#dragon-heartstring-core

[theslymarauders]

I went to Harry Potter world today! I went into Ollivander's and the clerk there helped me to find a wand--but really the wand chose me 😌 My wand is made of hornbeam wood with a dragon heartstring core, 13 in, and reasonably pliant. I love it!!! I got my robes today as well, and now I'm all ready for classes.

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Rises the Moon

♡ featuring: dan heng IL x f!reader

♡ summary: you help dan heng work through his heat cycle wc: 3.1k+

♡ cw/tw: canon-divergent, breeding, praise, kinda sad but wholesome, monster-fucking, heat cycle, blowjob, cunnilingus, mentions of blood, biting

notes: super canon divergent ik vidyadhara can't have kids but ahhh dan heng breed brainrot :P ruahh I need that lc

Cracked from a shimmering pearl into the cold deception of a ship no longer home, that damned his ill-fated legacy. A lonely forgone dragon wanders a lifetime in purgatory, searching for hands to follow, for he was reborn into the dead silence of solitude. He stretched his inhuman heart as far as it could reach, enough for anyone to hold. But it twisted and tangled in thorns, cradled by serpents' eyes that prayed for his ruin. In brief moments of rest, his visions were suffocated with catastrophic destruction unbeknownst to the reincarnate. When he was eventually released, no one turned for him; a trail of fire he would have to walk alone, bleeding for repentance until his sin was permanently consumed by the collapsing universe.  

A race cursed to live forever rarely knew joy or love to its full extent, as all things mortal would return to the ground beneath them. It wasn’t worth the attachment, nor the deserved doom of a man denied salvation. 

Your arrival at the space station upturned his perception. He wasn’t sure why he yearned to be near you, why his senses craved your smell and sight. He had to distance himself from you as much as possible, but the melody of your pure voice stored a rhythm in his core that could not be removed. He lamented the blooming affection in his discernment. Often lying awake at night, struggling to satiate the urges. 

To you, he was Dan Heng. The solemn, headstrong friend that seldom spoke in your presence. Your favorite pastime was playful banter; he rarely smiled, but it pulled at your heartstrings when the corners of his lips slightly lifted. When he picked at his food, you went out of your way to find out what he preferred and arranged your meals around his. You spent almost all of your time on the parlor car. That isn’t to say you weren’t interested in adventuring, you frequently noted the prettiest gems March showed you during their trips. You asked Dan about the stuff he enjoyed, but it’d usually amount to “I was too focused on staying alive to take in the scenery.” You recall entering your room after their return and noticed an iron scrap flower sitting on your windowsill. Dan nonchalantly admitted to the act, mentioning how he overheard your liking for metallic constructs. You originally thought this was simply an extension of your friendship, but the burning ache in your body spoke otherwise. The little things he did, such as bringing small gifts or ingredients for you to experiment with made you seek that numbed heart, imprisoned in ice. 

Himeko joked about your sour mood whenever Dan Heng was gone. You read while she stared at you, amused by the pout on your face. “Hmm, your boy toy is missing. Feeling down?” Your head shot up, ears hot from the assumption.  

“W-what? No, of course not. We’re friends, Himeko.” you panicked. She softly giggled. 

“Don’t worry. They’re coming back soon.” You peeked up from the pages. 

“...When?” you mumbled. “A few days. Now you can stop being so sad.” 

You were ecstatic when they arrived, ready to hear about their grueling journey, and more so happy to see Dan Heng. As March relived her storytelling, you observed him. He seemed to be in a trance. His expression was the same as always, but he felt disconnected from you, like he discerned a grim future. He didn’t come to dinner and went to sleep. When you asked March if something happened, she shifted uncomfortably but finally spoke.  

“Dan Heng...he changed on the Xianzhou Luofu.” She’d conveniently left out most of the story. 

“What do you mean ‘changed’?” you questioned, finding it hard to mask your worries. “He had horns and... It was all really new. I kinda wanna forget about it, too.” You didn’t pressure her for more information, and she went to her room shortly after.  You tossed in your sleep, wondering what he must’ve gone through, and what you could do to help him. 

You awoke in an inky blue void, the stars cascading a brilliant aura across the night. There were no other planets visible; only the vast moon, a divinely warm glow, alluring and protective in your gaze. Heavenly bodies carried infinitely above, shaping the moon in its godlike image. You stood in a comparatively small pool of iridescent liquid that waterfalled off each side. It marbled from refracted shimmers, cool to the touch. Somehow life emerged in the barren quiet, white lotus’ decorating most of the area. They never spilled down the stream, as if they'd been waiting. In said pool, was a man with elvish ears and gleaming horns, kneeling turned away from you. His pale arms were shackled behind him, and his delicate hair cascaded down his naked back. If you listened closely, you could hear the faint sobs he tried to stifle. You wanted to comfort him, to calm his nerves. You took a step, and he stopped. He didn’t acknowledge you. You took another step, your hand wishing to touch him. Before you could, you phased out of your dream.  

For the next two weeks, he didn’t leave his room. Not when you were around. At the same time, this reoccurring dream was plaguing your thoughts. It ended the same way each time. March aimed to console you, but you felt she knew more than she led on. Fatigued from your restless mind, you decide to talk to Himeko instead. She stirs her drink while Welt reads the paper. 

“Good morning, (Y/N).” said Welt. 

“Good...morning.” you yawned, rubbing your worsening eyebags. 

“You don’t seem okay. Is everything alright?” Himeko asks, motioning for you to sit beside her. 

“Something is wrong with Dan Heng and March isn’t telling me everything. I was hoping you would.” Welt clears his throat, sets the paper on the table and walks away. Himeko puts her hand on your knee. 

“He’s feeling unwell right now. It’s best we don’t disturb him.” 

“I’ve been having this weird dream, of a guy with horns. He’s crying. And I can’t save him. What does this mean? Why is everyone keeping this from me?” Alarm flashes in her expression, but she composes herself. She sucks in a deep breath. “Do you know what a Vidyadhara is?”  

“No.” 

“Vidyadhara descended from dragons, and they’re very powerful. Dan Heng is a special case of Vidyadhara, so we must treat him as such.” 

“So why can’t I see him?”  

“It’s important that we avoid him while he’s in the process of...getting through this.” 

“But someone has to check on him, right? I could be the one to do it-” 

“(Y/N). Dan Heng requested specifically, that I don’t allow you to see him.” You felt your heart pierce. You believed you were friends with him, so why was he forcing you away? “Oh. Okay.” you said meekly. You went back to your room to contemplate. 

 You were a ghost throughout the day, serving food in silence. When the crew went to bed you prepared a hearty soup to soothe whatever illness he had. He’d probably reject it, but the selfish side wanted to know why he was upset with you. Even if he didn’t have an answer, perhaps his voice would be adequate. Arriving at his door, you knock twice gently. 

“I have some soup for you. Himeko said you were feeling ill. I won’t disrupt you, just want to make sure you’re eating.” He said nothing. “If you’re not hungry, let me know and I can store it for tomorrow. You can’t get better on an empty stomach.” You hear rustling inside, but he still said nothing. 

“Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry if I did.” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, but I need you to go away.” His voice is feeble, and it scares you. 

“Can I please leave this on your desk? I’ll go away right after, I promise.” You 're practically begging, but you need to see him and know he’s okay. Dan Heng’s weakening mindset rationalizes his risky judgement, and he allows you to come in. He should be able to defend you from himself with the strength he has left; there’s no other choice. “Okay.” 

When you open the door, you’re horrified at the state. Books and precious documents were strewn across the floor or shredded, along with most of the blankets. He’s hunched over on the futon clenching his abdomen, strands of hair sticking to his shiny forehead and puffy lips. He was in a form you've never seen, dressed in elegance in contrast to his shaking figure. The clothes were disheveled, however, the window on his top ripped down the middle, exposing the muscular torso underneath with his pants pulled just under his v-line. He's flushed and sweating, a look in his eyes that both terrifies and excites you. What was most shocking were the pointy ears and horns protruding from his head. The same ones from your dream. He tracks you as you walk to his desk. He’s undoubtedly weak, and yet you feel hunted. You set the soup down. 

“Shouldn’t you ask Bailu about this?” 

“I did already. There’s nothing she can do. I have to wait.” You get on your knees next to him, and he recoils from your proximity. 

“Wait for what?” 

“I'm hot all over, all the time. Nothing I do works, even when I feel good it’s not enough.” he rasps. His eyes are shut in an attempt to null the intense sensation blazing in his veins. You ultimately realize what he means and regret your cluelessness. Still, you don’t leave, deconstructing his resolve. Suddenly, Dan Heng feels the tender press of your palm to his forehead; the touch of someone he could recognize in different timelines and different bodies. The scent of morning dew at early sunrise, the light in its darkness, bitter and sweet and persistent. He punished the thought of ravaging you, but the incessant thump of his member was staggering. He grabs your wrist tight, a guilty look in his eyes. 

“I can’t control myself. Go. Now” he shouts. His anger doesn’t scare you, and your other hand caresses his cheek. 

“Does it hurt? I can help you.” Dan Heng’s frozen as your fingers travel down his Adam's apple, then his chest, to the hem of his bottoms. He’s on his back taking deep labored breaths, the print growing from your airy brushes. 

“I don’t want you to be in pain anymore.” 

You spring his cock free, and it bounces into your hand. It’s thick and almost twelve inches, a rosy-brown gradient to the mushroom tip. His veins dance around the rounded spikes lining up his shaft on both sides. A frustrated sigh leaves him, beads of pre come dripping down his balls. You lubricate your hands with his slick and start to slowly pump him. His head is spinning, the intoxicating ecstasy makes him rut his hips and bite his blushed lips. You fondle his balls with one hand while massaging the tip with the other. Whimpers echo pleasantly in your ears, and he can’t stop watching you, drinking up your shy glances. It twitches in your hold; you can feel how close he is. He’s falling apart because of you and your dampened underwear accepts it. You push your thumb in his mouth and part it to reveal excessive drool and sharp canines.  

“Do you like it?” you tease. He makes noise resembling an “uh huh” through teary eyes. 

“You wanna come?” He quivers from the question. He can only manage a moan. You move to his base, and you slaver at the daunting size before running your tongue along the urethra and taking him in your mouth. He throws his head back but tries to restrain himself from bucking into you. You can barely get it halfway as his cockhead kisses the back of your throat. You hollow your cheeks and start bobbing your head, he trembles from unconstrained pleasure.  

“Please, I’ll do anything please let me come” he whines, tears spilling down his cheeks. You move your hands with the suction along his gradually noisy whimpers, the occasional gag from sloppy grinding. 

“Ah, ‘m gonna come-” he chokes, his chest hitched rapidly, spurting ropes that flood your throat. He rides the wave against you until you pull up. When you meet with him again, his demeanor changes. He instantly snatches you into his arms and smothers his nose in your stomach. He tears your clothes off impatiently, just to taste your bare skin. “Dan-” 

“You smell so good. Aeons, why do you smell so good.” He gazes at you darkly, littering wet kisses across your stomach and chest. His slender hands grope and explore anything they can reach. It was like he had a burst of energy; he nearly lifts you off his lap. You notice his horns get progressively longer, a dim radiance outlining them. His nails grew too, they dragged light scratches over your breasts to your hips. He pulls you to him, lips barely hovering before they collide into a deep, passionate exchange. Unspoken words allow teeth and tongue to mix, and you moan into each other. The pheromones hugging his consciousness are addictive, he needs more of it. He promptly flips you on your back, his eyes look down on you with a starving glint. 

“I’m hungry now.” 

“Oh sure, I can warm up the-” 

“No. Let me eat you.” His statement was more of a demand than a request, as he mangles your panties down your legs. He forces your thighs back and appreciates the glistening sticky folds. “Stunning” he purrs. He licks a flat strip to your clit and laps up your juices, then envelops his mouth in your heat. His firm squeeze prevents you from escaping the determined pink muscle, swirling and twisting around you. He switches between French kisses to your vulva and merciless sucking on the erect bud. He’d rather drown in you than catch his breath, your essence covers his jaw and chin. You card your fingers through his scalp and accidentally sweep his horns; he shudders. You rub the pad of your thumb on it, earning a strangled whimper. His tongue sinks into your passage and begins to move at a brutal pace. You tease the sensitivity in his horns, flicking and circling them. The vibrations from his moans rock against your walls and your hips stutter. “Ah- I’m close” you plead. He stimulates your clit, and you pulse around him before your back arches, and you unwind. His mouth is stitched to you as you try to wriggle out of his grasp. He continues to devour your climax. He hoists your lower half off the ground, savoring your honeyed desire, laughing from your overstimulated cries. You’re spasming and feel your heart racing in your ears. He stops at the approaching precipice and lays you down. Balmy kisses dot your knees. 

