#can i get a 'FUCK THE GAUNT FAMILY'

[shadowtriovibes]

waiting for the gift of sound and vision

Pairing: Gen (Ominis Gaunt & MC & Sebastian Sallow)

Rating: G

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: request: Could I request Ominis showing a blind muggleborn reader (MC or not your choice) how to navigate with their wand and they show him how to use their cane in return?"

“Truthfully, there aren’t very many of us,” Ominis tells him ruefully. “But I suppose you must have felt very lonely not knowing that there others like you and me at Hogwarts. Are you a first-year, Bennet?” Bennet answers, “Yes. My parents are Muggles, and – and when they found out I have magic, they thought maybe…” He trails off, and Ominis feels the bed shift slightly as the boy kicks his feet anxiously.

It’s barely one week into his sixth year when Ominis finds himself resignedly making his way to the hospital wing.

Of course, he’d just found a peaceful corner of the common room where he could start to work on his first Potions essay of the year without the dictation quill getting confused by a roomful of voices when a soft-spoken second-year student shyly approaches him.

“Yes?” he asks somewhat tersely.

The student, evidently not expecting the blind heir of Slytherin to have noticed her approaching, flinches.

“M-my apologies, Mister Gaunt, sir,” she stammers. “It’s just that, er…”

He sighs softly and puts his quill to the side. He recognizes the girl’s voice from when Nerida had proudly introduced her as her younger sister after the Sorting Ceremony.

“Please, Emmeline,” he sighs softly. “You don’t need to call me ‘sir’ or ‘mister,’ I’m not a professor.”

Nor am I any of my brothers, he thinks bitterly, knowing that they absolutely would have expected a naive young student such as her to show a certain level of deference.

“A-alright, Ominis,” she says softly. “Um, Sebastian Sallow asked me to come find you and tell you that he’s being looked after by Nurse Blainey, and to please bring him the library books by his bed.”

Ominis frowns. “Was he asking you to bring them, or me?”

Emmeline quietly giggles and admits, “Actually, I’m not sure. But I can take them, it’s no problem.”

Smirking, Ominis reaches for his dictation quill and tucks it back into his school bag, along with his untouched parchment. He will not allow his best friend to take advantage of all the schoolgirls with crushes who’ve taken to following him around since the start of term.

“Thank you, Emmeline,” Ominis tells her. “I can take Sebastian his books. In any case, I’d like to learn for myself what nonsense he’s gotten into this time.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, sounding a touch disappointed.

“Yes,” he answers, finally offering her a kind smile. “Go on then, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of Charms homework to attend to.”

Emmeline quickly scurries off while Ominis returns to his dormitory and gathers the books Sebastian had left in a haphazard pile on his bedside table. Given that they haven’t been charmed into Braille, he isn’t exactly sure which books he’s picked up. However, since Sebastian hadn’t been specific, he suspects they aren’t textbooks but rather library books he’s taken out for his own research.

(Though none of them have that unsettling, electric feeling that Salazar Slytherin’s spellbook had when Ominis had first touched it, so he has no reservations about delivering them.)

Ominis gathers the books in the crook of one arm and navigates to the south wing with his wand pointed in front of him. Even if he hadn’t thoroughly memorized the layout of Hogwarts castle by now, his wand still proves to be exceptionally useful in avoiding collisions with distracted students, meddling poltergeists, and even the occasional wall that simply wasn’t there the day before.

When Ominis eventually arrives at the infirmary, he’s pleased to discover that he won’t have to deliver a lecture to Sebastian, seeing as you’ve already got quite the head start.

“Honestly, Seb, you’ve got to be more careful!” he hears you sigh.

“Me?!” he exclaims indignantly. “I’m not the one who decided to bring Fire Crabs to class on the very first week of school!”

“Fire Crabs are O.W.L. standard, Sebastian,” you argue. “Maybe if you hadn’t skipped Beasts so many times last year, you would have remembered how to pick one up without… that happening.”

Ominis can’t see Sebastian’s injuries, but having grown up in the Gaunt household means that he’s unfortunately familiar with the smell of burnt flesh.

“I hear you’ve already started without me,” Ominis says cheekily as he drops Sebastian’s books at the foot of his bed. “Tell me, how serious is it this time? Are we going to lose him?”

“Piss off,” Sebastian drawls tiredly.

“He’s going to be fine in a few hours,” you quickly tell Ominis. “He’s got burns all over his arms from Howin’s Fire Crabs, but Blainey practically dunked him in Dittany salve so he’s just got to stitch up again, essentially.”

Ominis winces. “How colorful.”

“I see you brought my books,” Sebastian observes, pleased. “Cheers.”

“I couldn’t very well let Emmeline do it, could I?” Ominis asks derisively. “Really, Sebastian? Taking advantage of the little ones with crushes, are we?”

“Sebastian Sallow!” you exclaim. “Did you ask Nerida’s sister to fetch your books for you while I stepped away for five minutes?”

“N-no, I definitely meant for Ominis to do it!” Sebastian protests.

Ominis sighs tiredly. Knowing Sebastian, the truth is that he probably didn’t much care how his books wound up in his hands, as long as he had something to occupy his mind.

“Love, I swear,” Sebastian says softly. “Please don’t be mad.”

Ominis listens while you take a slow, even breath, and then you murmur, “Well, I suppose you’ve already been sufficiently punished for being a prat today.”

“That’s fair enough,” he agrees quickly.

Ominis tunes out slightly while Sebastian attempts to coax you into staying and reading to him since he can’t very well hold his books in his bandaged hands. That’s when he first realizes that the three of you aren’t alone in the infirmary.

At the opposite end of the room, someone is crying – the childlike kind of cries that usually come from a twisted ankle or a skinned knee.

“Who’s that over there at the end?” Ominis asks softly, distracting you from Sebastian’s placating.

“Oh, that’s Emmeline’s new friend, Bennet,” you murmur. “She was in here with him when we arrived, but he doesn’t look that hurt.”

You trail off apologetically, and Ominis understands that you were probably too distracted by Sebastian’s burns to have paid much attention to why the small boy was currently sitting on one of the infirmary beds.

With a cursory wave of his wand, Ominis deduces that the figure in Nurse Blainey’s office must be the matron herself. He also realizes that the boy is entirely alone.

“I’ll go have a word with him,” Ominis tells you quietly. “He shouldn’t have to sit all by himself.”

You wordlessly pull Ominis into a quick one-armed hug while Sebastian proudly murmurs, “Go on, mate. That’s very kind of you.”

Wand outstretched, Ominis carefully makes his way over to the small boy so as not to scare him.

“Hello,” he calls out softly. “Are you alright?”

The boy flinches, startled. However, he doesn’t look up.

“S-sorry?” he asks in a young, high voice. “Who’s there?”

Lowering his wand, he introduces himself. “Are you Bennet? I’m Ominis Gaunt. I’m a sixth-year, and those are my friends over there. Do you see?”

From a few beds away, you gently wave over at Bennet and Sebastian nods with a pained-looking grimace.

“...N-no,” the boy whispers. “I can’t see.”

For a moment, Ominis is horrified. What sort of Potions mishap or Charms practice gone wrong could have resulted in this poor boy losing his sight?!

…But then he realizes.

Unbeknownst to him, leaning next to Bennet’s bed is one of the long, white canes that he’s heard of blind Muggles using to navigate the world around them. You hadn’t noticed it earlier in your distraction, and even if Sebastian had, he wouldn’t have understood what it was for.

“You can’t see, hmm?” Ominis asks softly, gently taking a seat on the bed next to the boy. “...Would you like to know something?”

“W-what?” Bennet whimpers, slightly bracing himself.

“I can’t see, either,” Ominis tells him. “I’m blind. Are you blind too?”

Bennet swallows nervously and admits, “Yes. I… I didn’t know there were other people like me here.”

Merlin’s beard, Ominis feels gutted for this boy.

“Truthfully, there aren’t very many of us,” Ominis tells him ruefully. “But I suppose you must have felt very lonely not knowing that there others like you and me at Hogwarts. Are you a first-year, Bennet?”

Bennet answers, “Yes. My parents are Muggles, and – and when they found out I have magic, they thought maybe…”

He trails off, and Ominis feels the bed shift slightly as the boy kicks his feet anxiously.

“Well, I’m sure that Nurse Blainey has told you by now that magic can’t be used to restore sight for those like us who’ve never had it,” Ominis says carefully.

Bennet doesn’t answer, but Ominis hears him sniffle sadly.

Softly, he rests his hand on the middle of the boy’s back. He gently rubs in small circles, like how his aunt had done for him when he was a young boy.

All at once, he remembers how utterly adrift he’d felt at Bennet’s age. Before coming to Hogwarts, he’d felt hopelessly lost in his world. All around him were people that possessed sight, possessed magic… He recalls hoping he’d be gifted with both someday, and then eventually hoping he’d at least achieve the latter.

But so many of them had also all possessed a sort of cruelty that he hoped would never take root inside him the way he’d observed with his parents, and later his brothers.

“But,” Ominis continues. “Magic is very special nonetheless. It can offer ways of… of perceiving that isn’t exactly sight, but can come quite close.”

“Nurse Blainey told me that,” Bennet mumbles grumpily. “It’s like my cane.”

“Your cane?” Ominis repeats. “Is that something you used in the Muggle world?”

“I still have it,” Bennet tells him, feeling around for where he’d left the cane propped against the bedpost.

Bennet leans it toward Ominis for him to feel. Ominis reaches out a hand and traces his fingertips along the smooth, cool surface of the thin cane. It feels… lifeless, honestly. He wonders how in Merlin’s name a young man like Bennet is supposed to use something like this to find his way in the wizarding world.

Then he taps it gently on the ground and feels how it vibrates against the stone floor.

Bennet explains, “It’s supposed to help me not trip or get lost, but…”

The boy sighs, sounding as world-weary as a wizard ten times his age.

“Ah,” Ominis says, chuckling softly. “I think I understand, though I do question how useful something like this would be in a place like Hogwarts.”

“Why do the stairs have to change so often?” Bennet whines. “And some of the doors are portraits. They don’t even have a doorknob! How am I supposed to know when I’m at a door or when I’m just talking to an empty frame?”

“Oh, Bennet,” Ominis says, fighting back an actual laugh. “Believe me, I understand completely.”

After a few moments of silence, Bennet asks him, “Do you have a cane?”

“No,” Ominis answers him. “I’ve never had anything like that, actually.”

In fact, Ominis rather wishes he could have had a cane like Bennet’s when he was a child. Before that fateful day at Ollivander’s with his aunt Noctua, he’d developed a regrettable habit of walking virtually anywhere with his hands gently outstretched, hoping that he’d brush his fingertips against any obstructions before running face-first into them.

(His parents hadn’t wanted him to have any sort of navigational aid that would make him “look like a Muggle,” and he’d been too young for a wand of his own. He hadn’t even been taught Braille until Professor Weasley had taken him aside and shown him how to transfigure his textbooks into textured, raised text that she quickly learned he was unable to read.)

“Then how do you…?” Bennet asks him warily.

Ominis twirls his wand in his long fingers. “Would you like me to show you?”

Bennet holds a hand out expectantly, bumping up against Ominis’ own. In that moment he feels a sort of warmth spread through his body. It’s as if he’s met someone for the first time who speaks the same language as him – one he’d never wanted to learn, one he’d fought so hard against for so long no less.

“This is my wand,” Ominis explains to him in a soft voice. “I’ve had this wand since the summer before my first year of school.”

“I’ve got a wand,” Bennet tells him.

“Did you get it from Ollivander’s shop in London?” Ominis asks, and Bennet hums affirmatively. “Well, you may remember that Mister Ollivander said that each wand ‘chooses’ its witch or wizard, and when you treat your wand correctly, it becomes your best friend.”

(Ominis distinctly remembers those exact words; he’d never had a best friend before.)

“I only know how to do a few things with mine,” Bennet admits. “I can make a feather float and I can turn my books into Braille, but only a few pages at a time.”

“That’s quite impressive for only having been at Hogwarts for a week,” Ominis tells him as he gently bumps his shoulder against the smaller boy’s. “But maybe I can show you something that helps me most of all.”

“Is it like seeing?” Bennet asks eagerly.

“It’s… well, I’m not really sure,” Ominis tells him slowly. “I tell my friends that it’s probably a lot like seeing, but the truth is that I simply wouldn’t know. However, it does help me avoid walking into walls anymore.”

Bennet perks up. “Please. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s better than the cane.”

Ominis wraps Bennet’s hand tighter around the handle of his wand and murmurs, “Apparere Adumbratio.”

The tip of Ominis’ wand starts to emanate a pulsating red light, and both Bennet and Ominis are overcome with the sensation of figures springing to life around them. The rows of empty beds appear first, including Sebastian’s prone form lazily lounging on a pile of pillows. Then the boys can make out where you’re seated next to him as you softly read aloud from one of his library books. Outlines of side tables, privacy curtains, and even the Hufflepuff prefect keeping watch just outside the doorway add further definition to the room.

Ominis has tried to describe what he “sees” to Sebastian and Anne countless times as a child, and most of the time it’s futile. Though he’s learned what color means to sighted witches or wizards, having no frame of reference himself he can’t say whether what he senses is in color or not. He suspects not, as magic can be ruthlessly efficient at times, and he has no need for it.

He can’t read words like this, either. While he can make out the shape of a book, its markings remain undecipherable and unrendered in his perception.

And as for people, they tend to largely look the same. The spell calls forth a mere outline – precisely what he needs to understand where in space a person is. The things that make them unique – perfume scents, apparel textures, their voices, their manners – are all things he can take in with his other senses.

Whenever he’s discussed it in the past, Ominis had often felt like he wasn’t able to adequately describe how valuable this spell has been when it comes off as being quite limited.

But as soon as Bennet gasps, he knows that this boy beside him understands.

“Wh-what… oh, wow,” he whispers. “It’s… it’s like – everything is here, I can tell where everything is!”

“It helps, doesn’t it?” Ominis murmurs. “Like I said, it’s not perfect, but –”

“It’s amazing,” Bennet breathes. “I… I can tell that’s Nurse Blainey over there. I can hear the potion bottles she’s got in her hands, and – and your friend, she’s reading from a book! She’s holding it!”

Ominis listens happily while Bennet excitedly narrates the rest of the room.

“...Can I do this with my own wand?” the younger boy eventually asks him.

“I should think so,” Ominis tells him. “You’ll need to practice, though. It’s not an easy charm.”

“I will,” Bennet murmurs to himself. “I’ll practice, I’ll become so good at it.”

“I’d be happy to help you,” Ominis says. “I didn’t have anyone to help me, so… it might be easier if you have a friend.”

“You’d be my friend?” Bennet asks hopefully.

“Of course,” Ominis tells him, pretending not to notice how his voice has become a little thick. “It would be my pleasure, Bennet.”

[mvrkieboo]

Old Bloodhounds

P49 | then don't fucking go

You were nervous to say the least. Parting with everyone else took a lot out of you, yes, but with Soyeon it was…going to absolutely break you. Back when you were still a highschool senior, Soyeon had been your foster mother up until you were officially a college student. In fact, you actually considered her a mother figure in your life.

