#fixing azkaban

[thebean394]

Chapters: 5/5 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Percy Weasley & Luna Lovegood, Percy Weasley & Other(s), Penelope Clearwater & Percy Weasley Characters: Percy Weasley, Penelope Clearwater, Luna Lovegood, Bill Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Roger Davies, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Garrick Ollivander, Ron Weasley, George Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Marcus Flint Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Family Drama, Family Feels, POV Second Person, Reconciliation, Fixing Azkaban, Redemption, Political Revolution, meaningful scars, Percy Weasley-centric Summary:

You are not courageous. Your dreams have always been the bravest parts of you.

[Percy Weasley, post-war, pre-reconciliation. The world is broken and he knows it better than most, but Percy's also broken as well. Fixing one might just mean fixing both.]

[tigrrliily]

They are my roman empire

Someone asked me for the details in this one…so here you go enjoy the pain🥲

I wish I had the time to draw more again but university is forcing me to actually work…so here you go, enjoy our tragic love bugs

[sailforvalinor]

Fears Left Buried—Comfyvember

Monthly Prompt: “Safe and Sound” by Taylor Swift

Harry Potter fix-it AU | The Potters live (but Harry still winds up with the scar | Harry has a younger brother | angst (because heaven forbid I be normal about anything) and fluff | how did this end up being so long? I don’t know

————

Harry Potter’s first two years at Hogwarts felt strange to him. The professor with the face of his parents’ would-be-murderer on the back of his head and the basilisk in the basement were major contributors, of course, but more than that, walking around the school without his brother trailing just a step behind felt a little bit like walking around without a limb.

He and Monty had grown up especially close—after the scare with Voldemort that ended with the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead, their mum had been a little extra wary about who she let the boys play with, especially when they were very young, and thus the brothers had been each other’s most constant playmate. Ron Weasley had been Harry’s best friend since he was six, and Hermione Granger had also earned that title a few years later, but he considered “little brother” to be an equal, albeit different, sort of distinction.

Harry thought he knew everything there was to know about Monty. He knew that where he was impulsive, Monty always looked before he leapt—maybe for a little too long. He knew he was useless on a broom, but had a mean batting arm. He knew his hair only looked a little bit neater than Harry’s because he actually used his namesake’s magical hair gel. He knew that, unlike said namesake, he rather liked his name. He knew that his favorite jumper was a green one Mrs. Weasley had knitted him a few years ago, and that he would wear it every day if it weren’t considered a social faux-pas. He knew that he put on his clotted cream before his jam. He knew that calling him “Flea” didn’t particularly bother him (but calling him “slow corner” while playing Exploding Snap would end in a wrestling match).

There was one thing that Harry never quite understood about his brother, however. It was an odd sort of question, a wrong sort of question, that tickled at the back of his mind no matter how hard he tried to fight it off.

Does he even care?

He knew it wasn’t a fair question to ask. Of course he cared. But Monty had such a sanguine temper, was so calm, that Harry couldn’t help but wonder anyway. He supposed that with all of the high tempers that ran in the Potter family, someone had to wind up the even-keeled peacemaker, but Monty had taken to this role so entirely that it was almost uncanny. Absolutely nothing seemed to rattle him beyond the surface level. At nine years old, he’d sat at the end of his bed while Harry told him how he’d successfully stopped the Philosopher’s Stone from being stolen and had narrowly missed being killed by Lord Voldemort for the second time, and his only visible reaction was to chew his lip and occasionally raise an eyebrow. The same went for when he told him about the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets.

That night after he got home from his second year at Hogwarts, the question darted through his mind before he could catch it by the heels and bury it: If I’d died in the Chamber, would he be reacting any differently?

However, the day his name shot out of the Goblet of Fire, something happened that banished all such thoughts from his mind.

Getting his name launched out of a magical cup in front of three school populations when it very much should not have was one thing—being accused of supposedly putting it there by five professors and a Ministry of Magic representative was another. As he listened to them argue amongst themselves (and felt the weight of the much older, much more skilled other Champions watching him), their voices started to get fuzzy like the static on the telly at home, his palms started to get sweaty, and his stomach started to do horrible sinking flip-flops. He felt like he did when he was a small child when people would recognize him in public—only, he didn’t have his mum or dad to hide behind this time.

His childish weakness angered him. The thought that he wanted his mum angered him, however desperate it was. He swallowed, hard, and forced himself to refocus his vision and stare at the tips of Ludo Bagman’s boots.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said.

Harry looked up to meet his gaze.

“Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?” he asked calmly.

Harry felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on him. “No.”

“Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?”

“No,” Harry repeated.

“Ah, but of course ‘e is lying!” cried Madame Maxime.

“MR. POTTER—“ Professor McGonagall shouted.

Harry flinched, glancing up at her with wide eyes—though Professor McGonagall could be harsh, rarely was she so loud about it—but was surprised to find that she was not looking at him, but towards the door. He followed her gaze, and his jaw nearly dropped—it was Monty, standing in the doorway, his whole body rigid. His eyes darted from Harry, to the professors, to the other champions, and a strange fire blazed in his eyes that he had never seen before. In an instant, Monty was striding across the room towards them.

“Who is this?” Madame Maxime demanded.

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, who was the only one in the room who didn’t look surprised. “This would be Harry’s younger brother, Fl—“

“Fleamont Potter!” McGonagall exclaimed. “You will explain to me just what you are doing here!”

By the time Monty reached them, the fire in his eyes had been stamped out, though the embers still remained, hidden by what Harry could now plainly see was a careful veneer of polite respect. Putting himself between Harry and the other professors, he said, “Harry didn’t put his name in.”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows shot up behind his spectacles. “Ah,” he said. “And how are you so certain, Mr. Potter?”

“Because he would have told me, sir,” Monty said evenly.

Karkaroff barked out a laugh. “Is this a joke, Dumbledore? We’re supposed to believe this?”

“Mr. Karkaroff, I don’t know what your policy is at Durmstrang,” Professor McGonagall snapped, “but at Hogwarts, we do not believe students are guilty until proven innocent. Perhaps we should begin to wonder at the quality of your students, if you believe they’re all liars on principle.”

Karkaroff opened his mouth to give an angry retort, but Madame Maxime cut him off, “No, I agree with Professor Karkaroff—both of these boys are lying. He must have found a way to fool the Age Line. Perhaps Professor Dumbly-dorr made a mistake.”

“It is possible, of course,” Dumbledore said mildly.

“Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake—“ Professor McGonagall sputtered.

The adults launched into another argument over Harry’s guilt or innocence. He desperately wanted to defend himself, but at the same time, knew it would be pointless—even with Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore on his side, he knew that everyone else wouldn’t be convinced by anything he might say. He drove his fingernails into the palms of his hands.

“There’s always veritaserum,” Monty spoke up.

Despite how quietly he’d spoken, everyone’s voices died, and they all turned to stare down at him.

Monty shrugged. “It’s the only way to know for sure. You have some, don’t you, Professor Snape?”