“Please Dan Heng, more” you beg. 

“(Y/N), I don’t want to hurt you.” He's throbbing, and he straightens your legs to roll his hips between your thighs. The plush fat cuddles his cock and he pants. You grab his hand. 

“It’s okay, I’m yours. I know you don’t mean to hurt me.” 

“But-” 

“I love you” you blurt out. “Please, I want to have this with you. I can handle it, I promise.” Your vulnerability surprises you, and he stops. 

“You...love me?” he questions. For a split second, you see sadness and despair. No one stood to consider an exile incapable of love, but you did. No one bothered to defrost the drifting hollow, but you did. The undying weeps. 

“I love you. I would destroy every star and planet in your name. Carve your worth into the cosmos so that even Fuli could worship your memory. I am yours in its entirety, and I’ll only live for you.” You wipe the tears as they come down and kiss his troubles away. 

“I want you inside me” you whisper. He stands and scoops you up, his hands on your ass and your arms around his neck. He aligns his tip with your sex and lowers you into the plunge. The stretching blaze of your walls accommodating his girth is excruciating.  

“Is this okay?” 

“Yes.” You give him a reassuring smile. He’s stuffing you full, the spikes knead your inner walls the deeper he goes. He bottoms out and stays there for a while. 

“Tell me when to move” he soothes. 

“Go ahead.” He starts an unrelenting tempo, and you grip him like a vice, your arousal drenching his balls. The thundering sound of desperate huffs and squelching, smacking flesh is almost embarrassing; you both don’t care, indulging each other. You could’ve sworn you saw something similar to a dragon's tail swaying behind him, or maybe your mind played tricks on you. Strings of saliva connect his fangs, eyes cloudy with carnal impulse and cock twitching from the friction. He can see the bulge snapping in and out of your stomach and groans.  

“Deeper.” He pulls out and lays you on the futon before positioning you in a mating press. In one swoop he jackhammers your cunt, balls swinging and ragged breath on your ear. His hair blankets you and you soak in his sweating physique, his needy appearance. 

“Gonna breed this pretty pussy” he moans. Eyeing the unoccupied space on your neck, he salivates. You guide his lips to your neck, encouraging him, and he takes the bait. He ruptures the skin with sharp teeth; harsh puncture wounds remain. He licks the blood away, adamant on claiming you. The spikes massage your g-spot, and your eyes loll back, pleasure and pain blurring. Dan Heng loses his composure, frenetic thrusting as he chases his release. 

“I’m gonna come!” 

“That’s it, come with me, my love” he groans. You see black as tremors overtake you and a stream of squirt coats you both. Your wails flow into the halls. Your contracting vulva sends him over the edge, and he finally comes undone, painting your insides to the hilt. You milk every last drop of his gushing seed, and he jerks a few times until limp. The creamy, swelling base pushes your folds to capacity. It's barbed wire in your gut. He strokes and kisses your face. 

“I'm sorry, it’ll go down soon.” With your legs wrapped around him and his head snug against your cheek, you weren’t sure if you wanted it to go down. 

His curse may not be lifted through your embrace. But in your arms, his shackles don't feel as heavy. 

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Fall Into the Dark With Me✨

Dark Arts Professor! Joel Miller x Herbology Professor Fem! reader

A/N: I have had this idea for the longest time to mix the two things I love the most together. I hope you love it as much as I do! Hogwarts AU with Joel Miller was the best idea I’ve had in a while. He is an absolute menace in this, and I love him very much 🥰 Thank you to @jennaispunk for beta reading!

Summary: You’ve had your eyes on the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor for a while. Just like he’s had his eyes on you. He’s a sly, sneaky, teasing Slytherin, and you’re a shy, meek Hufflepuff. Will your little flirting game suddenly lead to more once he gets you alone in a room?

Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 7.9k

Tags: Slytherin! Joel, Hufflepuff! reader, relentless teasing, flirting, pining, Joel is a menace, no use y/n, Hogwarts AU, Joel has a dirty mouth, oral (fem! receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, porn with plot, Harry Potter spells and references, no outbreak au, Dark Arts! Joel

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  August blew in as fast as the hot summer breeze slipped out of reach. No more cozy afternoons curled up on your plush couch with your cat. You were back to big green open lands, back to the scents of willow trees and butterbeer, back to Hogwarts. Home for the next school year. 

   The thing was, you weren’t prepared for what awaited you behind those grand castle walls this semester, not even a little bit. You weren’t prepared for him. 

   Joel Miller, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, the absolute bane of your existence. Ever since you locked eyes with him that first time in the Great Hall, you couldn’t get those gorgeous brown irises out of your head. 

   He was a menace; you could just tell. You knew the moment you saw that smug smirk on his face, those tousled grey flecked curls you could lace your fingers through, that patchy salt-and-pepper beard that you imagined might feel so good trailing down the skin of your neck with plush lips teasing across your body. 

   It was the way he carried himself. Like he owned every single damn room he walked into. Button-up silky shirts that he rolled up to his elbows, exposing those long, corded veins that skated down his tanned forearms. But let’s not forget the emerald snake tattoo that slithered its way around his forearm, accentuating the tanned skin that glowed almost golden under the warm, sunlit skies. Marking his Slytherin blood with ink. And those hands. Big, thick fingers that he’d wrap around his dark brown dragon heartstring wand as he chanted spells inside his classroom. And the way his eyes always seemed to shift toward yours in a crowded room. Those dark brown coffee-colored eyes that seemed to put you under a hypnotic spell. 

   He was trouble. You knew it, too. 

   It all started that first day, after that first heated stare at the sorting ceremony. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off you for the entire night. He didn’t hide it either. And then it was the casual grazing of hands in crowded halls, the flirtatious smiles and winks across the dining hall, the small conversations in the outside gardens as he’d slip a green apple from his pocket and slowly take a bite out of it. His eyes never leaving yours as they devoured you. Just like you’d wish he’d do to your skin, your lips, your flustered core. 

   He knew what he was doing, he knew damn well. 

   It was just a flirtatious banter between a tall, handsome Slytherin and a shy, gentle Hufflepuff. One a Dark Arts professor, the other a Herbology professor. It was only casual conversations and the occasional grazing of hands. Until it wasn’t. 

   No. Then he started taunting you, playing petty games. The hard-to-get kind of games. 

   One of the assistant professors, Priscilla Wilson, would always try to get attention from Professor Miller. Finding any reason to reach over and brush her fingers over his broad shoulders. Flip her long, fiery red hair, bat her long eyelashes, giggle every time he gives in to her flirting and winks over at her, making her nearly fall out of her seat. And every single time he’d entertain her, he’d look your way and fucking smirk at you. 

   Fucking smirk.

   Smug bastard. You just want to slap the stupid smirk off his face, but you also just really want to fucking kiss it off. 

   You’re so royally fucked.

   He loves to tease you. Loves to put you right on the edge where you’ll either lash out and call him on his bluff, or just scoff and brush it off your shoulder like a Cornish Pixie. 

   He knows damn well it gets you all flustered. Cheeks red, hot breath blowing from your mouth, pursed lips as he smirks your way while other women fawn over him. Drool practically hanging from their gawking mouths. You can practically feel the pride he wears inside that broad chest of his. Brown eyes narrowed while he dares you to do anything about it. He knows you won’t. Knows you’re better than to give in to his little tricks. So you just take it and stomp out of the room. Every single time while his devious chuckle floats through the room, right into your ears. 

   Well, he’d gotten into your head long ago. You gave in to the temptation of his smoldering brown eyes, the playful smirks that curl across his plush lips, that fucking Southern accent that drives you up the walls when you’re in your bed late at night. 

   He’s poisoned you. Enchanted you with his cunning Slytherin ways. Handsome, ambitious, prideful, strong, mischievous, smoldering. That’s exactly why you slip your hand under the cool sheets night after night. Fingers curling up inside you, thumb stroking light circles over your needy clit, moaning his name, pretending that it’s him under your sheets taking you over the edge. 

   His hands, his fingers, his filthy words, his mouth, his cock, his everything giving you orgasm after orgasm. And when you’re finished, sweat coating every inch of your skin, you feel breathless and dirty. 

   This is what he wants. You all hot and bothered for him. Well, he won because you’re already completely smitten for the Slytherin man. 

   And one day, he’ll give in to you, too. 

   The cool air whips past your hair as students shuffle by in the busy hall, rushing so they won’t be late to their classes. Large, cascading open windows filter sunlight through the massive hallway, historical paintings fill the stone walls, towering archways pave every corner, wafts of autumn leaves and pumpkins marinate through the air. 

   Hogwarts is peaceful, and this place is magical.

   As the last of the students disappear down corridors and hurry into classrooms, you’re suddenly alone in the hallway. No noise except for the classroom in front of you. But it’s not just any classroom. 

   It’s the Dark Arts classroom. Joel’s classroom. 

   You lean against the stony wall, wait until all the students quiet down. Eventually, Joel shuts them up and then there’s nothing but his deep, Southern drawl filling the room, filtering out just enough in the hall for you to sit and listen. 

   You do this often. More like every other day. Sitting outside his classroom, listening to his melodic voice teaching about his passion. He’s always had a love for the Dark Arts and now, so do you. 

   As you lean against the edge of the doorway, back against the stone-covered wall, you seem to get lost in the deep drawl of his voice like an enchanted siren. You could listen to him for hours on end. He’s good at what he does. Smart, cunning, brilliant. 

   And by brilliant, you mean he’s wiser than some of the ghosts that lurk these castle corridors. Some people even whisper that he can speak Parseltongue. And you don’t doubt it for one second. The man would open the Chamber of Secrets if someone would let him. 

   But Joel doesn’t need permission from anyone. He does what he wants, when he wants, and who he wants. You just wish that someone was you. 

   You sigh as you lean against the wall, panting every time he starts lecturing on different subjects about the Dark Arts. Today, he’s teaching about werewolves. And that is a subject you happen to find quite fascinating. 

   “Miss Flora, can you tell me how—.”

   You shift your weight and lose your balance, almost tumbling to the polished floor until you grab ahold of the silver-edged door and stop yourself. 

   The classroom grows silent and so does Joel’s bravado voice. 

   Shit. You just got caught red handed. 

   “Think we’ve got a straggler out in the hall. Think they should come in. Don’t you, students?” You hear the smirk in his voice. Like he knows it’s you. But how would he know…

   Oh, right. Because he’s the smartest fucking professor at this school. 

   When he clears his throat, you know you won’t be able to weasel your way out of this one. So, you take a hesitant step into the entrance of his classroom, and there he is. Big brown eyes narrowed just slightly and a smug smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

   God, he’s so good looking.

   “Ahh. Professor. Care to join us?” he asks, stepping around his mahogany desk, tapping the tip of his dragon heartstring wand against the top of his thigh.

   That’s all it takes to have you weak in the knees. Because the way he’s looking at you tells you everything you need to know. He wants to pull your strings, make you shiver, make you pliable. And now’s the perfect opportunity where he can fluster you up without even fucking touching you. 

   Shit.

   “Take a seat,” he says, nodding to an open seat at the back of the room.

   You shake your head and take a step back, careful not to look straight into his brown eyes. “Oh, no. I shouldn’t interrupt. I was just—.” 

   “Sit. Down.” It’s not a question but a demand.

   You purse your lips and take the empty seat while several of the students snicker and whisper to each other. 

   Great. Now you’re really blushing. 

   You take a look around the classroom while Joel continues his lesson, flicking his wand to turn to the next slide overhead. The room is dim, curtains drawn so only the floating candles and twinkling lights from hanging lamps fill the room. A dragon’s skeleton is displayed in the back of the room, his mahogany desk covered in neat papers, dark artifacts, and ink quills. Banners of the forbidden forest and creatures of the black lake are spread high across the elegant stone walls. A dusty chandelier with glittering crystals tops off the room, painting golden sparkles on the ceiling. 

   The room is very him. Dark, divine, mysterious, gorgeous. It even fucking smells like him. Cedar wood, mahogany, green apples, whiskey. The room has his trademark all over it.