It was why you pushed back this parting the most.

Soyeon arrived with your favorite drink and meal that wasn't even available as a menu for the cafe. How did she know you haven't eaten your lunch yet? It was already 3 p.m. Most people wouldn't have bothered serving them past 2 o’clock without being asked to first.

You didn't want to do this.

“How have you been?” Her gentle voice prodded your defenses, making your shoulders slump.

“...I'm managing, auntie.” You answered simply, prodding the food with a fork.

“I've met your brother, a wonderful young man, and I noticed your dimples resemble his. You're such a lucky girl, aren't you? Now that Yuno's back, you have three older brothers in your family. Geonwoo and Woojin already treat him like he's one of you.” Soyeon cooed, and her words made you pause, your fork in mid air above the meal.

You recovered though, resuming your meal.

“Haven't you heard? I've moved out of the condo, and they're not really talking to me now. I get the sense they don't even like me anymore.” In front of everyone, you could act like you didn't care.

But there were two people you couldn't stand lying to. You were capable of lying to them, but it would be a lousy job—because you're falling apart already.

Soyeon and your dad.

Her right hand reached across the table, holding your face delicately. You were sure Geonwoo had told her what you did to them, so why? Why was she still so fond of you? Why was she still so open with her love for you? You couldn't help it and focused your eyes on her, facing her directly. Her thumb stroked upon your face, at the distended cheeks, your mouth still full of food, and it made you swallow the contents of your mouth. She looked so heartbroken over you.

“You don't get to push me away, Y/N. I'll forever be your mother for as long as I live—and as long as I'm still your mother, those boys will always be your brothers.” As she looked at your face more clearly, she noted there were attempts in veiling just how tired you are; with the heavy concealer to cover up your eyebags, your hair seeming thinner than usual—and your face seeming more gaunt than before.

“What's wrong, sweetie? Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to push us away? Did we do something wrong? Why aren't you coming to the party tonight?” At her onslaught of questions, you finally broke down, dropping down the cutleries so your hands could cover your face, to shield her from the tears you were shedding.

Your locket felt heavier than usual, and there was phantom pressure on your nape, as if reminding you that Yoonsu was always watching over you.

“No, it's me. I'm the wrong one, but I can't help it, auntie. Junyoung, he’s my whole world, he had been my rock—and now he's lonely, so he needs me more than ever. I have to be there for him, always. So it's not like I want to push you away, but I can't be apart from him.” You sobbed, placing your hands on the table so she could hold on to it.

“Then what about your brothers, Y/N? What about your other friends? I don't care for how long you'll go without talking to me, because I'm your mother no matter what—but they—friends and siblings can be a little more selfish than a parent. They want you around, always, so they know that they're your needed person too. So what about them, sweetie?” She asked you without the accusatory tone. She was just worried for you, and her genuine concern broke your heart even harder.

“You said it yourself, they're a little more selfish than you'll ever be, but I've made my peace. I don't blame them, and I don't want to bother them anymore. The damage is done.” You sobered up a little bit, taking a sip of your drink.

You saw how Soyeon deflated, and that's when you knew the damage done had turned irreparable. Now even she believed you wanted nothing to do with them anymore so you could completely become Yoonsu's sole needed person, but it still hurt. You'd always need them, you were always yearning for them, but Yoonsu would never allow you to let anyone in your life hope for your return. Unfortunately for you, that included the woman you could shamelessly call your mother.

But this was only making your vendetta against Yoonsu stronger, and you needed this. You needed the drive in making this revenge work.

“Take care of Yuno for me. It's been a long time since he had a mother figure in his life, and tell him I'm happy for him. Bye, mom.” You spoke rather quietly, before getting up from the table and abruptly leaving the cafe.

As you walked down the street, you realised you had finally cut off the last person in your life that still hoped for your return.

Now you're finally all alone.

Then your blood ran cold.

You're finally alone now.

There's only one last step left in Yoonsu's plan for you.

To kill you.

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A/N : :))))) triple update complete!

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

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[jube-art]

Would you...make more...JJ art? 🥺👉👈

sure! lmao :) a fic snippet under the cut!

Cassie breathes out, the fire inside of her makes it cloud up in the cold mountain air. She grounds herself, trying to think back on all that her Aunty Diana taught her, about containing her anger, about keeping things manageable and not lashing out at the people around her.

It’s not Cassies fault that anger runs in her family.

Deemed just a bit too ‘rough’ for the regular teen titans, she’s been given an address to go to for a team meet-up that would “fit her deposition” better.

(That the teen titans wouldn’t have a name attached too.)

It’s an old Justice League base, up here in upstate New York just outside of the Catskills and she’s just a little early. Not terribly early she doesn’t think, just about fifteen minutes from the official meeting time.

She knocks on the disguised door, the official teen titans stationary in her hands tell her exactly how to knock and where.

Sure enough, the rock wall opens up, creaking with disuse, yawning a gaping doorway into darkness.

“This is a bad idea.” She tells herself, the words make more of that cloudy air puff around her, but she moves forward into the dark anyway.

The first thing she sees is Nightwing.

Robin is here too, helping him with something just out of sight.

Involuntarily she relaxes a bit. Nobody doesn’t know who Nightwing is, he was the one who handed her the little piece of paper in the first place, telling her to come here. “Hello?”

“Oh!” Nightwing turns, shoving what he was working on down underneath the table. Robin keeps working. “Wondergirl! You’re a little early! Hello!”

Oh god. Did Cassie mess up? Should she have arrived on time? Damn it, mom, she should have left when she wanted to-!

“Welcome!” Nightwing instantly is all charming smiles and a brilliantly handsome face. He moves forward, leaving Robin to continue what he was doing. “I’m glad you decided to take a chance on this little project we wanted to start up.”

Cassie really didn’t have much of a choice did she? It was either this last ditch sort of reject project that she had no information on or it was ‘don’t be a hero’

“We’re just waiting on the other three to be ready.” Nightwing is still talking, still with that relaxed tone and smile. “They should be getting here soon. Do you want some water? We have cookies too-“

Robin jerks back. “Don’t bite me you little shit!”

Nightwing’s smile freezes on his face, awkward. “Ignore him. He’s getting one of the participants on board for this little subgroup.”

Cassie regrets everything. She’s gonna be working with somebody who bites? Who bites like a fucking child? Who is feral?!

Cassie’s all for fighting, all for war, but she’s also all for strategy, it’s in her blood. It’s apart of her power. She can’t deal with anything that’s little more than a feral beast-

Robin yanks around, bringing with him-

The boy is Cassie’s age. Black hair, a black mask over his eyes that can be nothing but one of Batman’s sort. He’s got a thick heavy and large cape on, black, going down to his ankles, pushing away from Robin with a sneer.

He’s sort of cute.

Pale face filled with freckles, thin and gaunt, a little taller than most boys Cassie’s age.

Is this- is this the new Robin?!

Cassie’s expectations of the group go way up.

“Hello?” Another voice comes from behind Cassie, causing her to turn and-

Oh my gods!

That’s! That’s Lex Luthor’s son! Dressed sharp in a form fitting leather jacket with skinny jeans and his signature thick sunglasses.

He’s got powers?!

“Ah! Superboy, so glad to see you-“

“I would rather not be called that.” The boy cuts off Nightwing, a sour expression on his face. “I would rather not be associated with that parent.”

Cassie’s mind is getting blown right now. What. What is going on?! Who is on this team?!

“Of course. I understand completely.” Nightwing’s still speaking for the bats. It looks like the older, still in the traditional uniform Robin is maneuvering the new guy to be front and center. “We’ll make a note of that going forward. Is there anything specific that you’d like to be called for now?”

The boy- superman’s son?!- just sort of looks sad now. Now that it’s been brought to attention, Cassie can’t see anybody but a younger version of Superman looking up from a punk’s face. “If I get one, I’ll let you know.”

The older Robin taps out some kind of pattern on Nightwing’s shoulder, and Nightwing taps one backwards onto Robin’s arm. They understand each other perfectly, as the older, traditional Robin goes ahead and leaves, headed to a side room with the label above it ‘Zeta’.

The new, strange, Robin (because who else is this?) sticks himself into Nightwing’s side.

The Superman … child (how?!) cocks his head at the behavior, the new Robin and him get into a weird stand off, eyes wide and unblinking. Creepy.

“Now we only have one more to wait on.” Nightwing tells the group at large. “Then after introductions we’ll discuss sort of what we have in mind for this group moving forward, and training both physically and mentally to help with both working as a team and working on handling what it takes to be a-

The concussive boom from outside makes Cassie’s ears pop. She winces at the sound, so does the kid of Superman

The bat’s both flinch, full body, jerking away physically from the noise.

The little new Robin way, way worse than Nightwing. Clinging onto Nightwing physically, off the ground and like a koala.

“That’s gonna be Impulse.” Nightwing sighs. “I thought Flash told me that they had stopped breaking the sound barrier-“

He sort of mumbles off, and the group waits a few beats in strange silence. When nothing happens for a bit, Nightwing actually reaches over to the command console and presses a button. “You have to go normal human speed, little dude.”

The group at large waits another second-

Like a flash, sure enough there’s two little wisps of a human being, one with red hair, one with blond. The two of them are wearing the same outfit, white and red, and are vibrating so hard that they are hard to get the details of.

Cassie can only see the chain that connects their wrists, tugging towards one or the other with every twitch.

It hits Cassie then, just how wild this is.

In the room right now is some powerful players, more powerful than Cassie was originally expecting when the teen titans had told her that with her … anger issues she might not be a good fit for the Titans name. Cassie expected to be thrown to the side, mad as hell, not put on a team that consisted of only power players. Batman, Superman, Flash, Wonder Woman, you couldn’t get bigger names.

And here they all sit, in some run down old base cave in New York, waiting to be told that they’re going to finally be a team.

[jaythes1mp]

3939 words, 22942 characters, 232 sentences, 136 paragraphs, 15.7 pages.

Please don’t ask me what this is. I just started writing and didn’t fucking stop.

I’m a Hufflepuff. You may ask why I wrote a Ravenclaw reader then… Well, Simple. I’ve gone feral over Batfam fics with bird terms of endearments and wanted to write about a weak lil nerd who gets called bird.

TW — Dark. Theo’s mean, dick Theo. Yandere-ish. Non consensual touch, but not really bordering anything sexual, just implying that it would happen. & others. I’m not good at the trigger warnings.

GHOSTS

Theodore Nott x Male Reader

As you make your way down the long, deserted corridors of Hogwarts, the shadows stretch and creep in the soft moonlight. The air is thick with tension and anticipation, as if tales and secrets are whispered through the very stones themselves. Suddenly, you accidentally bump into a fellow student.

His voice, a deep, velvety whisper, breaks the silence.

“Are you afraid of ghosts?” Nott, a quiet and solitary figure, had spoken, startling you. He’d taken notice of your aversion to the shortcut many other students so carelessly wonder. Choosing to walk along the longest path lead away from any of the roaming undead creatures.

You find yourself caught off guard as you realize it's none other than Theodore Nott, known for his eerie silence and his dangerous connections. A Death Eater, a member of the dark lord's inner circle, and a man associated with fearsome tales of torture and blood supremacy. Your gaze travels up, taking in his imposing presence.

You run your fingers through your soft hair anxiously, the moonlight illuminating your face, making you look almost otherworldly. You lean back a little, taking in the sight of the notorious Nott. Having grown up hearing about the Nott family's dark legacy, the very presence of the boy in front of you is frightening.

Licking your chapped lips nervously, you struggle to find the words to answer Nott's question.

"…I am.” you finally admit, you know better than to lie to someone whose family is of such high status.

Theodore tilted his head, studying you from behind a mask of unreadable expressions. His eyes gleam in the moonlight, betraying no particular thoughts or feelings.

"Perché i fantasmi? Why?" Theo asked simply, crossing his arms. The Italian words slipping past his lips naturally. He leaned against the stone wall, seemingly at ease. His body was slender, but still stronger than his gaunt appearance suggested.

"What's so frightful about..." he paused, giving a little gesture that encompassed the vast castle around you, "Ghosts?"

You were not sure how to respond.

He continued to study you intently, taking in every detail, as if you were a puzzle to decipher. You could feel his eyes tracing your features, your body language, trying to discern your emotions.

His silence was unnerving.

You swallowed hard, your Adam’s apple bobbing as you become acutely aware of how dry your throat is. Licking your chapped lips for a second before speaking. “...Ghosts are the lingering spirits of the departed. They’re a reminder that death is... inescapable. That the line between life and death is fragile.”

You pause, his gaze unwavering, making you feel slightly uneasy.

“Ghosts are shrouded in mystery. The unanswered questions surrounding their existence make them frightening. Their presence serves as a reminder that there may be more to this world than we can comprehend, and that the boundaries between life and death are thinner and more complex than we realise.” You looked up, meeting his watercolour eyes. He looks almost amused.

A hint of a smile played on Theodore's lips. He was faintly amused by your answer. It was so eloquent and philosophical. Typical of a Ravenclaw to put such emphasis on the mystery and uncertainty surrounding ghosts.

"You speak as if you've studied the subject," he observed, tilting his head slightly. His eyes glinted in the dim light, his expression inscrutable.

You nibble at your bottom lip, your coloured eyes boring into the other boys. “... it’s hard not to.”

Theodore pushed himself off the wall, moving towards you. He was slender, yet there was a certain elegance in his movements. He moved with the grace of a predator, silent and fluid.

He stepped closer to you, his tall stature looming over you. His eyes had darkened, as if contemplating something. He studied your features once more, his gaze flickering over your face, your neck, almost like he inspecting your every blemish, every little detail.

You swallowed again, feeling strangely out of breath. His proximity was overwhelming, his silence making every moment feel like an eternity. It wasn’t until he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper, that you realised he had moved closer still.

“You’re shaking,” he stated, his eyes never leaving your face. You hadn’t noticed, but in the cold air of the corridor, your body was trembling.

You felt the heat rise on your cheeks, realising how vulnerable you looked in front of him. You averted your eyes, trying to gather your composure.

He was so close, you could feel the heat radiating off his body, his scent- a blend of leather, parchment and spices- filling the air around you. “Are you scared?” he questioned, his voice low and quiet. “Of me?”

You dared to glance up at him, your eyes widening as you met his gaze. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, as if he found your fear amusing. Yet, there was something else in his expression- something you couldn't quite place. He tilted his head, studying you intently.

“You seem… interesting.” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. His eyes raked over you once more, as if he was trying to see beneath the surface, to get a glimpse of your thoughts, your fears, your secrets.

You could feel his gaze burning into you, making you feel small and exposed. You found yourself unable to look away, your heart racing in your chest. You knew he was dangerous, a Death Eater, someone not to be trusted.

But there was something about him that drew you in, a magnetic pull that you couldn’t resist. His fluffy hair fell in soft waves over his forehead, and his eyes seemed to have captured the moonlight, making them appear almost liquid silver rather than watercolour green.