Snape, who had only looked at Harry with judgmental distaste so far, stared at Monty for a long moment. Harry could almost sense Snape’s desire not to oblige Monty warring with his delight at the idea of making them both endure a potion that could make them spill their darkest secrets. Finally, he replied, “…yes, I do.”

Monty nodded. “I’m okay with taking it. Are you, Harry?”

Monty caught his eye. Just go with me on this, his expression seemed to say.

Harry shrugged, matching his brother’s nonchalance, though he couldn’t be further from feeling it—Snape’s cooperation was making him uneasy. “Yeah, okay. Why not?”

There was a long pause again. Monty turned back to the adults, eyes darting from face to face as he studied them. None of them said what they were all thinking—veritaserum was a substance highly controlled by the Ministry, only used in very specific circumstances by magical law enforcement. While Snape already had some, acquiring it was not the reason for their silence, for the use of it within Hogwarts for unsanctioned purposes—on a fourteen-year-old and a twelve-year-old, no less—was nothing short of ridiculous. Bagman shifted on his feet uncomfortably.

“I…do not believe that will be necessary, Mr. Potter,” Mr. Crouch finally said.

Monty muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “didn’t think so.” Harry’s eyes went wide, and he cast about to see if anyone had heard him. No one gave any indication—except for Professor McGonagall, whose left eyebrow arched slightly.

Audibly this time, Monty said, “Well, you’ll just have to take his word for it, then. Harry didn’t put his name in, and he doesn’t want to compete.”

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it. Though it had been an entertaining daydream, he of course didn’t want to compete—but admitting it in front of three older students, champions, no less, made him feel like a coward. As grateful as he was to Monty in that moment, he also harbored an urge to step on his foot.

“I’m afraid whether or not Mr. Potter wants to compete is irrelevant,” Mr. Crouch said. “He must compete. We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

“Can’t you start over?” Monty asked. “Have everyone put their names in again?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” said Bagman. “The Goblet of Fire has just gone out, and it won’t reignite until the start of the next tournament. It’s a binding magical contract, you know.”

Harry could see Monty’s polite mask slipping. “How clever,” Monty said sarcastically.

“Isn’t it?” Bagman exclaimed excitedly, clearly oblivious to Monty’s tone.

“Oh yes, very,” Monty agreed, deadpan. “I’m sure our parents will be absolutely thrilled to hear about it. And, of course, how their underage son is being forced to compete in a competition that is known to kill full-grown adult wizards.”

Bagman’s face fell.

“The boy’s got a point,” came a voice from across the room. Moody had just entered, limping closer to the fire. “Awfully convenient, don’t you think? That anyone whose name comes out of that cup is forced to compete?”

“Convenient? I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Moody,” Karkaroff said.

“I do,” Monty said quietly. “Somebody put Harry’s name in hoping he’d die in the competition.”

There was a very tense silence. Moody nodded gravely. “Correct, Potter. James is sure going to find this interesting…maybe I should head to the Ministry tomorrow to tell him about it myself.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether or not it was a trick of the firelight, but Karkaroff seemed to pale fractionally. “James…Potter?” he repeated. “The Auror?”

“How many James Potters that work for the Ministry do you know?” asked Moody.

“No, I refuse to believe this!” Madame Maxime protested angrily. “How do we know that someone didn’t put this boy’s name in to give Hogwarts two bites at the apple?”

Monty took a step forward. “I don’t know if you know this, Madame,” he said in a low voice, “but my family and I have a history of people trying to kill us. Harry has nearly died twice just while going to this school. So, no, I don’t think it’s going to be difficult for my parents—or anyone who hears about this with half a brain—to believe that the person who put Harry’s name in that cup didn’t have Hogwarts’ best interests in mind. I’m sure that Harry Potter dying in a government-sanctioned competition is going to look great for the Ministry and any other Wizarding governments involved.”

“Mr. Potter!” Professor McGonagall exclaimed, hand flying to her mouth.

Harry couldn’t help it—he was gaping at his brother like a fish.

“Dumbledore,” Karkaroff sputtered, “are we supposed to stand for this insolence?”

“You appear to be doing so just fine,” Moody snapped.

Monty took a breath, appearing to collect himself. “I’m sorry if I offended any of you,” he said, now appearing again the model of respect. “I’m just worried, is all. Now, can we go up to our Common Room? We still need to write to our parents and let them know what’s happening.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, Mr. Potter, I believe that would be wise. It will give us some time to mull over everyone’s concerns,” he said diplomatically. “Mr. Crouch, could the rest of the proceedings wait until tomorrow?”

“Well—yes, I suppose,” Mr. Crouch complied, though he did not look happy about it.

“Well, then, I will bid you each goodnight, boys,” Dumbledore said. He met each of their eyes in turn, giving them both a tiny encouraging nod.

“Goodnight, Headmaster,” Monty said. He then turned and strode out of the room, and Harry found himself following him as quick as his legs would carry him.

Harry’s relief at being out of that stifling, choking room was so intense that he couldn’t even feel bad about what seemed like running away. He could still feel the heat of everyone’s gazes on his back as he left, could still see the wide eyes and gaping mouths of everyone in the Great Hall as he’d been forced to walk its length after that horrible moment when his name was called at what felt like the pace of a flobberworm. Harry thought that night that it would be very nice not to ever be perceived again.

“You okay?” Monty asked.

“Yeah,” Harry replied.

He followed Monty at an almost breakneck pace up to their Common Room, and he was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice they’d arrived until Monty threw out an arm to stop him from walking into the Fat Lady’s portrait.

“Hey, watch it, Mr. Champion,” the Fat Lady said, she and her visiting friend Violet fixing him with indignant stares.

Monty directed him to stand to the side. “Wait here,” he said.

“What?” said Harry, confused.

Monty said, “Balderdash!” the portrait opened, and Harry instantly understood why Monty had told him to wait—the explosion of voices and excitement from inside the Common Room made him shrink back out of sight.

“—hey, Monty!” Harry heard Lee Jordan say as Monty stepped inside. “Is Harry with y—”

“—shove off,” Monty snapped uncharacteristically.

The portrait swung shut before Harry could catch any more. He didn’t have to wonder long what his brother was up to, however—less than a minute later, he emerged again, his bookbag slung over a shoulder.

Wordlessly, Monty pulled something small and folded out of his pocket, and it wasn’t until he shook it out that Harry realized it was the Invisibility Cloak.

As Monty quickly draped it over both of them, Harry asked, “Hey, how do you know where I keep the cloak?”

“You really thought I didn’t know? Bottom of your trunk, top right corner. It’s in the exact same place you hide it in your sock drawer at home. Now come on.”

Harry could have asked how he knew that, but he refrained. “Where are we going?”

Monty didn’t answer, but instead took the lead and crept down the hallway again, Harry following. At first, it seemed like he was heading towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, but he instead stopped in front of the One-Eyed Witch statue.

“Uh—“ whispered Harry.