   You sit back against the wooden chair and watch the way he commands a room. The slight flick of his wand every time he paces back and forth, his rapt attention each time a student answers or asks a question, the way his thick fingers glide through his tousled curls, the way his gaze always seems to come back to you. 

   Werewolf facts slip from his tongue. Their history, their patterns, their targets. One of your favorite creatures to learn about. Especially when it’s coming from him and his deep, magnetic voice.

   It’s like the room turns ten degrees hotter with every minute that passes. Sweat pricks behind the back of your neck, your thighs warm as you cross a leg over your knee, your black skirt of your dress hiking up a little too high, your heart thundering against your chest. 

   You’re a fucking mess because you’re watching him. Twitching, jittering, and shifting every other minute in your seat. He fucking loves to watch you squirm, too. You can see him smirking from the front of the classroom, and it’s all for you.

   “Can anyone tell me what’s the cure for a werewolf bite?” he asks, pacing the room back and forth, eyeing each student with a patient glance.

   His footsteps echo around the cascading room, his hands behind his back, a slight tick in his jaw when no one answers.

   “There’s a cure?” one of the students questions, heads whipping around to face the baffled third year with confusion written all over her innocent face.

   “Yes,” Joel says with a clipped tone. “C’mon. Think. What two things can cure a werewolf bite?”

   Nothing. Not even a peep comes from the copious amount of students in the room. Just eyes to the ground and awkward shifting in their seats. None of them know.

   “Collin?” Joel asks, standing in front of the blonde boy’s chair. His scared blue eyes give away that he’s intimidated and doesn’t know the answer.

   “Umm. I—ugh. Gillyweed?” he guesses, lifting his hopeful eyes when he thinks he may be right.

   “No,” Joel snaps. “Gillyweed allows you to breathe underwater. It does not cure a werewolf bite. Maybe read the text next time before class and then you’d know.” Joel narrows his eyes at Collin, and the scared third year looks down in shame. 

   God. He really intimidates everyone. Doesn’t he?

   “Think. What. Cures. The. Bite.” He accentuates every syllable, draws it out with a deep growl, narrows his eyes into thin slits when nobody can answer. He looks like he’s about to snap with how tight he’s holding his wand. But before he does, you decide to answer.

   “Silver and dittany,” you respond, and then the students turn with wide eyes. Right in your direction. You slide down in your chair just a little to alleviate the embarrassment of all eyes on you. 

   Joel turns to you and smirks, his eyes turning darker with every second that ticks by. It’s like he’s staring right through your soul, sucking it out until every single bit belongs to him. 

   “Clever girl,” he whispers. Just loud enough for you to hear because it was meant directly for you, not the class. His eyes flash onyx as he stares your way, heat rising in your cheeks. But in the next second, his eyes are elsewhere. 

   “Could learn a thing or two if you paid attention to your professor in Herbology,” he growls, the closed windows rumbling as his deep voice booms through the large corridor. It’s enough to make goosebumps prickle down the length of your arms.

   The students shake and quiver in their seats, eyes casted down to the dark material of the floor. And in the next five minutes, Joel’s dismissing them.

   “Remember, read chapters ten through twelve before the end of the week. And for the love of Salazar, pay attention in your classes. All of them. Class dismissed,” he clips, teeth bared and jaw clenched.

   The students hurry and filter out of the classroom, black robes flying as they scurry off out of the wrath of Professor Miller. 

   As you get up to make your way out to the hall, he stops you. “Not you.” His deep voice sends shivers down your spine.

   You freeze, just a few feet from the doorway. And then he takes his wand and shuts the heavy doors with a bang that makes you jump from the sound.

   Alone. You’re alone with him. In his classroom, on his free hour. And suddenly, the room is stifling.

   “So. You like to listen in on my lessons now, don’t ya?” he asks, crossing his strong arms over his broad chest, large biceps clinging to the white button-up shirt, his green striped tie loose around his neck.

   “I—uhh.” You’re all of a sudden completely speechless as he stands in front of you, his woodsy scent making you dizzy with need.

   “You don’t gotta play coy, sweetheart. Know you sit out there listenin’ all the time,” he smiles, flashing his white teeth and making you blush at the name sweetheart.

   His Southern drawl always made you a little worked up.

   “Why didn’t you say anything then if you knew?” you ask, eyebrows threaded together, lips pursed tight. 

   “Figured I’d jus’ let ya indulge. If you know what I mean,” he smirks, giving you a seductive wink that sends heat to your cheeks.

   He’s always so fucking cunning. Quick comebacks that could send you down to your knees. Maybe that’s what he wants.

   “You’re unbelievable. You know that?” you spit, hands on your hips, waiting for him to say something smart back.

   “Am I?” He quirks a brow, steps closer where you can practically taste his strong cologne. And that’s it. You’re so done for.

   “Yes.” You stand your ground firm. Eyes icy as you look at his fiery ones.

   Jesus. The man could burn this entire castle down with one stare.

   “How so?” he asks curiously, eyeing you with heightened interest.

   “Why don’t you ask Priscilla? You know, since she’s always hanging around you.” You roll your eyes, shake your head, and throw your hair behind your shoulders with a glare. Like that’ll show him you mean business.

   “Don’t do that,” he says quietly, brown eyes trained on you. 

   “Don’t do what?” you ask, anger boiling on the back of your tongue. 

   “Stop bein’ fuckin’ jealous,” he growls, his large hands hovering over yours, heat simmering between the small space between the two of you. Just like a sweltering sauna. You can practically feel the flames licking at your skin. All over you.

   “Then stop flirting with her right in front of me,” you glower, eyes narrowed and teeth bared. He just laughs at you like you just said the funniest joke in the world. He can’t be fucking serious.

   “You know I only do it to get a rise out of you,” he smiles, painting your cheeks crimson at how smitten you feel when you see that deep dimple appear in the corner of his left cheek when he’s smiling. But nevertheless, he’s not getting off that easy. Not today, at least.

   “Oh, don’t I fucking know,” you scoff, your heel digging into the hard surface of the floor. Showing just how much he’s getting under your skin. 

   “You know, you’re pretty adorable when you’re all flustered. You know that?” He brushes the back of his palm against your jawline, barely touching you but setting you completely on fire.

   You bat his hand away, fix him with a tight-lipped scowl. “Flustered? That’s why you torture me day after day?”

   He nods his head and smirks, letting his big ego fly around the room like a barn owl. “Mhm. Like you all worked up. Probably makes you all hot and bothered, doesn't it? Bet you touch yourself at night jus’ thinkin’ of me.” And there’s that damn smirk. The one that’s got your stomach all tied in knots.

   “You’re such an asshole,” you scoff as you push at his broad chest, but he barely moves an inch. He’s like a thick brick wall that you just can’t seem to penetrate. No matter what you do. 

   “You fuckin’ love it, though,” he challenges, brown eyes turning into dreamy bedroom eyes.

   No, you’re not doing this. You’re not playing his game.

   “No. And I’m leaving.” You turn with the flip of your hair, stomping your way up the row of empty desks. And when your hand wraps around the gold-threaded doorknob, you feel the faint buzz of power permeate around your body.

   “The hell you are,” he growls. “Accio!” 

   It feels like an invisible string wraps around your entire body, and suddenly you’re being pulled back by a sharp tug. Your body whisks through the air, and you have no power to stop the force.

   He snakes his arms around your waist, tugging you against his broad chest, catching you before you go flying into his lavish desk. You gasp, the air knocked from your lungs as his warm breath fans over your lips. Green apples and whiskey serenade your senses, and suddenly you’re a ragdoll in his arms. There at his beck and call, whatever he needs. You’re done for.

   “That’s cheating,” you whisper, voice barely audibly as your throat closes up the closer he brings you against his large body.

   “It ain’t cheatin’. It’s called magic, sweetheart,” he winks, making an exaggerated groan pull from your lips. 

   He’s always so smooth. Like a cold glass of neat whiskey that runs straight to your stomach, ending in your core. 

   “What are you doing, Joel?” you sigh, giving up the fight. You stop shoving against him and relax, your body still against his.

   “Givin’ in,” he smiles, wrapping his arms tighter around your waist, one hand hovering against your lower back. Right at the end of the zipper of your dress.

   “Like you gave into Priscilla?” you spit out, narrowed eyes trained right on him. You’d love to give him a taste of his own medicine one of these days. Drive him crazy like he drives you mad every single fucking day.

   “Now hold on there,” he says with a pause, sliding one of his hands up to your wrist, holding it tight against his chest. “I never even laid a finger on Priscilla.”

   Your jaw drops, and you wag a finger at him. “You sure about that? Because she has a pretty loud mouth.”

   “She ain’t the one I want, sweetheart. And you should know that.” He fixes you with a deep stare. His eyes look like glowing, syrupy orbs. You’re pretty sure you want to get lost in them. Let them drag you down into their dark depths where you’ll never see daylight again.

   “Oh? And who is it that you want?” you whisper, voice suddenly shaky and nervous. 

   When he nods down toward you, you nearly crumble at his feet. “The only woman I wanna be touchin’ is the pretty Hufflepuff that’s all flustered in my arms.” His smile makes you lose your balance, but he just holds you tighter. Fingers curling against the soft cotton of your dress, burning your skin even from the layers that cover you. 

   He might as well cast Incendio on you. You’re already burning.

   “You’re such a tease,” you giggle, pushing him playfully in the chest, letting the soft fabric of his shirt cling to your skin.

   “That I am,” he chuckles, making you nearly hyperventilate at his cocky demeanor. He knows he’s slick; you’ll give him that.

   “I need to get to class,” you sigh, trying to break free of his grip, but he only holds you tighter. No escaping him.

   “No, you don’t. You don’t have class for another hour. And neither do I.”

   The sudden realization hits you like an oncoming train. He’s got you trapped in his web, ready to sink his teeth in you at any second.

   The dim lights seem to darken even more as the thick tension blows through the classroom. Silence takes over, and you’re left with nothing but your racing heartbeat and his shallow breath. Warmth pools through your core as you watch those smoldering brown eyes light your skin on fire.

   You’re wrecked.

   “Well, I just—.” You try to take a step back, but then his hands run down your arms slowly, goosebumps taking hold in every single place he leaves his mark. 

   “Why don’t you jus’ relax here for a bit? Can think of somethin’ to unwind that pretty mind of yours.”

   He starts slowly circling you. Calloused fingers running over your back. Warm breath blowing down the base of your neck. Lips brushing against the shell of your ear, causing you to gasp at the contact. 

   “I don’t think so, Joel. I—.” You stop talking the moment he moves your hair across your right shoulder. His lips drag down the side of your neck, barely grazing but enough to make warmth flood through your lace.

   “C’mon now. Know you want this. Know you want my touch.” He takes a hand and moves it around the front of your waist. “My fingers.” He brushes his hand lightly down your leg, dangerously close to your inner thigh. “My lips.” He molds his mouth around your collarbone and sucks, eliciting a moan from your lips.

   “Oh. That’s… oh.” He nips at your shoulder, pulling your sleeve down just enough to make contact with your skin. And fuck, it feels good.

   You want to run, say no, give him hell for the hell he’s given you. But you’re a moth drawn to the flame. And you have no will to say no to him. 

   “Give in, sweetheart. Give in to the dark side. Know you want to,” he whispers in the shell of your ear, leaving you breathless as the sweet incantations put a spell on you.

   “I uhh—yes…” you lull as he turns you around and pushes you back into the front of his desk. His large stature towering over you. Hands on either side of the desk, caging you into him.

   “Say it. Say you want this. That you want me.” His mouth hovers over yours, blows hot air where you can basically taste the whiskey that encompasses his tongue. And you feel it then. That thick bulge against your thigh. Letting you know just how hard he is for you. And fuck, you think you might pass out from how stifling the room is now.

   “I—.” He slowly cups the back of your thighs and lifts you up, right on the edge of his mahogany desk, legs dangling from the position. He takes his wand and starts spreading your legs until he’s standing between them, one hand skimming over the top of your shaking thigh. Then he throws his wand to the side of the desk, uses his hands to undress you. Starting with your skirt. He lifts it slowly over your hips, leaving you with your white lace panties exposed to the cool air, completely soaked through.

   He rakes a hand heavily down his mouth, eyes wide as he stares at the mess you’ve made. “Look at you. Fuckin’ soakin’ for me, sweetheart. This all for me?” he asks, his thumb brushing over your wet center, pressing against your slick-clothed folds.

