear. It was heartbreaking to see the vivacious boy she’d grown up with crumble under the responsibilities of something he should never have to worry about in the first place.

Friday came much sooner than expected, and Y/N reluctantly left her friends in the common room to trek to McGonagall’s office. The walk was frigid and the wind bit at her cheeks as she rounded the last outdoor hall.

Why was this castle so dark?

A thump behind her made her jump, and Harry’s words came floating back to her. 

Remember all those cursed objects? What if there’s someone just...stalking the school grounds, waiting for someone like me to snatch?

She shivered, throwing herself at the office door and slamming it behind her.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall greeted, her eyebrows raised in amusement. “Something giving you trouble?”

“No, Professor,” she answered, setting her bag down on the desk next to Malfoy. He sent her a curious look as well. “It’s just cold outside.”

She chuckled. “I need to go speak to Headmaster Dumbledore. I expect that, upon my return, you both are in one piece and alive.”

“I’m not sure if I’m the one who needs to be given that speech,” said Y/N, bored and testing the waters.

“She’s right, Professor,” added Malfoy. “There’s no projectiles here.”

McGonagall exhaled a long, shaky breath before brushing herself off. “Please. Behave yourselves.”

“You got it, boss,” she said as she watched her Professor walk out the door. “So, Malfoy. How was your week?”

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’d way prefer if you didn’t speak to me,” he said, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m not up to anything! We’re in detention together and, I dunno, since I see you sometimes at balls, I thought it’d be nice to be on good terms.”

“Good terms?” He scoffed. “You’re a Gryffindor. I’d rather you be a bloody Hufflepuff.”

“How about neutral terms?”

Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she could catch a glimpse of him rolling his eyes. “If neutral terms mean you being quiet, then, yes. Please.”

“I’ll be plenty quiet. After I hear about your opinion on what happened in Potions today with Brown and Weasley. When Snape yelled at them for holding hands.”

He let out a sharp sigh. “Believe it or not, I actually have better things to do than keep up with whatever stuff your house does.”

“But…?” Y/N pressed. She may not’ve spent her time at Hogwarts as Malfoy’s best friend, but she had grown up with the boy, and she could tell when he was holding back.

He stared blankly at her.

“Come on. I’m literally the only person in my house who’ll openly admit that they’re disgusted by that dynamic. I’m begging you.”

She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she saw a flicker of amusement dance across his face for a moment. “Your house sounds more like a cult than a student group.”

“Oh, says the one from Slytherin,” said Y/N. 

“We only act like that because our families are close. What’s your excuse? Hormones and Quidditch culture?”

“Touché.” As much as she wanted to fight back, she bit her tongue. Whatever she was doing was making progress, and quicker progress than she was expecting. Her next task was to make him laugh, and she was emboldened by the fact that she could potentially be able to kill two birds with one stone. 

They sat in silence for a little bit, but this time, it was a comfortable silence. Malfoy wasn’t staring at the clock on the wall or rolling his eyes at her every move, so she had time to plot.

On one hand, she could make a fool of herself--drop her inkwell, say something stupid in class, fall down the stairs--but she had a sneaking suspicion that her sorry attempts at slapstick humor wouldn’t land well with Draco anymore. He’d become so serious lately, so solemn. This was the most light hearted she’d seen him, even compared with how he acted with the rest of his Slytherin lackeys. 

On the other, she could try to sell out her friends. She could confide in him how “big” Hermione’s teeth were (they weren’t even big) or tell him that Ron smelled of eggs (true, but that was a low blow). Something told her that this would be much more successful, but she wasn’t willing to turn to that so quickly--she was already a week ahead as it was. 

“What is it?” 

Malfoy’s bored drawl cut through her flurried thoughts. Her cheeks turned pink as she blinked, noticing that she’d been staring at him for far too long. “Nothing. Sorry. I just spaced out.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, giving her another suspicious look before turning back to his work. “Can you maybe space out somewhere other than my face?”

“Where’s your vanity, Malfoy?” she pressed as she leaned back in her chair, hair swinging over the back. 

“Shut up,” he snapped. She could tell that whatever connection they’d had in the fleeting moments beforehand was being burnt by the second, but her embarrassment and pride drove her forward.

“Merlin, what’s got you so wound up?” she prompted, noting how deliciously unraveled he looked at this. “Where’s my cool, collected Slytherin?”

He slammed hands on his desk at this, whipping around to glare at her. “What’s your angle, Y/L/N?”

“What?”

“Why are you bothering me?”

“Because I want to.” She beamed.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, mussing up the usual neat manner in which it normally laid on his head. “Compelling. What do you want from me?”

“What do I want…?” She tilted her head at him, narrowing her eyes. “What?”

“You never talk to me,” he explained. “Obviously, I prefer it like that. I can’t help but wonder why suddenly you want to be making small talk. So, what is it you want from me?”

“Malfoy,” she said. “I think you’re a spoiled prick who thinks far too highly of himself and drives me insane. But I also think that you’re funnier than what my friends give you credit for. Granted, you’ve always been annoying, but I don’t want anything from you. I just want to, I dunno, make these next few months less insufferable.” Somehow the lie slipped through her teeth easier than any of her previous bluffs. 

He frowned, his mouth opening once before firmly screwing shut into a scowl. “Oh.”

“No offense, Malfoy, but what else can you offer me other than your dazzling personality?” she teased. “You know my family. I don’t need to blackmail you to pay for jewelry I’ve had my eye on or anything.”

He scoffed. “As if I’d say yes.”

“Exactly my point. It’d be fucking weird. Merlin, I’m not trying to butter you up to buy out Borgin & Burkes for me. Do I give off gold-digger vibes? Is that what this is about?”

“Fucking hell.” Malfoy turned to her in disbelief. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Answer my question. Or better yet, pull out your wallet. Wait, did I say that out loud?” She mimed surprise and covered her mouth. “Oh no! What will my mother say now that I’ve squandered my last chance of hitching you? There’s no way I can go home for Christmas break now.”

He rolled his eyes so hard she found herself worried for a moment that they were going to just permanently get stuck in the back of his head. “Hate to break it to you, but you didn’t really have a shot to begin with.”

Ouch.

She huffed and dramatically flopped over the back of her chair, hoping he couldn’t see that she’d flinched. “So you don’t think I’m pretty??” 

“Y/L/N,” he snapped, his voice a low warning. “Can I please just work? What is with you today?”

Y/N sent him a sour look before giving her Charms work another look. Malfoy was awfully quiet, and when she snuck any glances at him later on, he was angled to face away from her. 

Why did she feel like such shit all of a sudden? She cataloged the past events, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that her stomach dropped. It all made sense when the words “You didn’t really have a shot to begin with” echoed around her head once again. She’d failed Harry. She’d failed Hermione. There was no way that she was going to be able to get him to reveal his secrets now--it’s not like he was confiding in even his closest friends as Harry made apparent when he explained how vague his statements were to his fellow Slytherins on the train. Her only chance would’ve been to somehow get him to fall for her, and that wasn’t going...great. And it had been a pipedream to begin with.

When McGonagall swished back into the classroom to dismiss them, Y/N shot out of there without even looking at Malfoy again. It felt like something was lodged in her throat and she was not going to cry in front of him. No, no. She had to make it to Hermione to tell her what was going on. 

“Y/L/N?” 

Malfoy’s voice made her pause in her flee as she nearly rounded the corner in front of her, but she refused to look back. It was far enough away that it was possible she didn’t hear him.

“Wait!”

She was up the stairs and speed walking as fast as her legs could carry her to the Gryffindor tower before he even saw which way she went.

~

“I don’t think you understand,” Y/N wailed by the fire as Hermione rubbed her shoulders and Harry sat awkwardly perched on the couch. “I can’t do this. The only way this was going to work was if he had a crush on me, and I don’t think he ever will. I fucked it up! The one time you guys need me, I fuck it up! I let you down!”

Hermione’s left hand stopped its rubbing to rest firmly on her shoulder. “Please don’t be upset. You didn’t let us down. Plus, you’re only, what...two weeks in? You don’t need him to like you to make it work. Just getting him to trust you will be enough, and you’re good at that.”

“I don’t think so,” continued Y/N. “Harry said that he wasn’t even that open on the train when he overheard him talking to all of his friends. And those are purebloods that he likes! That he’s trusted and known for years and years! I’m a friend of you guys, and he knows it. I think he’d figure it out quick.”

“We should take every chance we can get,” said Harry from his spot a few feet away, his eyes lazy and unfocused on the fire crackling in front of them. “You won’t let us down if you can’t get anything, Y/N, you know that! But if you got anything from him, it’d be incredible. It’s a win-win. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she said, her tone becoming defensive. “I just...don’t want to mess this up. I know how much it’d mean if I succeeded.”

“So just try!” Hermione said. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m sorry he was kind of mean to you today, but I don’t think that should bother you too much. He should be more afraid of what you’d say if you didn’t care about being a good person.”

“Fucking right on there,” she said, wiping away the frustrated tears. “If I was honest with him, he’d leave crying. He should be grateful that I’m taking this bet so I actually have to be nice to him.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harry leaned over to smack her back like he did his Quidditch teammates after a winning match. 

After they’d parted their ways with Harry, Hermione and Y/N made their way slowly up the stairwell to the girls’ dorms. 

“Y/N?” Hermione asked, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah?”

“Do you think, er…” She paused. “Do you think you were really upset about failing us today? Or was it something else?”

“What do you mean?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t see what else it would be.”

“I’m sorry,” responded the bright witch. “Forget I ever asked. It was a stupid thing to wonder about.”

“Weirdo,” she teased as she waved her a goodnight and made her way to her dorm.

The next morning, Y/N busied herself with revising her Charms essay over her breakfast--a cup of tea and a half-buttered piece of toast--while Hermione leaned over her shoulder, nodding or grimacing at the corrections she made. 

“Did you work during detention? Like, at all?”

“‘Mione,” moaned Y/N. “It’s too early for this. I don’t want a lecture. I just couldn’t focus.”

Her warm brown eyes narrowed as they bore into Y/N’s face. “Why were you distracted?”

“Oh, I, uh…” She stumbled over her words as Hermione drew closer. “Merlin, Hermione. I told you last night. I just felt like I was letting you all down.”

“Mhm,” was all she got in response before her best friend tilted her head back down to the parchment in front of her. 

Y/N sat, completely puzzled. What was Hermione on about? She’d been straightforward with what was hurting her--she didn’t want to mess up the only task the Golden Trio had ever given her--and, even if she hadn’t been, Hermione was smart enough to deduce things for herself. So what was she thinking about?

Her eyes drifted over to the Slytherin table where the usual 6th year pureblood gang loitered about, drinking black coffee and sulking--but Malfoy was not to be seen. She jumped when her eyes met Parkinson, her dark eyes burning into her soul as a deep scowl was written across her face.

“Malfoy, what the fuck do you want?” Ron’s voice pulled her back to reality to see him glaring somewhere behind her.

“I wasn’t here to talk to you,” a familiar voice drawled. 

She turned to see Malfoy standing behind her, a sneer written all across his stupidly pretty face.

“Miss me already?” asked Y/N as she raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side. 

“For fuck’s sake, stop doing that,” he mumbled, reaching into his pocket and throwing a box at her. “You forgot your quill. I took the liberty of properly storing it, because it seems like you lot like to just throw them in your bag. Makes me physically ill to watch.”

“Oh.” Y/N studied the intricate box in her hands before tucking it away in her knapsack. “Thanks? I guess?”

He nodded curtly, contorting his face into one last scowl to send to Ron before turning and leaving,

“So,” Hermione began, cutting her omelet at a much brisker pace, “I think we need to have a little chat. About...all of this.” 

“Why?” 

“Not right now,” she said, her voice low and her eyes flicking at Ron and Harry sitting across from them. “I don’t think it’d benefit us for them to hear.” 