“Dissendum!” Monty hissed. As the hump on the statue slid open, Monty grabbed Harry’s wrist and dragged him inside.

“You want to go to Hogsmeade? Now?” Harry asked as they stepped into the pitch-black passage. Pulling off the cloak, he muttered, “Lumos,” causing his wand to illuminate the stone walls surrounding them.

“No,” Monty said. He pointed to the ground. “Sit.”

Mystified, Harry sat down with his back to the wall. Monty sat down in front of him, rummaging through his bag, and then pulled out a bottle of Butterbeer and a big hunk of chocolate wrapped in gold foil. He handed both to Harry.

“Thanks,” said Harry. Giving him the chocolate was especially kind—Uncle Moony had sent them both chocolate through the post last week, a chocolate that he usually saved for gifting on special occasions, and Harry had eaten most of his by the time post came the next day. From the looks of things, it looked like Monty had barely touched his.

Harry held up the bottle. “Where did you get this?”

“Ginny,” Monty explained. “She snuck them from the Kitchens for me.”

“Should’ve known.” Monty and Ginny had been partners in crime since they were toddlers—or maybe “partners-in-Ginny-doing-crime-while-Monty-tried-to-stop-her” was the better term. Though, their making of a new friend by the name of Luna Lovegood—and a very odd but very nice girl that Harry had met over Christmas at the Weasley’s—seemed to be giving their act a little bit of balance lately.

Harry opened the bottle and took a sip, and, despite the fact that the Butterbeer wasn’t hot or nearly as sweet as the Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, despite the fact that he was sitting on the hard stone of a dark tunnel, despite the fact that he knew that someone was probably trying to kill him again, his breathing finally evened out, and an intense sense of relief washed over him. Hiding in the One-Eyed Witch passage, Harry thought, had actually been ingenious—it was one of the few places in the castle where no one could find him. Harry broke off a piece of chocolate and popped it in his mouth. It tasted like home, like Christmas morning in his pajamas, like his mum helping him with forgotten homework the night before the start of term, like him and his dad swiping candy from his mum’s secret stash hoping she wouldn’t notice.

Harry went to break off another piece and offer it to Monty, but he paused midway. His brother had brought a Butterbeer for himself, but hadn’t touched it. Instead, he sat like a cross-legged statue on the ground, so still, Harry wasn’t sure he was even blinking, staring at Harry’s still-glowing wand laying on the ground between them.

Before Harry could say anything, Monty almost seemed to mentally shake himself. He rummaged through his bag again, and pulled out some parchment, a quill, and an inkwell.

“What are you doing?”

Monty spread out the parchment on the ground. He dipped the quill in the ink and began to write, saying, “Writing Mum and Dad?” He shot Harry a quizzical glance. “They need to know what’s happening.”

A jolt of panic lanced through Harry, and before he’d realized what he was doing, he’d shot forward and slammed his hand over the parchment. “Wait,” he said desperately. “Don’t tell them yet.”

Monty jumped back. “What? Why?” he demanded. “They’re going to find out soon anyway.”

Harry’s stomach churned. “You know what’ll happen—Mum’s going to panic, and Dad’ll pretend not to do it, and then stay up all night doing it anyway.” Harry could still picture his parents’ faces in the aftermath of the events of his first and second years—drawn, tight, anxious, trying desperately to hide it.

“Panic?” Monty repeated indignantly. “Harry, of course they’re going to panic—someone put your name in the Goblet of Fire and is forcing you into a competition where you might die!” Monty stood up, staring down at Harry in disbelief. “First there’s that dream you had and your scar hurting, and now this—“

“—did you tell them about the dream?!” Harry demanded, voice rising. As much as he didn’t want anyone to know about that horrifying nightmare, it had been hard to hide it from the person who shared a room with who he woke up with his thrashing and sleep-talking in the middle of the night—so he was forced to swear him to secrecy.

“No, of course I didn’t—but I’ll admit, right now, I’m really tempted!” Monty shouted, voice cracking. “What is wrong with you, Harry? You’re so worried that Mum and Dad are going to pull you out of school to keep you safe, but I keep having nightmares about having to bury your dead body!”

Monty’s voice echoed for a long moment in the tunnel, the sound blithely bouncing along, unaware of the emotion it carried. Instant regret shot through Harry. Monty turned away, his face in profile, scrubbing furiously with the heel of his hand at his forehead. He sniffled. Was he crying? His face was too far in shadow for Harry to tell.

“Flea,” Harry said.

Monty looked up.

Harry patted the ground next to him. “Come on.

Monty hesitated for a second, then sat next to him against the wall.

Harry slung an arm around his brother’s shoulders, then reached for the chocolate and broke off a piece and handed it to him. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ll—I’ll write to Mum and Dad in the morning.”

“…okay,” Monty said around a mouthful of chocolate. He sniffled again. “Sorry I yelled.”

“S’okay.” To be honest, seeing Monty yell at him like that had been a little bit cathartic—it had been so long since Harry had been able to make him that angry, he hadn’t been sure if he still had it in him.

“It’s just…” Monty leaned forward a little, resting his forearms on his knees. “I’ve just got this…bad feeling. Like something horrible is coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…I dunno. It’s just—I kind of was expecting something to happen last year, you know? For another professor to be hiding You-Know-Who’s face on them somewhere, or for someone in our house to turn out to be a Death Eater and try to kill you in your sleep or something. But nothing happened. And I tried to make myself believe that maybe You-Know-Who had given up on killing you, but I couldn’t. And then you heard Professor Trelawney give that prophecy. And then I heard Dad and Uncle Padfoot talking about disappearances at the Ministry. And then you had that dream. And now—this. What if—what if all this time, You-Know-Who hasn’t given up, or been trying to figure out what to do, but has just been waiting? What if you dying in this competition is his big plan?”

The entire time he’d been talking, Harry had been watching his brother closely—watched him make the exact same face he made when Harry told him about fighting Professor Quirrell or facing the basilisk—and now clearly could see the layers of worry and concern that he previously couldn’t spot. Despite the severity of the situation, Harry almost wanted to laugh—the fact that he’d been misreading his brother’s facial expressions for this long was so shameful, it was almost funny.

“Then,” Harry said simply, as much to himself as to Monty, “my job this year is to stay alive.”

He’d said it lightly, but clearly that wasn’t enough for Monty. His brother looked up at him, that fire again flickering in his eyes. “Promise me right now that you won’t die.”

It seemed like a rash promise to make, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. “I promise I won’t die,” Harry said.

“Good. Because if you do, I’ll bring you back from the dead and kill you again.”

“Not if Hermione finds me first.”

Both boys chuckled.

Harry reached across and grabbed Monty’s Butterbeer. “Drink this,” he said, handing it to him.

As Monty obediently took a swig. As he did, Harry asked, “How did you do that, anyway?”

“Do what?”

“Chew up those professors and spit them out like that.”

“I don’t really know,” Monty admitted. “Your name got called, and I kinda just panicked.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You were scared?”