   “Yes,” you whine as he slowly unzips the back, pushing the dress down until it’s a messy pile on the floor. He unclasps the matching lace bra, throwing that to the side, leaving your perky breasts on full display for him to indulge in.

   He licks his bottom lip seductively slow, practically drooling as he takes in the sight of you all sprawled out and bare for him. He’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life than the vision of you open and ready for him.

   His mouth drags down your throat, down your chest until his lips suctions to your breasts, tongue flicking the pebbled nipples, eliciting more slick in your lace panties.

   “Say you want this, sweetheart. Say you want me,” he breathes, slowly dropping to his knees like he’s worshiping a goddess, hands roaming up your inner thighs, teasing you relentlessly. He slips under your lace, one finger brushing over your clit. You’re a writhing mess beneath him at this point.

   “Oh, fuck. Yes. Want you. Need you, Professor Miller,” you mewl, bucking your hips up to get the friction you so desperately need.

   “Good girl,” he praises, slowly dragging your ruined lace to the floor, leaving you open and bare and dripping for him.

   “Fuck,” he curses, raking a hand down his scruff, eyes lust-blown as he takes you in nice and slow. He’s mesmerized by the beauty before him, and he’s memorizing every single detail about your glistening body. He thinks you’re a fucking angel. All pliant and ready for him. He’ll have you screaming his name in no time.

   From the carnal, possessive way he’s looking at you, you’re pretty sure he’ll save this memory for another time. Bottle it up so he can go back and watch it over and over again, until he sees nothing but you with every waking breath he breathes.

   He materializes in front of you, casting dark shadows all over the silhouette of the walls, tongue dragging up your inner thigh, his thumb teasing the outer edge of your drenched folds.

   “Fuck, Joel,” you mewl, bucking your hips up in the hopes of his lips landing on your mound.

   “Patience, baby. And call me Professor Miller. Love how it sounds falling off your pretty lips,” he chuckles, tongue barely scraping over your needy clit.

   You suck in a breath and grab the crown of his head, locking your fingers in his soft hair. Tousled sandy locks and glittering greys catching the light of the twinkling lamps floating in the room. He looks like a masterpiece.

   “Please, Professor Miller. Need you,” you beg, his hot breath fanning across your aching core. You’re burning for him. 

   “Yeah ya do. Dirty little Hufflepuff,” he chuckles, blowing a puff of warmth over your mound. Slick runs down your inner thighs, and his eyes blow into deep pools of black lust. “Think you might have a little Slytherin in you after all,” he smirks, gliding his thumb through your slick folds and eliciting a high-pitched whine from your mouth.

   “Slyther—ohhh,” you groan as he licks a thick stripe up the entirety of your core. 

   Suddenly, the room is spinning, and you can’t find your balance. You’ll just fall off the edge as long as Joel catches you. You think he will.

   “That’s right. Take it. Let the temptation consume you. Let me slither in and make you come undone,” he drawls out in a husky breath, making you moan at the sound of his deep timbre.

   It’s like you’re cast under a deep spell. Pulling you under, consuming you in copious amounts of pleasure, starlight flashing as your eyes roll back with every flick of his tongue to your puffy clit.

   He tugs you to the very edge of the smooth desk and wraps his arms tightly around your thighs, stretching you open as he ravishes and drowns in the slick of your core. His experienced tongue lapping at your folds. His lips suction around your mound as he pulls you into his warm mouth, sucking and groaning with every taste of you. 

   You drag your nails over the wooden desk, throwing your head back with every lick, every taste he gives you. And God, you feel like you’re flying. His mouth, his tongue, his dirty words, his whole entire aura make you want to lose control. He’s everything all at once, and you don’t know how you’ll ever get enough of him now. 

   He coaxes you on, filling your ears with delicious praises. “Atta fuckin’ girl. Yeah, you like that. Don’t you, filthy Hufflepuff?”

   “Yeah…” you choke out, voice raspy as you delve into the feeling of his smooth tongue igniting a wildfire in your core.

   “Don’t be shy then, sweetheart. Let me hear you,” he demands as he lets go of your puffy clit with a pop, his tongue generously lapping at your drenched folds.

   “The door—we can’t…” you whine.

   He lifts off his knees, hovers his body against yours, and starts to work you as he slides his middle and ring finger inside your dripping hole. 

   Oh, fuck.

   “Door’s locked tight, sweetheart,” he smirks, lust-blown eyes locked on you, his lips brushing over yours.

   “They’ll—ohh. They’ll hear us.” His free hand slides up your waist as his body leans against the desk, his mouth roaming up the crook of your neck.

   “Nah, they won’t. Not when I placed a silencing charm on the room,” he chuckles as his tongue traces the slope of your ear, sending more slick down your thighs.

   Of course he fucking did. You didn’t even hear him cast one. He’s just… that good. 

   “C’mon, messy Hufflepuff. Want you to come for me,” he drawls, his fingers tantalizing and penetrating as he works them nice and slow inside you, knuckles deep in your slick. 

   Fuck.

   Squelching noises fill the room each time he works you over, searching for that one spot that’ll send you over the edge. But God, he found it. And now, he won’t fucking stop hitting that spongy wall that makes your legs shake and voice cry out in orgasmic pleasure.

   “Joel, I’m…”

   “Professor,” he whispers in your ear, his enchanting voice floating through your mind, pulling you over the edge. 

   “Professor—” you hum, your fingers pushing through the sandy hair at the base of his neck, mouth dropped as pleasure starts to rock through you uncontrollably.

   “Yes?” he asks with a bite to his deep voice.

   “I—I’m…”

   His plush lips caress the shell of your ear, his teeth nipping at the delicate skin. “Come for me, pretty girl. Say my name. Tell me who makes you feel good,” he whispers deliciously slow, his melodic voice making you fall apart. “Let go. C’mon, baby. Do it for me.”

   One more curl of his fingers and you’re coming undone. You clench around his thick fingers and let yourself spill for him, covering his knuckles in your slick while you moan his name. “Professor Miller!” It falls off your tongue and rings around the room, echoing back as you lose all control.

   “That’s my good girl,” he praises as he takes you over the edge, slowly working his fingers up and down, letting you ride out your orgasm as tidal waves collide in your body. 

   When the room stops spinning and your vision isn’t blurry anymore, you sit back and stare at him in awe. He’s got the biggest shit-eating grin on his face, obviously proud he made you just cum on his fingers. He’s waited so long to do it. All while teasing and tormenting you so he could make it that much better for you. 

   You should hate him, but you don’t. Oh no. You think you’re addicted to him now. 

   “That feel good?” he asks. His palm sliding over your thigh, thumb massaging slow circles into the crease of your skin. It feels… good — calming.

   He feels good.

   “Yeah. That was—nice,” you finish, eyes peeking up at him through your eyelashes. His eyes are nearly dazzling under the dim lights. Almost like there’s stars soaring through those gold-flecked irises. 

   You stare at each other for a minute, sitting in comfortable silence. And in the next moment, without thinking, you’re grabbing his emerald tie and pulling it toward you. Heat rises in the air as your fingertips scratch down his patchy scruff, indulging in his woodsy cologne. Your lips graze just slightly against his, and flames erupt in his eyes. 

   “Haven’t had enough?” he teases as he pulls your hair softly, lifting your face up to his. His lips brush softly against yours, and it’s like everything seems right in the world. 

   Your breath comes out hot and uneven as you stir beneath him, one arm snaking around the back of his neck. You haven’t tasted him yet, and you’ll be damned if you don’t take this chance. 

   You lift your chin just a smidge higher until you’re practically magnetized to him. “No, Professor Miller. Haven’t had enough yet,” you mewl out, your head dizzy and disoriented.

   He cups the back of your head and smiles, that devilish smirk curling against his mouth. “Then let me show you jus’ how good a Slytherin can make a Hufflepuff feel.”

   He pulls your lips to his and kisses you fiercely, passion consuming you whole. You kiss him back just as desperate, needing to be as close to him as possible. When you open your mouth and invite him in, whiskey and green apples envelop your tastebuds. And you swear you’ve never tasted a better combination. 

   As he pushes you down against his desk, papers fly off in scatters, glass crashes to the ground. Never mind that, he doesn’t even seem the least bit bothered. Right now, all he’s focused on is you. 

   He crawls over you, crowding you with his broad body, his hands roaming up and down your bare skin as if he wants to crawl inside himself, claim you as his own. 

   You frantically pull at his buttons while he helps you unfasten them, quickly throwing his shirt off and tossing it to the side. Dark hair splatters his tanned chest, his happy trail disappearing beneath his black slacks. And God, he’s as hard as a rock underneath. You can see the massive outline of him. 

   He rocks his hips against yours, tongues tangling together as you drink each other down. You could get drunk on the sweet taste of him. You’re pretty sure he’s better than any butter beer you’ve ever tasted. 

   Your body hums with desire, tension coiling in your stomach. You want him, need him like you need air to breathe. You want to feel him inside you. Grinding and thrusting until you combust around him. Until you feel his seed drip down your thighs. You’ve never wanted it this bad with anyone. But with Joel? You’ve never wanted anything more in your life.

   “Professor Miller, please,” you beg as you palm him through his slacks, an audible groan getting lost in between kisses. 

   “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Wanna hear it,” he slurs as he nips at your lower lip.

   You find his top button and snap it open, finding his zipper next as you drag it down slowly. “Want you inside me, Professor,” you whisper provocatively, leaving your shyness behind just for the moment. 

   He winces as you reach in and start to work his massive cock up and down, spreading precum down his shaft. A quiet groan slips out of his mouth, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard in your life. “Fuck me. This little filthy Hufflepuff wants it bad, don’t she?” he grins, eyes dancing like moonlit stars. 

   He’s so fucking pretty. 

   “Mmm. Yes. Please. I need it. Need you,” you beg. 

   He shoves your hand out of the way and pins it above your head, shoving his slacks and boxers down until he’s completely naked above you. 

   You gawk at how massive he is. Thick, beautiful, long. Precum beads his swollen red tip. Large veins spiral like vines on the underside of his cock. He’s so big; you don’t know how he’ll fit. But you know he’ll make it fit. Stretch you until you can’t take anymore. 

   He’s going to absolutely ruin you, and you’ll let him. You want him to destroy you. 

   He lines the angry tip up with your sex, stroking it up and down along your folds, gathering your slick on his cock as you purr at the feeling. If this feels good then being inside you might end you.

   “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Gonna take real good care of this pretty Hufflepuff pussy,” he smirks darkly, eyes as black as coal. 

   He teases you slowly, dragging the tip through your folds. And when you’re about to beg for more, he thrusts deep inside with a low growl. 

   Your mouth drops open in awe as he stretches you to the max, working his thick length inside you over and over again until you start seeing stars in your vision. He’s so fucking big it feels like he’s splitting you in two; his pleasure driving yours to the finish line. 

   “Professor,” you moan as he thrusts deeper, kissing the back of your cervix. His large hands push your legs back against the wood of the desk, in a twisted pretzel shape. And when he snaps his hips again, you let out a guttural moan that doesn’t even sound like your lilty voice. 

   “That’s it. Let me hear you. Look so pretty with my cock deep inside you,” he chuckles as he drills into you as deep as he can, digging his way to your release. 

   “I—I…” Your voice fades off into a garbled mess as he fucks you relentlessly, speeding up his thrusts until the desk is shaking beneath you. 

   The squelching noises of his cock sliding in and out of your slick and the deep, gruff groans coming out of his mouth are almost barbaric. He’s completely wrecked just as you are. Two souls enchanted to run away in the darkness. Get lost in the indescribable pleasure of each other.

   You feel yourself nearing another climax as he licks his tongue inside your mouth, meeting yours in a dance you can’t stop. He swallows your moans with each snap of his hips, his fingers toying with your overstimulated clit until you’re gasping for breath underneath him. 

   He disconnects from your lips and stares at you with pitch black eyes, ready to consume all of you. “That’s it. That’s a good fuckin’ girl. Come on my cock. Let me feel you,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. And the sound of that deep, melodic tone makes you want to spill right then. 

   “I—Professor Miller. I’m gonna…”

   He drags his tongue along the edge of your ear and leans in close, his voice like silk. “C’mon, beautiful. Let go. Trust me. Feel me. Squeeze me. Show me how much I make you feel good. My pretty little Hufflepuff. My girl…”

   That right there sends you over. One more press of his thumb to your clit and you’re falling off the edge. It’s like a choir of angels surrounds the dark ceiling, your ears ringing as you cry his name at the top of your lungs. You can’t think, can’t speak. You can only writhe beneath him as you come back down to earth while he calls you a good girl over and over again. He could say it a hundred times, and you’d never tire of it. 