“Ok?” She cautiously took a bite out of her toast and continued staring Hermione down. “You’re scaring me.”

“It’s...I don’t know. I thought I was crazy for thinking this, but it seems like we need to talk about it anyways. For this little mission of yours to work, we need to be totally open and honest with each other.”

“Sure.” Y/N took another bite. “I honestly have no clue what’s got you so on edge, though.”

“Who’s on edge?” Harry asked, leaning over the table and stealing the croissant on Y/N’s plate. 

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Do you not see the entire plate of them over there?”

He laughed, sending her an easy grin and dunking a piece into the hot chocolate in his mug. “Finders keepers. Say, Y/N, are you busy next weekend? Ron and Lavender are going to Madame Puddingfoot’s together, and I know Hermione isn’t going to want to take a weekend off studying to go to Hogsmeade, so I thought that maybe we could go cause some trouble at the Cauldron.”

“If you stop stealing my food we can talk about it,” replied Y/N, the corners of her lips tugging up into a grin. 

“Deal.”

Hermione tugged at her arm. “I just realized I need to get something out of my room before we watch the Quidditch game. Will you come with me, Y/N?”

“Sure!” said Y/N. “Gee, I’m rolling in invitations today.”

Once they exited the dining hall, though, it immediately became evident that they were not actually heading up to the dorms. Hermione dragged her into the nearest bathroom before casting a quick silencing charm.

“Myrtle! Are you in here?” Only when she was sure silence was the only response to her question, she seemed satisfied to turn to Y/N and begin talking. “When were you going to tell me that you have a thing for Malfoy?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Y/N felt the heat that had risen to her cheeks from the last quill-encounter re-emerge.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” said Hermione. “Are you seriously going to expect me to believe that you nearly sobbed over some random pureblood git telling you you never had a chance with him because it might slow down your progress with helping us? Actually? I’ve seen you look more ecstatic about hearing that your dear granny passed away.”

“To be fair, she had really good life insurance,” Y/N cut in. “And she was an old hag. Never had a nice thing to say to me.”

“Life insurance or no life insurance...you can’t seriously expect me to believe that you were just upset about not being able to help us as much. That was ridiculous. I don’t buy it. And the way you blushed like crazy when he came over to talk to you--the way you try and pretend like you can flirt...please. Y/N, it’s clear as day. I know you, and I know you have a crush on him.”

“Hermione!” hissed Y/N. “You have no clue what you’re talking about!”

“Yes, I think I do,” she pushed. “And you need to be honest with me if you want to be of any help right now.”

Her bossiness lit a fire of rage in Y/N’s chest, but she sucked in a deep breath, shutting her eyes before releasing it. “Believe me when I say I haven’t ever acknowledged any feelings I may or may not have towards him.”

“Ok.” Her face softened. “I know it might take time, but I honestly do think I’m right. Please just...be careful. This is a really odd situation to get caught up in if you actually have feelings for the other person. You’re trying to manipulate him, for Merlin’s sake.”

“And if I have these feelings for him, I’ve done a pretty damn good job of suppressing them for however long they’ve been here.” 

Hermione sighed. “That’s true. I’m just saying that spending this much time with him is probably only going to make things worse. Will you please tell me if anything changes between the two of you?”

“Anything changes?” Y/N’s voice was dripping in disbelief. “You’re joking. Even if I was obsessed with him I don’t think there’s ever a chance of hell in anything ‘changing’ between us. He said it himself.”

“You know what I mean, Y/N,” responded Hermione. “Just promise me, ok?”

“Ok,” said Y/N. “I promise.”

That seemed to satiate Hermione as she nodded approvingly at her friend. “I think it goes without saying that Ron and Harry shouldn’t hear about this.”

“There’s nothing to hear about, but yes.” She shuffled her feet before meeting Hermione’s eyes again. “Er, I’m sorry for this being a weird question, but would you mind coming along with me and Harry to Hogsmeade? I don’t really see him like...that...and I don’t want to read into it too much and reject him if he is doing it just platonically, but just in case. Y’know.”

“Sure,” said Hermione, even though her face took on that curious expression yet again. “Anyways, you actually did forget something--you’re not wearing a single piece of Gryffindor colors for our game today. You should probably run back to your dorm before Harry and Ron notice.”

After they said their goodbyes, Y/N found herself turning over the things Hermione had said to her in her head. Did she like Malfoy? No, no fucking way. But a part of her really did think he was funny. And of course it was natural to feel rejected when anyone insinuates that they’d never consider you as a romantic interest without jest. 

Once she’d made it up to her room and grabbed a few scarves, Y/N made to put her red cloak into her satchel. Her fingers ghosted over the box that Malfoy had given her and scoffed once she saw the Malfoy crest engraved into the rich wood. 

Narcissistic snot.

Her curiosity got the better of her as she reached over to open up the elaborately decorated box. What met her was not just one quill but two--one of which was most certainly not her own. 

She took them both out, tossing the old one in a pile with her other trusty familiar white feather quills and picked up the other one. It looked familiar--identical to the quill that she’d complimented Malfoy on in Potions about a week ago. Butterflies began to flutter like crazy in her stomach as she turned it over in her hand, watching the gray and green glitter together and the magic sparkles cast a gentle light over her bed. She generally avoided dipping into her family’s pockets to get school supplies any more than she had to--it’s not like it made her friends feel good about themselves when they were reminded how rich her family was--but this might be what she could consider to be an exception. She hadn’t even liked his quill all that much when she first saw it in Potions--but it was one of those things that was so noticeable that it made sense to compliment him. 

She gave it one last look before tucking it back away into the elaborately decorated box. Perhaps she had spoken too soon when she’d told Hermione all hope was lost. 

~ 

When Monday morning Potions class with the Slytherins rolled around, Y/N wasted no time. Malfoy was alone--even his Slytherin lackeys seemed to know not to bother him. Just what she needed.

“Malfoy,” she greeted, setting her bag down on his table and looking him dead on. He raised to meet her eyes, his eyebrow raised.

“Can I help you?”

“I just wanted you to know that I also really like your immense fortune,” she said. “And your manor.”

“Well, a lot of people do,” he mumbled as he looked away to dig through something in his bag. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he was blushing.

“I’m just letting you know,” she continued. “In case you were wanting to give them away. It worked for the quill, so I thought, well, why not?”

He exhaled, a deep and annoyed sound escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “I knew I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You really didn’t have to.”

“I was getting sick of it,” he told her. “I never can stick with one quill for too long, and I thought it’d be a shame to toss it. I thought it’d be better to be charitable--it’s not like your family could get an appointment at Barnaby’s if they tried.”

“Hey!” Y/N said indignantly. “You don’t know that!”

“I’ve heard your parents try to speak French,” he said. “If you’re anything like them, you'll be barred from ever entering the country.”

“Malfoy!” 

His lips turned up into a smile, a soft laugh escaping his lips. Y/N suppressed the urge to grin in return. Task 3? Done. “What?”

“I can’t even argue with you,” she said. “It’s tragic.”

She stared at the empty stool next to him, wondering if she should just take the leap and sit with him. Malfoy seemed unbothered by her presence as he opened up his Potions book and set it next to his cauldron. “Do you want a partner?” The words left her lips before she could stop them.

He cast her a curious look before glancing at the empty stool. “It depends. Are you going to be annoying?”

She gasped in faux-offense. “What makes you think I could ever be annoying?”

“On that note, I think you better get back to Potter.” He motioned with his head towards the side of the room where most of her Gryffindor friends were chatting. Harry was staring at her, his fists clenched by his side.

Y/N smirked and sent him a wink. 

“On that note,” she said, careful to imitate Malfoy’s drawl and sending him a smug grin, “Maybe I better sit here.”

“Hm.” He awarded her one more uninterested look before rolling up his sleeves and setting out the ingredients for the potion they were brewing--Amortentia. 

She tried not to make it too obvious that she was staring at his left arm, but there was nothing on it like Harry had told her. It was just pure, unblemished pale skin that shimmered under the light. Before he could catch her looking, she quickly sat down and started pulling out her own things. After a short pause, she decided to take out the silver quill. She’d left his box back in her room--she wouldn’t be caught dead with something that had the Malfoy crest on it--but she’d wrapped it in a pouch with her own family’s emblem on the front, shimmering in gold and red.

“Why don’t you just buy your own charmed quills?” asked Malfoy after they had chopped all of the gillweed. 

“You already know. We’re an abomination to the French. We aren’t allowed entry.”

“That’s not what I mean.” His tone was meant to read as exasperated, but his words still seemed good-natured.

“I...well.” She frowned. She’d never confessed this to anyone, but she supposed that Malfoy wasn’t going to find a way to use it against her. “I don’t like to flaunt my family wealth. I think it makes people, at least in Gryffindor, like me less. I learned that pretty early on.”

He hummed something in response before sliding all the gillweed into the cauldron, turning the clear liquid into a bubbling forest green. 

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” she asked. 

He took his time finishing the note he was jotting down before he answered. “I’m not being nice. It’s just called being civil. You said it yourself, we see each other at balls sometimes.”

“We probably won’t anymore, though,” she mused. 

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up, but his voice remained low and steady. “No. I suppose that we probably won’t. Is your family part of the Order?”

“Hm. Are you a Death Eater?” she asked brazenly. He had no business asking her something like that, and he knew it. Especially not with his family connections.

“What do you think?” he drawled, waving his bared left arm in front of her face.

“Bullshit. That doesn’t mean anything after we learned Glamour spells last year.”

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me, then,” he responded, focusing intently on the bubbling liquid in front of him instead of her face. 

“I guess so,” she replied. The weight of her Glamour comment began to sink in--she was right, after all. How had she not thought of it before? 

But he was right when he told her she just had to trust him. Could she? Y/N rested her chin in the palm of her propped hand as she watched him work. A piece of disobedient moonbeam blonde hair dangled over his forehead as he diced up the unicorn tail, his eyebrows furrowed in focus.

“Is this why you want to be my partner?” he finally asked after a few moments of silence. “So you can just stare at me while I do all the work?”

“There’s the vain Draco I know,” she said, grinning as she leaned over to punch his shoulder. 

He rolled his eyes again, scooting out of arm's reach before flipping back to Amortentia in his book. “You’re insufferable. And it’s Malfoy to you.”

“Fine, fine, Malfoy,” said Y/N. “What do you want me to do, then?”

He shoved his cutting board towards her, the half-diced unicorn tail staring up at her. “Finish dicing this and then stir it in. 9 times clockwise. I did almost all of the work, but it should be finished after that.”

Y/N sent him another glare before doing as he said. The glittering quill kept catching her attention from the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy was writing with just a plain white quill for the time being. HE really did just give it to me. 

After the final ingredients were diced, she began to stir, each rotation around the cauldron turning the potion to a different color. It began as the bubbling green, then a deep sea blue, then a royal purple, a crimson blood red, a glimmering gold--before settling into a pale silver.

“Wow. It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “It’s like...liquid starlight.”

“All thanks to me,” said Malfoy. “You didn’t even have to crush the Mandrake root.”

“You’re such a gentleman, Malfoy.” Her voice dripped in fake sincerity. “So, what do you smell?”

Y/N was expecting him to scowl at her and tell her that it wasn’t any of her business, but he actually leaned over the cauldron and shut his eyes. 

“I’ve never been good at explaining what things smell like.” 

“Fair.”

Once he leaned back, she took his place, shutting her eyes and breathing in a tendril of the beautiful potion. “Whoa.”

“What’s it for you?”

“I don’t...know,” she admitted. “It’s not something I can describe note by note. It kind of reminds me of something, though.”

“Something with Potter, I presume?” he said, casually twirling his generic white quill around his fingers.

“No,” she answered, surprised at how honest she was being. “It’s…I’m trying to think. Er, it’s very lavish. It reminds me of when I was younger and my parents would drag me to galas and balls and whatnot.” 