“Dead scared.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have known,” Harry said, impressed. “And…thanks, by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” Monty said, giving him a quick smile—but it dropped from his face just as quickly. His eyes suddenly went wide. “Oh no.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“Harry, I disrespected two visiting headmasters of foreign Wizarding schools and a Ministry of Magic representative. There’s no way I’m not getting detention.”

“I mean, possibly,” Harry said, not quite seeing what the big deal was. “It’s not the end of the world—Dad got more detentions in a month than his house would get in a year.”

“You don’t understand,” Monty said, looking pained. “If I get my first detention before Ginny does, she’s never going to let me live it down.”

Harry couldn’t help it, he laughed—but he cut himself off quickly at the expression on Monty’s face. “Well,” Harry said, “we’d better get back to the Common Room before someone realizes we’re out of bed and makes one detention two.”

“Yeah.”

As they emerged back out into the corridor, covered by the Cloak again, Harry teased, “The One-Eyed Witch passage? Really?”

“I said I panicked.”

Chuckling under his breath, Harry led the way back up to their Common Room, laying aside thoughts of Dark Lords and death for the moment—the effort made all the easier with his brother at his side.

[messrsrarchives]

slightly nsfw?

but i imagine the last few months before halloween were rough. and i imagine any of the physical contact that wolfstar had was rough too, they're touching out of desperation still, but not for each other. and i imagine a lot of shoving, and hair pulling, and tangles etc etc.

which is cute because then, when sirius returns, i imagine remus taking the utmost care detangling his hair. multiple bottles of conditioner, refilling the bath numerous times, refusing to cut the hair no matter what.

and then i imagine that remus never pulled sirius' hair again. i imagine that it was swapped out for pushing it off of his face or tucking it behind his ear and then their aftercare would be sirius with his head in remus' chest and remus detangling it.

"sirius loved his hai-" oh boy not as much as remus did i fear.

[a-sunset-outside-my-window]

fic rec friday

Professor Black

by Haunted_Forest on Ao3

Kreacher's unending loyalty has allowed Regulus to survive the Inferi. In order to destroy the horcrux and ensure Voldemort's death, he goes back to Hogwarts, this time as a Potions professor. Years at this position give him new insights, even as the papers rave about how both the Blacks were traitors to their sides.

When Sirius gets loose from Azkaban, Regulus knows one thing: he is not going to let his lunatic brother hurt his students.

I'm back on my bullshit lol so expect maybe a lot more poa fix-its because they are my all time favourite and I'll be damned if I don't rec them all at some point!

favourite tropes included:

professor regulus black

hurt and comfort

good teacher reggi

heh, fixing things

remus and regulus friendship

some good old angst

bill weasley is a cute little bean

as always leave lots of love and kudos to the author and have an amazing rest of the week <3

[my-current-obsession]

I VERY rarely do this kind of thing but I have to rant a little about this hp drarry fic. Mostly because I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about it, but said thoughts and feelings are very mixed so I couldn't bring myself to leave a comment since I don't want to come off as hating/critiquing, but I have to vent about it SOMEWHERE.

I really enjoyed it in the beginning, and I want to say I ultimately still like it. But I WANT to love it and just can't, because it frustrates me. Literally every person in this fic, including all of Draco's friends and even his mother, is on Harry's side of the situation. And that just isn't right.

I understand that "everyone" can see that Harry is in love with Draco and wants to be with him, which is why they keep trying to steer Draco towards him, but personally I think the conflict and onus to fix things is very much on the wrong person.

I don't care how obvious Harry supposedly is. There is a difference between being obvious and being explicitly clear. It should not be up to Draco to magically REALIZE Harry has feelings for him, it should be on Harry to clearly, explicitly tell him. If Harry wants to be with him so badly he needs to put his feelings into words instead of just implying things.

Because OF COURSE Draco wouldn't realize how Harry felt when he was so explicitly rejected before. Why the hell is it on the person who was hurt - possibly even heartbroken - to figure out that the guy RESPONSIBLE for that hurt actually DOES like him now so they can be together?

The entire conflict of this story comes down to Harry's inability to clearly confess his feelings and Draco's inability to understand them WITHOUT said clear confession. And that sucks because the rest of the plot and the character writing is SO fun and engaging, but I feel personally wronged by this conflict and the fact that literally everyone keeps trying to push Draco at Harry instead of seeing his viewpoint and going either "well, Potter screwed up and has missed his chance now" or just freaking confronting Harry and making it clear that he NEEDS to confess or Draco will never understand because he was so badly burned by him before that he's completely blind and/or willfully ignorant to the idea of Harry ever loving him, and no amount of just flirting will break through to him.

To be clear, I'm not inherently against fics where the conflict is just that the pining idiots won't admit their feelings. My frustration here is that Harry is BLATANTLY pining and making moves so clearly he wants to make something happen with Draco yet STILL doesn't do the obvious thing of just confessing. It's one thing to withhold your feelings if you DON'T want the other person to know or your relationship to change. But Harry DOES, which makes him sitting on his confession and getting hurt every time Draco doesn't notice his dangled hints upsetting.

Basically, one or both parties having a chronic case of Cannot Spit it Out is fine, but here, where one party is clearly pursuing the other but the other is oblivious? In general that's fine too but this fic has a REASON Draco is oblivious. I feel like it makes perfect sense NOT to expect/want anything romantic from someone who rejected you before, so since Harry made that bed now he has to lie in it.

Maybe it's a stretch, but this to me feels lowkey like victim blaming. It's clear that Draco liked Harry in the past and was incredibly hurt by the fallout of their one-night-stand, yet rather than sympathizing with him or trying to make the relationship happen on Harry's end, everyone in his life is just telling him to trust Harry now and that he won't be rejected. Which then led to him opening up just a little bit before a misunderstanding happened that led to him getting hurt and feeling rejected AGAIN.

I really do want to love this fic, but as someone who has BEEN hurt and rejected, I just don't understand how everyone in Draco's life can side with Harry. I don't understand why it's up to Draco to realize Harry loves him without being told, instead of up to Harry to verbally convey that.

[jadedandconfusedao3]

Creative Accounting

The charity fundraiser was a roaring success and Regulus spent the next week enjoying the thanks and praise of his fellow teachers. They had raised enough galleons to purchase new materials for every class and Regulus had made a tidy profit off his time in the dunk tank. A surprising number of people were happy to pay to get him wet time and time again, and by the time the day had finished, he’d practically turned ascending out of the water like a mermaid into an art form. He’d made sure that the white shirt he’d worn for the occasion turned artfully see-through when wet.

As it was, he was about halfway toward raising the money he would need to have his dark mark removed. The balance still seemed huge, but he was confident that by the end of the year, he would be able to scrounge up the rest. It was the only thing keeping him sane when the mark itself had been itching and inflamed for the entire week. Poppy had been able to do very little about it and it was driving him insane.