   “Fuck. That’s my good girl,” he praises, fucking into you harder. His breath ragged and untame. His curls stick to his sweat-coated forehead, his black eyes widen, and you feel him start to fall apart. 

   “I’m not gonna fuckin’ last much longer, sweetheart. Where do you want me?” he asks breathlessly. 

   “Inside me, Professor Miller,” you beg. At the sound of his name, he throws his head back and groans loudly as he spills his warm seed inside you. Painting your walls white with the Slytherin essence of him. Claiming you as his own. 

   He falls on his back against the side of the desk and pulls you tight against his chest. And then the two of you just breathe each other’s air until one of you is strong enough to push up from the dark mahogany desk. You’re the first one to move. 

   You quickly throw on your dress and cast a charm to freshen up. You don’t need your students knowing what you and the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor have been up to.

   Just as you start to smooth your hair out, you feel Joel brushing up against your back. His woodsy scent slithering its way down your spine, encapsulating your entire being as you start to fall into a deep trance again. You lean back and let him wrap his strong arms around your waist, his tempting lips kissing their way down the column of your neck. 

   “What are you doin’ later tonight?” he whispers smoothly, lingering his lips over your smooth skin. You feel his smoldering brown eyes piercing right through you, starting a fire deep in your core.

   If he doesn’t stop, you’ll end up right back where you were just seconds ago. On your back with Joel fucking Miller hovering over your body. Pulling you apart thread by thread. And you’d let him. God, you’d burn down this entire room and let him fuck you through the flames that licked at your skin. You’d burn for him.

   “Was going to lesson plan and maybe read a book,” you gulp as he spins you around, your speech suddenly slurring as he tempts you with dark eyes. Eyes that’ll swallow you whole.

   “Well, how ‘bout you lesson plan from my bed?” He quirks up a thick brow and plants a smug grin on his plush lips. Lips that taste like firewhisky. 

   “I don’t think I could get anything done there,” you laugh, a crimson blush staining your cheeks.

   “Not lesson plannin’, no. Maybe we could open the Chamber of Secrets. Get you moanin’ and speakin’ in tongues before the night is through,” he smirks devilishly, licking his bottom lip enticingly slow.

   God, he’s such a tease. 

   “You’re a bad, wicked man, Professor Miller.” You shake your head and fold your arms over your chest, taking a step back until he wraps a big hand around your wrist and pulls you back into his broad chest.

   “Don’t you forget it, baby,” he chuckles, fanning his hot breath over your lips. Drawing you in like a moth to a flame. 

   “You’re going to make me late for my next class,” you sigh, letting him gather you in his arms as his warmth consumes you. 

   “Then be late…” he whispers, brushing his lips over yours. Damn him and his plush, tempting lips. He tastes better than any sweet treat you’ve had in Hogsmeade.

   “You’re a bad influence on me,” you tsk, throwing your arms around his neck. Screw it. You’re already hooked on him. Might as well just give in to his lustful temptations.

   “Tryin’ to be,” he chuckles as he brushes a lock of hair behind the shell of your ear, lingering the back of his hand against your jawline. The tension suddenly thick around the dimly lit room once again. But really, it never left in the first place.

   You graze your lips against his and give him a lasting kiss, fingers tangled in the messy curls you so desperately love to lace your fingers through. It feels like velvet as the silvery strands comb through your fingers.

   You disconnect from his mouth and smile sweetly up at him, pushing off his strong chest. “Okay, handsome. I gotta go.”

   “See you tonight, pretty Hufflepuff.” He lingers his calloused fingers around your wrist and holds you there, just so he can memorize what you look like under the moonlit lamps of his classroom. He thinks you’re absolutely stunning.

   “Pretty, huh?” You give him a shy smile and feel your cheeks growing bright red.

   He nods, brown eyes alight with wonder. “Baby, you’re the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

   Oh.

   “You’re not so bad looking yourself, handsome,” you smile as he brings your hand up to his lips, placing a swift kiss to the top of your knuckles. And there you go blushing again like a schoolgirl with a crush. 

   “Careful now. Start talkin’ like that, and I’ll jus’ have to make you mine,” he warns with a smirk, the crow’s feet making his eyes sparkle like onyx crystals as starlight dances across his pretty eyes. 

   “So make me yours…” you whisper, hand dropping to your side. 

   He chuckles and shakes his head, back of his hand skimming down your blush-coated cheek. “You’re already mine, beautiful girl.”

   “Yours…” you repeat in awe.

   “Mmm. Mine.” He lets you backup a couple steps, reluctant to let you go just yet. “See ya tonight, baby.”

   As you pace back to the door and hover your hand over the golden handle, you turn back to him and smile. “Try not to think about me too much until then, Professor Miller.” 

   He rakes a hand slowly through his tousled curls, adjusting his loose tie around his neck. “Oh, babygirl. That’s the only thing that’s gonna be on my mind till I see you.”

   His brown flecked eyes hold yours for just a few seconds and then you turn and walk out of the room, leaving behind the troublemaker that’s got your heart racing a million miles an hour. 

   You’re thoroughly, completely enraptured with Professor Miller. And you fear you won’t be able to get enough of him. 

   As you walk down the now stirring hallway, dodging chatty students, you think of those captivating dark eyes. Those smoldering, beautiful eyes. Just a few more hours until you’re in his arms again, until he’s making you come undone all over again. 

   You’d let him unravel you. Make you his with every touch, every kiss, every breath. You never expected to fall for a Slytherin but here you were. Tripping and stumbling to get one more taste of him. 

   You’d never get enough. This Hufflepuff belonged to a Slytherin now. Professor Miller. The bad boy who got the good girl. 

   He was your Amortentia, and you were his.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

ive been rereading hp recently and one thing that confuses me is ron's first wand bcs its charlies but charlie gave it to ron after leaving hogwarts?? i dont understand why. did charlie not need a wand? did he get a new one? (if he did get a new one, why? and why could ron not have gotten a new one too?) it just seems so strange and goes against everything else we seem to learn about wands later.

i also suspect the reason ron struggled so much in early years is because of his second hand wand. ron is quite smart (the chess game) and even magically pretty decent (he learns a patronus fairly quickly in ootp and thats deemed hard magic, can hold his own in fights, etc).

im curious on ur opinions on this and about ron's wand situation. (sorry if uve discussed it before and ive just missed it!)

I didn't discuss this before, and it is interesting. I don't think we have a canon answer to why Chalrie replaced his wand, but we do know he still has a wand. He'd have to, considering wands are everything for European wizards and he'd need it as a dragon tamer.

Charlie was born in December 1972, so he started Hogwarts in September of 1984 and graduated his seventh year in June of 1991, a few months before Ron started Hogwarts in September of 1991.

Why would he choose to get a new wand and give his old one to Ron at that point? I don't actually know, but I have a few possibilities, from least likely to most likely:

1. The wand stopped working for him. Charlie's personality or goals or something else changed drastically during his final year or graduation, and he needed to get a new wand because his old one didn't really work for him anymore.

2. There's a superstition that wizards who want to work with dragons should have a dragon heartstring wand. As Charlie knew he was going to work at a dragon reserve and his wand had a unicorn hair core, he might have chosen to replace it from the misguided belief a different core would be better for his profession. (I don't actually know if this superstition is a thing, I made it up as something that could get him to replace his wand and it seems reasonable with the kind of wand superstitions they have in the wizarding world).

3. It's possible that the wand wasn't even bought for Charlie, but used to belong to Grandpa Septimus or something and he used it while at school, then when he graduated, he saved up his own money to buy himself a wand of his own, since his wasn't actually made for him. So, then, Ron was using an even older family wand.

And yeah, I agree. We see it with Neville too, who is using his father's wand and it affects his magic negatively. However, I think Ron was much less affected than Neville since the core and wood of Charlie's wand did suit him. It wasn't the best fit, but it was a decent one, unlike Neville who had to fight his wand and feared it.

[the-colourful-witch]

i'd love to know more about astrid cresswell if you're willing to tell us more. such as her family, is she dirk cresswell's daughter? what's her wand like? what year was she born? etc

Hiya! I can't believe you found her! I forgot I shared an illustration of Astrid on my page a long time ago :) Astrid Cresswell is my OC. And yes, I did take inspiration for her name from Dirk Cresswell, who is an Auror at the Ministry. He was one of the Aurors who was supposed to arrest Dumbledore if I remember correctly. In Order of the Phoenix. The two of them have no relation, actually. I took the last name when I was toying with the idea of her being the daughter of Dirk, but I went in a different direction. The last name kind of stuck, oops :) Anyway! Astrid!

Astrid is a Slytherin, in the same year as Fred and George (born 1978). My story for her is:

She was raised by her dad, who is a Healer at St Mungo's, in the permanent ward. Her mother was a Muggle, who died in childbirth. Robb Cresswell, Astrid's father, never told his girlfriend he was a Wizard. Astrid grew up with her dad, who was always working. They lived in the hillside village of Ottery St Catchpole where a few more magical families were housed in the hills. Robb regularly dropped Astrid off at the Weasleys, where Molly was more than happy to look after Astrid when he went to work. And so Astrid grew up with her two best friends: Fred and George Weasley. But that friendship didn't last very long after Astrid got sorted into Slytherin House. From that moment on, Astrid and the twins became rivals. They will do anything to destroy each other, both on and off the Quidditch pitch.

Astrid is a Chaser, the only girl on the Slytherin team. She's constantly dealing with Marcus Flint's sexist antics but is determined to play. She has something to prove, after all. Her patronus is a fox and her wand is 9 1/2 inches, Aspen wood with a dragon heartstring core. It stylishly resembles ivory; excellent for duelling and charm-casting. It's a wand made for revolutionaries but can be temperamentful, reacting to uncontrolled emotions. Astrid has two best friends: Maeve and Dorian, both Slytherins in her year. Dorian plays on the Quidditch team with her, as a Beater. He wants to be an Auror, like his father John Dawlish and is ahead of everyone in their class in all subjects. Maeve is the oldest of seven girls and the only one sorted into Slytherin. Hogwarts is the only place where she doesn't have to be a parent to her sisters. She enjoys reading and is Captain of the chess club. Oh, and she has a pet: a tubby black and white cat named Tibo. Tibo likes treats and scratches behind his ears. He has one of those loud purrs.

Astrid herself has a toad, which is a surprisingly uncool pet for a girl of her status. He's called Samuel the Second. You don't want to know what happened to the first. Sebastian usually hangs out in Astrid's room, but she takes him with her to the greenhouses sometimes when she's doing extra credit work. And Astrid is popular! After finding out she wasn't ever going to fit in with her Gryffindor friends (not really friends anymore), she decided to really embrace the Slytherin identity. She is clever and cunning. She knows how to get what she wants. To everyone who does not know her, she is perfect. Prefect, Quidditch player, star student. Behind the scenes, it's a little more rough... But she tries. She wants to become a Healer, after a successful Quidditch career, of course.

I am still figuring out Astrid's story, but it's fun for me to work on her every now and then. I admit, it's been a while. I dream of writing a fic for her one day, but I am not much of a writer. I start with something and then I can't finish, because I get distracted and instead draw my characters. What can I say, I like to draw! Maybe one day I'll actually finish a first draft :)

(an older version of Astrid - I don't love how I drew this)

I would like to share some more OC work in the future, but it's been a while since I worked on my characters. All the existing HP characters take up a lot of my time at the moment. One day :) I hope you like this. I'm happy to answer more questions if you have them <3

Magical wishes, Fleur

Some more earlier concepts of Astrid..

[ay0nha]

Some Unholy War | Theseus Scamander (IV)

SUMMARY: Theseus was always talented in thinking clearly. Logically. He wanted you to be wrong, but your instincts pushed you to keep moving. It was the only way to stay one step ahead of Sinclair. It contrasted Theseus’ plan to stay put within the walls of the Ministry. You contrasted his very being. 

PAIRING: Theseus Scamander x f!reader  

WORD COUNT: 1.1K

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, flashback of sorts, mutual pining, semi enemies-to- lovers, always a protective Theseus, SLOW burn, etc.

A/N: HELLO. Again, this took me longer than I would have liked. So, rather than rushing it, I’m going to break it up into two parts...I’m going to take a lil break to get my head together, but I’m v excited in how this second part is going to go!!! So, stay tuned...As always, thank you, @kalllistos​​​​. Comments are always welcomed. Enjoy.