He stepped closer still, your bodies nearly touching. You could feel the warmth of his skin just inches from yours.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your exposed skin, so softly it was barley a touch. You felt as if you couldn’t move, like being transfixed by a serpent. Nott’s cold fingers gently brushed a strand of hair off your face.

“Such soft skin…” he murmured, his eyes flickering over your features. He seemed almost mesmerised by you. He slowly moved his fingers over your jaw, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “And you bite your lip so often. It’s… distracting.”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your cheek. “You’re so… fragile…” he said, his voice a mere whisper. “Like a perfect porcelain doll.”

His fingers continued their journey, tracing along your neck, causing you to suck in a sharp breath. He paused for a moment, his hand still resting on your skin. Thumb tracing over the Adam’s apple in your throat.

Theodore let out a soft, humorless chuckle as he observed you, his normally reserved demeanor replaced by a mixture of amusement and condescension.

"Look at you..." he began, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. "Trying to be all tough, trying to put on a show of bravery. But I can see right through you.”

He hummed, studying your shaking form with a critical eye. Then, his lips twisted into a sly smirk.

"You're just a scared piccolo uccello."

“... Trembling at the slightest touch,” he continued, his thumb slowly tracing up and down your neck. “Your heart’s racing. You’re practically quivering.”

His lips were hovering maddeningly close to your ear now, the whispered words sending a small shiver through you. He leaned in a bit closer, his hand sliding down your neck, towards your collar.

"Do you know what they do to pretty little birds like you in the wild?” He inquired.

His voice was almost a whisper, low and menacing, his fingers lightly tracing the buttons of your shirt. “They catch them, break their wings, and keep them in little cages. Trapped, completely at their mercy.”

He moved his hand further down, stopping just above your hip, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your shirt.

“Would you like that? To be my little pet?” he mused, his breath warm against your skin.

You tried to speak, but your mouth felt dry and your mind was in disarray. Your head was spinning, and your heart was racing so fast you feared it might explode.

His fingers curled around the waistband of your trousers, pulling you closer with a sudden jerk. You stumbled involuntarily, landing against his chest.

“You’d look stunning in a collar,” He murmured, his lips gently brushing against the shell of your ear. You felt his other hand grip your hip, as if to hold you in place. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the hard press of his muscles.

The moment he grabbed your waistband and pulled you close, your mind became a maelstrom of confusion and panic. Your heart raced to an almost concerning pace, and your dry mouth made it impossible to form coherent words. Stumbling against his chest, you felt the heat of his breath against your ear as he murmured his suggestion.

The mere mention of a restriction around your neck, metaphorical or not, sent a shiver down your spine, and the firm grip on your hip left you feeling trapped. You were suddenly all too aware of the proximity of his body, the contour of his muscles pressing against your own.

“I...”

He chuckled quietly at your inability to form a coherent response, enjoying your evident distress. He didn’t give you time to regain your bearings, though. His fingers continued to explore, tracing the hem of your shirt, sliding underneath the loose fabric to gently brush against the skin of your hips.

“Don’t be shy.” he whispered, his voice taking on a patronizing tone. “Use your words, pretty boy.” He was mocking you.

Theo’s touch was both gentle and possessive, his fingers teasing the edges of your shirt, slowly slipping beneath the fabric to touch skin. Trailing over your hard stomach. The subtle mockery in his tone was like a knife to your pride, the taunt causing a mix of embarrassment and frustration to bubble up in your chest.

Clenching your jaw, you forced yourself to speak, the words coming out sharper than you intended.

"Don't call me that."

He paused for a moment, his eyes flickering with what looked like a hint of amusement. He seemed to be enjoying your growing irritation. His touch grew firmer, his hand wrapping around your hip, pulling you even closer.

Your protest seemed to amuse him even further. He chuckled again, his voice dripping with condescension.

“Why not?” he drawled, his breath hot on your ear. “Such a pretty little bird, fluttering its feathers when I’ve only just begun to touch it.”

He slowly tilted your chin up with his other hand, forcing you to look into his eyes, his gaze intense and unwavering.

“It’s a compliment,” he continued, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “To call you pretty. It’s what you are- Pretty. Delicate. Fragile.”

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, tracing the shape of it before he spoke again.

“Do you not like being called pretty, my pretty raven?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. Pretty. The word was simultaneously flattering and demeaning, highlighting the vulnerability you were trying so hard to hide. His thumb gently caressing your lip only served to emphasize it.

His touch was infuriatingly gentle, as if he was both mocking you and enjoying your discomfort. You took a deep breath, trying to maintain a sense of dignity, but his words, combined with his actions, were making it increasingly difficult.

“I’m not... fragile,” you mumbled, your voice sounding weaker than you would’ve liked.

His eyes darkened, amused by your weak protest. He took a step closer, his body now pressing against yours, pinning you against the wall. The smirk on his face grew, his voice lowering to a dangerously quiet level.

“Are you sure about that?” he murmured, his hand releasing your chin to slide down your chest, his fingers tracing your collarbone.

“You’re shaking. Heart’s racing. All from a little touch.”

The proximity of his body to yours, the feeling of being trapped between him and the wall, was overwhelming. His hand on your collarbone, tracing the shape as he spoke, only served to highlight your own physical reactions, your involuntary tremors and the fast pace of your heartbeat.

Feeling both humiliated and panicked, you tried to take a step back, but your back was already against the wall. There was nowhere to escape.

He didn’t give you the chance to escape, though. He took a step forward, effectively closing the already minimal space between you. His body was pressed against yours, his height and strength making you feel even more vulnerable.

His nose gently brushed against the side of your neck, as if he were breathing you in. His grip on your hip tightened.

“You’re so on edge, love...” he murmured. “Like a little bird, about to take flight. But there’s nowhere to go, is there?”

Feeling overwhelmed and increasingly frustrated by Nott's condescending tone and possessive touch, you finally manage to find your voice. Your words are sharp, your tone a mixture of indignance and determination.

Gritting your teeth, you practically hiss at him, your voice low and tight with barely suppressed anger.

"Let go."

His smirk widened as you finally gathered the courage to speak up. He leaned in closer, his body pressing more firmly against yours, effectively trapping you.

“Let go? But I’m not done playing with you yet, il mio uccellino.” he cooed, his thumb idly tracing the line of your happy trail. My little bird.

The condescension in his tone was almost patronizing, as if he was amused by your attempt to stand up to him.

He leaned in even closer, his lips almost touching your ear, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“You’re trying so hard to put up a brave face. But I can feel you trembling against me. I can practically hear your heart racing.”

He nipped the sensitive skin of your ear, his grip on your hip becoming almost painfully tight.

“Such bravado... It’s almost endearing, Raven.”

He lets out a soft hum, his dark eyes raking over your form, drinking in every detail. He takes a moment, then grins, a sly, mocking expression that irritates you even more.

He then speaks, his voice low and taunting.

"Come with me to my dorm, little raven. Wouldn’t want any wayward ghosts to snatch you away now, would we?”

Theodore’s soft hum seemed almost mocking, his gaze raking over your form with a sort of arrogant, detached interest. As if he was a cat toying with a small, frightened mouse.

The mention of ghosts and his dorm made you stiffen. You instinctively wanted to protest, but his amused tone and condescending smirk made you hesisitate. You loathed the idea of being lead somewhere private with him, a Death Eater, a dangerous person, yet the fear of being caught alone in the darkened halls was stronger.

He seemed to notice your hesitation, and chuckled softly to himself. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he observed your expression.

"Oh, don't look so afraid, darling," he murmured, his voice a low rasp. "I promise I won't bite. Not tonight, at least."

His hand slid from your hip to your lower back, a subtle, commanding pressure urging you to step forward.

You found yourself moving forward without much thought, the subtle pressure of his hand on your lower back guiding you towards the dungeons. The corridors were dimly lit, the shadows cast by the flickering torches making everything look eerie and ominous.

Nott walked beside you, his pace seemingly leisurely, his hands in his pockets as if this were all entirely casual. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, watching your every move, taking note of every reaction. You were supposed to be smart, little raven.

The journey was quiet and tense. Every sound echoed too loudly through the dark halls, making everything feel even more foreboding. Nott said nothing, his eyes occasionally flicking from your face to the surroundings, keeping a look out for any passing professors or patrolling Prefects.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you reach the entrance into the dungeons. Nott placed his hand on the cold stone wall, and the hidden entrance to the Slytherin common room slid silently open.

You came to a halt, your gaze fixated on the open door before you. As you stood there, a sense of unease suddenly hit you like a punch to the gut. What were you doing? Why had you followed so blindly? The realization struck you, a sizzling sensation of revelation coursing through your veins.

Wait, did you actually... want this? A mix of embarrassment and confusion swirled within you, the thought both unexpected and, disturbingly, not entirely undesired.

Nott seemed to notice your hesitation, his sharp gaze watching your expression carefully. He raised an eyebrow as he observed your internal struggle, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Having second thoughts, my little bird?" he teased, his voice a low, velvety murmur. He took a step towards you, closing the space between you. The scent of his cologne enveloped you - musk, expensive fabric, and pine.

"Too late to back out now."

He reached out, gently grasping your chin and tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes were now a dark, smoldering black, filled with a mixture of curiosity and arrogance.

"You're mine now, il mio uccellino." he murmured, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "And I don’t let go of what's mine."

His fingers trailed over your jawline, leaving a trail of tingles in their wake.

The Slytherin stepped closer, the heat from his body radiating through the thin fabric of your clothes, his presence almost suffocating. He leaned in, the whisper of his breath against your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

"Come on. Don't be shy. I don't bite." he crooned, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "Well, not tonight, anyway. Unless you beg."

There was a predatory edge to his voice, a barely contained impatience hidden beneath his smooth tone. He wanted to get you into the dormitories and away from the corridors as soon as possible.

His hand slid down to your lower back, the pressure firmer now. "Let's keep moving, shall we?" he drawled, urging you forward.

He didn't give you an opportunity to argue or resist. He firmly guided you through the open entrance of the dorm, his grip on your lower back guiding you past the threshold into the dimly lit common room.

It was quiet down here, the only sounds coming from the soft bubbling of the water in the tank by the back wall, and the low chatter of other students lounging in the common area. A couple of fourth years glanced at you with mild curiosity, but quickly looked away when they spotted your escort.

Theo paid them no mind, his focus entirely on you. He gently propelled you towards the winding stone staircase, leading you up to the seventh year dormitories.

The silence between you was thick, the only sound being the soft pad of your footsteps on the cold stone. He was so close behind you that you could feel him against your back.

The climb up the stairs seemed to last an eternity, the silence only broken by your footsteps and the occasional creaking of the old stone walls. All too soon, you reached the top of the stairs and came to a halt.

Theodore stepped around you, brushing past you closely to reach the large oaken door leading into the seventh year boys' dormitories. He leaned against it with one hand, the other gesturing for you to enter.

Your breath hitches. ‘Should I run?’

You stood in front of the imposing door, your heart racing in your chest. A part of you wanted to turn and run, to escape the predicament you've unwittingly entered.

But something held you back. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was foolish curiosity. Or it might’ve been that strange, twisted part of you that secretly wanted this.

Nott watched you quietly, his gaze calculating as he observed your internal struggle. He seemed to see right through your indecision, his smirk growing more confident, more condescending.

"Are you going to just stand there, staring at the door, or are you going to come in?" he drawled, his voice dripping with arrogant amusement.

In a desperate attempt to lighten the mood, and maybe even distract yourself from the confusing realization, you tried to joke, but your voice trembled with desperation, making it clear that your words lacked any real conviction. You managed to stutter out a reply.

"... I'm not sure yet."

The Nott's smirk widened at your pathetic attempt to play coy. He pushed away from the door and stalked towards you, his gait predatory and confident.

He stopped a mere inch from you, towering over you with his greater height. His gaze softened slightly, his head tilting to the side as he studied your expression.

"Oh, my little bird," he murmured, his voice softer now. "You're a terrible liar."

He raised a hand, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers trailing over your skin in a disturbingly intimate gesture.

"Deny it all you want," he whispered, leaning in so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. "But I can see right through you."

He leaned even closer, his body pressing against yours, his words a low, sensual murmur whispered directly into your ear.

"You’re scared." he breathed, the smirk returning to his voice. "Confused. Aroused. And you don't even understand why. That's adorable, really.”

He hums, his pretty emerald eyes darken the longer he looks over your form. His hand running down your chest. “Don’t worry, my little wizard. I’ll take care of you.”

His voice was soft and almost comforting, like a dark, poisonous lullaby that wrapped around you like a suffocating embrace.

He stepped back slightly, just enough to look down at you. His gaze was still just as intense, but there was a softer edge to it now.

"So, will you come in, or will you run away?" he said, his tone still arrogant, but there was an underlying hint of hope in it. As if he actually wanted you to enter, even though he knew he could force you if he so desired.

You couldn't know if it was genuine or just another part of his manipulations, another cruel game. Either way, the choice was yours. Would you enter the dorm and give yourself to this boy with the beautiful viper eyes? Or would you run away, back into the dimly lit corridors filled with the creatures of the unknown wandering the dark hallways?

As you stood there, the silence between you two thick with tension, you wondered if his offer was genuine or just another part of his manipulations, another cruel game. The choice was laid out before you like a treacherous path, each step promising either the allure of a dangerous liaison or the safety of the unknown corridors.

With a pang of anxious uncertainty, you ask yourself if you're willing to give in to the boy with the beautiful viper eyes, knowing that what lies beyond might be more perilous than the ghosts prowling the night.

You had to ask yourself: Would you cross the threshold into the serpent's den, or flee from the enticing jaws of the beast?

The choice was yours, dear reader.

No use of y/n, no in-depth descriptive features.

Please feel free to send in requests.

What would you have chosen? Let me know in the comments or reply with a reblog!

[ravenelyx]

Hello! Do you take requests? If so I have oke for you :)

It’s similar to the recent one about Sebastian hugging the reader. Could it be with Omi this time?

I love your writings, btw.

I absolutely can !!! And thank you so much ♡♡

Let me in. - Ominis Gaunt

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x Fem!Reader

Words: 1k

Warnings: fluff, kissing, angst and comfort, Ominis is touch-starved, Ominis is insecure, neck kissing, fuck the Gaunt family all my homies hate the Gaunt family, we all know Omi's past, cuddling and snuggling, House is not specified, (implied) established relationship

Summary: Ominis Gaunt has never learned how to love. But he has you, and you're willing to teach him.

A/N: I hope you like this!! I followed a different tangent than Sebastian's.

Masterlist

you can find the whole fic here on ao3 as well

Sebastian's version

He wishes love were easy.

But nothing had ever been easy in Ominis Gaunt's life.

When he opened his heart to her, he opened something deep. A Pandora box of sorrow and grief and everything he'd buried so deep he'd forgotten about it.

Unfortunately, his body never forgets. It shows when she takes his hand. It unleashes when she brushes his hair. That gnawing, scorching flame burning where her touch remains.

She asks him how he's doing, he doesn't answer, words trapped behind his teeth like in a prison of jelly and guilt. He thinks she doesn't really want to be bothered by his problems.