He stalked through the corridors in a foul mood, scratching at his arm and avoiding children where he could. He was hiding in an alcove, after avoiding his most inquisitive and curious student, Miss Hermione Granger, when he heard two very familiar voices.

“Have you seen the new Arithmancy teaching guide I was able to order from Belgium? It was written by a truly revolutionary man who has broken a lot of new ground in the area. What did you buy with your funds, Severus?”

Regulus peaked out of the gap in the curtains to see Lily and Severus strolling past. Severus had been a right prick all week. He had looked suspiciously at Regulus when the amount of funds raised were announced. Regulus knew that he had been careful and that no one could possibly know that he had pocketed the majority of money from the dunk tank but if anyone was going to find out it was Severus.

Severus snorted. “My supplies are far more expensive than the amount allocated to my subject. It made very little difference. That said, did you not think it odd, that the fundraiser did not raise more than that?”

Lily slapped Severus on the shoulder. “How dare you belittle all the work Regulus did. He practically worked himself to the bone. He was in that dunk tank for hours and I don’t think he even knew how it was working. He went above and beyond, and you should be happy that he is so dedicated.”

Severus had a coughing fit at that and made a strangled sound in response. “Did you just say that Regulus is a dedicated teacher?”

Lily crossed her arms across her chest. “Yes. His methods may be a little unorthodox but most of the children say they thoroughly enjoy his classes and he’s done marvellous things with that Malfoy boy. Harry said that he’s been rather nice this year.”

Regulus grinned. He couldn’t wait to drop that truth bomb on his young cousin. It was becoming one of his favourite pastimes to rib the uptight little so-and-so, and he knew exactly what face he would make if Draco found out that Lily had said, Harry thought, he’d been rather nice.

Severus sighed. “I don’t think I have ever seen a worse teacher than Regulus Arcturus Black. I seriously question Dumbledore’s sanity for even bringing him here. I think it had far more to do with the present danger from his psychotic brother than any real expectation that he could do some good.”

Lily gasped. “Severus, he is your friend! Friends do not say things like this about their friends.”

Their voices faded away down the corridor as the blood began to rush into Regulus’s head. It didn’t matter that Severus was probably correct. He had very little teaching experience. He had put about as much effort into getting some as he had put into buying Kreacher new kitchen supplies, but Severus was supposed to be his friend. He knew that the man was an arsehole, and who was physically incapable of not saying the wrong thing at the worst possible time but that didn’t excuse this.

He stepped out of the alcove and went in the complete opposite direction toward the staff room. He needed a nice cup of tea, a biscuit and something small and fragile that made pretty sounds when you smashed it. He was reasonably assured that the kitchen would hold all of those things.

When he entered the room Remus was perched on the windowsill blowing smoke through a crack in the window. He looked Regulus up and down with a frankly sinful expression and moved to stub the cigarette out in an ashtray that he removed from his pocket. Regulus simply ignored him and began to make his tea. When he was satisfied that it was exactly as he liked it, he removed the first saucer he could find and threw it against the wall.

He took a couple of deep breaths and repaired the offensive piece of chinaware, before picking it up and throwing it again.

“I had no idea that was a familial habit.”

Regulus glared at him. “Shut up.”

He turned and picked up another saucer and threw that against the wall as well.

Remus whistled. “Sirius used to do the same thing.”

Regulus turned on him with a snarl. “I am nothing like my brother.”

Remus backed away with his hands raised and Regulus turned back to his porcelain. He continued to repair and smash the saucers until the rage started to fade and his arms ached. When he was done, all that remained was the hurt he felt from Severus’s betrayal. Especially considering Snape had been bad mouthing him to Lily, just when it seemed she was warming up to him too.

“Bad day?”

Regulus swivelled round and glared at the man in the corner. He had almost finished another cigarette in the time period it had taken for Regulus to work through his anger. Remus was wearing a wry smile that pulled up the edge of his mouth giving him a rakish air. He leaned up against the windowsill, his lanky frame splayed out in front of him as though he had not a care in the world. His entire attitude made Regulus want to destroy him. To break him. To see something other than the cool and collected individual he always appeared to be.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Regulus hissed.

Remus slowly pushed himself up to standing, his long limbs seeming to take forever to raise him up to his ridiculous height. Honestly, if Regulus were to ever start something with the tall DADA professor, he would probably have to climb him like a tree to get even close to those lips. Not that he was considering it. Regulus shook himself. No, he wasn’t even thinking about it.

Remus dug around in his pocket and held out a spliff to Regulus. “Would you consider a different kind of coping mechanism?”

Read the rest on Ao3

[ivedonemywaiting]

It was NeVeR NoT yOu

Brb sobbing

"It was never not you."

A Wolfstar micro-fic

~~~♤~~~

And there Sirius was: his clothes and hair dripping from the rain, his eyes wide and his hands curled tightly into fists.

He was shaking, Remus couldn't tell if it was from the cold or from the fear. Probably both.

"I'm sorry." Sirius whispered again, "You don't have to accept it. I know I haven't given you very many reasons to. But I am. I swear I am. These last twelve years have been torture for me, Moons. I'm sorry I let you down. I don't expect you to forgive me or to let me make it up to you, but I hope you'll give me the chance to try."

Remus stayed silent.

He wanted to tell him everything, wanted to confess that a life without Sirius was never a life at all. He wanted to tell him that it didn't matter how long he needed to wait, he would always wait, he would wait for Sirius until the end of time if he needed to.

Remus knew Sirius wanted an answer. He wanted to know if Remus could ever be friends with him again.

But it was more than that. Remus didn't want to go back to the way things were, to the nervous touches and shy silence. He wanted more, he wanted everything. If he had to endure more time without Sirius than he'd ever spent with him then he didn't want to waste another moment.

But how could Remus explain the emotions swirling inside of him?

How could he explain that his love of anything in this bleak, dull world came from his love of this man?

How could he explain that he started smoking again just to keep the panic attacks at bay? That if he closed his eyes it was almost like they were kids again, young with nothing to lose but each other, sharing a cigarette under the light of the half moon.

How could he explain the weight he had lost? He'd spent years timing his meals with Sirius' to make sure he was actually eating, and once that was gone he couldn't seem to bring himself to do it anymore.

How could he explain that he couldn't manage to step foot in the library or the three broomsticks again, knowing he would scan the tables for his old best friends?

How could he explain that he still searched for Sirius in the strangers passing by? He searched for shining silver eyes and jet black hair, for muggle rock band shirts and the glint of the white gold in his jewelery.

How could he explain the pain in hearing Sirius' name whispered by people around him? The pain in reading about him in the papers.

And how was he to explain the nightmares that had consumed him? When he woke every morning for the better half of a decade with Sirius' name falling from his lips, the memory of his touch like ghosts on his skin.

Would Sirius understand the desperation crawling up inside of him? Would he understand this hunger, this need to have him close and never let him go again?

But even if he knew how to say all of this, he knew he couldn't get the words out. Staring at Sirius, seeing his emotions so raw and his heart laid out for Remus, it was too much.

So he did the only thing he could think of

He leaned forward... and kissed him.

Sirius didn't startle the way he'd expected him to. He didn't jump, didn't shy away or stand confused and still.

He kissed him back.

And there was that desperation Remus had felt for nearly twenty two years, since the moment he first laid eyes on Sirius.

It was gripping clothes and tears mixed with raindrops and oh so utterly perfect.

"I love you." Remus whispered, he knew he should have waited, but they'd done their waiting hadn't they? "I love you, Sirius. I love you so fucking much."

He kissed him again, relishing in the mumbled 'I love you too' against his lips.

And in that moment, in this rain, he knew he would never feel anything as strongly as he did now. A love to overpower the twelve years of grief and regret and betrayal. A love to make him whole again.

"I'm never letting you go." Remus told him as they lay together later that night, Sirius tucked safely in his arms.

"Good, because I think I'd die if you did." Sirius whispered back.

"How long have you known?" Remus tucked a strand of hair behind Sirius' ear, "That it was me you loved."

Sirius smiled, a bright smile that made Remus' chest tighten,

"Moony... it was never not you."