He stared at her in silence.

“What about you? Does it remind you of anything?”

“Yeah.” Malfoy reached forward to put a lid on the cauldron, effectively shutting out the steam from reaching either of them.

“Ooh, have you figured it out yet?” she teased, crossing her legs and turning to face him head on. “Let me guess. Is it someone like…”

She paused, a wicked smile stretching across her face. “Oh my god, is it Hermione? Or Luna? Or...help me out here!”

“No.” His voice was sour. 

“Ah, it’s Parkinson then, isn’t it? Tell her I’m sorry for throwing food at her if you ever have the chance. Make sure to add the part where I’m more sorry that I missed.” 

“Y/L/N!”

“It’s okay. I’d be a little let down, too.”

“Can you please just…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please just stop. I haven’t figured it out. Okay? Happy now?”

“I’ll leave you alone,” said Y/N. “Under one condition. You give me a hint. I’ve given you everything I know! This isn’t fair.”

“This doesn’t have to be fair,” he hissed.

Y/N kept the easy smile plastered on her face while she waited, her eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“You’re not going to let up until I tell you, are you?”

“You’d be right on that,” she said, sugary sweet.

“Fine. It’s something kind of floral.” 

“How descriptive,” she snorted as she slumped back in her stool, thinking hard. Where had she smelled it before? Y/N shut her eyes, leaning her head back and trying to immerse herself into the memory that had surfaced. It smelled like grandeur, like an open ballroom full of guests wearing expensive perfumes. She could feel spinning, spinning like she was with a dance partner. Who was it? She couldn’t quite remember--the last ball she’d been to had been years ago--but after she leaned forward and smelled the Amortentia once more time, she came to a conclusion.

“I had to have danced with him at a gala before,” she announced to Malfoy, who was looking quite unimpressed. “So I know it’s no one from Gryffindor.”

“Interesting,” was all he said before turning to his parchment and jotting something down.

Late that night, while Y/N was settling into bed, a strange idea struck her. Sure that the thought that was nagging her was completely fruitless, she had no trouble with reaching into her desk and pulling out the Malfoy box. She just had to check if she wanted to sleep well.

Here goes.

She closed her eyes, imagining the expensive scent of her Amortentia. Then she opened it, stuck her nose into the fabric, and breathed in.

Well, fuck. 

~

The internal debate going through Y/N the next day at the breakfast table was intense. On one hand, she really, really wanted to just tell Hermione that Malfoy had been in her Amortentia and she was completely fucked, but on the other…

She glanced at the witch next to her as she methodically sliced her toast into perfect, equivalent squares before dunking them in jam. Y/N liking Malfoy was not going to fit into her toast cubes. If she said anything, she would lose her excuse to talk to her about him. And her excuse to try and get close with him. 

Perhaps I can figure it out tomorrow. 

When tomorrow came, she still hadn’t made progress. Y/N was beginning to think that her so called “revelation” after they brewed Amortentia was truly just complete and utter bullshit. So what that his quill box smelled like it--all rich people kind of smelled the same at some points, and so did their houses. There was a reason why she couldn’t immediately pin the scent to anything--it wasn’t like she even knew what Malfoy smelled like.

But the truth remained that she was still attracted to someone who happened to be a rich Slytherin--so naturally, her mind began to wander. There’s no way it was Zabini--his mother owned a fragrance line, and she would’ve instantly recognized the cologne that she knew Mrs. Zabini made him wear--and there was absolutely no way that it was Crabbe or Goyle, so the only other Slytherin it left was...Nott? But that didn’t make sense either--she’d never spoken to him before in her life, even less than Malfoy. So perhaps it would be better if she didn’t think on it.

The next day of potion brewing came on a stormy Wednesday. Malfoy and Y/N worked silently together to brew a Draught of Dreamless Sleep. She was surprised to see how practiced his movements were--he didn’t even have to reference the book to recite the exact measurements and directions.

“Do you have bad dreams or something?” she asked, mostly as a joke. He didn’t seem to pick up on the light-heartedness and stiffened up.

“No?”

“Gee, you’re talkative today,” Y/N said, trying to ignore how her hand brushed his by accident when she added the scoop of anjelica. 

“Excuse me for not entertaining you,” he drawled. “I wasn’t expecting to have such a needy potions partner today.”

“I am not needy!” she gasped, smacking his arm. “I’ve sat in silence for a full hour!”

He rolled his eyes (he was always rolling his eyes) and gave the potion one more final stir before setting the lid on the cauldron. “Think you can do that again? It needs to simmer for that long.”

“Just because you’re so sweet to me,” crooned Y/N before pulling out a heavy book from her satchel. Her Charms exam was tomorrow, and, naturally, she had decided to save all of her revising work until the night before. The textbook stared back at her as she jotted a few notes onto a previously blank sheet of parchment. The quill in her hands was light and glided across the paper like the tears of Merlin, something that she had forgotten quills could do. All of her familiar basic quills were okay, but they were prone to skidding and breaking. This nib hadn’t worn down in the slightest, still at a smooth and defined peak.

Y/N couldn’t believe that, out of all people, the person to give her such a thoughtful gift was Draco Malfoy. She tried to sneak a glance at him then, moving her curtain of hair away from her face. It took all she had in her to not be startled at the fact that he was already looking back, a slightly concerned expression etched into his face.

“Is something wrong?” 

He snapped out of it the moment the words left her lips, his face hardening. “No.”

“Forget I ever asked,” she responded, turning away from him for good and focusing on her textbook. No, there was no way he could be what she smelled in her Amortentia. She liked to think that her subconscious wasn’t secretly a masochist.

~

Friday evening swung around again, much to Y/N’s dismay. She’d had a talk with Hermione later on in the week, confirming that no, she did not smell Malfoy in her Amortentia, and that yes, she was still abiding by the plan that Hermione had so carefully laid out for her. It did bother her a bit that she could be lying to her on both fronts--but at the end of the day, she was going to get the answers that Harry wanted, no matter what. 

She just had to get through the scary ass castle first. She’d forgotten how spooky Hogwarts was after her previous sprint to the door, and this time she was positively trembling by the time she turned another dark corner on her way to McGonagall’s office. Yet another cursed item had been found in the girl’s lavatory on the 3rd floor, right by some of the classes that she had taken earlier in the week. The fact that whoever was out there was capable of dark magic and actively wanted to hurt people terrified her, all that Gryffindor bravery be damned. 

So when she heard footsteps suddenly right beside her, it was no wonder that she jumped feet in the air.

“Fuck!” she sputtered, turning to see a very familiar blonde in Slytherin robes. He was frozen in place, curiously looking her up and down.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Malfoy,” Y/N said, resisting the urge to melt into a puddle of relief at the sight. This wasn’t right--wasn’t he a suspected Death Eater? “You scared me.”

He scoffed, digging his hands into his pockets. “You’re supposed to be the brave ones, right?”

“Huh?”

Malfoy motioned to her Gryffindor jumper. 

“Oh.” Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized what he meant. “I dunno. I just get jumpy around the castle at night.”

“No shit.” They’d begun to walk now, side by side. Y/N couldn’t remember ever walking with him before--she’d always been late. “Do you think I forgot the way you screamed when you saw me at the tower?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, reaching over and giving him a healthy shove. 

They walked in silence together. Malfoy moved noticeably slower than he normally did so he wouldn’t leave Y/N’s shorter legs in tow. McGonagall seemed pleasantly surprised to see Malfoy hold the door open for her.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along,” she said, giving Y/N a hesitant nod before grabbing the stack of papers on her desk. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

After she exited the room with a swish of her deep maroon robes, Malfoy turned to her. “Are you scared of the dark or something?”

She turned, ready to send a biting retort his way, before she noticed how gray his pallor looked...and how big the circles under his eyes were. “You look like shit, Malfoy. Is everything okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Oh. Um…” Y/N pause before deciding that the little tidbit of information she was about to reveal wasn’t that important anyways. “I’m just on edge at night at Hogwarts is all. Especially with all that weird shit going on with all the cursed objects. So I kind of hate walking to and from detention.”

Malfoy let out something that sounded like a strained laugh.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is everything okay?”

“None of your business,” he snipped. “I just had a bad night.”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?” she asked, unable to keep herself from prying.

“Something like that.”

“Have you tried lavender?”

“I’m sorry?” He frowned.

“Lavender. Like the essential oil. It’s nothing magical,” she explained. “I just like to spray it in my bed sometimes before I sleep. Or I’ll use a few drops in a diffuser. I have trouble sleeping too, all the time, actually.” She shut her mouth before she had any chance to ramble further.

“It sounds a bit too floral for my taste.”

“Here.” Y/N dug around in her satchel, searching for the tiny spray bottle she kept with her at all times. “Borrow this and spritz your pillow with it before you sleep, and then tell me it’s too floral. I promise it helps.”

He glared at her. She extended her hand with the white bottle that was covered in purple decor, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “I won’t tell anyone that you have it if that’s what you’re worried about or whatever.”

“Fine,” he snapped, snatching it from her hand and dragging his fingers over her palm for just a second. “Don’t expect me to actually try it, though.”

“Just give it a sniff.” 

He huffed, but to her surprise, he actually uncapped the top and held the spray hole up to his nose, inhaling in once.

The effect was immediate. Malfoy’s face completely drained of color, becoming even grayer than he’d been when she first saw him under the light. The briefest expression of surprise fleeted over his face before he wiped it off, replacing it with something unreadable and tossing it back at her. “I’m not using this.”

“Why not?”

“Not quite my taste,” he spat.

Y/N was shocked by the sudden outburst, watching as he continued to glower at his desk. “I don’t understand. It really does help you sleep. I know it seems stupid, but I...really think you should try it. Just once, if anything.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Because I--” Y/N stopped herself before she let her mouth run without check. “I know what it’s like is all. I feel like shit if I don’t sleep. Plus, I have to spend time with you every Friday. I imagine that you’ll be slightly more tolerable if you sleep more.”

“Hm.” He sent her a particularly venomous glare. “Thanks for your concern. Consider me uninterested, though.”

“You break my heart,” she teased, pulling back her hand and placing the bottle on the corner of her desk. An idea struck her.

“And just what are you smiling about?” Draco said. His lips were turned into a sour frown. 

“Nothing, nothing,” she responded, her voice adopting a sing-song quality. All she had to do now was wait. 

He exhaled, a deep and exasperated sound. Then he turned back to whatever was in front of him.

McGonagall entered the room a few minutes later, nodding cordially at the comfortable silence the two students were in. What she didn’t know was that Y/N was waiting, just waiting for Malfoy to dig through his satchel and stop paying attention to his quill.

She got her opportunity a few minutes later, when McGonagall called him up to look over his latest Transfiguration homework.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m happy to see that you’re taking more initiative in getting your assignments done...I have to say that you had me a bit concerned…”

While her professor kept Malfoy occupied, Y/N darted over and grabbed his quill. 

Ha.

Malfoy frowned down at his desk when he returned, giving Y/N a suspicious look.

“What is it, Malfoy?” she said, hoping her voice conveyed nothing that might hint that she took something of his.

“Nothing.”

“Hm.”

The rest of detention passed without any more discussion. Y/N was eager to run up to her dorm and set up her plan to be carried out the next morning, but she calmed her bouncing leg and forced herself to keep a straight face when McGonagall dismissed them.

“Got somewhere to be, Y/L/N?” Malfoy’s voice called after her as she sped down the hall towards the Gryffindor tower. 

“What’s it to you?” she fired back.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up his pace until he was walking next to her.

“Aren’t the Slytherin dorms the other direction?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Are they?” 

She allowed herself to be amused by the way words flowed out of his mouth when he was slightly out of breath. “Why are you walking with me?”

“You said it yourself.” He kept his eyes cast on the cobblestones below them. “You don’t like walking alone at night.”