PART I, PART II, PART III

Effort was a comical notion.

Magic required it at times, just as breathing did. The effort now felt good, worth it. The icy air that reached the ends of your lungs stung. Yet, each breath was quieter, the effort only coming in the form of physical mechanics of pushing a warm breath back out that the air around you marked.

“Are you mad?” Theseus’ exclamation hadn’t taken any exertion. The pent-up anger almost made you flinch. Theseus yelled after you as you continued forward. He never begged you to stop; he told you. Sometimes you’d listen just to display your wit.

You were quiet, entering the idyllic fog, hoping it would swallow you whole.

“Keep up….” Your voice was airy, the instruction more for yourself. The memory was faded, your mind trying to hold onto it as it threatened to slip between your fingers.

It started in Theseus’ office—a muddled memory overlapping with the friction of everything around you. It was more a feeling, something foggy and unrestrained that called you forward. It felt a bit like apparating, where your body didn’t quite belong for the moments it took to find your footing again.

You scolded yourself for not seeing it clearly; that was the thing about divination.

Although studied meticulously, its real trait was its vitality.  It shifted and molded. Evolved.  It made even more concrete things seem like rubber, rejecting electricity with an uncanny ability to mold into shapes unknown. It was the type of thing that could be so exciting to happen just to become something so vague that it no longer held value to it.

Theseus’ words were drowned out as your ears produced a ringing. All you could hear was your shaky breaths, and all you could see was a faint familiarity with your surroundings. Even your stumbling steps backward felt practiced.

Your breath became labored as the hazy recollection returned. Even through the blur, you saw how the tips of his ears and nose burned red with frustration. It was a trait of his that remained as he rose so many inches he towered over you, and his hair curled the longer her let it grow.

The years did nothing to change it.

“This is it….” Your fingers fumbled with a curl at the nape of his neck. His hair was long, longer than he usually kept it. Time had gotten the better of him. How could you be so blind?

Theseus’ tirade wavered. He was supposed to be angry. He was supposed to do so many things, but your touch felt like an enchantment. It reminded him of how dangerous you could be.

The walnut of Theseus’ wand was always stiff, but it cast its spells briskly and powerfully. Ollivander told him it wasn’t rare to be drawn to the material, but it scarcely paired with dragon heartstring. Because of the extreme dominance of this wood, the core was stoic and gentle and had done Theseus well from the moment he received it. Yet, pressed against your chest to stall your next step, it felt that even the wand knew it was a misguided action.

“Don’t be foolish, Theseus.” You spat at the gesture. His wand only pressed into your chest as if trying to will away his emotions. “Don’t you recognize where we are?”

He shook his head. If he looked beside him, he knew he would crumble.

You tried to reason, “We couldn’t stay there. The Ministry—

“We’re going back.” Although his voice was steady, emotion wavered in his eyes. “I won’t fall into your trap. You can’t just—

“It’s too late.” You pushed forward, the wood digging into your clavicle with drive. “I’m ruined anyways.” The invariability of the words reflected your decision.  “By your hand or his.”

Theseus was always talented in thinking clearly. Logically. He wanted you to be wrong, but your instincts pushed you to keep moving. It was the only way to stay one step ahead of Sinclair. It contrasted Theseus’ plan to stay within the Ministry's walls.

You contrasted his very being.

“Why did you bring me here?” Anger drifted from Theseus’ voice, and the space it abandoned was soon tenanted by something else—a kind of endearment, muslin light.

Theseus first brought you there for a quiet you didn’t know you needed. It was ambient full of croaking creatures and twigs snapping from the pressure of unknown forces. It was a blissful oasis that lured you into its dark depths.

The environment was damp, still reflecting the country’s dreariness. It was hidden, though. A broken-off path Theseus—well, Newt—had stumbled upon in childhood. It was a good hiding place to play, to sneak, and for you to abuse.

“I didn’t see it coming.” It felt strange to admit your best-hidden secret. “Any of it.” Your eyes remained on Theseus, willing trust to transfer. “But I just couldn’t—I knew deep down, I couldn’t lose everything.”

One time, you came to read Theseus’ palm under the full moon—a silly excuse to feel the weight of his hand in yours. The times following grew, the touches still shy with adolescence but bolder in a discovery of emotion.

The memory was a shared favorite, an inside joke of sorts to make the other feel warmth in your fingers that spread to the center of your chest. You hadn’t meant to bastardize it, but its safety was all you could rely on.

“But this, I saw this.” You would continue until Theseus understood. You had told him of your vision all those years ago. It was your only justifiable proof. “This needs to happen.”

Recognition flashed across his features.

Theseus dropped his wand with a tight breath. Looking to the sky, he became lost in turmoil. Once his gaze hit the dirt beneath his feet, it did nothing to aid him. You watched his fingers pull through the hair at the back of his head as if unraveling an answer.

You spoke when his hand fit over his mouth in frustration. “You promised me.”

“We were teenagers.” He snapped, denying the truth. “What did I know about prophecies?”

“Enough to believe me.” You felt young again, begging Theseus to revert with you. You wanted to hear his reassurances, his bold-faced vows to remain by your side despite the trouble you found.

That holiday, you told him everything—your plans to run away, the images that flashed in your dreams of the future, and how he centered them all as an essential turning point.  It spilled out of you, and you couldn’t stop. At the time, the swampy place was at the core unbeknownst.

If Theseus had known, he may not have regretted the promise to always be there for you. No questions asked. It sounded embarrassingly naive. You could still hear how desperately he wanted you to believe him. Even then, you knew it would lead to something like this.

Even then, just as now, you diminished how well Theseus knew you. “What aren’t you telling me?”

[metalomagnetic]

trust you to make me cry with that recent chapter. it was actually insane and also orion II got a wand!! i just wanted to ask what kind he got, if you have an answer?

Orion's wand is made of aspen wood, unyielding with dragon heartstring core.

Here are the description for the core and wand:

"As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner.

The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It is also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental."

Sirius' wand and Bella's are also made of this core.

As for the wood:

"Wand-quality aspen wood is white and fine-grained, and highly prized by all wand-makers for its stylish resemblance to ivory and its usually outstanding charmwork. The proper owner of the aspen wand is often an accomplished duellist, or destined to be so, for the aspen wand is one of those particularly suited to martial magic. An infamous and secretive eighteenth-century duelling club, which called itself The Silver Spears, was reputed to admit only those who owned aspen wands. In my experience, aspen wand owners are generally strong-minded and determined, more likely than most to be attracted by quests and new orders; this is a wand for revolutionaries."

Old Sirius had the same wood.

Ollivander quickly matched Orion with this wand, knowing what type of wands usually favours the Black family, though Orion is the first member of the Black family to tame an Aspen wood, since his great-great grandfather, Sirius.

But it is also a nod to his grandfather Orion, who was exceptional at charms.

[morelikeravenbore]

Love.

Deep in the catacombs beneath Feldcroft, blazing in the heat of battle, fighting off Inferi and fire, grappling with life and death, Sebastian thought about love as he forced his uncle back with a well-aimed blasting spell.

In that singular moment, Sebastian's choice was simple: Anne or Solomon, love or hatred.

Sebastian chose love — he always did.

'I won't let her suffer!'

Love bolstered his hot fury as the Inferi stumbled and Solomon's counter-spell missed its mark; love warmed his cold fear as his wand — aspen wood and dragon heartstring — seared hot in his palm, as eager to attack as the lethal creature its core had been taken from; love was the driving force as the relic whispered in his ear: Do it. You know the spell. He deserves it.

Nobody loved like Sebastian loved.

Across the room, Solomon seemed to realise his fate at the same moment Sebastian decided it, and when the rushing green light hit him squarely in the chest, and the life fizzled from his eyes, and his face went wonderfully slack, Sebastian smiled.

Nobody loved like Sebastian loved.

Nobody.

— How to Make a Villain, chapter twenty-five. [wattpad | ao3]

Warning: this chapter contains the biggest twist in the entire book so don't read ahead if you don't want to spoil yourself!

[hogwartslegacypics]

Sebastian’s Wand

My personal headcanon: aspen wood, dragon heartstring core, 12-13 inches, unbending flexibility

Starting with the wood, I’m fairly certain that Sebastian’s wand is made from aspen. The description for aspen wood wands scream Sebastian, and given how prominent dueling is for his character (and being one of the first things we learn about him), it seems like such an intentional choice on the developers behalf to have chosen this while designing his wand. Like “Ah, this one’s all about dueling, it’s perfect for Sebastian!”The color of aspen wood is described as “pale light yellow to nearly white” which matches the color of Sebastian’s wand perfectly.

“Wand-quality aspen wood is white and fine-grained, and highly prized by all wand-makers for its stylish resemblance to ivory and its usually outstanding charmwork. The proper owner of the aspen wand is often an accomplished duellist, or destined to be so, for the aspen wand is one of those particularly suited to martial magic. An infamous and secretive eighteenth-century duelling club, which called itself The Silver Spears, was reputed to admit only those who owned aspen wands. In my experience, aspen wand owners are generally strong-minded and determined, more likely than most to be attracted by quests and new orders; this is a wand for revolutionaries.” – Mr. Ollivander

Now, let’s move on to the core! I’m more conflicted about this one. All I know for sure is that I highly doubt his wand has a unicorn hair core because we know those don’t mix well with dark magic, and Sebastian wouldn’t have been able to cast all three of the unforgivable curses so easily if he had a unicorn core. It’s possible yeah, but they seemed to come so naturally to him which makes me highly doubt it.

Side note: Draco had a unicorn hair core wand, and even if he did end up attempting to use AK on Dumbledore, I believe it would have failed due to this. His intent would have needed to be foolproof to overcome the core, and he was hesitating to begin with. It would take a very dark wizard like Voldemort to turn a unicorn core wand dark, and that’s not Sebastian.

That leaves either a dragon heartstring or a phoenix feather core.

Dragon: As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner. The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It is also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental.

Phoenix: This is the rarest core type. Phoenix feathers are capable of the greatest range of magic, though they may take longer than either unicorn or dragon cores to reveal this. They show the most initiative, sometimes acting of their own accord, a quality that many witches and wizards dislike. Phoenix feather wands are always the pickiest when it comes to potential owners, for the creature from which they are taken is one of the most independent and detached in the world. These wands are the hardest to tame and to personalise, and their allegiance is usually hard won.

I’m leaning towards dragon because “The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord.” While this certainly doesn’t narrow out the phoenix feather (Tom Riddle had one), it does make me think about just how easily Sebastian was able to cast the unforgivables. Dragon wands are also “capable of the most flamboyant spells” and flamboyance does describe Sebastian well, along with “somewhat temperamental.” These traits are supposed to be about the wand itself though, not necessarily the owner.

The only thing with phoenix feathers that seems Sebastian-like to me is that the wands “show the most initiative, sometimes acting of their own accord, a quality that many witches and wizards dislike.” We know Sebastian acts this way, but this is supposed to be about the wand itself, and I don’t think Sebastian would be happy with a wand like that. Phoenix cores are also so rare that Harry and Voldemort are the only people in original series confirmed to have had one. It’s a very MC-esque core.

We should also keep in mind that, according to HP Wiki, certain wand woods can react with certain cores in unique ways, affecting the wand's personality and/or magical abilities. Based on what we know, dragon cores do seem like they’d be more suited for an aspen wood wand because I’m sure the power of the core goes along well with a wood suited for dueling. Phoenix feathers are even more powerful though, they just take time for their power to show. I’m still kind of conflicted so POLL TIME!!

Next up is wand length! According to Ollivander, “longer wands tend to be drawn to bigger personalities, and those of a more spacious and dramatic style of magic.” Longer wands also work well with taller witches and wizards and are best suited to bold personalities. This is 100% Sebastian! He has such a big personality, so I think his wand would be on the longer side.

Obviously we will never know the exact length, but based on those descriptions, it’s safe to say Sebastian has a long wand. I’m estimating 12-13 inches because his wand appears to be about the same size as his forearm, and I measured my own forearm and got a little bigger than 10 inches (as a 5’6 woman) so I added 2 inches since he’s a guy, and maybe another inch because his wand does seem a little bigger than his forearm. Very scientific, yes.

Lastly, we have wand flexibility. Wand flexibility denotes the degree of adaptability and willingness to change possessed by the wand-and-owner pair. Based on this and what we know about Sebastian, his wand would be somewhere on the unbending scale because he’s stubborn as fuck. If we want specifics, I found some descriptions here and if they are canon, I think either “hard” or “unyielding” fits him the best.