~~~♤~~~

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Marauders and Lightning Era Masterlist

started - 08.13.2024

last updated - 12.01.2024

Reqs: Open! Can be as specific as you'd like, or as vague as Youd like! i write both xreader and canon x canon. all LGBTQ forms of requests are welcome!

Credit for Dividers

All triggers and small summaries listed in the fanfiction

Matured audience advised

Random fic ideas

Faceclaims

HARRY POTTER and CO.

-In The Absence of Goodbye (Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort - Enemies to Lovers to Strangers to..)

Bartemius Crouch Junior x Fem!reader

Summary: Concept- After being sent back in time to spend a year in the Marauders Era, reader is thrown forward in time and has her memories erased. But was she truly sent home? Aka: Dumbledore underestimates Barty's absolute disregard for order when it comes to his vixen.

-HIATUS We'll Heal Together (Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort) 13/? parts Remus Lupin/Sirius Black x Reader

Part 1-9 can be read as a standalone. Summary: Harry Potter grew up without the warmth of a family he should have known. A father in James Potter, a mother in Lily Potter, a God Father in Sirius Black, and an uncle in Remus Lupin. Oh, and let's not forget, a godmother in {Y/N} {L/N} Alt Summary: Starts at the end of Chamber of secrets and into the Prisoner of Azkaban with the first chapter, Harry meeting his father's old friends, and starts learning the fate of {Y/N}, who has long since been presumed dead. there seems to be more of a story hidden behind her disappearance, and in turn, her reappearance.

POLY!SHIPS

-Poly!Marauders+Lily x Fem!Reader - Zombie Apocalypse Au

Part 1 Summary: You find a group of survivors who could really use your help} Part 2 Summary: Someone had been hiding something fatal} Part 3 Summary: Reader has sometime with Remus, before she is sent out alone with Sirius} Part 4 Summary: Reader and Sirius go to gather water

-Jily x Slytherin!Reader

Part 1 Summary: An interesting situationship with Jily}

-Sirius/James/Remus Band Au

Summary: Reader has a horrible encounter on stage and the boys comfort her

-What's Your Name? {Sneak Peak}

Moonwater Fluff

REMUS LUPIN

-Spoiled Brat (Pt 1?) (Lil Angsty, +18, fluff)

Summary: When your escapism over the summer turns a bit more real, as you fall in love with a half blood your father would never approve of}

-Think like a Lupin (Angsty, lotta angst, happy ending! fluff +18)

Summary: Your parents are planning to marry you off the second after you graduate, but after an unfortunate encounter with a werewolf, plans change.

-Break a Leg Not My Heart (Some angst, mostly light hearted fluff)

Summary: You get hurt during Quidditch practice and Remus doesn't leave your side. Friends to lovers.

-Meeting Royalty (Fluff, Suggestive)

Summary: Meet cute but make it royalty}

Part 2

-Too Late (Angst, no comfort) {Pt.2}

Summary: Remus comes to terms with a love lost to his own insecurities.

-Stray

Summary: Post war Remus finds home for his heart

BARTY CROUCH JUNIOR

-The boy I knew {Sneak peek}

Summary- When Barty knew love

-The Boy I Knew {Part 1} (Angst, Fluff, +18)

-Do You Some Good

“When we’re done here, we can go back to hating each other. Deal?” “You’re not going to believe this, but I think I actually prefer things like this.”

-Dear Future Husband

Potter!Reader;

-Everything is Blue

Summary: As things escalate with Barty he draws a line in the sand.

-I Might Still Hate You

Summary: An unexpected guest shows up at your house late at night.

-Not Quite Poison

Summary: after a chance meeting in the library; a whirlwind love affair between Barty Crouch Jr and the youngest Potter blossom, but neither of them were prepared for how life would go after.

JAMES POTTER

-Fall in Love in a Night (A lil angst, basically just a fluffy fluffy love story)

Summary: College AU, Muggle AU, James falls in love with the some of the worst parts of you }

-Fix it Yourself (All the Angst, lil comfort) +18

Summary: Falling in love with James Potter was a whirlwind affair full of lies and heartbreak. Everything comes to a head when he asks you to fake date someone so Lily will give him a chance.

-Little Lupin (Fluff)

Summary: James has a little crush on little Lupin

-Masterpiece

Summary: James Potter goes a little too far with a girl everyone happens to like.

SIRIUS BLACK

-Casual (Angsty, fluff at the end) +18

Summary: Sirius falls for his most recent hook up, and she refuses to cave to what she wants}

-Fix it Yourself (All the Angst, lil comfort) +18

Summary: Falling in love with James Potter was a whirlwind affair full of lies and heartbreak. Everything comes to a head when he asks you to fake date someone so Lily will give him a chance.

-Like my father {Blurb}

Summary: Reader wants a man to love her like her father loves her mom. She just hasn't met him yet.. maybe.

-Kiss And Make-Up

Summary: Pool side at the Potters, Sirius takes you for a swim.

FRED WEASLEY

-Summer Talks

Summary: Fred lets you know what he's waiting for

HERMIONE GRANGER

-Invisible (Lil Angsty, basically just fluff) Blurb

Summary: Reader is a bit of a punk like Sirius, with Remus's insecurities. She doesn't believe she deserves a girl like Hermione. No real plot just Angst straight into fluff

MATTHEO RIDDLE

-But daddy I love him (Lil Angst, fluff)

Summary: Harry finds out his sister is dating Mattheo Riddle Ft. James, Lily, Remus, Sirius - No war au }

" Dinner Party " (Pt 2)

Summary: The Potters throw a dinner party; Mattheo meets the family} Wc- 4142

REGULUS BLACK

-Monarch butterfly (Hurt/comfort) wip

Summary- Monarch butterflies only live for up to six weeks. Their life brings an unspoken joy to the people who witness it, a peaceful feeling to the life that last so much longer then their own. They bring smiles to the faces of children, they bring good luck for those who choose it, they bring so much value to lives they will never truly be a part of. Your butterfly was, and always would be, Regulus black.