She takes his hand while walking, he moves it away, clutching it to his chest in an attempt to build back that armor she threatens to break every time.

"Ominis," she speaks quietly in the night, when he keeps her always at an arm's distance. "Please, come here."

He wants to cry.

"I don't know how."

The smell of her hair lingers on the pillow when she leaves, and he quietly brings it to him, burying his face in the softness of her girly perfume. Even then, he feels too much freedom; taking up a space that isn't his own. He turns his back to it.

She seems tired today.

"Ominis." Her voice is weary, sad. She's near the fireplace, brooding. He feels like he's done something wrong.

"What is it?"

He balks before approaching her, his voice coming out in a sycophantic squeak that makes his blood run cold. He is afraid: afraid she'll find him some day. That she'll offer her hand and he'll take it with no qualms, allowing her to pull him up, away from those doubts cramming his mind when she gets too close.

"Why do you never let me in?"

He's drowning.

Why? Why? The answer is immediate, pulled right from his brain by that tight awareness that has always been more of a curse than a blessing. Because Ominis Gaunt feels that he is phrogging in other people's existence until they get tired and throw him into the nearest garbage. Because he has never found a place where he could sit down, wind his legs and feel at peace. Because if one day someone finds him with his defenses down, when he hits the bottom of the bin headfirst, he will never forgive himself.

"I don't know how." His inveterate answer comes, drawing a sigh from her. She always drops the subject after, and he feels safe.

This time, she breaches the armor again, and he has got no time to glue it back.

"Come here."

His hands tremble when he follows, sitting down next to her. She opens her palm to him and he feels it on his leg.

"Take it."

Her fingers feel soft to the touch, slipping between his as if filling up a space in his heart he had missed, pushing back his doubts and making a home for itself. He holds her hand and runs his thumb on her knuckles.

"What does this mean?" He asks feebly.

"That you can do much more."

He feels the corner of his lips push down in a grimace. "I don't know h—"

"I'll show you."

Her movements are languid and elegant like a snake, and he feels like she might strangle him and cut his breath and leave him for dead. But he wants to keep holding her hand.

"What do I do?"

"Come here."

This time, he listens.

She lets him move first, wrap his arms around her, as if testing her shape. He runs his hands over her delicate ribs, then down to the soft curve of her waist, then around her; feels the weight in his arms, like she could crush him at any moment. But she doesn't.

She lets him pull her on him, giving him her body. His hands are shaking and he feels inadequate to hold her; to keep her safe and not let her fall.

"Just do what feels right," she whispers.

None of this feels right. But it feels comfortable, and it feels different, and it feels like his heart is slowing down and his weight is meeting the ground and pushing against it like he will never need to get up anymore.

And there are her lips. He feels them with his fingertips; the curve at the top, the soft flesh, the sticky texture of her lipstick. He brings his trembling mouth to hers for the first time and pulls away just as quickly.

"I'm sorry…" he almost cries again.

"Do it again."

He swallows and pushes his lips against hers. He doesn't have the courage to move and breathes against her mouth.

She giggles and his heart breaks, because of course he was doing it wrong. "I'm sorr—"

Her mouth moves against his, takes his bottom lip in a quick suckle and then frees it again. He holds his breath until he can't stay still anymore.

"How does that feel?" she asks.

"More…"

Something inside him cracks open at her taste, pushes and pulls and crushes him, and he holds on to her. It's all too much and it's all not enough. He licks his lips and tastes her lipstick and he wishes he could see her.

When she cups his cheek, he flinches.

"This feels…"

Horrible. Good. Terrifying. Perfect. Different.

"We can go slow," she says, and it's more than he could ask for. "But I'm here, and I'm yours."

He nods and attempts to find her, and he presses his forehead against her collarbone. She's warm there.

"Thank you," He's crying against her skin, and she skims her hand against his back.

He feels naked, a brush of cold hair against his chest where his defenses have cracked. She's pulling his armor down with a gentle touch, and he lets her until he hears it hit the ground loudly.

"You can relax now." He thinks he hears her say. Perhaps it was a dream. And when he hesitantly brushes his lips against her skin, he allows her in.

[cursedonyx]

Hii! I saw your ideas for one shots you posted recently and I would absolutely LOVE to read all of them, but especially the one with Ominis, where Garreth slips Ominis his new potion and MC is helping Ominis with its 'hard' effects 🤭

So if you have time and if you'd want to write it, I would love to read it! ❤️

I have FINALLY gotten around to doing this ask, and as I’d had this in my drafts for ages I thought why not make it an eleventh-hour post for Kinktober too? I would have done more for Kinktober but, like our favourite old faithful that hasn’t been charged in a while, my smut battery was firmly depleted for quite some time.

This doesn’t follow any specific Kinktober prompt, but what the hell, hopefully you all enjoy this little tale of poor Ominis being utterly humiliated and thoroughly fucked.

Masterlist

Don’t Drug Your Friends

(Unless They’re Ominis and in Need of a Good Fucking)

Synopsis – After a multitude of experimental potions and a variety of undesirable effects, no one at Hogwarts wants to be a guineapig for Garreth’s new brews. In desperation, Garreth resorts to underhanded methods in order to test his newest concoction, and slips it into Ominis’ tea. Unfortunately for the poor Heir of Slytherin, the effects are both humiliating and unconquerable until the woman he’s secretly been in love with for the last two years offers to help put the proverbial basilisk back to sleep.

Word Count – 4.9k

Warnings – Female MC, House unspecified, NSFW, MDNI, dubcon, drugging, masturbation, handjob M!Receiving, oral M!Receiving, PIV, and a very embarrassed and needy Sub!Ominis.

All characters aged 18+.

Happy Kinktober.

Springtime at Hogwarts was a time for most students to pretend they were studying, as they instead dreamt about who they were going to ask on a date to Hogsmeade for Valentines, gossiped about the latest scandals, or got hyped for Quidditch. For the seventh years, it was a time to begin to panic about their upcoming exams and pretend they weren’t.

For Garreth Weasley, it was more a struggle than for most. Since the end of sixth year, when he’d convinced Lucan Brattleby to try his latest potion, and the poor lad had ended up in the Hospital Wing with scales, feathers, and the ability to burp luminous, sausage-like bubbles that took days to pop, the entirety of Gryffindor House had put a blanket ban on accepting so much as a biscuit from him. The other houses learned very quickly after this that no matter how much gold he offered, no matter how many favours, no matter how much he begged, it just wasn’t worth spending a week in hospital for.

But Garreth knew the only way to discover ✨The Perfect Potion™✨ was to practice, practice, practice, and in order to make sure his experiments actually achieved what he thought they should, he needed to test them. He always made sure he had a few poison antidotes on hand just in case, so he wasn’t entirely sure what all the fuss was about.

So it was that Sebastian and Ominis found themselves accosted by the boisterous redhead one early February morning in their seventh year, in the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower.

“Seriously, Sallow, I’ll pay you fifty galleons. Fifty! Think what you could do with that money!”

“Fuck off,” came the terse reply. “I said no eight times already, I’m not going to change my mind.”

“But if I can get this to work ahead of Valentines-”

“Unclog your ears, Weasley, he said no,” Ominis said, using his wand to pour a cup of tea with the cool indifference only a Slytherin pureblood seemed able to master.

Garreth narrowed his eyes. “I’d have thought you’d jump at the chance, Gaunt. Heard your family’s fallen on hard times.”

“It’s no secret,” Ominis said, supremely unbothered. Then, a tiny smirk touched his lips. “That said, I’m surprised you’ve got fifty galleons to offer in your entire family’s account.”

Unlike Ominis, Garreth was just a little bit touchy about his family’s fortunes. He needed to make this potion work ahead of Valentine’s so he could sell it for a huge profit! It would be so popular and he’d be rich and famous and would be able to make sure all his family were comfortable, what was so wrong about that?

Perhaps this was why Garreth decided to do what he did. Maybe he was just in a bad mood and wanted to cause a bit of trouble. Or maybe, just maybe, he was having withdrawals from seeing his potions at work and was determined to do anything to get his creation tested. He pretended to see Peeves causing havoc on the other side of the Tower, and when Sebastian turned to look, he upended the tiny, pink potion into Ominis’ tea.

He shared a grin with Leander, and groped for a notepad as Ominis picked up his cup.

“Alright, fine, suit yourselves. But it would have made an absolute killing, and I’d have given you commission for your help,” he said, trying to be nonchalant.

“Whatever.” Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I’ve enough to be worrying about without dealing with beetles falling out of my ears, thanks.”

Ominis shook his head and sipped his tea, closing his eyes at the warmth that slid past his lips and down his throat. He let his mind wander a little, and as it always did when he let it have some form of free reign, it landed squarely on the most incredible woman he’d ever known, the Hero of Hogwarts, for whom he had harboured a secret, burning love since their ill-fated trip to the Scriptorium.

A slim line appeared between his brows as the warmth from the tea seemed to settle under his collar, before spreading over his chest, creeping down his torso to pool between his thighs, and something began to stir.

Ominis, like any other man of his age, was no stranger to random bouts of wilful disobedience from his personal basilisk, and so he elected to ignore it, crossing an elegant leg over the other, hoping no one else had noticed. He took a slow breath and another drink, wondering vaguely why this particular standing to attention was coupled with something that felt concerningly like arousal. Yes, thinking of her certainly fired him up him like nothing else did, but he hadn’t been thinking of anything particularly ungentlemanly. He was in public, after all.

His hands tightened on his cup as the unspecified heat began to intensify, his half-mast blooming full, and as he heard Garreth leaning forward in his chair, and the scratch of quill on parchment, he began to put two and two together.

Uh-oh.

“Soooo…” Garreth said, in a voice so overly casual that it sent a thrill of fear through anyone in the vicinity that had recently had a drink. “How are we all feeling today? Normal? Bit hot under the collar? Thinking of anyone in particular?”

Ominis faced him, quite certain that steam might be curling up from under his shirt as his heart began to pound.

“What have you done?” he managed.

Garreth laughed. “Only what I had to. Don’t worry, the effects won’t last more than a few hours. I think.”

There was a clatter as Sebastian lunged across the low table, followed by a smash as the teapot shattered. Garreth yelped as Sebastian gripped handfuls of his robes and wrenched him out of his seat.

“What did you do?” he demanded, snarling.

“I needed to test my potion,” Garreth said, shoving him back. “Just slipped him a bit, that’s all!”

“What the fuck do you mean, you slipped him a bit!?” Sebastian barked. “What the hell is it meant to do?”

“I’m not sure yet, that’s why I needed to test it,” Garreth said, proudly. “It’s only a variant of a love potion that’s meant to make anyone you like want you in bed, nothing to worry about. Gaunt, tell me exactly what you’re feeling, spare no detail.”

“Are you insane?” Ominis hissed, hunching forward as his arousal twitched, nudging insistently against his belt and threatening to pop right out over the top of his waistband. “You better have an antidote for this, you cretin!”

Garreth gulped and edged behind Leander as Sebastian drew his wand, aiming it at his nethers. “Antidote? It’s only in the testing stages, I’ve not had time to-” he yelped as Sebastian fired a curse at him, and Leander had to put out a small fire on his robes.

Ominis felt his cheeks sear as another thrum of unspecified interest surged through him, his mouth drying. There was an insistent, needy ache growing in his lower abdomen, and he got the feeling that if he didn’t take care of it soon, he was going to be in serious trouble. It didn’t help that he could sense his friends staring at him, Garreth’s lack of subtlety and his shortening breath all but confirming the state he was in.

“Undercroft,” he managed to growl to Sebastian out of the corner of his mouth. “Don’t follow me.”

“You okay?” Sebastian asked, as Ominis tugged his robes tight about himself and rose.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered, trying to stand as casually as he could without revealing his significantly growing problem. “Do try not to kill that little bastard while I’m gone, I’d like to do it myself.”

The cool of the Undercroft’s stone walls did little to alleviate the heat in his body as Ominis shouldered his way through the hidden entrance, his pace increasing as he half ran towards a stack of crates at the back, positioned deliberately to hide a pile of cushions and blankets for the rare instances when he just couldn’t ignore his body’s needs. Ominis hissed between his teeth and turned his wand about the Undercroft, hoping that she wasn’t down here. Merlin, he’d never live it down if she saw him like this.

Hell, it was embarrassing enough to be in this predicament, but for his friends to know as well! The thought scalded him, making him cringe. It was worse that they knew why he’d gone off by himself. Yes, everybody did it, but that didn’t mean everyone should bloody know about it when he did! It was hard enough to find alone time as it was, but for anyone else to know… Ominis groaned. With the way gossip spread, the whole bloody castle would know that the infamously stoic Ominis Gaunt had needed to dash off and have a wank by the time he reemerged, if his past luck was anything to go by.

No matter. The state he was in, it wouldn’t take long, and then he could try and forget about the whole, sordid mess. After he’d murdered Garreth, of course.

He sucked a sharp breath between his teeth, bracing a hand against the wall as his mind flooded with thoughts of her, as it always did when he needed to attend to himself. He focused on the faint brush of her hand against the back of his when they studied together, her fingertips cool as she handed him a book or stack of parchment, each light touch sending sparks through his skin that never failed to stiffen his cock. He whimpered softly as he recalled those few times he let her embrace him, his attention always zeroing in on how her ample breasts pressed against his chest, his hands resting just above the curve of her hip. What he wouldn’t give to feel these things without the cursed barrier of her clothes…

And Merlin, the sound of her voice, low and rich, some sultry note always winding about underneath it, as if she was but a moment away from singing or whispering nothing but sinful filth into his ear, her dark chuckles, the freedom of her laughter never failing to set his heart to racing.

Then the scent of her hair… citrus and exotic blossoms from some far off, sun-drenched land infused his mind as he wished and wished he knew what it was like to have those silken strands fall over his face as she rode him.

Ominis fought with his belt and the fastenings of his trousers, unable to stop thinking about her, imagining all those things she could do to him that would only ever be in his mind. She was too good for him, too perfect, too glorious, but it never hurt to imagine. Imagination never hurt anyone. His lower lip found its way between his teeth as he took himself in his hand, instinctively setting up a rapid pace that, when he’d been this worked up before, had brought him blissful relief in little under a minute.

But something was wrong. He could feel his hand sliding along his length, feel the pressure as he tightened his grip, but it brought him about as much relief as sticking it in a jar of numbing potion would have.

“Oh, come on,” Ominis hissed, gripping himself tighter in a vain effort to evoke some of the promised euphoria such an act usually provided him, even going so far as to spit in his palm, but it didn’t work. To his horror, it served only to heighten his need, and brought him no relief.

✧˖°  ˖ * ˖  °˖✧

Almost an hour later, Ominis emerged, limping and red-faced, his breathing ragged and his hair dishevelled, his cloak pulled tight about his body.

“Well?” Garreth asked, eagerly, quill and notepad at the ready.

“Piss off,” Ominis snarled. “If you can’t get me an antidote in the next five minutes then what good are you?”

Sebastian shouldered Garreth out of the way and leaned in close.

“No better?”