“Uh...oh.” Against her will, her feet froze and she was glued to the ground. “You’re joking, right?”

If the lighting wasn’t so dim, Y/N would have good reason to believe he was blushing with how intently he was studying his fingernails. “By all means, I can be.”

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Er...I’d like you to. If you want to, that is.”

He shrugged, an elfish expression spreading across his face as he took in how nervous she was. “Well, come to think of it, you didn’t ask me to. I suppose I better get back to the Slytherin dorms anyways. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Gryffindor Tower right now.”

“Why?” she squeaked.

“Oh, you know, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that most of the cursed things showed up on your side of the castle, yeah?”

She gulped.

“I gotta get going. Don’t want to stand around here too long. This place gives me the creeps.” With that, he turned and began walking away.

“Malfoy?” She hated how timid her voice sounded. “Consider this me asking you to walk with me.”

He slowly faced her, a sly grin plastered all over his face. “Oh? Did I hear that correctly? Do you want me to?”

“I’m only going to say this once,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and trying her best to look intimidating. “Walk with me. Please.”

“I guess I’ll take it.” Malfoy glided down the hallway to her in just a couple steps, sending her yet another smug look.

“You made up that whole ordeal about Gryffindor Tower being targeted, didn’t you?” asked Y/N as they rounded the corner to reach the staircase leading up to the common room.

“You bought it, didn’t you?” 

“Who says I didn’t just want you to walk with me?” pushed Y/N. This was as close to flirting as it would ever get for her--but it looked like, somehow, things were falling into place. The heat in her cheeks must’ve been from the excitement of making progress. 

Malfoy’s toe caught on the first stair and, if it weren’t for Y/N’s steady grip on his arm, would’ve made him go sprawling across the stone steps. 

“Merlin, Malfoy,” she said, immediately dropping her grip from his shoulder. “What’s gotten into you?”

He responded with an unceremonial snort and a withering glare. The rest of the walk was done in silence, and Y/N noted how careful his footwork became around the Gryffindor steps.

“This is me,” she finally said once they reached the tapestry for the Gryffindor dorms. He seemed surprised, and only then did it strike her that he’d probably never seen the entrance himself before. “Thanks for being such a gentleman.”

“I live to serve,” he drawled.

And just like that, he was gone.

~

Her plan was simple. She had located an extra monogrammed pouch in her cabinet, a rich mahogany color with her family crest in a vivid gold, and placed both his quill and the lavender bottle. She would corner him after breakfast or follow him out of the Great Hall and show him then.

However, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Malfoy was not coming to Saturday morning breakfast. Many people didn’t, but Y/N had never known him to miss it. His normal spot was vacant, and it certainly wasn’t a house-made decision as all of his Slytherin friends were present and accounted for. Y/N couldn’t say for sure, but she could see Parkinson turning her head to the entrance every time the doors thudded open before glancing back to Malfoy’s empty seat when it turned out to be someone else.

Where was that loser?

“Excuse me,” she said to the trio as she stood up and brushed off her skirt. “I think I’m going to go get some fresh air. I have a bitch of a headache.”

Hermione and Harry expressed their sympathies while Ron gave her a characteristic mumble through his mouthful of bread, and she was off with the pouch secured in her cloak pocket.

It was a clear November morning, clearly Mother Nature’s attempt to slowly move the world from the crisp autumn to a cold winter. The sky was clear and the sun’s rays warmed her skin at a slanted angle, casting weak shadows across the courtyard.

If I were Malfoy, where would I go to sulk?

The obvious answer was either the Slytherin common room or his own dorm, but that was without a doubt out of question for her. She wasn’t even sure if she possessed the knowledge to guess which corridor the entrance was in, much less work out the password herself. Beyond that, just getting into the common room and waiting would be...She shivered. It would be a terrible idea while she was clearly wearing a cloak in Gryffindor red and gold trim. 

As she continued her aimless wander around the castle, she heard the slightest sound from the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. It wasn’t ever really in use--no one came in there to actually use the loo unless they wanted Myrtle to materialize and tell them her supernatural troubles while they were in the middle of their personal business--but it was often the source of strange happenings. 

Like the cursed objects she thought to herself, her nails digging into her palms. But did she care about that right now? Surely cursed objects seemed somewhat...suspicious. Dark magic was difficult to hide, and to a pureblood eye that grew up around magical objects, cursed things shouldn’t be impossible to spot. 

And, plus, it was Malfoy she was looking for. None of the students had died from the curses so far, and if she was able to break through and learn something, or at the very least gain his trust, the reward to the Order would be more than worth it.

She stepped in, expecting to see an entirely empty bathroom with perhaps a ghost rattling around at the sink. Instead, a different sight awaited her.

Draco Malfoy was clutching the edge of the cracked sink basin in front of him, rocking himself back and forth and shaking. From her vantage point, she could see that he was dressed in his normal garb--a black ensemble--but his hair was unruly and messy, sticking up in the back like he’d hurriedly tugged something over his head.

A strangled gasp grounded her and halted her curious observations. Malfoy began to make these awful sobbing sounds, like he could barely manage to breathe. 

Y/N was frozen in place as she surveyed her options. If she stayed and tried to talk to him, he might react in anger or hurt her. But if she just left him, like this, all alone...She swallowed once before stepping forward.

“Malfoy? Are you okay?” Obviously he’s not, you bint said a voice deep in her brain. She pushed it aside as he swung around, his wand raised and his eyes blazing. “Whoa! I’m not going to...Put your wand down!”

He stared at her, his eyes wide with horror as he continued to shake, so much so that his wand slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. Without thinking, Y/N reached into her pocket and flung her wand away, holding her hands up.

“I’m not going to try anything. I promise.”

As she drew closer, she could see the remnants of tears on his wet cheeks and the way that his silver eyes were rimmed with a bloodshot red. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he hissed, his voice weak and cracking. 

“Neither should you. This is the girl’s bathroom.”

final a/n: ok so lmk if you guys wants me to continue. i really did not edit the last half fjkdsal;f also kinda made this an au where malfoy tried to assassinate dumbledore. with more than one cursed object but dw it’ll all make sense ill clear that up 😭

[360iris]

do you have any wips? sorry i’m just curious, i’m in love with your writing

Luv, Hold Me Down (Sirius Black x Reader, WIP)

Warning: Mature themes? I don’t know with this one.

Word count: 2,209

A/N: You’re gonna hate my ass because I have zero intention to finish the smut on this one shdhd. Maybe when I’m less busy I’ll come back and update it (although not atm). There are typos galore too so I’m sorry in advance!

—————————————-

The infamous Bubblegum Bomb Incident of 1972. Casualties: one.

During Year Two, Sirius had resolved to get revenge on Cissy’s insufferable boyfriend ever since he tripped him in the halls to get a laugh out of his Slytherin lackeys; and what better way to do that than ruining his precious platinum locks.

It was suppose to be a quick and untraceable procedure. He’d get to personally serve Lucius his own brand of justice and the job would be completed without having to suffer detention.

If only you hadn’t been rushing through the halls that day.

Lunch had just ended, and you were haphazardly ducking and dodging through the wave of students, on your way to visit Remus. He’d been sentenced to a strict, three day period of consistent bed-rest in the infirmary after a particularly bad transformation.

You’d just wanted to bring him a slice of his favorite Hogwarts style coconut cream pie, but one wrong turn and you were suddenly bombarded with three quick pelts of homemade exploding bubblegum bullets.

Sirius had designed them to be quick and lethal with their distribution of rubbery goo so that the target's hair was sure to be ruined.

The first shot sent the small plate in your hands completely airborne. The next two hit you square in the chest, knocking you fully onto your back.

The aftermath was so extreme that it took the combined effort of Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and eventually, the guiding hand of Madam Pomfrey to free you from the sticky sludge and off of the stone pavement.

By the time they’d got to the infirmary, your entire head of hair had been deemed unsalvageable by sweet Poppy, and the only thing she could figure to do was shave it clean off by hand.

You’d spent the next two days unexpectedly alongside a tired Remus, confined in the sick bay, crying your eyes out hysterically. You’d had no idea who had done this to you or why.

That was until the third day, when Poppy finally allowed visitors in, in hopes of lifting your spirits.

Your guests included:

An empathetic Lily and Mary, both girls bringing you and Remus an abundance of flowers from the greenhouses, with explicit approval from Professor Sprout; alongside the homework you’d missed and plenty of junk foods.

An overzealous Marlene who’d spent the entirety of the three days drafting up and collecting signatures for a petition to permanently ban disruptive joke shop type inventions.

And lastly, an uncharacteristically stonefaced James and solemn Sirius who both quietly observed the crucially placed scarf on your head meant to distract from your current state of baldness.

“Go on then. Tell her, man. It’s only proper.” James said abruptly with folded arms, for the first time ever foregoing his usual impeccable home-taught manners and any form of courteous greetings altogether.

You watched confused as Sirius stood some several feet away, staring directly down at his shoes. After another coarse verbal prod from James, he stepped forward, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

“I- You have to understand, I couldn’t have known, Y/N! It happened so suddenly and before I knew it, it was too late!” He pleaded desperately and you weren’t quite understanding what he meant.

“I don’t follow, Sirius. What are you on about?” You asked, watching as he began wringing his hands.

He looked over to James again, seemingly pleading for aid that wouldn’t come. James looked positively severe, intent on standing by his decision to have the boy do this by himself.

“I- I was the one who blew the gum bullets.” Sirius finally whispered, looking positively terrified of your reaction. “But I didn’t intend on hitting you, I promise! It was for that git Malfoy! Remember when he tripped me in front of all of those sixth years last month? I’d been working on a way to get him back ever since! You’ve got to believe me, Y/N!”

But you’d stopped listening after the initial reveal. Your blood ran cold and it was hard to focus on anything in particular before suddenly all of your senses came rushing back in, and you were furious.

And even though James and Remus had been gauging your response, neither could have been quick enough to match the speed at which you pulled off both of your slippers and hurled them at the older boy’s face.

Successfully managing to clock him so hard, he reflexively reached up to clutch his sore, but still intact nose.

After that day, you had deemed Sirius public enemy number one, he managed to outrank even the silver-spoon fed Slytherins and that antagonizing blight, Peeves.

While there were tonics for quickening hair growth, you cursed Sirius Orion Black, every time you had to awkwardly apply a plethora of random oils to your scalp and walk around campus bald for an entire semester.

When he looked your way, you glared back mercilessly. If he dared to even address you, your responses were far from being deemed PG-13.

He’d spent the first six months wearily but consistently trying to apologize, however the damage had already been done, and it’d destroyed any semblance of friendship he’d crafted with you beforehand.

So after a while, he gave up. If you were going to hate him regardless of his actions, he figured he might as well stand up for himself during the bickering matches that transpired whenever the two of you were less than six feet apart.

Over the years, you’d remained bestfriends with Remus and James, though they could never hang out with the both of you at the same time.

For example, if you were eating breakfast with the two boys in The Great Hall and Sirius arrived late after sleeping in, you’d promptly roll your eyes and slide away to talk with Lily.

——

“That most definitely is not healthy, James.” You grimaced, tilting your head back laughing. The book in your lap, long since abandoned from the moment your bestfriends entered the common room.

“Muggle five second rule, Y/N! You were the one who told me about it to begin with!” He grinned from his spot sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of you.

You couldn’t help bursting into a fit of giggles, desperately trying to respond. “Rem- Remus! Please! Inform him that it doesn't apply to dropping a sandwich down an entire flight of stairs!”

“Believe me I tried, but he seemed pretty determined to eat it, hair and all after catching up to it.” Remus replied softly, a fond smile playing on his lips as you began making gagging noises of disgust.

“No! James Fleamont Potter, tell me you didn’t actually eat hair!” You laughed, extending your socked foot to shove him.

“I will suffice by just saying that, there may or may not have been a stray hair or two on it when I picked it up- Oh! Sirius, how was detention?” James trailed off to greet a certain boy and your demeanor immediately soured.