BLAISE ZABINI

-Before a Stranger

Summary: Friends before a stranger

[my-castles-crumbling]

fix-it - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 281

"Sirius had betrayed you," Dumbledore said gravely, peering over his fingertips and Remus's crumpled form. "As you know, he was the Potters' Secret-Keeper. And he passed that information to Voldemort."

It was so blunt. The way Dumbledore spoke, ignoring the sobs falling from Remus's body, it was like he was happy. He figured, to most people, it was a happy day.

But Remus was broken.

"We put our trust in the wrong person," Dumbledore said softly. "But we will move forward. And Sirius is in Azkaban. He will pay the price of his actions."

This news broke Remus from his crying, causing him to look up. "When is the trial?" he asked, determined to look Sirius in the eye. To demand that the man he loved, the man he thought loved him, give him an explanation. Because it was so so wrong. So wrong he couldn't even believe it.

"There will be no trial."

It was this that made Remus pause. For some reason, a picture of Sirius popped in his head. A memory of 12-year-old Sirius smiling softly at him, telling him he didn't care if he was a banshee or a vampire or a werewolf or a troll- they would always be friends.

So Remus set his face in a stubborn expression and murmured. "He should have a trial. I...we need to be sure. It's the law, Albus. He needs a trial. We can't break laws. Even now."

And years later as he looked back on that moment, he was never more thankful for the blind love he had for Sirius Black. Because he shuddered to think about what might have happened if Sirius had been denied a trial.

[dramioneasks]

Top 10 Most “Kudos-ed” (Completed) Fics on AO3 of 2024:

BLOODY, SLUTTY, AND PATHETIC by WhatMurdah - E, 21 chapters, Words: 195,969 - “In my humble opinion there’s only three things that men should be and that is bloody, slutty, and pathetic.” And, on a good day, Draco Malfoy can be all three. When war heroine Hermione Granger and Azkaban-tattooed war criminal Draco Malfoy are forced to wed as part of Shacklebolt’s controversial Reconciliation Act, they openly fight the match and each other—their public brawls breathlessly reported by the press. Secretly, a deeply traumatized Draco delights in Hermione’s attention and pines for a real marriage with her—even as her forced proximity to the Black family magic irritates the cursed scar Bellatrix left on her arm, reminding her why she can never truly trust or forgive him. Then Hermione discovers that Draco’s blood will soothe the scar . . . and Draco is willing to trade his blood for her body. (With post-war blood purity politics, black market potioneers, Pansy Parkinson’s career advice, the Malfoys blackmailing Hermione’s Wizengamot opposition, BDE Neville Longbottom hunting Death Eaters, a slutty Theo Nott serving as Draco’s right-hand man, and Crookshanks loose in Malfoy Manor.)

The Gallows by gillianeliza - E, 23 chapters, Words: 47,332 - Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts the Ministry of Magic has one more wizard to bring to trial: Draco Malfoy. However, it's not a trial they're after, it's a spectacle to celebrate the end of the Death Eater regime with the execution of their final prisoner. When Hermione realizes their plan, she halts the trial and invokes The Gallows Law — an ancient law that pardons any pureblood male without an heir if a witch will marry him. What Hermione isn't ready for is the reality of bonding a broken, shell of a wizard and her new life as she moves into Malfoy Manor as the new Lady Malfoy.

Meet Me In Dreamland by sinflower81 - E, 39 chapters, Words: 229,631 - If there’s one thing Hermione Granger is good at, it’s using magic to fix her problems. And this time, her problem is sex. Luckily, she has the perfect solution: a locket enchanted with the Patented Daydream Charm. Whenever she opens it, she’ll find herself in Dreamland, where she can live out all her filthiest fantasies risk-free. The magic is a bit tricky, though. For some reason, Malfoy keeps showing up there with her. Thank goodness it’s only an illusion—if that was really him, she would never live it down. Meanwhile, Draco is determined to figure out who the fuck is cursing him to suffer through highly realistic, erotic hallucinations of his secret childhood crush. When he finds the culprit, there will be hell to pay.

The Missing Sister by singularritae - M, 75 chapters, Words: 652,727 - The owl appeared late at night and left just as suddenly, he recognised the handwriting immediately and ripped open the envelope. She is yours. If something happens to us, I want you to hide her. Name her Hermione, for she will have my last libation before I sleep and be the messenger of dreamers. Moony and Mary know. Three words. Three words that forever changed the course of the war.

A Gallows Marriage by MilaBelle - E, 31 chapters, Words: 162,244 - “Glee was the last thing she felt staring into the empty eyes that should have been a bright grey. His face had always looked pointed and sharp, but now that gave way to gauntness. His hair, which he had been so particular about in school, hung long and limp. It reminded her of how his father had looked in his mugshot. How he had wanted to be just like his father growing up. And now he was, maybe more than ever. A ghost.” After doing more than her fair share in saving the Wizarding World and bearing the scars of what it cost, Hermione Granger thinks she has earned herself a little respite. But when a charismatic albeit chaotic Theodore Nott convinces her to use an old law to save a dear friend who is about to meet the Dementor’s Kiss, she simply cannot stand by and watch. Follow Hermione as she navigates a world that still believes in blood status, a marriage to save the life of an old enemy and the hurt that comes with surviving.

an ever-fixed mark by ninepiecesofcrait - E, 28 chapters, Words: 208,118 - It was a comedy of errors how Hermione Granger ended up engaged to Draco Malfoy, really. A series of unfortunate events. // Malfoy looked at his bloodied hand and the ring on the cobblestone floor, and sighed. “Well, Granger.” Grey eyes finally raised to look at her. “Now look what you’ve done.” // [while working to break a curse in malfoy’s cellar, hermione accidentally touches an enchanted betrothal heirloom from the noble house of black. things rapidly fall apart from there.]

The Best Mistake by Chels_Writes_a_Fic - E, 26 chapters, Words: 127,444 - Hermione Granger does not make mistakes, at least not often. After making the biggest, dumbest, most horrible mistake of her life, Hermione must deal with the repercussions while keeping her relationship with her Auror partner, Draco Malfoy, strictly professional. He, of course, has other plans. Amidst a resurgence in Death Eater activity, the likes of which Britain hasn’t seen since the First Wizarding War, Hermione will come to realize that the mistake she’s made with Draco might not be so bad at all. It just might be the best mistake.

disparate by Stars_in_motion - E, 4 chapters, Words: 40,708 - au where omegas who go neglected by their alpha for a long time often go into breakthrough heats when being around a different, compatible alpha who displays one (1) caretaking trait around them "You– you brought me supper?" Malfoy eyed her warily. "Don't look so stricken. Do you think I haven't noticed you've been starving yourself for days? You were at your desk when I arrived this morning and haven't moved since." He opened the box of fruit and plucked out a single grape with his sinfully long fingers. Still seated in her desk chair, Malfoy loomed over her entirely so she couldn't look anywhere else. Sometimes it was easier to forget how large he really was. "Now eat."