“Fuck off. I don’t want anyone near me.”

“What about New Girl?” Leander piped up, clearly enjoying himself far more than was appropriate for the Slytherin’s suffering. “Bet you wouldn’t mind her being around you right now.”

Ominis spat a string of violent curses in Parseltongue at the thought of the Hero of Hogwarts assisting him with his predicament once again, before he tried to push away the idea as it sent another painful thrum of arousal through him. Unfortunately, the idea of her didn’t want to be banished and remained stubbornly inside his head, doing things no self-respecting woman would ever do, let alone to him.

“She hasn’t been new for two years,” Sebastian said, placing his foot firmly on Leander’s hip and shoving him away as Ominis clung to the wall, biting his tongue to stop himself groaning. “If you’re not going to help, then sod off.” He gripped Ominis’ shoulder, leaning close, and Ominis wriggled away, hissing as his skin tingled. “Mate, maybe he’s got a point. She’s good at potions, maybe she could do something about this? Plus, you like her, and she likes-”

“Never,” Ominis growled. “She can never hear of this.”

“Okay, then maybe we should get Professor Sharp, he’d be able to-”

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone I will kill you myself!” Ominis snarled.

It was getting decidedly hard to think, and Ominis huddled against the wall, bent almost in two as wave upon wave of rising need threw itself about his insides. If he didn’t do something soon, he was either going to explode or go completely insane. It was all he could do not to grab at himself, despite the fact that he was in public and he knew that it wouldn’t help one bit.

Sebastian shared a worried look with Garreth, whose eagerness to see the effects of his potion in action had worn off upon seeing how decidedly uncomfortable Ominis was. Yeah, it had been kind of funny to see him so embarrassed, but this was a problem. How could he sell his potion if the effects were this drastic, and didn’t wear off quickly?

“Maybe just… I don’t know, try and sleep it off?” Sebastian suggested, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry mate, I don’t know how else to help you.”

“I know a way you can,” Leander laughed, and quickly shut up as both Sebastian and Ominis glared at him, drawing their wands.

“Go up to the Room of Requirement,” Sebastian said, giving Ominis a little shove between the shoulder blades that made him yelp. “Garreth, you go too, there’s potion stations up there, and you better get to work on an antidote, or I’ll hang you off the Astronomy Tower by your balls.”

With a barely restrained whine, Ominis disillusioned himself and all but ran for the stairs, the outline of his figure vanishing as he rounded the bend. Garreth took one look at Sebastian’s murderous expression and followed, jotting notes on his parchment as he went. No sooner had he vanished than Sebastian took off, pelting through the castle, seeking the one person he hoped might be able to put an end to his brother’s suffering.

✧˖°  ˖ * ˖  °˖✧

“How long’s he been like this?” she asked, matching Sebastian’s pace as they hurtled towards the Room of Requirement.

“A bit more than an hour or so, I think,” Sebastian panted, struggling to keep up. “It’s really bad.”

She cursed under her breath, her long, dark hair swishing to and fro. “What did Garreth say it was meant to do?”

“Turn people on so they’re easier to get into bed,” Sebastian replied, glowering. “Or words to that effect. He wants to sell it ahead of Valentine’s Day.”

She made a face, her small nose wrinkling. “Creep. As if it wasn’t bad enough having to worry about love potions. Poor Ominis.” They slowed as they reached the seventh-floor corridor, and she glanced at him. “I presume he’s… um… tried the usual methods?”

Sebastian shrugged. “I guess so. Didn’t ask, he’s embarrassed enough. He’s going to kill me when he finds out I’ve told you.”

“Me in particular?” she raised a brow, and Sebastian hesitated. It wasn’t a secret to those who knew him well that Ominis was madly in love with the woman before him, but he hadn’t thought she’d figured it out. His silence seemed to be all the answer she needed, and a little smile touched her lips. “Leave it to me. He’ll be right as rain soon enough.”

“What are you going to-” Sebastian began, but she’d vanished into the Room of Requirement before he could finish. With a low sigh, he crossed his fingers, counted to ten, then followed, finding the large space mostly empty, save for a sweaty Garreth standing before a table of five cauldrons, each of them hissing different coloured steam. His nose was bleeding.

“What happened there?” Sebastian asked, and Garreth glowered.

“That cow just punched me,” he said, thickly. “Didn’t say a damn word and ran off to the bedroom.”

Sebastian grinned. “Can’t say you didn’t deserve it.”

Garreth wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Shut up and help me with these, would you? Whatever she’s planning, I hope it works, because none of these antidotes look promising right now.”

✧˖°  ˖ * ˖  °˖✧

Ominis twisted and writhed, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. His clothes lay discarded on the floor of the small room, the light satin sheets of the bed dragging across his fevered skin as he desperately sought some form of relief from the blazing need surging through his body. But no matter how much he rutted against the mattress, no matter how fervently he beat himself, he couldn’t break through the barrier between desperate desire and the enduring numbness that denied him, over and over.

He couldn’t say how much time had passed. He couldn’t say how long he’d been tangled in these sheets, moaning softly as he chased a high that tormented him as it danced away, again and again. His mind was fragmented, consumed by a primal, visceral need for relief, for this aching agony to end, for the heavens to open and just please let him come.

So scattered was he that he barely registered the door opening, the footsteps hushing over the carpet as he gripped handfuls of his hair, curled in a ball on his side. But he heard the sharp intake of breath, smelled that torturously familiar scent that was so deliciously her, and his tormented mind took on a crystal clarity as pure, unadulterated panic flashed through him.

“No, no!” he gasped. “No, not you!”

She pulled up short, her brows drawing together a little as Ominis struggled to pull the fraying threads of his brain back together.

“I-I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…” he whimpered softly as another agonising pang of need surged through him, intensified by the fact that it was her standing there, and he curled up tighter, his hands tensing in his hair, trying to hide his shamed face as he tried to burrow under the sheets. “I… I don’t want you to see me like this.”

She was concerningly quiet for a moment, then her footsteps sounded once more as she approached, and Ominis bit down on a high-pitched whine as she settled on the bed, her weight pulling the sheets tight against his skin. He fought not to writhe, every nerve ending on fire as he curled up tighter.

“Please… please leave,” he begged. “I-I c-can’t…”

“This needs to be fixed,” she said, her voice low and soothing. “Ominis, you can’t go on like this. I want to help you.”

“Then get me a fucking antidote,” he spat, his limbs trembling as he fought to remain still. He didn’t care that he swore in front of her, something he vowed never to do in front of a lady, he was too concerned with retaining some miniscule shred of dignity. Shame and humiliation burned a torturous path through his body as he bit down on another low whine, his cock throbbing at the thought of her being so close to him, her beautiful scent, her delicious voice sending waves of primal desire through him.

She couldn’t be here. She had to leave, or he was going to do something they would both regret.

It seemed she either couldn’t sense the danger, however, or she didn’t care. She slid closer to him, a cool hand finding his shoulder, such a simple touch making his hair stand on end as he fought with himself not to grab at her. He had to maintain control, no matter how difficult. He was a gentleman, he was proper, he wasn’t one of those base louts that thought with their dicks and followed wherever they pointed, he was… he was…

Fucking hell. He was desperate for her.

Her hand tightened on his shoulder, pushing lightly, and little by little he uncurled enough to reveal his face, his skin flushed, his hair sticking to his forehead.

“You poor thing,” she murmured. “Will you let me help you?”

Her hand slid over his shoulder to his chest, and Ominis bit down on a whine. How often had he tormented himself with fantasies of this exact thing happening? It almost made him want to weep with the frustration of it all, because he knew all too well that nothing would come of this but further humiliation.

“P-please… don’t,” he whimpered as she peeled the sheets back, moving closer to him as she trailed her fingers over his stomach, the muscles contracting at her touch. “It won’t… it won’t d-do anything… I c-can’t feel-”

His next words were cut off by a yelp as the heel of her hand grazed the aching head of his length through the sheets, sending a surge of pleasure so powerful through him that it snapped his head back.

He could feel her touch.

His hands flew out, one latching onto her wrist, the other winding into her hair. She came to him willingly, her lips brushing his hesitantly for a heartbeat before he crushed his mouth to hers, moaning helplessly as she found his aching steel through the sheets, her palm curving around the shape of him.

Ominis launched up, hooking an arm around her neck, his free hand shoving at the covers. There was no longer room for hesitancy or fear or embarrassment – any last shred of lingering dignity had been eviscerated by her kiss.

All Ominis knew is that he needed to be held, to be kissed, to be touched, and to be fucked. Right. Now.

He shoved at the sheets covering him as her lips moved from his to lavish attention on the side of his neck, her hand travelling down his chest sparking through his nerves. A high, desperate whine escaped him when she showed no hesitation and wrapped her hand around his fevered length, the soothing cool of her skin a balm to his burning flesh.

Even through his maddening haze of desperation and need, Ominis was dimly aware of the inexplicable skill she displayed, each swift, twisting stroke of her hand designed by some omniscient power, it seemed, so perfectly did it make his body sing. Her pace was steady, her grip firm but not tight, and his mind went to pieces. In all his furtive, shameful imaginings of being with her at last, he had never once suspected that she would know just how perfectly to treat him.

She murmured gentle encouragement to him, her words a song of sin and fire as her touch sent him ever higher on a glittering ladder that seemed heaven bound. Ominis bucked helplessly against her, his hands alternately clutching and tugging at her clothes, knowing in some deep, primal way that the simple touch of her hand, no matter how glorious, would never be enough.

It seemed she understood this as well, for her lips left his neck, trailing down his body, each press of her lips tensing the muscles they touched. Something in the back of his mind set up a wild protest, the part of him that was still human underneath his frantic desire screaming that he would never live this down, but even this stubborn part of him was silenced when a searing heat enveloped him from head to base, hard at the edges and so deliciously soft in the centre, something long and dexterous winding about his entire length.

The sensation of her mouth on him in such a way pushed a yell that was almost a scream from deep within his lungs, flying up his throat so harshly that it roughed the edges of his voice, his hands flew to her head, winding his fingers into her hair and driving himself as deep as he could. He didn’t care that he might choke her, that he might make her wretch, he just needed more of that sensation, more of this heavenly feeling of pure euphoria.

She didn’t choke, and she didn’t retch. She tightened her lips, hollowing her cheeks and sucking hard, her throat closing over the tip of him as he threw his head back, yelping in wordless ecstasy. Her arms wound around his waist as his legs fell apart, anchoring them together as her head bobbed at a steady, rapid pace, and if Ominis had the gift of sight, he would have seen the entire cosmos.

"Fuck... yes..." Ominis gasped. "Right there... don't stop, please don't stop..."

And yet it still wasn’t enough. Though each swipe of her tongue drew a whining moan from his lips like silver thread, the pulsing of her throat in time with his racing heart, his body stubbornly refused to fall over the edge upon which he teetered. Almost rabid, Ominis gripped he hair, pulling her back up to crush his lips to hers, tugging at her clothes so forcefully that her blouse tore.

In response, she pinned his wrists over his head. He had no time to protest this as she straddled him in the next moment, leaning down to capture his lips with hers once more, holding him tight with one hand as the other slid down, grasping him firmly and angling him up.

Ominis could never have imagined the euphoria that he experienced next. One moment, he was aching, spit-slick and cool in the empty air, and the next he was enveloped in searing satin and silken fire. If her mouth had been the cosmos, this was heaven itself. He could barely draw breath to moan as she seated him fully inside her, and even through his primal haze, he couldn’t believe it, couldn’t understand it, that he, Ominis Gaunt, was being loved by her.

He thrust up with abandon, garbled pleas and frenzied, worshipful praise flowing from his mouth between urgent kisses, his hands held firmly above his head as she rode him like a graphorn. Her hair swung down, the silken tresses brushing over his face and chest like he’d always dreamed of. He began to feel a delicious, prickling heat pooling at the base of his spine, in the pit of his stomach, his skin tingling as he ran full pelt towards the edge. Something within him knew he needed to savour this, to commit each and every detail to memory as she herself released a soft, breathy moan, but that single sound, the knowledge that came with it being that he was making her feel good was too much for him.

"Fuck... fuck... FUCK! YES! YES!"

The spell was broken, the potion overcome as Ominis’ entire body went taught, his balls drawing up tight as he finally, finally came like a fucking hose. His head snapped back, his moans rising to echoing yelps as his back arched, his hands pinioned above his head as he writhed, the sensation so much more intense than anything he had ever experienced before, going on and on and on until he was certain he might go mad. But end it did, and he fell back, utterly boneless and exhausted, his breath trembling as his body quivered, the warm weight of her comforting as she settled to lie atop him, her lips soothing once more at his neck.

“Are you alright?” she asked, after some small time had passed. Ominis could only mumble non-words, his mind still scattered, his not quite feeling his body as he should now that there was this sudden absence of primal need. Little by little, the last few hours came back to him, and he felt his chest grow tight. Wincing as fresh shame burned a path through him, Ominis turned his face away.

“I-I’m so sorry,” he managed, his voice cracking. “Y-you shouldn’t have… my behaviour… I never should…”

“Hush,” she brushed his hair back, pressing a delicate kiss to his temple. “I was happy to, Ominis.” She pulled him closer, a hand at the back of his head, and he curled into her automatically, burying his face in the crook of her neck. The lingering ache in his body melded with his utter humiliation, contrasting bizarrely with a feeling of purest bliss. He held onto it, onto her, knowing that once she left this bed, this room, she’d never want to speak to him again. She had helped him, yes, but that was what she did. It wasn’t because she liked him. How could anyone like someone as depraved as him?

As if she could read his thoughts, she gave him a little squeeze, her lips brushing his ear.

“You know, I’d be happy to do this again,” she murmured, and he felt her lips stretch into a smile against his skin as his heart leapt. “With you, and only you. Only… let’s leave the experimental potions out of it next time, hm?”

Ominis was only too happy to agree.

[bonniesfamiliar]

DIMENSION TRAVEL STORY IDEA: Summary: Harriet "Harry" James Potter has travelled to an alternate dimension during a spell gone wrong (Kreacher's actually responsible cuz he cares about Harry since she's the Lady of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black) Harriet knows it's an alternate dimension cuz she finds a newspaper stand and lo and behold, who's on the front cover? Tom. Fucking. Riddle. But not the ugly Voldemort Tom Riddle she killed. No this is young Tom Riddle who grew up FINE AS HELL.

And he's on the front page cuz he's The Minister of Magic and guess what he's talking about.

Dumbledore.

He's talking about Dumbledore.

And not manipulative gramps Dumbledore whose beard is longer than my hair.

No.

We're talking about this one

You know why he's talking about this Dumbledore?

Because Albus. Percival. Fucking. Dumbledore decided to become the epitome of "Be Gay, Do Crime," with Gellert Grindelwald, his husband.

DUMBLEDORE IS A DARK LORD WITH HIS HUBBY

So Harriet is obviously freaking out and does the right thing.

She goes to a pub and drinks her sorrows away in Scottish Whiskey, (Thank you, Minny)

But Harry never makes reasonable decisions so when she finds a quill and paper, guess what she does.