Your textbook on alchemical runes suddenly seemed like the most interesting thing in the world.

“It was worth it. Mcgonagall must be getting tired of me because she had me choose a book and read for three hours. Don’t let me interrupt the fun though. Looks like you’ve finally coaxed the Ice Queen to defrost for a bit. Shame I wasn’t here to see it.” He remarks, and you didn’t need to be looking at him to know he was wearing that infuriating smirk.

“Don’t worry, Black. I’ll never be able to truly relax knowing you’re still out running amuck. Next time you get written up, I’ll be sure to beg Mcgonagall to keep you chained outside with the rest of the wild animals.” An acute look of disgust etches across your face as you close your book, promptly shoving it into your bag.

“If you’re so desperate to see me in a collar, the person you need to be begging is right in front of you, doll.”

You could not have rolled your eyes harder at his remark. In a huff, you tug the strap of your bag around your frame and stand indignantly.

“You’re actually right for once. James? Keep your mutt on a tighter leash, before I’m forced to be the one that puts him down.” You sneer, flipping your hair over one shoulder and striding up to the girls dormitory before he can get in another word.

Remus sighed, unhappily leaning back against the couch he was currently sprawled across. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Sirius watched as your figure disappeared up the stairs before turning to the boy, a dumb smile playing on his lips.

“She doesn’t hate me nearly as much as she tries to make you believe.” Was all he offered giddily before skillfully changing the subject.

———

Much like the infamous playboy Sirius Black, you were known for how frequently you broke the hearts of anyone you hooked up with. They found that sex with you was a spiritual experience, but were usually crushed when you made it clear you weren’t interested in recurring partners.

When Gryffindor’s Quidditch team won a mid-season match against Ravenclaw, James was relentless in persuading you to come to the after party. And though you weren’t originally keen on the idea, you figured it’d be an ample opportunity to relieve some stress.

The night had gone well. You’d garnered a nice buzz from the punch James made in his dorm and had your eyes fixed on Theodore Nott who’d been snuck in by Marlene.

Sirius, who was working his way onto his third cup of punch, watched you make eyes with the Slytherin boy from across the room.

He sat silently seething as you adjusted in your spot on the couch, crossing your legs while holding that snake’s gaze. In the end, all it took was the simple curl of your index finger for Theodore to hand his drink to an unimpressed Marlene and approach you.

Sirius watched as the two of you exchanged a handful of words before you sultrily dragged the boy away by his collar.

It took a minute for him to register that the styrofoam cup in his grasp was crushed.

After grabbing a napkin, he irritatedly ran a hand through his hair and his breath was ragged.

Why did he care that you were probably seconds from fucking a random guy? He definitely wasn’t one to judge, he’d been with plenty of people over the years.

However, no matter how many times he rolled the idea around in his head, he was getting angrier by the minute.

Remus approached him to spark up a conversation, but he was already slipping past him, towards the direction he watched you disappear to earlier.

He found you in the hallway, lip-locked with Theodore who had a grip on one of your exposed thighs. Meanwhile your hands were tangled in his hair.

Sirius’ body switched into autopilot, moving at such a speed that his brain couldn’t even keep pace.

He had harshly pulled the boy off of you, slung you onto his shoulder and made his way to his dorm. Partygoers standing confused as you beat his back, yelling at him to let you go. Once he’s on the stairs away from prying eyes, he delivers a sharp slap to the exposed skin on your thigh.

“Stop screaming bloody murder, Y/L/N.” is all he says and you bite your lip at the sting.

By the time he locked his door and tossed you onto his bed you’re looking at him like he’s insane. Scurrying to get off the mattress but he quickly grabs you ankle, pulling you back to where he dropped you.

“What the fuck has gotten into you!?” You hiss, watching him run a hand through his locks.

“I’m tired of waiting for you to stop being a brat and realize you like me. Tired of watching you hop on random dicks that aren’t mine. You want to get laid tonight? Fine, fuck me then.” He growls and you’re instantly overwhelmed.

“Did a screw come loose in your head? I don’t know what the hell you’re on but I’m not fucking you all people!” You respond by grasping a pillow from his bed and chucking it at his head. He easily catches it with a roll of his eyes.

“I’ve loved you since our first year, Y/N. And I’ve observed you long enough to know if you genuinely hated me or not.” He confesses and you freeze. His eyes were crystal clear and you’re at a loss of words so he continues.

He gently grasps one of your hands, bringing it up over his heart. You can very faintly feel his heart racing and your brows furrow. He was actually being genuine.

“You want fuck me so bad you’ve officially gone stupid?” You ask but he sees the tiniest smirk on your lips. And for whatever reason, you actually let him move in to kiss you.

He jumps a bit when you bite his bottom lip and you giggle before he’s pressing you back onto the bed.

It’s a fight for dominance, neither of you wanting to be the one that relents.

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage (Mycroft Holmes x Reader) Part 4

A/N- Hoping this one has come out a bit happier than the last instalment! I’m trying my best to not write Mycroft too out of character and focusing on how much more emotion he had displayed in season 4.. I have a few more chapters planned out so far and I am hoping to, at the very least, update weekly! I hope you all enjoy this chapter and, please, don’t forget to leave a comment letting me know what you think! Kind words or constructive criticism are always welcomed and inspire me to write more! Thank you!

Word Count: 4416

"Did you fancy doing anything else today? Well, this evening I suppose suits better." You asked Mycroft, clearing up the plates from dinner. Dinner here being a term used loosely- after the emotional turmoil only a few hours ago at the revelation of both yesterday's events and your inner attractions, neither of you particularly felt like cooking, or eating for that matter, and settled on a sandwich just to provide some energy.

The energy of the room had felt different now, now that everything was in the open, now that the pair of you had finally broken that barrier to move further in your relationship. It was nice, calming. The pair of you weren't children, the confirmation of shared attraction didn't mean you immediately jumped each other, or feel the need to be constantly touching in some aspect or another- but the mere idea of knowing that the attraction between you was mutual, and that you wanted to act upon that was more than enough for now. It felt incredible.

"Mmm, what did you have in mind?" He hummed back, standing from the small table in the kitchen to help you with the washing up- not that you weren't fully capable of doing so yourself, it just felt nice acting a little domestic- electing to wash the dishes himself and leaving you to dry them and put them back in the cupboard. You shrugged, closing the cupboard's door and leaning against the counter.

"St James' is just round the corner isn't it? We could go for a walk? The weather is oddly nice for September." You suggested, grinning as you watched Mycroft look down at his current attire of jogging bottoms and a band t-shirt. You didn't need the power of a Holmes to know what that face meant. "Compromise. You don't have to wear the joggers in public, but you also cannot wear a suit, I swore against it."

"If you're suggesting for me to leave my home in my undergarments you've completely lost your mind." You looked at Mycroft and allowed his brain to think a little more. "Oh bugger you can't mean-"

"You and I both know you have a pair of jeans in your wardrobe Myc. Joggers or Jeans, the choice is yours." Mycroft opened and closed his mouth multiple times before rolling his eyes and muttering something under his breath that sounded Latin. "Oi at least have the decency to do it in French so I have a chance of understanding what you say when you swear at me." You quipped, jokingly throwing two fingers up at him as he gave in and sulked up the stairs.

"Tu seras la mort de moi." His voice was still quiet, but loud enough for you to understand him.

"Et pourtant tu serais perdu sans moi." You shouted back, teasing a little. Mycroft didn't answer but smiled to himself as he walked into his bedroom, agreeing with you completely but too high in his pride to admit it. Downstairs, you rummaged through the other bags from Anthea, feeling thankful as you saw that she had equally bought you some hoodies too, pulling on a maroon one before grabbing and sliding on your boots. A few minutes later you heard Mycroft's voice from upstairs, muffled completely excluding the 'goodbye' that sounded as he left the bedroom and made his way down the stairs. "Planning my arrest were you? Should I be expected to enter the park to MI6 agents dragging me into a car and shipping me off somewhere for forcing the British government into denim?" You turned around and saw him in his change of attire, whistling approvingly at the sight of him in the dark grey pair of jeans you had bought him a few years ago- 'because you cannot walk into a pub wearing anything purchased on Savile Row, Mycroft'- and the navy blue blazer he had chosen to match with them; the small evidence of The Who's logo peeking out slightly between the lapels. It was seldom Mycroft wore such casual clothing, but feeling welcomed by your reaction certainly made him more comfortable. Maybe at some point you'd tell him it's because those jeans make his bum look incredible. Mycroft's cheeks flushed and he shook his head, ignoring the noise of encouragement you had made.

"MI5, actually, but do not be too alarmed- I've insisted they only use force if absolutely necessary." He teased, hoisting his scarf from the coat rack by the front door and expertly wrapping it around his neck. You jabbed him lightly in the arm, knowing he was joking but equally wanting to make sure the phone call wasn't from Sherlock already pestering him about something or another. "It's fine, truly. Nothing to cause government upset.. only public." You went to question what he meant but was instead caught off guard by him eyeing you up. "Are you really going out.. in that?" Mycroft gestured to your clothing and for a brief moment you felt a little insecure, frowning slightly at him. He caught on immediately and apologised. "No- I mean.. You will likely get cold, will you not? A hooded sweatshirt isn't the warmest item of clothing I can offer you." You grinned at his concern and just passed him his beloved umbrella (it wasn't raining, but that didn't make a difference) before opening the front door.

"Myc I have pulled bodies out of the River Thames wearing nothing more than a pencil skirt and a blouse, I will be fine." You grabbed his hand and tugged him outside, shutting the door behind him. He wanted to argue back but he knew any attempt would be futile- you both knew that you could be more stubborn than Mycroft and so he didn't wish to cause harm on what could be a splendid evening. You took your normal position beside Mycroft, your hand resting in the crook of his elbow, while his rested in his pocket, the other holding onto his umbrella handle. The chill of London's air brushed the back of your neck, leading you to pull the hood of your jumper over your head before continuing your walk, not allowing Mycroft to have the pleasure of knowing he was right. but also not missing the smirk that tugged at his lips as he noticed- of course he bloody did.

The short walk to the park was in a comfortable silence. Mycroft found himself thinking over today's events, how even he couldn't have predicted that this would be how it would end. He was certain you would have left earlier, he'd even prepared himself for the chances of a punch to his nose in anger, and so never in his right mind did he expect you to stay, let alone embrace him while he cried, forgive him for the unforgivable, to... kiss him. He felt childish thinking back on it, but he kept replaying that moment over in his mind. It wasn't a proper kiss, it was barely there at all, and yet, if Mycroft thought hard enough he could still feel the light pressure of your lips on his, and it left him eager for more.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Your voice distracted him as you walked down the final street before the park. He blinked, looking down at you, at your joint arms and offering a smile.

"Just that I didn't expect today to happen the way that events turned out." You opened your mouth to make a comment about how Mycroft knew everything but he cut you off. "I deduce, I cannot predict the future, Y/N."

"But you can mind read?" He raised his other hand, one finger to his mouth in a 'shhh' motion and you grinned.

"Penny for yours?" You hummed in response as you looked at yourself in the reflection of a car window and pouted, rounding the corner to walk through the park's gates.

"I look like an egg." Mycroft let out a rare laugh, caught off guard by your answer. "That you do, my dear. But a rather beautiful egg." It was your turn to flush now. Getting any form of compliment from Mycroft Holmes was a rarity, and when they did come to surface they were usually on one's intellectual skills, or the times where you'd go out to a fancy restaurant and he would claim 'your dress' was beautiful, but never you directly. Your lack of response made Mycroft nervous and he spoke again. "Apologies, upon reflection that was a very backhanded compliment." You squeezed his arm and nudged yourself in closer, welcoming in the warmth his body was emitting.