Hard: A wand of this flexibility is very difficult to work with and its loyalty is not won easily. Hard wands are great for complex and advanced levels of magic, so beginning wizards and witches may find extra difficulty with this wand when it doesn't perform well for simple magic. As such, this type of wand is best suited for wizards and witches who are gifted, stubborn, and never give up. Owners of this wand also have a tendency to view things in absolutes; black or white. Some people may find them intimidating or difficult to approach.

Unyielding: A wand of this flexibility finely tunes itself to its original owner's preferences and doesn't stray from those preferences, even in the hands of a new owner; the new owner will just have to get used to it. It is particularly good for combative and healing magic. Unyielding wand owners tend to be very confident in themselves and/or in the things they believe in. They tend to be intelligent, somewhat cynical, and usually have well-defined principles that they will not stray from ever. Sometimes, this combination can lead to arrogance because of them insisting on how right they are without considering other points of view or whether or not they might be wrong.

[temnurus]

Draco Falls First Fic Recs

I made this rec list when someone in a server asked for fics in which Draco falls in love with Harry first. I love pining, & this scenario is the perfect setup for it. As a result, I had rather a lot to choose from, but here are ten that made the cut this time.

The Unbearable Burden of Caring & it's sequel Sins and Scars and Shattered Things by Tessa Crowley (E, 22,189)

Thoughts: These fics both ruined me. They were so damn good that I could have wept from the sheer beauty of the prose alone. I swear I must've spent half of them clutching a tissue in anticipation of breaking into ugly sobs every five minutes. They were romantic & beautifully poignant; even the smut was so emotionally charged that I was left spellbound. I highly, highly recommend them both.

you've got the antidote for me by Kandakicksass (E, 20,730)

Thoughts: My heart was breaking for Draco before I even got through the summary. This soulmate fic is recced a lot & with good reason. It's still one of my favorites, & I reread it quite often.

Dragon Heartstrings by JET_Playin (E, 23,825)

Thoughts: Admittedly I'm a sucker for soulmate fics, so here's another for you. I liked how the author covered Draco's experience with seeing the red strings that indicated soulmate bonds throughout the years, briefly touching on his early childhood & skipping through his years at Hogwarts before settling into the meat of the story during his & Harry's eighth year at school. This is another one that I've reread several times because I just enjoy it so much each time.

Beating Out of Time by Moss_Man_Writes (E, 73,574)

Thoughts: I was sucked in from the very beginning, & I loved Draco's POV the most. The pining on Draco's part was perfect, & watching Harry fall in love with him was just enchanting.

The Butterfly Kiss by triggerlil (T, 1,998)

Thoughts: This is the shortest of all my recs, but it's by no means less engaging. The ethereal atmosphere of the whole thing left me breathless. Draco as a butterfly was something I'd never seen before, & even though I knew fairies were sometimes viewed as butterflies by unsuspecting mortals, I never would've thought of it as a premise. It was such a gorgeous soulmate AU (couldn't help myself). Draco's pining for Harry throughout was heart-achingly beautiful, too.

The Shape of the World by bixgirl1 (E, 48,276)

Thoughts: Memory loss fics often guarantee a healthy dose of angst, & this is no exception. Harry being the one afflicted did provide the perfect setup for Draco to fall for him first, though. He was probably already a bit in love with him before he ran back into him, to be honest, haha. This is by my favorite Drarry author, & rarely is there ever a time one of her fics doesn't make it onto a rec list of mine.

The Light More Beautiful by firethesound (E, 81,255)

Thoughts: Draco was so clever & creative in this, & the way he felt about Harry took my breath away. He appreciated the exact things about him that make me love Harry so much as a character, & it was probably my favorite thing about this fic. The pining was achingly lovely, the banter & teasing were fun, & the smut was scorching hot. firethesound is one of the most popular Drarry authors to date, & this is probably my favorite fic of hers.

The Lily Spell by pickledghost (E, 86,512)

Thoughts: Okay, fair warning, this is an Omegaverse fic & the author is up front about the fact that Draco's characterization isn't standard to canon or even most of fanon. He was so sweet that I just couldn't get enough of him. It's also an AU in which there was no second war with Voldemort, & I think it had a very believable interpretation of how Harry might've turned out under those circumstances. He was still very much himself at his core, just more confident & self-assured, in my opinion. The slow burn was so well done that I didn't even notice the passage of time while I was glued to the story. It hooked me in & kept me invested from start to finish.

Pop Up Pals by bambimoss (E, 62,447)

Thoughts: I cannot believe I almost forgot to add this fic. I read it twice in a row. That's how much I enjoyed the story. Draco being so lonely broke my fucking heart. Seriously, I think someone would have to be a sociopath if they couldn't empathize with Draco's experiences here. Surprisingly, I laughed a lot at this, & I also cried like a baby at one point. The characterizations were amazing, & the fic was jam-packed with emotion. It was absolutely stunning, & nothing has managed to knock it off of my top ten favorite Drarry fics list despite some very close contenders since the first time I read it.

[crowlipso]

MC - Agatha Crowley sheet

Information under the cut!

Basic Information

Full name: Agatha Chandra Crowley

Nickname: Ag, Aggie

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bisexual

MBTI: ESTP

Species: Human

Date of birth: 18th June 1875

Nationality: British (British/Trinidadian/Siamese)

Blood status: Pure-blood/Half-blood (unclear)

Wand: Redwood wood with a dragon heartstring core 10 ¼" and quite bendy flexibility

House: Slytherin

Patronus: Dragon

Boggart: [LOCKED]

Amortentia: Burnt wood, Chocolate, Gasoline

Appearance

Hair colour: Platinum white

Hairstyle: Short soft curls

Eye colour: Magenta 

Skin tone: Medium-dark skin with yellow-golden undertones

Height: (unclear) 3cm shorter than Sebastian

Weight: 60kg

Other distinguishing features: Two moles under the bottom lip, Fangs, Black nails polish

Personality 

Agatha is confident and ambitious despite feeling neglected by her family and has developed a strong sense of self-worth. She's rebellious and doesn't conform to traditional gender roles, preferring to dress and act in a way that makes her feel comfortable rather than trying to please others. She can come across as cocky and sarcastic at times, partly because of her family's wealth and status, but also as a defense mechanism developed from her experiences with bullying.

While Agatha can be sarcastic and biting in her humour, she's also fiercely loyal to those she cares about and will go to great lengths to protect them. Her experiences with bullying have made her somewhat hostile towards those she perceives as a threat, but she's not inherently violent or cruel. She values intelligence and cunning.

Traits: Chaotic, Cocky, Charismatic, Sarcastic, Barbaric

Likes: Dragons, Insects, Leeches, Forbidden Knowledge

Dislikes: Milk in tea, Skirts

Good at: Martial arts, Animal Handling, Intimidating, 

Bad at: Showing true emotions and Affection, Persuade

Hobbies: Bug collector, Quidditch for fun(played as Beater), Drawing

Fears: Become nobody, Her father

Ambition: Domesticated Dragons

Family & Backstory

Agatha Crowley was born into a wealthy and prestigious pure-blood family known for their diplomatic skills and trading. Her father always wanted a son to carry on the family name and legacy, but instead, he was disappointed to have a daughter. As a result, Agatha was neglected by her father and most of her extended family. Only her mother showed her affection and attention, taking care of her and even allowing her to play with muggle children in their neighborhood.

Agatha's childhood was rough due to her family's neglect and the bullying she experienced from muggle children because of her unnatural hair and eye color. To cope, she became rebellious and defiant, refusing to wear skirts and acting more like a boy to try and please her father.

Despite not showing any signs of magical ability, Agatha's maternal grandfather, a Siamese man who was skilled in Muay Thai, taught her martial arts from a young age. Agatha fell in love with the discipline and art of fighting and trained vigorously with her grandfather.

At the age of 15 Agatha's magical abilities finally awakened, and she received her acceptance letter to Hogwarts, Though she possessed traits of a Gryffindor, her ambitious nature led her to be sorted into Slytherin, much to her family's relief.

In Hogwarts, Agatha's skills in martial arts proved to be an asset in her studies, especially in Defense Against the Dark Arts. However, her troubled past and lack of parental guidance caused her to develop a rude, sarcastic, and mean personality, often pushing people away with her hostile behavior.

Despite this, Agatha remained fearless and savage, always ready to fight for what she believed in, and became a force to be reckoned with in both academics and combat.

Father: Josiah Crowley

Mother: Chandra *Thai people still haven't had a last name back then*

Paternal grandparents: Victarion Crowley and Calypso Lovegood

Maternal grandparents: Narong, -

Uncles: Bran Crowley (Josiah’s brother), Edward Crowley(other brothers)

Aunts: Alannis (Crowley) Sanchez

Cousins: Isis Crowley(Bran’s daughter), Rose Sanchez, Jason Sanchez (Alannis’s children), Ramsay Crowley, Victarion II Crowley, Aretha Crowley (Edward’s children)

Pet: Bunch of unnamed insects, two leeches name Robert and Henry

Family home: London, Wandsworth

Relationships 

Friends: Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Giona Regali(oc), Natsai Onai, Poppy Sweeting, other fifth years

Best Friends: Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt

Love interest: Sebastian Sallow click

Others

Headcanon CV: Robyn Addison

Character inspiration:

Rhaenyra Targaryen - House of The Dragon

Nanno - Girl from nowhere

Veronica Sawyer - Heathers 1988

Cruella De Vil - Cruella 2021

Jo March - Little Women 2019

Agatha Harkness - Wandavision

[goldenlionprince]

Prongsfoot Week 2024 - Day 2

New to Prongsfoot Week: What Headcanons do you have for this ship? IE, things like, James made the first move or Sirius got James into crosswords. Anything really.

They bounce ideas and theories off of each other in a speed and with half formed sentences that leaves everyone else thinking they speak their own language, even their close friends “But what if we -” “Eh, not so sure. Remember last time? But what if -” “Oh! That could work! And then we just - “ “Good idea, let's test that out.” Peter just looks at Remus, completely confused what just happened. Remus shrugs. It's just a normal Tuesday. .

Sirius is a haemophiliac. James makes sure he has potions for that at hand whenever they go after Death Eaters or go on a full moon adventure, just in case. .

James is a lightweight when it comes to drinking. It takes a lot more for Sirius to get drunk. So when they are both out in public Sirius usually slows down a little to be able to keep an eye on James. .

Sirius smokes, James doesn't. At least not officially. He totally borrows from Sirius all the time. .

James is a morning person, Sirius more of an insomniac who manages to run on like 3 hours of sleep but grumbles in the morning .

When both of them get woken up in the middle of the night though Sirius brain is fully there immediately, James needs a minute to get there .

James is left-handed. They have adjusted their duelling style around that for maximum impact on their enemies .

They are scary when they fight together .

They both have dragon heartstring wand cores .

James is a tiny bit better at Transfiguration, Sirius a bit better at Charms .

Sirius is not a fan of Potions. He can do it but he doesn't love all the precise cutting and stirring and the slow process of it all (and Slughorn isn't helping with constantly trying to get him to join his little Club). James is a lot more patient with the Potion process and also the one that keeps their dorm well stocked on all they need – from Painkiller to Pepperup Potions – to get though all their full moon adventures unnoticed .

They have a table claimed in the back corner of the library that is basically theirs. No one else gets to sit there. First years ending up there get shooed away. This is where they do a lot of their research for various projects so they don't have to carry all the books around between their dormitory and the library .

Sirius wears one of James' old Quidditch jerseys to all of his games. James loves to see his last name in big letters on Sirius' back (especially when they are playing against Slytherin and Regulus gets to see it) .

Sirius secretly loves James' Captain badge

[theblackdog552]

Weasley twincest headcanons:

-Fred initiated, but george walked him through the first few weeks

-George is more cuddly, fred is more flirty

-Fred didnt know what to do with his hands during their first kiss

-Their first date was at the three broomsticks (at a small corner table so they could hold hands)

-fred really likes holding hands. If theyre together, theyre holding hands.

-at the burrow, they originally slept on opposite sides of the room in twin beds. But after they started dating they pushed the beds together to make one big bed.