She writes to Misinter Riddle.

But the drama doesn't end there.

Whenever Harriet does anything, whether she writes or talks about Tom Riddle, she doesn't speak in English.

She talks in Pareseltongue.

(Cuz she and tom are the only Parselmouths. I think.)

So Parseltongue.

Harriet writes in parseltongue to the Minister of Fucking Magic on his wrongdoings in her universe.

The letter literally looks like this:

ssss ssss sssssssss ss ssssss s sss ssssssss ssssss sss sss ss ssss ssssssss ssssssss ssss ssssss sssssss ss ss sssssssss and that transcribes to 

"Dear Lord Voldemort, or should I say Minister Riddle, you are an ugly noseless hairless evil snakey bastard in my dimension,"

and cuz she's spiteful, she signs it off with "You-Know-Who"

But the thing is Harriet never mentioned her name or who her parents were.

So when Minister Riddle receives this letter, he freaks out and then does everything he can to find this person.

Not to kill them.

But to woo them.

This kind, thoughtful person has travelled from another dimension just to stop him from becoming evil.

AND THEY'RE A PARSELMOUTH.'

THEY'RE OBVIOUSLY HIS SNAKE MATE. (cuz he killed all of the Gaunts and Riddles so they're not family)

You can bet ur ass he was squealing to Nagini at the thought of having another Parselmouth in the world with him.

He's obsessed.

(He's not tom riddle if he doesn't have possessive issues and his jealousy issues are just as bad.🤭🤭🤭🥰🥰🥰😩😩😩)

Like it's not a want.

It's a need.

He needs the writer of this letter to be with him forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and-

You probably get the idea.

Anyway, 1 year goes by.

Tom Riddle: I MUST FIND THIS PERSON AND MAKE THEM MINE

Harriet Potter: *forgets about even writing the letter* 

Tom is growing more obsessed as the days go by and then he meets a woman at a charity ball held for idk an organisation for potieneers? Potion Masters?

She's chatting up with Lord and Lady Dagworth-Granger cuz she's been working with them cuz they remind her of Hermione and she needed a job.

Anyway, he approaches the couple in hopes of talking to them and Harriet sees Minister Riddle approaching and quickly moves away to head to the drinks table.

And then lets out a breath of relief when she realises he wasn't heading for her.

She schmoozes for a few more minutes before calling it quits and heading out for fresh air.

The party is at the Dagworth-Granger's manor so she goes out to the gardens.

And hears a cry for help.

Her Gryffindor instincts push her to run towards the sound of danger.

But her Slytherin side made her hide behind the wall from where the cry of help had come from.

It was a witch being harassed by two wizards.

One of the wizards was holding her wand, taunting her.

While the other had begun to take off her outfit.

Before it could go any further, she brought the men's attention to her and with a flick of her wrist, Harriet had the men on their knees.

She then walked over to the one holding the witch's wand and grabbed it out of his hand, accidentally snapping his wrist in the process.

She gave the witch her wand back and accepted the shaky hug she received.

Harriet waited until the witch was out of sight before she turned to the men and smiled, watching as their faces fell into horror as they saw the fangs in her mouth.

(I'm in love with the prompt by a post on tumblr where  Basilisk!Harry is hugging Kneazle!Hermione and Dragon!Ron also wants his cuddles. I can't find the person who made it but I've lived by the idea that these would be their animagus forms if they ever performed the spell like James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew had done to become illegal animagi for Remus Lupin)

Harriet rips into their throats, feeds on them and then turns their bodies into ash with the fiendryfire spell.

She grabbed a mirror from her purse to erase the blood from her face and clothes and began to walk away lest anyone come looking for the wizards.

But, Harriet suddenly slammed into what felt like a wall.

A very warm wall.

Regaining her bearings, Harriet looked up to notice that the "wall" was MINISTER RIDDLE.

AND HE WAS HOLDING HER ARMS.

"Minister Riddle, what are you doing here?" She said pasting a smile on her face.

Shift of POV:

Minister Riddle internally sighed at being stuck in another ball instead of being at home, analysing the letter once again.

He was certain it was a woman who sent it as there was a red lipstick kiss on the paper after it was signed sss-ssss-sss (You-Know-Who)

His thoughts are cut off when Lady Dagworth-Granger asks her husband where Harriet is.

Who is Harriet? he muses but when Lord Dagworth-Granger offers to look in the gardens, Tom leaps at the chance to run away from the party.

He goes into the gardens aimlessly walking around for a few minutes, lost in his thoughts of his mysterious parselmouth when a witch comes out of nowhere and collides with him.

He uprighted her by placing his hands on her arms and looked on curiously as she seemed to freeze in place when she looked up to see that it was he she bumped into.

Tom Riddle is the one to freeze when she speaks.

"Minister Riddle, what are you doing here?" She says an innocent smile on her face as if she had no idea his whole world had just flipped on its axis.

Parseltongue.

She's speaking in parseltongue.

She's his parselmouth.

The one from another dimension.

But he had to clarify so he replies honestly for the first time in his life, in parseltongue, "I've been looking for you," 

"Searching for me? Whatever for?"

A boyish smile widens on his face before he forces it into a polite smile.

"The Lord and Lady Dagworth-Granger have been searching for you, Miss Harriet I believe you are?" He reverts to English to test if she notices the change but she doesn't.

She just replies in English, "Ah, I see. I disappeared for too long with my break from the stuffiness of the ball and yes, I am Harriet."

Harriet, he muses in his mind, no last name to give for me.

She extends her gloved hand for him to shake but Tom riddle reaches for both of her hands and turns them over to kiss them gently and forces himself not to give into the urge of nuzzling into her hands (well not yet at least) and without letting them go, he straightens to his full height to tower over her (giving him a thrill at knowing she was shorter, meaning he could easily pick her up and carry her, be it over his shoulders or bridal style) and replies, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Harriet. No last name?"

(Harriet has been wearing gloves cuz of the 'I must not tell lies' scars that cover her hands.)

Harriet smiles teasingly towards him and his cold heart thaws ever so, "I couldn't decide on a last name and I've decided I like the mysterious aura it gives me,"

Or maybe she couldn't risk using her real last name because she was from a different dimension, Tom muses in his mind, Nevertheless, Harriet Riddle has a lovely ring to it.

Harriet Potter: *staring confused at Tom Riddle as he smiles down at her

Tom Riddle: *Winter would be a lovely time to get married, wouldn't it?

I'm stopping here cuz it's a summary, not a story. Yes, I'm Evil.

Tell me if you like it tho.

I was this close *makes an inch between her fingers* to making this a Soulmate AU story.

Think of the angst that Harriet would go through all her life knowing that her soulmate's words to her are:  I've been looking for you

And it's an alternate hotter version of Tom Riddle, AKA THE BAD GUY WHO MURDERED HER PARENTS 

And think of how Harriet's words had motivated Tom his entire life to do his best to work hard (and cheat death) to live long enough for his soulmate to see him one day at a place be it a library or a gala or a hallway and ask him: Minister Riddle, what are you doing here?

Huh.

Maybe I should make them soulmates.

I need a timeline. fuck.

Um.

Riddle was educated at Hogwarts from 1938 to 1945, and was sorted into Slytherin House, a nod to his ancestor Salazar Slytherin.

Making Tom 34 cuz 1927 is the year Tom was born in if he went to Hogwarts in 1938 which would make him 11 in 1938 and 38-11 is 27 so 1927 is when he was born.

61-27=34 so Harriet is in 1961 but cuz of the time skip tom is 35 years old in 1962

Harriet was born in 1980 

The Second War technically began on 24 June, 1995, though was not officially announced by the Ministry until nearly a year later on 17 June, 1996, and ended on 2 May, 1998, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, after the death of the Dark Lord.

Which made Harriet 18 in 1998, 24 in 2004, 24 in 1961 and 25 in 1962

 but she deserves peace so the year Kreacher sent her back was 2004 which would make her 24 cuz he's horrified that she hasn't attempted to romance anyone since Cedric Diggory.

Tbh, if he was my bf I would never love again.

But then hubby "I would burn the world down for you and rebuild a new one from its ashes" tom riddle is here and I'm like Cedric who?

But none of them compare to (long list of titles, I'll research later.) Harriet James Potter.

[eldritch-spouse]

Relax, I know he's big and the phalluses are uh, intimidating but the subject is extremely docile. Who knew aliens would be so–why is he out of containment?

You're frozen. Catatonic.

You remember watching videos of animals in the wild becoming completely unresponsive when approached by predators, how the only thing you could see were their eyes, wide and frantic, and their chests heaving as they seemed to be praying to survive.

Those videos were so funny, right? Well, you're not laughing now...

The lifeform, the alien, the creature you had yet to see, that they'd been easing you into the idea of meeting so that it wouldn't be a colossal shock- Just effortlessly tore down the pressurized, extremely high-tech door to its cell. You didn't even know those doors could come flying off like that.

In seconds, mere stunned moments, the entity you can't even call a monster is staring you down. He's giant, truly, but gaunt like a beanstalk, all flowing limbs and unearthly elegance. You can't count the tentacles that comprise his lower body, you can't focus on the fins of his extremely human arms, the bizarre depressions on his chest area, and the only reason you know him as male is because of the mention of phalluses.

Curiously, he doesn't look hostile.

But he's very much focused on you, and that's not ideal.

It's as if he sensed you through the cell, somehow, and that caught his attention.

A large, water-filled glass dome envelops his head, but you can still very much sense those glazed eyes studying you from top to bottom. Like any human would, he procures eye contact before attempting to communicate.

But unfortunately, he doesn't converse in a language you can gouge.

A myriad of croons envelop the room, these soft tingling sounds that feel just barely within reach of your eardrums. The... Appendage, sprouting from the top of his head sways, an assortment of warm hues gently fading in and out.

Pink. Orange. Pink. Maroon. Pink. Shock pink. White. Pink blinking.

What is this, Simon Says?

He leans down, and trembling, you glance at the intern beside you in a desperate plea for help.

They look utterly fascinated by the interaction. Panicked, but amazed. You have no idea whether or not that's good for you.

Finally, they seem to come to their senses and realize that you are probably seconds away from pissing yourself if nothing is done.

" Okay. Okay- Listen to me. " They start murmuring, an audible gulp follows. Your eyes twitch to the worker, but you don't dare stare at them long enough to lose track of the literal alien.

" Like I said, he's very docile. There's no reason for him to attack you right now. In fact he's... Nevermind. "

What the fuck do they mean nevermind?!

" I need you to not move too suddenly, and don't scream, okay? "

You nod quietly, looking at the still pink-flashing light above their head. He dangles it in front of his face, as close to the glass as he can, as if to make sure you're getting the message. You hope pink signifies friendliness.

" What- What do I do now? " You whisper.

The intern looks at you like they themself aren't quite sure.

" U- Uhm... Let- Let me contact my- "

Out of nowhere, what you can only call a bark of noise rings out through the room.

This extremely loud sound that immediately frightens you, sharp and rough like a branch cracking but amplified a thousand times. Even now, it feels like it's still echoing within your eardrums.

Did he do that? Did something in the building just break?!

You shrieked, because of course you did, eyes nearly bulging out your skull when you realize the employee told you specifically not to scream.

They're looking at you with a tight-lipped grimace, finger poised over what you presume is a contact on their phone.

There isn't even time for you to say your last words, some kind of message for your family or even just a plea for help.

The alien reacts to your agitated noise quickly, but not at all in the way you'd expect. Instead of perhaps lunging to crack your neck like a twig or slashing your face off, the entity grabs you with both arms by the chest, lifts you into the air, and slides inside the cell it was previously contained in. The clutch is what prevented you from screaming again.

Once again, you channel the wisdom of prey animals in nature documentaries by staying absolutely stock still, and allowing the foreign lifeform to do whatever it wants. He keeps flashing colors at you in patterns you don't recognize, but involve a lot of pink tones. Purple now. Long and pudgy looking digits start poking at your outfit here and there, and you spot something rippling under the mass of his front, along that large opening you had never given much thought to until now.

It looks like something's bursting out of him...

Oh God, oh fuck what is that-

You blink, open-mouthed, at what has to be a dick. Some kind of wriggling, prehensile appendage tipped with a much too human-looking phallus. It flattens against your midsection, and you shudder in confusion. Confusion that soon grows into barely contained hysteria as more bizarre and unique extremities keep slithering out of his insides- What is he, made of cocks?

" S- Some help here?! " You finally manage to nearly sob out.

The worker is frantically trying to appease someone on the other end of their phone, picking at their collar while they watch you get vaguely harassed by an excited extraterrestrial.

" No, no sir he's never done that before- I-... No, I didn't- Sir, he tore the whole door off I can't just lock- " Their eyes widen as more hues of purple keep being flashed your way, like something horrendous is about to happen. " Get- Please get here quickly, I'm begging you! "

By the time they hurriedly mash the end call button and try to stuff their phone into a tight uniform, the alien already gently pried most of your shirt off, cooing some kind of melody that fails to lull you into calmness, which is understandable when a variety of reproductive organs are hovering far too close to your bare skin. Some of them are so... Strange. There's no stopping the thoughts of how they might be used.

Footsteps sound, and as soon as the worker tries to get within grabbing range of you, an already ballsy move in your eyes, the subject makes another powerful sound, the depressions in his chest vibrating while you groan in pain.

The filament in the alien's head swells significantly, blasting a color that your brain simply fails to comprehend, seeing it as a flash of pure black that momentarily blinds you before you have the wisdom to look away, trembling in his grasp.

The employee makes some kind of pained noise, you can hear the squeaking of their shoes as they run out the room and...

Leave you to your own devices.

Lord help you.

[freelancearsonist]

el chico del apartamento 512

➔ Frankie Morales x gn!Reader - 1.6k

➔ There's a rumor going around your building about the resident of apartment 512, and you're eager to investigate.

➔ Rated PG-13 for allusions to sex but otherwise just some plain old fluff and fun. post movie canon wife and kid erasure sorry, takes place in colombia, both reader and frankie speak spanish and everything is translated.

➔ this is my entry for the Selena Drabble Challenge hosted by mi esposa @fhatbhabie <3 sorry i've been sitting on this forever hehe but i hope you enjoy

Frankie barely manages to pull himself out of the slump he’s in for the first year or so after the absolute disaster in the Andes.

He misses his family, misses his friends, misses his crew–his brothers. He tries to convince himself that it’s for the best, that it’s only a matter of time before those assholes who were in cahoots with Lorea come after him–that the people he loves will be safer and happier if he’s not around them when it happens. And most of the time he can block all that sadness and pain out by throwing his whole mind and body into the earnest construction job he picks up in this new town within this new country. But it catches up to him late at night in dreams and quiet whispers of intrusive thoughts; that he’s a coward for abandoning the ones that needed him most, that he could’ve done more to make that damned mission less of a disaster. That he could’ve come out of it rich and happy if he wasn’t such a fuck-up.

He wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, an ache so deep in his chest that it feels like he’s been shot. He clutches at his sternum and tries to catch his breath but he can’t. His body wracks with sobs and he knows he’ll never be okay again.