"No no, I am incredibly flattered to be deemed a beautiful egg." You laughed. "It would make a lovely epitaph don't you thi-." He tensed. "Yeah, sorry, bit soon." You continued your walk for a little further before something clicked in your mind and you stopped in your tracks. Mycroft stumbled a little at the sudden cease in movement and shot you a confused glare. "Myc.. There's nobody else here."

"Excellent observation, Y/N. I now understand why you're so well respected down the Yard."

"Git. I meant.. we're in one of the most tourist centred parts of London, in the early evening, and there's nobody here." Mycroft raised his nose a little in the air, a movement witnessed by anybody else that would be mistaken for smugness, or being pretentious. But on Mycroft you knew it meant he felt a little embarrassed, raising his head ever so higher so you couldn't see the dusting of red on his cheeks. "The phone call... Mycroft bloody Holmes did you abuse your power as a government official to rent out the entirety of St James' park so that nobody would have to see you in your jeans?" He avoided your gaze and you began to laugh, removing your hand from his arm as you wiped a tear that spilled down your cheek out of amusement before tugging him over to a bench that was a few feet away.

"Should I not have?" His tone was light, relaxed knowing that you weren't mad with him and that you found the situation entertaining.

"It's not that.. It's just that nobody else WOULD." You rubbed your numbing fingers together and tucked them inside the sleeve of your hoodie. "You. Are an extraordinary man, Mr Holmes. You never cease to amaze me." He smiled softly, tentatively reaching over to take your half sleeve covered hand into his own pale one.

"And you, are freezing." He commented. You dismissed his assessment and instead focused on the view in front of you, the slight appearance of the London Eye poking above some trees from across the Thames.

"After living here for so long, sometimes I forget how beautiful London truly is." You spoke, shuffling the rest of your hand from your sleeve to lace your fingers between his. He hummed in agreement as he watched on. "And you stole this view from thousands of visitors this evening for the sake of your own dignity and so we could be alone. What do you have? People guarding every entrance? A few loitering around somewhere to make sure there were no stragglers? Christ are they armed? It just so.. so.." Mycroft felt himself become uncomfortable.

"I can be a very selfish person Y/N, you know that."

"I was going to say sexy but now I feel as though I'm not being as sympathetic to the tourists as you were expecting me to be." Mycroft tensed again and you leant to rest your head on his shoulder. "You should probably try to get used to that. I've been waiting a fairly long time to actively be allowed to say things like that to you and it not sound really weird, so I'm making up for lost time."

"How long?" His voice was quiet, likely his mind recovering from you, for the second time that day, calling him such a thing. It wasn't that he didn't like it, he was extremely flattered, but he just found it very hard to believe that you truly thought that way about him; that anyone could. You thought for a moment, childishly using your fingers to count.

"How long since I realised I had a thing for you? As of today it's been 5 years, 3 months and 17 days.. or, in less creepy terms to not make it seem like I've been counting, 2 weeks before I broke up with Thomas. It didn't feel fair to keep dragging him along, especially when I started to look forward to meeting you for dinner much more than I did meeting him for our weekly date night. He's a lovely guy and deserved more than that. I tried for those couple of weeks to get over it but I couldn't." Mycroft stayed silent but you could practically hear his brain whirring. "How long did I wish that you somehow felt the same way about me? Probably 5 minutes after the last thought." You laughed, feeling ridiculous for sounding like a school girl with a crush. "What about you? Pining after me for long or just spontaneously after I kissed you?" You joked, trying to make the whole ordeal feel a little less embarrassing. Mycroft shifted in his seat, laying his focus in the warmth that he could feel spreading to your hand that he held in his. He wasn't the type for large exclamations of emotion, or really speaking about the way he feels at all. But, upon hearing your revelation, he bit the bullet and spoke.

"I have never been the kind of man to experience typical human emotion. Until yourself and Gregory came along, I hadn't even the experience of having acquaintances, let alone.. friends." His eyes stayed forward, watching as the London Eye rotated slowly and focusing on its movements. "Approximately 6 months prior to the time you have mentioned, I began to realise that the way I felt towards you was far different to the way I felt about Gregory, and not the same way I feel towards Sherlock. I pressed the thought into the back of my mind for the better part of a year, before Sherlock told me that you were 'obviously' experiencing some kind of affection towards me, which I told him was preposterous, but from then the thought of you in that aspect felt welcoming. I had never expected in my life to have those kinds of emotions for anybody, let alone have them reciprocated, but I still chose to ignore them. I chose to keep you as my friend rather than risk losing you at all.. Then Eurus happened. Seeing you on that.. screen. Knowing what they could do.. Knowing I could lose you anyway.. it flicked something inside of my brain that made me regret not talking to you about it sooner. I was trying to work out the right way to bring it up, but then you did it for me." The side of his mouth flicked up into a small smile and disappeared, the embarrassment of talking so much on emotion taking over.

"You still look cute when you're embarrassed." You commented, not wanting to elaborate on his wordings more. It meant everything to you that he had even said that much, so you weren't going to push him further out of his comfort zone by pestering on. "Though as much as I'd love to look at your little flustered cheeks in this moonlight, I have to admit that you were right and I am bloody freezing, can we go back?" You took your hand back from his briefly to rub against your other one, a feeble attempt to bring warmth back into your fingertips. Though warmth soon enveloped round your neck as you felt Mycroft begin to wrap his cashmere scarf around you, folding and wrapping it expertly until you felt comfortably warm, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of his cologne that loitered in the fabric.

"I'm always right." He grinned smugly, standing from the bench and offering his elbow out to you once more. You nudged it away, missing the disappointed look on Mycroft's face, before instead grabbing his hand, lacing your fingers between his and tucking them into his pocket for warmth, your other arm folding over your body to hold his arm.

"I'll prove you wrong on that at some point, mark my words." You beamed, starting the walk back to Queen Anne's Gate and relishing in the warmth of the taller man beside you. Mycroft couldn't hide the small smile that appeared on his face from your action, choosing himself to push closer and close the gap between you even more. He swiftly pulled his phone from his pocket, leaving his umbrella dangling from his wrist, as he made a quick call to Anthea.

"I suppose we better let the tourists have their park back.. at least for now." He spoke, more to you than to Anthea but nonetheless she relayed the message to security who began to pack up and reopen the gates to the public. It had barely been a minute before they had all left, all except the PA in question who watched on fondly upon seeing the pair of you leaving, fighting the urge to text the man that it was about damn time.

***

The walk back was incredibly quick and you soon found yourselves walking back through the front door, discarding layers of warmer clothing, Mycroft opting to put the sweats back on in place of his jeans.

"I'm thinking we have a cuppa and then head to bed? I'm knackered." You proposed, flicking the kettle on and settling back to rest on the edge of the kitchen counter. Mycroft hummed in agreement, reaching to grab the necessities. You quickly kicked off from the counter and wandered back into the front room, pulling Mycroft in tow. "Seems as good a time as any to have some music on, Greg made me this mixtape a few weeks ago. He said it's some classics I already love, and a bunch that I'm going to, so it sounds pretty promising." From behind you Mycroft opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off. "If you're about to chastise me for calling a CD a mixtape, don't waste your breath. Mix-CD just sounds horrendous." He stayed silent, inwardly amused at the fact you hadn't even seen his face and yet knew exactly what he was going to say, and you called him the 'mind-reader'. The Kinks began to play quietly through the speakers, 'Have a Cuppa Tea' fittingly being the first song to play on shuffle. Usually you despised any type of mixtape, or 'best of' albums, claiming rather strongly that they defeated the point of artists bringing out the original albums, ruining the story behind each one. But when it came to Greg you trusted him completely with music taste and had never been disappointed thus far. The click of the kettle in the kitchen sounded, making you walk into the other room and prepare your drinks- you hadn't bothered asking Mycroft the way he had it, you had that burnt to memory years ago. Perching back onto the sofa besides Mycroft, you handed him the beverage and sighed in content.

"You missed the Sex Pistols. Forgive me if I cannot hear you for the next 20 minutes, I have a feeling that my ears have bled." He teased, taking a sip of his tea and settling it on the table beside him. Before you had a chance to answer, another Kinks song began to sound in the room, the slower rythm of Waterloo Sunset.

"You're going to pay for saying those things, you know I love the Sex Pistols." You pouted, moving your own tea to the coffee table. "I think, Mr Holmes, you need to dance with me in ways of apology." You grinned, standing up and holding your hand out to him. "It's a rare slower song from Lestrade's musical repertoire so I'm not expecting you to start headbanging or anything.."

"Do people slow dance to Rock music normally?" He asked, smiling.

"No they don't.. but when have you ever been a man who follows the rules of normality?" He took your hand at that, standing himself up and leading you to an emptier part of the room, tea forgotten. You softly placed your hands on his shoulders and rested your head on his chest, his reaching round to settle on the small of your back as you began to sway together slowly, the only sound that could be heard was the music and Mycroft's erratic heartbeat that he was sure meant he was going to have a heart attack. "See, this is nice." He hummed in agreement, the vibrations of his deep voice reaching his chest and vibrating against your cheek. "We could have done this years ago.." You commented, thinking on all the lost time you had with Mycroft, all of the years you had listened to music together and could have danced, holding each other as close as you were now.

"We'd have struggled being as Gregory only gave you this CD a few weeks ago.." You laughed and swatted his shoulder.

"You know what I mean.. oh the power of cowardice and fear." You closed your eyes, holding onto this moment as though you had never wanted it to end. Alas, the song began to come to a close, and yet neither of you made an attempt to move. The instrumental introduction to your favourite Clash song began to play and you grinned. "Now this is a song. I'm surprised Greg put it on here, I'd have thought he'd be sick of it by now with the amount of times I play it at work." As the vocals began you felt Mycroft stiffen in your arms, the fingers on the hands on your back began to dig into your skin slightly, not painful, but protective and his heartbeat picked up pace even more.

"Could we skip this one? Please?" His tone of voice was different this time, not the calm, relaxed voice that he had earlier, nor the playful one he had only moments ago. He sounded.. unsettled.

"You're joking right? Mycroft this relationship will have a rocky start if you force me to turn of The Clash at all, let alone bloody 'Death or Glory.'" He tensed again hearing the song's title.

"Please.. it's the one.." Your brain began to piece together his words and you lifted your head from its position on his chest, looking up and seeing the pained expression on his face. Of course, out of every song in the world, this was the one you were listening to when Mycroft said he saw you on the screen, inches away from death. You closed your eyes and sighed.

"I'm not letting this happen. I'm okay, I'm here, alive. This is my happy song, and I have so many wonderful memories from it." It wasn't a lie. The sound held memories of countless car rides with Greg, it was the song that played when you had the phone call about your promotion at work. It had even been playing when your sister phoned up to let you know that she was pregnant with your niece. Both times. It was a bloody good song. "I understand why you don't like it, but you just need to associate it with something better, give it a new memory." You moved your arms from his shoulders to wrap around his neck, shifting one hand to place onto his cheek as you reached yourself up on your tiptoes to become closer to his height.

You caught his focus, making his eyes land on your own rather than being dazed as his mind went back to you dancing on that screen. You leaned yourself in closer, just enough for your lips to ghost over his own, before closing the gap. Unlike the last peck you had given him, this was a far more passionate kiss, giving him the emotion you had kept pent up for the last five years. His grip on your back softened, one hand reaching to your upper back to push you closer to him, his lips moving against yours beautifully. His body began to relax, the tension in his shoulders disappeared as he leant himself forward, easing you back flat on your feet. Had you have not known any better, you would have never guessed that Mycroft had never kissed somebody before; he was just a bloody quick learner. You ran your tongue along his bottom lip softly, grinning as he let out a quiet moan. The need for air soon took over and you allowed yourself to separate, not moving any further than leaving your foreheads touching. "There. Now when we hear it, that's what you need to think of instead. Christ knows I will be." You laughed, your hands guiding themselves from his neck slowly down his chest and pushing him back slightly. "I'm going to go shower, so meet me upstairs? I know I promised more Hardy but I would really like to go to sleep if it's all the same to you." Mycroft only nodded, feeling you peck his lips once more before disappearing out of the room. The song had finished by now, having been replaced by who Mycroft believed were The Rolling Stones, but he wasn't really listening.