-their relationship is very private, only harry and ron know (they told harry, ron accidentally walked in on them kissing but swore not to tell. Harry and Ron dont know that the other knows, and keep the secret from each other)

-they share clothes (obviously) but also accidentally mix up their underwear a lot

-they have matching wands. Both 12 inches, dogwood, with a dragon heartstring core. The only difference is the appearances. Like harry and Voldemort’s wands, the dragon used to make fred and Georges wands only gave two cores, making their wands brother wands.

[sugarsnappeases]

microfic - bella killing sirius 🥰 | 1.5k words | warnings for um. death. obviously. but also for confusing narrative style ❤️

for the light of my life @quillkiller on this most auspicious day

Bellatrix laughs as Andy - the woman who looks like Andy, except for the purple hair, and the dirty blood - falls backwards away from her. She’s never going to get into the Duelling Club at Hogwarts if she keeps leaving her left side open like that; she’s lucky she has Bellatrix there to teach her.

The woman - her sister, blood-traitor, spawn of a mudblood, fighting on the side of the Order - doesn’t get back up again, limp body tumbling down the steep, stone steps. Bellatrix hasn’t lost a duel since she was thirteen, she holds the Duelling Club record for most consecutive wins - she’s the best person that Andy could have come to for help - she wasn’t going to be beaten by some filthy Auror brat.

Turning away from the unmoving body, Bellatrix runs deeper into the fray, moving towards the raised dais with its stone archway. It’s chaos, flashes of spellfire shooting across the room in all directions, red, purple, white, green, shouts and crashes and explosions as spells miss and damage the room, or as they hit their mark and damage the enemy.

She deflects a curse on instinct, swinging around to face the direction it had come from - a familiar face, her baby cousin - “Bella, will you duel me now?” - a traitor and a coward and unworthy of the name of Black.

Bellatrix returns fire. She’ll go easy on him, because Sirius is just a boy, mock-duelling with a borrowed wand and the small repertoire of spells that he had learned from her or from his parents, but he had always been quick on his feet, good at skipping out of the line of fire - she would make a proper duellist of him yet. She should kill him, for having everything and for running away from it, for turning against her, against his family, cursing their name then having the audacity to use the spells that she had taught him to fight for the wrong side of the war.

It’s the first time that she's seen him since he was disowned, in the middle of Diagon Alley, fighting with the Order of the Phoenix, and she should kill him. It’s the Yule holidays of her seventh year at Hogwarts, Sirius is nine and determinedly dodging her spells, one of their favourite games. They’re both somewhere else, screams and despair and a spinning, ungraspable whirlpool of memories, standing on the raised stone dais now, close enough to hear the whispers from the tattered veil hanging in the archway - soft, insidious, beneath the clamour of the battle.

Sirius throws a spell back at her, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “Hello cousin.”

Bellatrix grins as she dodges - Sirius is always so energetic, so eager to fight with her in a way that even Andromeda never is, let alone Narcissa or Regulus - so desperate to draw her blood, the same blood that runs through his veins, the same blood that he had forsaken, singling her out on any battlefield in the same way that she always did with him. He had run from everything that she had ever wanted - the Black heirship and the power, the esteem, which that entailed - as if it was nothing, as if she didn’t dream about commanding that level of respect, or awe, or fear, as if she hadn’t been scrambling every day of her life to try and get as close to it as she could. Sirius had run away from it, run away from her, and now he was a part of the Order of the Phoenix and she should kill him. She could kill him, the Black Heir, laughing as he narrowly avoids getting hit with a stupefy - he’s only nine, it’s not like he could really defend himself if she started firing off some of the more lethal spells she knew.

She had taught him how to perform the severing charm just the day before, lending him her wand - walnut and dragon heartstring just like the one that had chosen him when he turned eleven - he’s using Cissy’s today, struggling a little against it’s unicorn hair core, mostly relying on his ability to jump out of the trajectory of spells.

The two of them are volleying spells back and forth - ones that she had taught him and ones that the Dark Lord had taught her and ones that he had learnt without her somewhere - dodging or shielding or deflecting, spells barely grazing each other, she always knew that he would make a fine duellist - she had made him into one. They duel like this every time they see each other, during her holidays from Hogwarts, then during his holidays from Hogwarts; she had watched Sirius turn into a threat - she had taught him how to be a threat.

Bellatrix laughs as he manages to shoot off the severing charm that she had taught him - three different lethal curses in quick succession, a determined kind of acrimony about him, not surprised to see her fighting with the death eaters, in the same way that she isn’t really surprised to see him with the Order. She lets it hit her - blocks them all with a complicated shielding charm and throws back a confringo that explodes the cobblestones beneath his feet - still laughing as he cheers about how he’s fatally wounded her, feeling a sting from the shallow cut on her arm - he’s determined as ever but there’s less anger now; he’s playful, grinning when a curse singes the ends of his hair.

She knows she shouldn’t kill him - she isn’t sure if she could kill him anymore, he’s going toe to toe with her in a way that he’d never been able to when they were kids - she doesn’t think she really wants to kill him, her favourite cousin, more just the things that he represents, the signet ring on his finger that gives him an authority, aged nine, that she doesn’t have, can’t have, at nearly double his age - she thinks she wants to kill him now, though, now that he’s betrayed her, found a new family of mudbloods and blood-traitors and abandoned the role that she’s always craved. Bellatrix fires a stunner at him - puts up a hasty shield against his entrail-expelling curse, another one that she had taught him - the two of them laugh as he ducks it, the red light whizzing over his head - “Come on, you can do better than that!”

It’s loud, cacophonous with the battle raging all around them - blood on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley, some of it hers, some of it his - Cissy’s complaining that she’s bored and wants to go outside - the whispers emanating from the crumbling stone archway are getting louder, seeping their way into Bellatrix’s head - and Sirius’ voice rings in her ears, echoes around the room.

She flings another spell at him, grinning as she watches him determinedly move through the wand movements for diffindo again - he laughs as she stumbles, as her shield collapses under the force of his reducto, as he gains the upper hand - concentrating on pushing his magic through Cissy’s wand, not paying close enough attention to the spell she’s just cast - Sirius deflects the curses she hurls at him, sends a barrage of spells back at her - he’s laughing, cocky as always, as her spell hurtles directly towards him.

It hits him right in the middle of his chest.

It’s quiet, suddenly.

Quiet as Sirius’s laughter cuts off. As his eyes widen in shock. As he falls backwards, slowly, as if some invisible weight were making him heavy, as if some invisible force were gently lifting him away. She looks at him and his face is gaunt, an underlying emaciation that no amount of hearty meals can hide, she sees the same whenever she looks in a mirror, right down to the tired, but ever determined glint in silver-grey eyes.

Bellatrix watches Sirius sink into the tattered veil - watches him fall to the floor of the duelling room in Grimmauld Place, for a second she imagines that he might be dead, what it would feel like to kill him - watches the grim smile on his face as one of his spells meets its target and her vision goes black - the veil flutters, those insidious whispers seem to pause for a moment, then rise to a roaring crescendo as his body disappears.

She screams along with them, triumphant - she hasn’t lost a duel since she was thirteen, Sirius has never once beaten her, always ending their duels on the floor - she’s killed Sirius Black, and everything that he represents, even if he had spurned the signet ring and the esteem that came with it. Bellatrix walks across the room to enervate him - wakes up in Malfoy Manor, Cissy leaning over her and asking if it was true that Sirius was a part of the Order now, if he had really beaten her in a duel - turns away from the whispers and the archway and the duel that she had won, skipping back up the stone steps, laughing as she hops over Andy’s - the mudblood’s - body.

[coccoador]

Half-blood (father was a Muggle, mother was a witch)

Canonically good-looking

Blonde

Show-off Ravenclaw

Prefers the colour lilac

Has a strong spellcasting power

Has been casted a terrible memory charm

Has older sister who had difficulty attending to Hogwarts

Has a wand made of cherry with a dragon's heartstrings core

[hollowed-theory-hall]

I saw your wand post and now I can't stop thinking about how veela hair works in a wand. Probably affected by the relative of that veela being the weilder. But veelas are close enough to wizards/muggles to seamlessly interbreed.

Do wizards/muggles have bits that can be used in spells wands potions???? What.

Ohh, this is a fascinating subject and my honest ansear is a resounding YES.

See, anything that has magic in some capacity can be a wand core. Wizards are easy to explain, but even muggles have magic in them (discussed here, and here), latent and dormant magic, but magic nonetheless. Ollivanders says himself the three wand cores he uses aren't the only ones that work, just the most reliable ones:

Early in my career, as I watched my wandmaker father wrestling with substandard wand core materials such as kelpie hair, I conceived the ambition to discover the finest cores and to work only with those when my time came to take over the family business. This I have done. After much experimentation and research, I concluded that only three substances produce wands of the quality to which I am happy to give the illustrious name of Ollivander: unicorn hair, dragon heartstring and phoenix feather. Each of these costly and rare materials has its own distinct properties. The following represents a short summary of my research into each of the three Supreme Cores. Readers should bear in mind that each wand is the composite of its wood, its core and the experience and nature of its owner; that tendencies of each may counterbalance or outweigh the other; so this can only be a very general overview of an immensely complex subject.

(from Pottermore)

Basically, Ollivanders is running a business, as such he wants to supply wands that people want to buy. We know Thestral hair, Horned Serpent horns, Troll whiskers, and more can all function as wand cores. Dragon scales could likely work as well, the thing is these other cores Olivanders doesn't work with fluctuate more greatly both in power and in pickiness. If he made a Thestral hair core, for example, he'd probably never sell that wand because of how picky it'll be. It's likely cores are also picky what woods they work with, and that the three cores he works with can pair with basically any wood, which allows him a lot of room to work with.

Ollivanders tells Fleur this about her wand:

“Yes,” said Mr. Ollivander, “yes, I’ve never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands . . . however, to each his own, and if this suits you . . .”

(GoF, 308)

So, basically he only makes the wands that are easy to control and tend to not act on their own, are more likely to pick a wizard that comes into the shop, and are consistent in the magic they produce. And it makes sense from a business standpoint, he wants to ensure the widest variety of wizards could find suitable wands that they'll be happy with.

But it also means, hypothetically, that wizards who buy their wands from Ollivanders don't necessarily get their perfect match of a wand, since he isn't selling the core that would truly vibe with their magic. Sure, one of the three he does sell would work, and work well, but there could be a British wizard/witch out there that has an okay wand from Ollivanders that works well for what they need but if they pick up a kelpie hair wand, all of a sudden magic would flow through the wand way easier and more naturally. Idk, I think it's interesting.

I also agree with you Fleur's wand works as well as it does for her because the hair came from her grandmother, who knew and loved her. So, similarly, if you take hair from a muggle or wizard who wants to power a wand for you and whom you're related to, it could work. I think the power of these wands would fluctuate quite a bit depending on who the hair comes from. I also believe the wand's personality would be affected by the person the hair is from, so you essentially have a stick version of that person, which is a little weird to think about but could be really interesting to explore in a hypothetical scenario.

Now, because I'm thinking about it, I kinda headcanon child Fleur was really close to her grandmother and her grandmother died either around the time Fleur needed to get her wand or a bit after, and her wand was something willed to her by her grandmother and something that allows Fleur to keep her grandmother with her after she died. (I don't think we know if her grandma is alive or not, but this is now my headcanon).

As for spells and potions, we know this to be true already. I mean, a Polyjuice potion requires the hair of whoever you want to turn to. You can say it's because the potion needs the DNA, but magic doesn't exactly work like that. Not only that, but it's specifically hair and not fingernails, or any part of the person, no, it's hair.

We also see you need to bleed on the rock to enter the cave where the locket Horcrux is kept, which, again, shows human blood (magical and muggle alike) has specific magical properties spells can recognize, just like their hair. Voldemort's resurrection potion uses muggle bones, wizard flesh, and wizard blood and they clearly work.

And if we think about this from the Alchemical lens, it makes a lot of sense. In the philosophy of Alchemy, everything is alive, rocks, plants, animals, and people are all alive in the way that they have a soul, a divine magical spark also sometimes called quintessence that exists in everything. So, any component you take from nature has magic and can be used for spells or wands to various different affects depending on many different components and the context of how it's used.

(I think the use of human ingredients like human blood and bones is probably taboo and considered dark in the Wizarding World and therefore, not really done)

TL;DR

yes, muggle and wizard parts can be used as wand cores and spell/potion ingredients. It all depends on what you want to accomplish and if these ingredients work for what you need or if that person is one you'd get along with as the kind of team a wand and wizard create. After all, the wand will still need to choose you.