But somehow, he ends up okay anyway. Somehow, he falls back to sleep just to repeat the cycle the next day.

There’s a rumor going around amongst your neighbors that apartment 512 is haunted.

People hear things–weird things. Screaming, crying, banging–and always at the dead of night. And everyone swears up and down that they’ve never seen the guy who supposedly lives there. The people who say they have seen him get more dramatic with their descriptions every time–toweringly tall, shoulders that could stand up to a wrecking ball, hauntingly sad eyes and gaunt face. It’s like he’s a thing of legend–a story they tell their kids to make sure they behave. “Don’t run in the halls or the guy from apartment 512 will get you.”

You figure he’s probably just some guy who works long hours and likes to watch horror movies to unwind or something–not a monster or a ghost, just misunderstood. You haven’t seen the guy yourself, but you kinda like him anyway. The building’s certainly been a lot quieter since he moved in… well, everywhere except his own apartment, at least. 

You find yourself keeping a more vigilant eye out, alert to any face in the building that doesn’t look familiar. It seems kinda silly to want to see someone you don’t know, but you’re a little nosy and a little more than curious. If there’s some truth to the rumors that have been going around by the people who claim to have seen him, you want to find out for yourself.

It’s a completely ordinary night when you notice an unfamiliar face in the mailroom, and you have to do a double take. This stranger is handsome–tall and dark with shaggy brown hair and an even shaggier patch of stubble across his jaw.

He’s just standing there, staring blankly at a row of mailboxes, looking so… foreboding. You approach slowly, cautiously; part of you thinks you should just walk away and let this man do whatever he’s doing. But there’s a large, louder part of you that approaches with curiosity. There’s just something about him that draws you in, that makes you put on your best smile and ask, “Señor? Necesitas ayuda?” (Do you need help, sir?)

He blinks slowly, heavily, and then dark brown eyes flicker towards you.

“Oh!” He clears his throat and it’s like he’s coming back from an out of body experience–the color returns to his face, his eyes lose that glassy sheen, and his posture loosens a bit. He looks friendly now, sheepish even. He wrings his big hands and shifts on his feet, as if he’s been caught at a vulnerable moment. “Lo siento, estaba en la nube.” (Sorry, I was spacing out.)

“Está bien,” you tell him with your most disarming smile. “Andas buscando algo?” (It’s okay. / Are you looking for something?)

“No, solo estoy recopilando mi correo,” he rumbles before flashing you the most charming smile you’ve ever seen in your life. (No, I’m just getting my mail.)

He fishes through his pockets and finds a small silver key–and then he inserts it into the box labeled “512”.

“Tú vives en el apartamento 512?” There’s a strange air of reverence in your voice despite trying to hide it. This is the guy everyone’s been talking about, and he doesn’t seem nearly as monstrous as everyone tried to make him sound. (You live in apartment 512?)

“Uhhh… sí?” He chuckles and looks over to you, and you can see the way his brow furrows at the look of shocked surprise on your face.

You realize you’re actually gaping open-mouthed at the poor guy, and you snap your mouth closed as soon as you see the little crease between his brows deepen. Not soon enough for it to go unnoticed, though–the corner of his mouth flickers up in a pseudo-smirk, and god he’s handsome.

“No hemos tenido la oportunidad de conocernos aún.” You look up at him and give your best, winning smile as you give him your name. There’s a strange, fluttery feeling in your stomach as his dark eyes meet yours–have you mentioned how handsome he is? (We haven’t had the chance to meet yet.)

“Mucho gusto,” he says with a smile. “Soy Frankie. Supongo que vives en el edificio también?” (Nice to meet you. / I’m Frankie. I’m guessing you live in the building too?)

“Oh, sí,” you say with a slight laugh. “No soy ningún tipo de acosador, vivo en el apartamento 526.” (Oh, yes. / I promise I’m not some kind of creep, I live in apartment 526.)

And then you catch his eyes dragging along your form, not even the least bit subtle, and you try your best to be nonchalant about the way you have to lean against the wall to avoid melting into a puddle on the mailroom floor; especially when you see those full lips of his curve into a smile, and you know he’s liking what he’s seeing.

“Nah, no creo que seas un acosador,” he hums–and there’s that damned smirk again. If you don’t get out of here you’re going to start drooling. (I don’t think you’re a creep.)

He grabs two letters from his mailbox, examines the envelopes, and then unceremoniously dumps them both into the trashcan in the corner with a mumbled, “Malditas estafas por correo.” (Damn junk mail.)

“Eso es lo único que recibo ahora también,” you tell him sympathetically. (That’s all I get anymore too.)

He brushes past you slightly as he moves to the door, and you get a whiff of distinctly woody cologne that makes your heart pick up a beat. You try to act normal and go to open your own mailbox, but he stops in the narrow doorway and leans against the jam to look at you.

“Te volveremos a ver aquí?” (Will I see you around again?)

You think the rumors about him were right, at least a little bit. He’s towering and imposing–he fills the entire doorway with ease. He’s firm and broad and sturdy and big. Maybe he would be intimidating to someone else, but all you can think about is climbing him like a tree.

“Sí. Puedes verme cuando tú quieras.” (You can see me whenever you want to.)

His eyes flicker indecisively for a moment, and then he draws his bottom lip between his teeth. “Qué tal viernes por la noche?” (What about Friday night?)

You try not to focus on how you want him to bite into you like that as you tell him, “Sí, eso sería perfecto.” (Yes, that would be perfect.)

“Perfecto. Te veré luego.” And then he flashes you that damned adorable boyish smile again before he retreats from the mailroom. You think he’s going to be trouble for you. (Perfect. I’ll see you then.)

The monthly building meeting is Saturday morning, and you’re glad to see Frankie’s decided to join in finally. Everyone throws curious looks his way as he walks through the room towards where you’re seated, but no one is curious or brave enough to ask who he is.

“Buenos días, querida,” he murmurs, discreetly ghosting a kiss against your cheek as he drops into the seat beside yours. There’s a hint of amusement in his eyes as they trail over your outfit: the same one you wore to dinner last night, the same one you picked up off his bedroom floor this morning and shoved on hastily to get to this meeting in time. (Good morning, dear.)

Before you get a chance to respond, your neighbor from across the hall plunks down in the seat on your other side.

“Escuchaste ese ruido anoche?” She asks, sounding more amused than annoyed. (Did you hear that noise last night?)

“Qué ruido?” You ask with a raised brow. (What noise?)

She smirks with satisfaction, like she knows something you don’t. And then she looks pointedly between you and Frankie. “Suena como si nuestro fantasma en el apartamento 512 hubiera conseguido un socio para él.” (It sounds like our ghost in apartment 512 got himself a partner.)

You nearly choke on your own tongue, but Frankie just chuckles raspily and wraps an arm around your shoulders. He learned all about the rumors from you last night over dinner, and he thinks they’re hilarious. Besides, they’ll die out soon enough anyway–he’s never slept quite as peacefully as he did last night in your arms–if he doesn’t feed them a little bit. And if feeding the rumors means keeping you moaning and groaning the way he did last night, he can’t say he minds it one bit.

➔ beta: @shakespeareanwannabe; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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[yanxidarlings]

"they say the wizarding elite aims to have heirs within a few years of each other, so that when they begin attending hogwarts, they can form a gang, a clique, whatever it is, to represent the prosperity of the pureblood circle, to uphold the values of the sacred twenty eight" "didn't nott's grandfather write that list?" "no- well, yes, his father did. but the idea of the wizarding elite predates it. the slytherins have had their heads stuck up their arses since 990 a.d — salazar slytherin himself is who we have to thank for the glorification of pure blood — and so centuries of inbreeding has led to what we now know as the slytherin elite" "so it's like the wizarding nobility then?" "not.. exactly. it used to be, many family's from the sacred twenty eight used to hold very real titles and power, but when the magical government became centralised in the 1700's, they were given hereditary seats on the wizengamont to keep them happy, but the power they once held slowly faded — that was around the time when the concept of slytherin gangs began" "merlins beard, they've been at this for nearly three hundred years? haven't they run out of purebloods to inbreed with yet" "some have, that's why you don't see any gaunts, beowulf's or volants in the group-" "if i'm being honest, they all look like the same stuck up gits, you absolutely positive some pureblood lady didn't just pop out fifteen of them at once" "there's only nine, malfoy and zabini are pretty distinguishable from the others, but you do have a point, i'd bet my left leg they're all at least fifth cousins" "how do you know so much" "i read you know, and people watch" "a'right then, which one is which" "why do you want to know so much? that's... caster rosier, best avoid him, apparently by the third year he had dated all of slytherin house" "you're kidding, right" "and then he moved on to hufflepuff and ravenclaw, but i suppose that's what happens when rita skeeter raises you" "rita skeeter? poor bloke" "and he does nothing but gossip, we once had to work together for a potions project and i mentioned that i had a cough and he started a rumour that i had mono" "i take that back, stuff him" "and he's supposed to be one of the nice ones. the one sitting next to him, pollux black, is the biggest prick i've ever had the displeasure of meeting, bumped into him once on my way to herbology, the bloody bastard has had it out for me ever since, calls me every foul word you could imagine, told me i was better off dead, i think i'm the reason he's started bullying you as well" "i thought i was getting bullied by one of the riddles" "you probably are — if he hits, it's mattheo riddle, if he snitchs, it's draco malfoy, if he's rude, it's pollux black, if he ignores, it's blaise zabini, and if he smokes, it's theodore nott. berkshire, greengrass and rosier are the 'nice ones', by slytherin standards" "which is the one with the punchable face?" "eulalio greengrass" "i was paired with astoria greengrass in transfiguration the other day, and messed up the spell, which cost us the grade, you know what he did when she went crying to him? broke my fucking wand" "i thought you said you stepped on it-" "he threatened to have me kicked out of hogwarts if i told anybody!" "that's just how those people are, think they're above everyone else because of their blood status and house. i think berkshire is the only one with redeemable qualities" "which one is that" "are you faceblind-"

[hazyange1s]

Ominis Gaunt Headcanons

I’m honored some people seemed to vibe with my Sebastian post 🥹 so of COURSE I had to compile a few things about the only blonde man with rights that I’ve come up with while writing/chatting on discord.

A very popular one that I basically accept as canon: he plays the piano and learned to from a young age. Sometimes, he even composes his own pieces (that he rarely shows to anyone).

He has a lovely white barn owl named after one of his favorite composers; Gabriel (Faurere)

Adopts one of the castle strays; a little black cat that goes by Phoebe.

Adores Earl Grey tea and drinks it every morning with LOADS of cream.

Sebastian often helps him with picking out clothes and shaving — even though Ominis insists he can do it by himself with magic.

Doesn’t like loud noises as he has very sensitive ears (his hearing is absolutely impeccable).

Because of his superhuman sense and perceptiveness, he can tell who’s walked into a room by the sound of their footsteps/breathing patterns alone.

Another popular one I’ve seen floating around: when he gets married, he chooses to take his spouse’s surname on the principle that he will not carry on the family name.

His birthday is January 9th, 1874. He’s a Capricorn sun, aquarius moon, virgo rising.

I totally support the gay HC. HOWEVER… I write him as pansexual; he doesn’t give a flying fuck what you got going on. If he connects with someone — that’s it.

Besides Marvolo (the eldest) he has two other siblings: another older brother (Silas) and an older sister (Cordelia).

Obviously we know he’s rubbish at Potions, but Ominis excels in Charms. He would love Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures more (as he finds flora and fauna quite soothing), if he wasn’t…

… a bit of a germophobe. does not like to get “dirty”.

Definitely an amazing gift giver. Somehow he always knows exactly what someone needs — even if he does spend more money than necessary sometimes.

Amortentia: the previously mentioned favorite tea, shoe polish/some other cleaning product, lavender, and his hair pomade.

Slytherin Prefect and Head Boy

Despite being proper and polite on most occasions, as we see after he finds us coming out of the Undercroft… Ominis has a vindictive side.

In fact, he’s blackmailed and verbally beaten down an array of horror-stricken students who dared to insult him or his friends. Sadly, this doesn’t help his “I’m not a dark wizard” case much.

But when it comes down to it, he’s a sensitive, poetic person with the biggest heart.

[rotthepoet]

hiii,

as someone who only recently started poking their nose into this, help i am so confused T-T do you have like a slythering boys 101 or something i am so lost on them and their personalities q-q

- 🦆 anon (it/its) (<- if that‘s still free)

O H M Y G O D S

I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO ASK ME FOR A FULL RUN DOWN EHEHEHEHHWHEHE THANK YOU

okay so essentially the Slytherin boys consist of about 5-7 boys. Draco Malfoy(canon), Blaise Zabini(Canon), Theodore Nott(canon character, will explain), Mattheo Riddle(Fanmade), Lorenzo Berkshire(Fanmade), Tom Riddle(the third. Fanmade, not the dead one), and Regulus Black(Fanmade, again not the dead one)

You’ll typically see Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, Lorenzo, and Theodore being written about, but its not hard to find Tom Riddle and Regulus Black content either.

So like? Who are these people?? How did they come to be??

We already know Blaise and Draco, they frequent both the books and movies so i’m not going to spend a lot time talking about them.

Draco is just about canon Draco. I can’t think of anything that really changes about him in the fandom.

Blaise has a lot less book/screen time than Draco so a lot of people have taken it upon themselves to characterize him. I see him as a very posh, haughty, quiet person. I think he’s at least half Italian even if he doesnt speak the language, but that differs person to person.

Okay here’s where it gets a bit complicated so stay with me(if you need clarification on anything PLEASE feel free to dm me or send in another ask <3)

Theodore Nott

Mentioned in the books maybe twice, all we know is he’s a slytherin pureblood with some h e a v y ties to Voldemort. Because we have so little information on Theodore, all of it’s basically made up.

Basic information:

He’s fancasted as Lorenzo Zurzolo, and Theodore himself is Italian and completely fluent in the language. You’ll mostly see clips of him from the show Baby(netflix)

Most people agree that his mom is dead, but i’ve seen some fics where shes alive and just ill, and i’ve seen fics where shes alive and just absent. I characterize Theo as a total mamas boy, but again its up to the author.

His dad seems to be abusive or neglectful. Again, death eater dad who is pretty much besties with Voldemort. Daddy issues

I characterize him as best friends with Mattheo Riddle(explain later) because of their family ties, but they truly get along.

He’s an avid smoker with a pension for ciggies, but i’ve also seem him characterized a few times as the Hogwarts plug which i think is SO fun.

He’s this really quiet, observant, yet flirtatious character. He’s a ladies man but still a heart breaker. Everyone wants to sleep with Nott, and thats okay.

Mattheo Ridde

Mattheo comes from a draco x reader fanfic called Possesive by yasmineamaro. I think you can still find it on Wattpad. He’s completely fanmade.

Basic Information:

He’s fancasted by Benjamin Wadsworth, and you’ll mostly see clips of him from the show Deadly Class

He’s the son of Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange, and depending on if the author believes in Tom Riddle the Third, Mattheo is the second child.