He stood still in his spot, mind replaying over the moment as he smiled fondly to himself. He could hear the shower running upstairs along with your voice, muffled but clear enough to understand that you were still singing along to the last song. Placing his fingers against his lips, Mycroft tried to imitate the pressure you had placed on them moments ago, thinking about how your lips felt against his, properly this time, not just the two second thing on the sofa this morning. His chest felt warm, stomach flipping and in a rare moment Mycroft felt genuinely happy. In all his life up to this moment, caring had never been an advantage, had always led to him getting hurt. But maybe, just maybe, you were right about how you were going to prove him wrong one day. And he hoped to whatever sentient being that may or not be watching over him that you were going to prove him wrong about that.

[lcvemalfcy]

Mission Accomplished || D.M

summary: pansy and blaise make it their mission to get y/n and draco together

pairing: draco x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, not sure abt anything else — please comment if I missed something!!

word count: 1.6k

a/n: pls ive been writing this since the beginning of feb but i didn’t know how to end it off

draco had taken an interest in you ever since you had laughed at a joke he mumbled during class, with no intention of being heard. he turned to the owner of the laugh, to see you sitting next to your friend with your hand over your mouth, trying to conceal your giggles. that’s when he decided that your laugh was now his favorite sound in the world and that he wanted to hear it more.

he hadn’t made his crush on you known, besides to blaise. he rarely even talked with you before, but he wanted to change that this year. he started off by greeting you whenever you two passed each other in the halls, to initiating small conversations with you during your shared classes, and now he was joining you in the library to read after he ‘coincidentally’ shared the same reading spot as you.

pansy and blaise entered the library together, in search of a book they needed in order to start on their astronomy project. they both walked to the aisle where the book would be found, pansy’s fingers gliding over the spines of the books as she searched for the one in particular. “do me a favor and help me find it?” she spat out to blaise, irritated that he stood there staring off at something she could care less about.

“is that draco with y/n?” blaise asked instead, noticing the familiar blonde boy sitting at a table across from you. this immediately caught pansy’s attention as she averted her focus from the bookshelf in front of her to the table you two sat at. “no way!”

“they are so into each other,” pansy silently squealed as she watched you burst out into giggles due to some awful joke draco had made, you seemed to have a thing for his jokes. “draco’s liked her for months now.” a grin appeared on blaise’s face, trying to hold in his laughter at draco’s lame attempt at flirting with you.

“and he hasn’t made a move on her yet?” pansy questioned. blaise shook his head side to side to answer her question when an idea suddenly entered her brain. “blaise we have to do something!”

“like what?” blaise was confused, unsure of what pansy meant. “forget the project, we have to set them up! mission y/n and draco!” pansy exclaimed. she excitedly grabbed blaise’s hand and dragged him to a table far from yours to create a plan, while blaise internally groaned, knowing how passionate she could become when it came to stuff like this.

being a prefect always was an advantage. and luckily for pansy and blaise who were both prefects, this made it easy for them to execute their plan.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

one foggy night, you threw a jumper and sweats over your body, preparing for your late night stroll around the castle. you liked to do this whenever you couldn’t fall asleep, finding that a walk seemed to be relaxing and calm the thoughts running through your head.

you exited your dormitory quietly, being careful enough to not wake your sleeping dormmates. you walked down the stairs and into the common room, feeling chills run up and down your body as you felt the temperature drop. you made it across, about to exit the room when you walked straight into something — no, someone.

“sneaking out again, y/n?” there stood pansy ahead of you. she kept a straight face, slightly raising her eyebrow in attempt to intimidate you.

“weren’t you just asleep?” you looked back and pointed towards the steps to the dormitories, confused as to where she came from. she was asleep in the dorm, right? 

“I’m sorry but I’m going to have to give you a detention,” she stated as you gave her a questioning look. “you’re not serious, are you? you know I’ve snuck out a million times already and never gave me one before,” you tried to reason with her.

“and that’s exactly why I should be giving you one, you’ve snuck out one too many times y/n. meet me for detention in snape’s classroom. saturday, 5PM, and don’t be late.” she left so quickly and was already gone before you could question her sudden change in opinion.

meanwhile, draco sat in the common room one afternoon, looking back and forth between papers as he copied goyle’s homework. with one question left, he was almost done and turned to glance at goyle’s paper one last time when it was suddenly snatched away from underneath him.

“what the hell?!” draco looked up to see blaise holding onto the piece of parchment he desperately needed in order to complete his assignment.

“really, draco? cheating? I’m absolutely flabbergasted and disappointed in you!” blaise overexaggerated and flailed his arms around, causing draco to furrow his brows in confusion. “I’m giving you a detention for going against your academic honesty!” blaise sighed and crossed his arms, dramatically shaking his head at his friend.

“what are you on mate? did you not just copy off of his homework before me?” draco was irritated as blaise prevented him from finishing his homework. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. now, meet me in snape’s classroom at 5PM on saturday for your detention.” and with that, blaise left, not giving draco a chance to hex him.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

it was now saturday, a few minutes before the clock struck 5PM. you were making your way to snape’s classroom, pissed that you had to spend your free time in detention.

arriving at your destination, you opened the door and entered the classroom, curious as to what pansy had planned for your detention. the first thing you noticed was an empty classroom, before turning to the back corner and spotting your favorite blonde. “draco? what are you doing here?”

“blaise gave me a bloody detention for ‘going against my academic honesty,’ whatever that means. you?” he raised an eyebrow as he waited for your reply. “pansy caught me trying to sneak out.”

he slowly nodded as you took a seat beside him, “don’t you find it odd that blaise and pansy never give slytherins detentions, especially not their own friends. and the one time they do, it happens to be on the exact same day at the exact same time?” he questioned as you thought it over.

“you’re right, that is a bit odd.”

after waiting a few more minutes for blaise and pansy to arrive, draco went to grab his bag off the floor as he stood up. “I have better things to do and seeing that they’re late, I’m going to go do those other things. care to join?”

“lead the way, malfoy.” you grinned at him, gesturing your arm towards the door. he made his way over to the door, you following right behind him. you waited for him to open it, yet that never happened.

“the door won’t open,” he concluded after a few moments of him rattling the doorknob.

“what do you mean the door won’t open?”

“it means, the door won’t open.” you lightly shoved him out of the way, pulling out your wand and muttering alohomora. you became frustrated when you went to open the door and the lock still wouldn’t budge.

after multiple attempts to open the door, both of you realized it was no use. you guys were locked in.

you found yourself sitting on the floor besides draco, talking with one another for hours on end as you wore his jumper. he had politely offered it to you when he noticed you shivering due to the cold dungeon air, in which you denied it at first, but he kept on insisting.

you started drifting off, his words started twisting into gibberish and his voice became muffled. draco felt his heart warm when your head fell onto his shoulder. “oh c’mon y/n, don’t fall asleep on me.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just your jumper is so comfy and warm,” you lightly spoke as you snuggled closer into his body. draco thought his heart was about to burst.

suddenly, the door opened and entering the room was snape, who only stared at the two of you when he noticed his two students just casually sitting on his classroom floor. the sudden noise made you bolt awake.

“out.” his voice was curt and blunt, causing you and draco to rush to your feet. you hurriedly exited the room as draco mumbled a “sorry professor.”

you and draco ran down the hall, hardly able to contain your laughter when you entered the common room.

sitting on the couches before you and draco were pansy and blaise, who wore amused looks upon draco’s and your appearance.

“nice jumper, y/n.” blaise wiggled his eyebrows at the two of you when you and draco finally realized what was going on. “they did this on purpose, didn’t they?” draco spoke up beside you.

“I’m gonna get those little gits.” you ran straight for pansy as she yelped and ran towards the dorms, you following straight behind her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the following day at breakfast, pansy was fangirling over the sight of you two walking down the hall hand in hand. “mission accomplished, blaise! you were actually a good partner, we should do it again sometime. ooo how about daphne and theo?”

truth be told, you were glad blaise and pansy had done that as it allowed you and draco to realize your feelings for one another.

what you did not like, was the fact that pansy and blaise had the audacity to take credit for your relationship with draco. and while it may be true, you would never admit it to them out loud.

[helnjk]

The Only Twin - G.W.

George Weasley x fem!reader

Requested: yes

hey! could you do prompt 31 and 34 from prompt list #1? 🙏🏼✨ maybe where the reader is with either Fred or George and the one that is not the boyfriend walks in on her or something like that^^💕

“oi! that’s my girlfriend”

“it’s nothing, don’t worry about it” “you walked in on me naked!” 

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: none! 

A/N: aaaa i don’t know how i feel about this one 🙈

Prompts are in bold

- 

The sky over Devon was a brilliant blue, not a cloud in sight. The sun shone brightly and you had to squint slightly if you wanted to be extra aware of your surroundings. 

“Watch it!” You yelled, narrowly avoiding a bludger that flew towards you at an alarming pace. 

“Sorry, Y/N! All’s fair!” Came the reply of your boyfriend, who winked at you before flipping his beater’s bat and catching it again. Then just as quickly as he had come, he zoomed away to the other side of the makeshift pitch.  

“Show off,” You muttered under your breath with a roll of your eyes, but you focused back on the match at hand. 

You, along with the twins, Ginny, Ron, and Harry were playing a friendly game of Quidditch above the fields surrounding the Burrow. Hermione had opted to sit this one out, and was reading something or other under the shade of a nearby tree.

Your parents had actually allowed you to spend a few weeks with your boyfriend and his family over the summer, so you were making the most out of it. 

“Don’t worry about it, Y/L/N.” Fred said as he flew to where you were hovering, “I’m here and I’m more than capable of protecting you from the wrath of George’s bludgers!”

Somehow, without unseating you or himself, he threw his arm around your shoulders and flexed the other one jokingly. 

“My hero,” You drawled sarcastically, but made no move to pull away. 

“Oi! That’s my girlfriend! Lay off and get back to the game!” George’s shout could be heard from across the field. 

The both of you laughed and you shook your head, grabbing Fred’s arm and removing it from your shoulder, “C’mon, you heard the man. We have a game to win!” 

Your eyes sweeped the playing field once again, looking out for that glint of gold telling you where the Snitch was. Just in the edges of your peripheral vision, you saw Harry hovering a few feet away from you, hands gripping on tight to his Firebolt. 

Because the group of you had lacked players, each team had no keeper. Ginny and Ron played as the chasers, constantly trying to keep their hands on the makeshift quaffle. You could hear Ginny’s fiery jeers whenever she would manage to get the ball out of Ron’s hands and into the goal. 

The team you were in with Ginny and Fred had successfully stayed in the lead for quite some time now, and you could tell everyone was starting to get a bit tired. Thankfully, a little flicker of gold just above the canopy of trees caught your eye and you were off. Harry, who had been just a tad bit distracted by the little pair of shorts and thin tank top Ginny was wearing, hadn’t noticed immediately when you zoomed towards your goal. 

By the time he heard Ron yelling to stop staring at my sister and catch the damn Snitch, Harry, don’t be a git!, you were more than halfway between him and the prize. 

A laugh escaped your lips when your fingers wrapped around the tiny winged ball and you could hear Ginny and Fred’s whoops of victory. 

“Take that, Georgie!” You said, sticking your tongue out at him as you make your descent and successfully land on the ground. 

“Brilliant, Y/N!” Ginny cheered, landing smoothly beside you. 

“Yeah right on, mate,” Ron panted soon after, “Was getting too knackered to keep going, I reckon.” 

You laughed shaking your head, “All in a day’s work, Ronniekins.” 