Again, Avid smoker, also I see him as a heavy drinker. Type of guy to come into class reeking of pot and act like nothing happened.

Fights galore man. Imagine having the dark lord as your dad, no doubt he was fuckin traumatized as a child. Imagine Ominis Gaunt from Hogwarts Legacy, the Guants were FUCKED UP(Gaunts actually became the riddles so this tracks) and often used unforgivables on their own children for discipline. Cant imagine Voldemort wouldnt do the same.

He is angry, he is mean, he is actually really funny and sweet once you talk to him(can we tell i have a favorite?) but getting through that hard outer shell sucks.

Also depicted as a major playboy.

Tom Riddle(the Third)

Oh boy. No idea where he came from, and tbh I see him WAY less often than anyone else. Its really a 50/50 if the author follows him being… real.

Basic information

Okay i don’t really write for Tom so.. bear with me here.

He’s casted as… just Tom Riddle from the Movies. Its just him. I think Tom Riddle second actually got a new fancast but… i dont really care :P

Heir to the Dark Lord, oldest child(again, when he exists, so don’t be surprised to see single child Matty)

Really just copy/paste book tom riddle into a new, young character.

He’s scary asf, academic weapon, also a ladies man but will drop them IMMEDIATELY after he fucks em

Idk what else to say here tbh? Maybe someone else can explain Tom better 😫

Lorenzo Berkshire

No clue how this fucker came to be, I fucking HATE him. Fanmade and BITCHY. JK just got corrected he’s from a draco x oc on wattpad called Filthy by babynaomi

Basic Information:

Fancasted by Louis Partridge, you’ll most likely see clips from Enola Holmes.

Bastard son of Mr. Berkshire and Bellatrix Lestrange which relates him to the Riddles.

I see Lorenzo being this bestie little trio with Theo and Mattheo. But Matt and Theo are way more likely to hang out with eachother than alone with him.

Suppeeeeeeer bitchy. Someone had a DR scenario where he would fuck everygirl he could, write their name down in a little black book, and each girl was worth different points based on blood status.

This guy sucks fr.

Actually some people characterize him as really sweet and fluffy.

I am not one of those people.

Regulus Black

No ideas where this guy came from. He’s literally just dead regulus copy and pasted into an alive, younger regulus. Supposedly the child of Sirius Black and some random woman?

Basic Information

He’s fancasted as Timothee Chalamet, so is dead regulus, its really confusing.

I dont write for him. Really, I dont know what to tell you

I’ve seen him portrayed as an artist?? Erm… again, i really dont know

Sorry pookie 😫

But!! This is fanfiction! And you can make uo all your own information for these guys because theyre not real!! Thats like.. the essential run down i suppose?? If youre confused about anything just let me know 🥰 really, it looks all intimidating but these characters are super easy to understand. Try poking around tiktok for POVS, silly as they are(dont @ me i read them too😫) theyre really helpful for understanding personalities. I remember being super confused when i first found em too.

[legacyshenanigans]

Hanging out at the Gaunt house 🐍

Amit: Your home is very...Antique.

Ominis: Is that a good thing?

Everett: I think he just means it's really old fashioned.

Ominis: Oh.Yes..well..Its been in my family for generations.

Garreth: Its got character, I like it *smiles*

Leander: If by character you mean dark and gloomy..Sure.

Sebastian: Leander *frowns* don't be fucking rude.

Ominis: Calm yourself, Sebastian..Its alright...Even BLIND I feel those vibes in my home.

Leander: I didn't mean anything by it...I will say...Not a HUGE fan of that snake watching us though. *looks at Rerek*

Rerek: *in the corner of the room* This lanky prick is pissing me off, Little Gaunt

Ominis: Oh, thats just Rerik...Pretend hes not here

Amit: Hars to ignore such an..Intimidating..Yet beautiful creature.

Rerek: Ha..I like this one.

Ominis: Congratulations Amit. He likes you...A very hard thing to accomplish..Trust me.

Sebastian: He likes, Amit?...I come here ALL the time..And he fucking HATES me.

Rerek: Thats because YOU are a cock, little, arsehole.

Sebastian: What did he say?

Ominis: N-Nothing..

Leander: Does he like, me?

Rerek: No I fucking don't.

Garreth: What about me? Does he like me?

Rerek: I dont like YOU either..

Everett: What about me?

Rerek: Oh don't even get me fucking started on THIS thing....A voice like nails down a chalk board..URGH.

Ominis: Can you ALL stop asking me if he likes you!

~

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

So I know you think Tom didn’t kill his dad, does that mean you believe he never met him? If so, why do you think Tom didn’t go to confront his father that night?

The time @therealvinelle and I said that Tom didn't kill his dad.

You Can Think Whatever You Like

Most people think Tom killed his parents, it's the accepted explanation by far in canon. I don't happen to as detailed in an hour long podcast episode, but that's just me and @therealvinelle.

Also worth noting is that this is a Watsonian blog, not a Doyalist blog. What that means is, given what we see exactly in the text, I try to figure out what happened even if it's not the authorial intent.

Given what we saw, it's unlikely Tom killed his father (far more likely it's Morfin). I don't know his motivations for doing one thing or another, that's not something I can really infer when we know so little about him.

Do I Think He Never Met Him?

Possible he did, if we take Frank at his word, he does see a dark-haired man go up to the house.

We don't really know though and I'm inclined to think probably not given that no one cites the strange boy who looks like Riddle walking across town to get to Riddle Manor from the Gaunt shack.

Instead, Frank is the only witness to anything and only when he's right at the house, and his description of what may or may not have been Tom is... strange and suspect.

But Alright, Why Wouldn't Tom Meet His Dad (And Therefore Kill Him)?

Trains.

While it's possible laws and such have changed, in HP canon, Harry only learns Apparition in sixth year. Further, we know the age of majority/allowed magical use stays the same as Dumbledore cites this when Harry asks how Tom did the magic to murder his family while he was under the age of seventeen.

It's possible Tom had been taught Apparition or else learned it on his own, but he had no way of knowing it wasn't tracked by the Ministry not to mention it's highly dangerous if unpracticed and Tom would likely be wary of trying it.

We also know Tom still would have had to have taken some form of transportation to get to Little Hangleton, since you can't Apparate to a place you've never been.

It's possible Tom took the Knight Bus, except that Dumbledore did an intense investigation into what had happened and didn't cite a Knight Bus dropping someone off or picking them up in Little Hangleton or any nearby area for that matter.

Most likely, Tom took the train.

Now, we don't know where Tom lived during this time period. It's possible he stayed in London during the war (not being evacuated with the other children because he was off in school) but it's also possible that Mrs. Cole came through and Tom managed to get relocated somewhere during the summers.

Regardless, wherever Tom's at, he's probably going to have to take a decent train ride to get there and a decent train ride to get back. That train's going to run on a strict schedule and if Tom misses that last train then he is thoroughly fucked.

Now, Tom arrives in Little Hangleton and it's extremely doubtful he had any idea where he was supposed to go. The Gaunts live in a very out of the way little shack that Tom would not simply stumble across. It probably took him some time to find Morfin. Tom also probably didn't realize until he met Morfin that his father was even in this village/even in the area, as it's unlikely people would say to him "oh yes, that big manor up there is Riddle Manor where they all look just like you" without prompting.

What I'm getting at is Tom probably eats up much of his "in Little Hangleton time" just finding and dealing with Morfin.

It's not inconceivable to me that he felt he had too little time afterwards to meet with his father, not to mention he'd just be showing up at the doorstep "hello father, remember me!", and this is a very rich Muggle family and it would be a seriously weird meeting that would take time.

After Morfin, and after stealing his ring, I can see Tom just not having enough time and not really having the emotional capacity to deal with his father on top of dealing with Morfin. He's got to get that train back.

[libellule-ao3]

In the Shadow of Lost Time 2/2

As a reminder: This fanfiction is a response to Tamayula's HC and written with great appreciation for her vision regarding Sebastian and Sakurako, which you can find [here]. I hope it resonates with you.🤞

Thank you to @tamayula-hl for entrusting me with Sakurako for the time of this story and thank you also for being an integral part of this fandom: she is one of the sweetest creators I've met in the HL fandom and her artwork always brightens up my day!✨️

Rating: M

Summary: Devastated by the loss of his wife Sakurako, Sebastian falls into despair and obsession. Torn between his duty as a father and his quest for escape, he seeks solace through questionable means.

⚠️ & tags : Major Character Death | grief/mourning | DAD!Sebastian | angst | emotional hurt/comfort | family dynamics | mild sexual content | prostitution | Good friend Ominis Gaunt

Extract from the second chapter:

Their mouths joined in a fiery kiss, a collision of desire, despair and willing submission. A wave of heat swept through him. Every fibre of his being awoke as Sebastian found the one he missed so much. The feel of her fleshy lips against his, like Sakurako’s, sent him into an almost animal frenzy. He pressed himself against her, his hands roaming her body with a violent urgency, trying to find what he had lost.

His tongue entered her mouth, and a single hand slid over her skin, feeling every curve, every hollow, checking every familiar detail. The other undid her hair and tangled in her silky strands, adjusting the angle of their kisses. Each touch intensified his desire.

Sebastian lost himself in the sensation of her skin against his, warm and soft, each caress, each kiss bringing back a painful fragment of the past sprinkled with voluptuousness. Reality dissociated, and the outside world disappeared, leaving only them suspended in this moment for which he had paid.He let out a moan, his mouth pressing against hers with an almost desperate intensity. He moved down her neck, nibbling and sucking at the tender skin, his hands eagerly exploring her back, her thighs, her stomach, regaining possession of the one he had lost...

And she was so fucking receptive!

His lover.

His wife.

His Sakurako.

As he thrust into her, a wave of pleasure washed over him, further blurring the boundaries between dream and reality. Her hips moved frantically, in harmony with his, as if her body already knew how to welcome him inside her, reinforcing the illusion. He closed his eyes, letting himself be carried away by the sensation of her muscles contracting around him, her warmth enveloping him in lust and erasing the pain of her death with each of his comings and goings.

Over and over again...

When it was all over, he collapsed beside her, panting and completely drained.

But the hint of pity he detected in Sakurako’s eyes brought Sebastian back to the hard truth, with the same crushing brutality as if the Hogwarts Express had just crashed into him.

He had tried to fill an unfillable void, like the bottomless Danaides’ barrel, with a metamorphmagus whore, and the pain of this realisation pierced him. He turned away from her to get dressed, hiding the violence of his inner turmoil.

How could it be so bewitching in the moment and so heartbreaking afterwards?

Chapter 1 on AO3

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hey, I don't know if you've been asked this already, but what's the worst Harry Potter fanfic trope? The one you where if you see it in the tags or find it reading a fic, unless the rest looks really good, you back out. For me it's Pureblood Politics. The wizarding world is so small, and the population pretty capable, that the idea of wizarding nobility doesn't make sense.

Hi 👋

Honestly, I haven't read HP fics in a while, but I can talk about what I recall from the ones I read.

I can't take crossovers in HP fic. Like, I think that's a me thing, and not exactly a trope, but whenever I see Harry Potter crossover with something else, even as some weird AU, I just can't read it. I don't know what does it to me, but HP is not meant for crossovers in my brain.

And I get what you're saying about pure-blood politics, but I think a lot of it is down to execution. Like, I think wizards do have titles (I mean, the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black is a thing), but I don't think their so-called noble class really acts like typical feudal nobility from the Middle Ages or even 19th-century aristocracy. It has some elements of it, but it's also its own thing. (talked about it more here, here, here, and here).

And regardless of how small a community is, you'd always have some form of politics. The books repeatedly show that politics and agendas definitely exist in the Wizarding World, but this isn't Game of Thrones, and their politics are not that.

They have an elected minister with way too much power, they have inter-department politics in the ministry as well. I mean, Barty Crouch Sr got demoted from head of the DMLE to head of Magical International Cooperation, so, there's something going on there. They also have a House of Lords styled parliament and high court that's based on the early pre-Norman council of the Witen. This suggests they have noble titles, but said titles probably have nothing to do with warfare and land ownership the way noble titles usually worked irl. I also don't think the titles are exclusive to pure-bloods and you likely have half-blood families in the Wizengamot, while some pure-blood, sacred 28 families aren't there (the Malfoys, for example, are explicitly stated to not be in the Wizengamot in OotP).

I also don't think they'd have any heirship/lordship rings with spells on them that pass down family lines. Historically, rings like that just weren't a thing. Since wizards rely on letters, I can see them having signet rings, which are used to sign letters and denote who wrote them, but signet rings are an individual thing, and each new "lord" (I'm sure Lucius would have one too, you don't need a noble title to make one of these. Just enough money and sense of importance) would make a new one for himself and not use an existing one because the whole idea is to ensure a specific individual signed the letter, a dead person's signet ring is no use for that assurance. They would usually include a family crest, but there would also usually be an additional personal flare.

A bit of a pet peeve of mine in that regard is when Gringotts is overused in fics. Like, Harry goes there and gets like 5 lordships or whatever in a way that makes no sense to me. I think families like Slytherin and Gaunt, for example, wouldn't really have any title anymore anyone could have (I think they lost any form of title when they lost their money and lands), and even if they did still have a title, like the Black family, Gringotts goblins are going to be the last creatures to give a shit about wizarding nobles, like, how the fuck would they know? Why would they even care? And no way in hell are they keeping goblin-made heir rings or whatever in their vaults for wizards. They'll take what they believe is rightfully theirs back.

And why would wizards allow goblins to keep these precious heirlooms? I mean, we see Grimmauld Place is filled to the brim with heirlooms and knickknacks. We see Marvolo Gaunt keep his two prized heirlooms on the family at all times. Hepzibah Smith kept Hufflepuff's Cup close to her in her home. If these signet rings I mentioned earlier existed, they'd be kept by the family, not at Gringotts.

They'd also likely not have any enchantments on them unless the owner was particularly paranoid because, again, they are only meant to sign letters for an individual, enchanted heirlooms related to any title would likely be more varied. I mean, we see the Gaunts have Slytherin's locket and the Peverell ring, the Potters have the cloak... I think it's reasonable that each family would have a completely different set of magical artifacts passed down from generation to generation, with different spells, enchantments, and history. Some families might have rings, some would have cloaks, mirrors, bracelets, swords or shields (from old times that are used as wall hangers nowadays), certain unique wands, hats, a cup (Hufflepuff), hell, it could be anything, you could have so much creative fun with magical heirlooms. And these heirlooms aren't unique to families in the Wizengamot, every old enough magical family probably has a few heirlooms.

Also, if anyone is going to know what's going on with the Wizengamot titles it's the Wizengamot Administration Services (which is an office that supposedly exists in the ministry), and no way are they going to be anything close to helpful considering they are part of the ministry. I don't think enough wizarding politics fic takes advantage of how the ministry literally has an office for everything and that there are tensions/competition between different departments and offices. That, and that the majority of the population works in the ministry one way or another.

Honestly, I get the power fantasy element these fics are going for, and I have nothing against fans who enjoy it, I just don't think it's realistic to the world-building in the books.

I got a little sidetracked, but, yeah.