He rolled his eyes at the twins’ nickname for him that you had adopted as well, but said nothing in reply. You felt George throw his arm around you a moment later and press a sweaty kiss onto your equally sweaty forehead. 

Your nose wrinkled, “Gross, George.” 

“So I can’t show affection to my girlfriend now is that it?” He joked as the two of you made your way back to the house. 

It was your turn to roll your eyes, “Not when she’s all sweaty and you stink!” 

“You wound me!” With a dramatic sigh, the redhead pretended to swoon and pressed his hand to his chest, “How will I ever survive this?” 

“When you’ve had a decent shower and a fresh change of clothes, you dork.” 

By that time, the lot of you had made it back inside the Burrow and were eyeing the others suspiciously. With only one bathroom to share between the six of you, it was going to be a race to see who could get to it first and take most of the hot water. 

 Being used to this routine by now, and having spent enough time with the twins, you caught the rest of them by surprise and nearly knocked Harry over in your bid to get to the bathroom first.

“Oi!” Was all you heard before you closed the door behind you. 

Clean and feeling refreshed after the shower, you quickly gathered your things. The steam coming from the bathroom spilled out into the hallway as you made your way to the room you were sharing with Ginny and Hermione. Wrapped only in a towel, you tried to be as quick as possible, pulling out anything you could find from your bag of clothes. 

You were still too slow, however, when you heard “Ginny have you seen–” 

A shriek of surprise escaped your lips as you turned around to see Fred halfway through the door, looking like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Get out Fred!” You nearly yelled, clutching your towel closer to your body, “Ginny’s not here!”

“Sorry, sorry!” He quickly averted his eyes and rushed out of the room, ears tinged pink. 

You groaned softly into your hands at what had just happened. You knew that you were never going to hear the end of this, not when it was Fred that walked in on you. Shaking your head, you managed to get some proper clothes on before gathering enough courage to head down to where everyone was. 

“Hey gorgeous,” George greeted you as you sat on the couch beside him. 

Fred, who was seated on the floor playing a game of exploding snap with Harry, looked up at you and wriggled his eyebrows. You said nothing, only burying your face in George’s chest and groaning. 

“What’s going on then?” He asked, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it, Georgie.” Fred replied for you, his eyes not leaving the intense game. 

That caused a reaction in you and you sat up, “Nothing? You walked in on me naked!”

“What!” George cried. 

“You weren’t naked, you had a towel on. And I left right away!” 

With another groan, you fell back onto George’s body and buried your face at the crook of his neck this time. You could feel the slight tremors in his body as he tried to hold in his laugh, which only made you blush harder and beg the ground to swallow you up even more. 

“Stop laughing,” You mumbled, your voice muffled.

“Don't worry, darling,” He whispered in your ear, “I’m the only twin who really gets to see you naked.” 

“George!” 

[cryingoverafictionalcharacter]

Prompt: Veritaserum is one of the most powerful potions in the wizarding world, a few drops able to make the one who takes it to reveal their deepest secrets with no hesitation. So of course Fred and George learn how to make it for a prank, however it quickly backfires when they test it out on Y/N, who happens to have a crush on the older Weasley twin.

Warnings: swearing? Kind of angsty for like two seconds, That’s it really.

A/N: Sorry I haven’t written in so long, finals are kicking my ass and I barely have time to myself anymore. That being said, I hope you enjoy! This idea has been rattling around my brain for a while.

You sat in the Gryffindor common room, sipping hot coco and enjoying the rare silence as you read a book. You had just gotten to the end of your chapter when a pair of red haired boys walked in, interrupting your solitude.

“Hello Y/N” George greeted you, sitting in the open spot next to you, George following his movements on the other side of you.

“What do you want?” You asked, not looking up from your book. You could tell by Fred's’ tone that he was planning something, and you had no interest in being a part of it.

“Now dear Y/N, why do you think we want something from you?” Fred asked, having a very similar expression to his brother.

Instead of replying you simply gave Fred a look as if to ask ‘do I look stupid?’ Fred got the message and his face shifted from a fake casual look to a smile.

“You know us so well” He laughed, causing you to shake your head and close your book.

“Unfortunately” You sighed, putting your book to the side to give the boys your full attention.

In fact, you did know the twins well, almost better than they knew themselves. You had met them in your first year, and when you were sorted into Gryffindor, the three of you became inseparable, in fact, you were one of the only people who were able to tell them apart. However, you couldn’t deny that you and Fred spent a bit more time together, whether it be in class or on the quidditch pitch, you were constantly making each other smile and laugh, and you knew you could tell him anything. Well, except for the fact that you also happened to have a massive crush on him since fourth year. That would remain a secret.

You watched as the boys moved to sit on the couch across from you, now facing you with a similar smile on their faces.

“We have what could quite possibly be, the best prank in Hogwarts history” George said, trying to sell you on their idea, which you still haven't heard.

“What would you say” Fred started “if you could ask Snape any question you wanted. Anything from test answers to the color of his underwear-”

“Eww” You interrupted

“Exactly! The blackmail potential, the humiliation, the revenge. What would you say?” George finished looking at you.

“I would say you’ve both lost your marbles. Snape hardly speaks let alone confesses those types of things” You said

“But what if... We had a way to make sure he did” Fred asked.

You finally put the pieces together, your jaw dropping to the floor. “How did you-”

“Snape has a book of rare spells and potions” George started

“And we checked it out for the weekend” Fred finished.

“So you stole it” You stated

“More like borrowed, for educational purposes” Fred argued

“Its all set up. We’ll sneak it into his pumpkin juice before class, spread out the word and by second period tomorrow, we’ll have gotten revenge from all the torment. All you need to do, is make sure the potion works” George said, making your eyes widen.

“I’m not taking that!” You practically yelled. You trusted the boys to not ask you any questions that were too personal, that being said, there was still a lot of room for embarrassment, or for the potion to go completely wrong.

“Oh come on Y/N, worst case scenario it doesn’t work” George defended, but Fred could tell you still weren’t convinced.

“Hey” Fred said, leaning forward and gently grabbing your hand, squeezing it comfortingly “I promise we wouldn’t ask if there were risks that could hurt you”

You were to focused on containing the butterflies that had erupted in your stomach from Fred’s touch to notice how George looked between the two of you, or how he suddenly seemed to have an idea.

“Ok fine” You said, causing the two boys to cheer, before George turned and dug out a small glass vial from his bag.

“Two drops should do the trick” George said, adding a few drops of the liquid into your drink from earlier. 

You picked up the drink and eyed it, considering backing out but the thought of finally getting back at Snape for humiliating you, and so many others took over. Taking a breath, you finished your drink and set down the mug.

“How long until it starts working?” You asked after a few seconds, not feeling any different.

“It should take effect immediately” Fred said, looking at you for any sign of discomfort or change in mood. “What’s two plus two?”

“Four” You said

“You need to ask better questions than that! Something to prove she can only tell the truth” George said, turning his attention back to you “How old where you when you had your first kiss?”

“Fourteen” You said, surprised at how the words seemed to tumble out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“What’s your most embarrassing story from Hogwarts?” Fred asked

“I once accidentally called Professor McGonagall mom in front of the entire class in first year... fuck you weren't supposed to know about that. Stop asking embarrassing questions you git!” You yelled at the older red head, who simply laughed and shook his head.

“No, I think this is quite fun actually” He said, before George continued.

The questions went on for a few minutes, asking you things from what your favorite color was, to the worst date you’ve ever been on, but finally, the two red heads seemed convinced.

“Alright, it seems like its working” George started, but the glint in his eye showed that he wasn’t quite finished yet. “Who do you have a crush on?”

You couldn’t cover your mouth fast enough. You couldn’t think to run away before the name was tumbling from your lips. You couldn’t do anything but sit and watch in horror, as you answered the question.

“Fred Weasley”

The room went dead silent, the only sound coming from the clock in the corner of the room. 

“Y/N I-” Fred started, but you stood up and ran out of the room before he could say anything else.

“I knew it!” George shouted with glee once you were out of earshot, causing Fred to whip his gaze to glare at his brother.

“George what the fuck!” Fred yelled, anger evident in his voice.

“What? You’ve been pining over her like a sad puppy for over a year. Now you finally know” George defended, watching as his older brother quickly stood to follow you.

You had ran as fast as you could, weaving through students and running through corridors before you finally found yourself sitting at a hidden spot by the black lake, finally letting the tears you had been fighting go.

You had liked Fred since fourth year. You had been yelled at in front of the whole class, and were so humiliated you skipped the rest of the school day. Fred had found you, and talked with you all day, making you laugh and smile, not leaving until you finally felt better.

Ever since then your feelings grew. This last summer, you had spent the summer at the Weasley’s and found it a bit hard to sleep one night. You had gone outside to watch the stars, and Fred had joined you. You spend hours talking about life, your futures, your friendships, and at one point, he had looked at you in a way that made you wonder if maybe your feelings weren't one sided. Now you could see that wasn’t the case.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching you. Without looking up, you already knew it was Fred. You were now sitting with your knees pulled into your chest, your chin resting on the tops of your knees as you looked out at the water.

“This spot taken?” Fred asked, motioning to the spot beside you. You didn’t answer, just shook your head, giving the boy permission to take a seat next to you.

“The potion should have worn off by now, so you shouldn’t have to worry about it anymore” Fred said softly, as if not to spook you.

“You don’t have to do this you know” You mumbles, still refusing to meet Fred’s eyes, who were now looking at you with confusion.

“Do what?” He asked

“Try and make me feel better. I know were friends and everything, but I know you don't feel the same way, and I’d really rather just be alone then pretend everything is ok between us.” You said, trying not to let anymore tears fall.

Fred heard these words and felt his heart break. Fred, unknown to you, had also shared your feelings. Your smile could light up any room. You were so unconditionally kind to everyone you met. Your laugh was his favorite sound, and he had made it his goal to try and hear it as often as possible. He had been trying to drop hints, flirtatious comments, or small gestures, and that one night at the burrow, where you were under the stars, he thought he had finally made it clear how he felt. Apparently not, and he didn’t want to waste any more time trying to be subtle.

“See, now I know the potion isn’t working anymore” Fred chuckled, causing you to look at him with a confused expression.

“What?” You asked

“I do feel the same way” Fred said softly

“Fred... you don’t have to say it if you don't-” You started

“Hold on” Fred interrupted, digging through his pocket and pulling out the same small vial from earlier, before tilting his head back and taking a swig. “Now ask me”

“Oh my god, Fred I-” You asked.

“Ask me who I have a crush on” Fred said simply.

“Fine... Who do you have a crush on Fred?” You asked quietly, almost afraid of what the answer would be.

“Y/N L/N” Fred answered, like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

“You do?” You asked, a smile forming onto your lips.

“Yes” He replied, a smile growing across his face as well.

“Well why do you like me?” You asked, a hint of teasing to your voice.

“Well, you’re beautiful, you’re the funniest person I’ve ever met, you are so kind to everyone you meet, you’re super smart, you have a great ass- wait fuck that wasn’t supposed to come out” Fred said, about to continue but you kept him from going on by finally closing the space between you and pressing your lips to his.

Fred responded instantly, smiling into the kiss before moving his hands to your waist, while yours went to hold his face. You stayed like this for a moment, moving in sync with each other before finally pulling away for air.

“Told you I liked you back” Fred said, making you laugh before re connecting your lips but only for a moment.

“So I’m the funniest person you’ve ever met?” You asked.

“Yes... hey not fair!” Fred complained, making you laugh once again.

“Ok ok fine” You said, allowing Fred to reconnect your lips once again, before breaking away again.

“You think I have a great ass?”

“Yes- Y/N!”

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A/N: Hiiiii! I hope you guys enjoyed! I’ll hopefully be writing more in the future since the school semester is slowing down a bit, but until then check out my other work if you want or leave a request. Thank you all for reading!