Mind the Bump by Soap1 - E, 28 chapters, Words: 84,050 - Hermione Granger and her colleague (and, though she sometimes hates to admit it, her friend) Theo Nott, are busy at the Research Institute for the Alchemical Sciences, working together on an innovative, though secretive, project that more than one person might like to get their hands on. She doesn't have much time for dating, and certainly isn't ready to think about starting a family. But after an exciting, though unexpected, one-night stand, she finds herself pregnant. With Draco Malfoy's baby. As her research continues, as her pregnancy progresses, will she be able to make room for Draco in her life?

Détraquée by Hystaracal - M, 108 chapters, Words: 728,097 - "All her growth was the conveying of a corpse of hope." (From 'The Rainbow', D.H. Lawrence) This is a story about coming into one's own, a meditation on the twilight of girlhood and the violence of crash-landing into womanhood. Follow Hermione as she navigates through the quagmire: Saving the world, getting top grades, falling in love, lust, and a whole lot of trouble, and comes out of it hopefully (at least) partially sane.

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Five-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, Dirty Talk, Threats of Violence, Jealousy, Toxic Behaviours, Possessive Behaviours, Mentions of GunPoint (enchanted gun but still), Italian, Flirty!Theodore!Nott, Angst, Sexual Tension.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

"I don't know about this, Em..."

Giggles danced through the air, originating from your blonde companion, currently immersed in a thorough investigation of your shared closet. Her voice, laced with amusement, murmured something indecipherable, the words muffled by the solidity of the wooden door. A long sigh escaped your lips, a potent release of pure exasperation.

"This is crazy," you muttered to yourself. "Nott is going to need an entire bloody medical team when he catches sight of me..."

The enchanting red dress, a gem sourced from a privy boutique in Hogsmeade under Mattheo's explicit direction, molded itself to every contour as you confronted your reflection in the mirror. As your eyes traversed the fabric's journey, or rather, the lack thereof--there was no escaping the undeniable truth; the dress was exquisitely tight, sparing no nuance of your silhouette to the imagination.

"Doubt he'll even get the chance..." Emily replied, finally reemerging from the closet, "lover boy will likely claim his head the moment he fixes his gaze on you for too long."

Emily's cheeky response added a layer of playful anticipation to the charged atmosphere, earning an exaggerated eye roll from you in response as you fought hard to suppress your smirk.

When you'd embarked on the hunt for the ideal dress, you had brought Emily along for her valuable opinion. As your gaze fell upon this specific piece, uncertainty gripped you, convinced it might be a touch excessive. Yet, Emily staunchly opposed that notion. Her unwavering belief in its perfection became a contagion, subjecting you to prolonged minutes of relentless persuasion. Gradually, her infectious enthusiasm chipped away at your resistance until, inevitably, you succumbed--reluctantly handing over Mattheo's gifted galleons.

"And do I truly wish to burden my conscience with the death of the schools most popular Italian playboy? And not to mention Riddle's certain Azkaban sentence...all but a couple months from graduation?" you deadpanned, fingers instinctively rising to massage your temples in an attempt to alleviate the burgeoning headache. "Maybe I should just borrow something from your-"

"Absolutely not," Emily interjected, her voice cutting through your proposal with firm decisiveness. She approached you, a sparkle in her eyes, and added, "you look perfect. Trust me on this."

Meeting your eyes in the mirror, Emily's irises shimmered with a warm reassurance. She adjusted her flowy emerald green dress, a garment she had acquired at Tom's request--they were going to the masquerade together, though the status of their relationship still remained uncertain.

Emily, ever the advocate of going with the flow, a concept apparently foreign to Tom, said she wasn't in any rush to make things official, understanding that perhaps it would look a tad bit odd for him to start dating her after he'd just paraded you around to all of his friends, merely less than a few weeks go.

And as a result of this, you and Emily had a long, in depth heart-to-heart conversation where you made sure to unravel any lingering issues--the liberating honesty and the comfort of having someone in your corner again felt tangible. Although initially perturbed by the extended secrecy, Emily eventually grasped the rationale behind your discretion, acknowledging the protective measures taken for yourself and your desired career.

The depth of your longstanding friendship played a pivotal role in fostering this understanding, and you'd never been more thankful to have such a wonderful, supportive friend in your life.

"What do you think Michael will do when he spots you wearing traitor colours?" you teased, an impish grin playing on your lips as you watched Emily fix her long blonde hair, adjusting herself in the reflection.

"I reckon he'll be rather unamused," she snorted, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "But he'll be in for a real surprise when he sees you cozying up with Theodore Nott, the traitor extraordinaire."

"Cozying up with Theodore?" you retorted with a smirk, feigning innocence. "Absolutely not, I just recently cleared my conscience, I intend on keeping it that way."

"I wouldn't underestimate the Italian playboy; word on the street is he can be quite insistent..." Emily spun back around to face you, a cheeky smile playing on her lips. "My suggestion is that you tell him about Mattheo before he unwittingly finds himself sharing a bed with Berkshire."

Your expression sank, and a twist formed in your stomach. "Oh, gods, Emily, I need to change," you exclaimed, spinning around and making a beeline for the closet. "Surely there's a garbage bag or your grandmas old moo-moo hidden in here that I could wear instead, right?"

Emily's sudden snort echoed through the room, reverberating far louder than you'd expected. With swift precision, she wielded her wand, slamming the closet door shut before you could reach it.

"Come on, it's going to be fun," she teased, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Give those cocky Slytherin boys an experience they've never had before. Making them squirm is a rare opportunity--after all, they're not used to being denied anything."

You hesitated, a reluctant smile crawling across your face at her words as you silently considered the prospect. Mattheo had always made it abundantly clear that girls were typically within arm's reach for him, and he could have anyone he desired. The idea of driving him to the brink tonight, knowing he couldn't do a thing about it after explicitly instructing Theodore to ask you, ignited a rebellious spark within you.

"Alright, but this better not turn into a disaster," you responded, your internal thoughts dancing between uncertainty and a subtle thrill. "If the mafia comes after me because I smacked their most prized possession, I'm blaming you."

"You look fucking hot. Own it," she encouraged, a playful smile dancing on her lips. Turning her attention to the door, a sudden realization struck her. "I've got to run. Promised Michael I'd help him with his bloody tie--but don't forget to check the mail. Something arrived for you earlier."

With a swift goodbye, she whisked away, grabbing her matching emerald green eye mask, leaving you to contemplate the mysterious package. Not one to dawdle, you approached the table by the door, spotting a small brown box with your name inscribed on it.

With eager anticipation, you unwrapped the package, unveiling a stunningly bejeweled red mask. A note accompanied the alluring accessory, bearing the cryptic message:

"Something about me, I fucking hate the colour yellow."

A smirk played on your lips as you extracted the exquisite gift from its velvet cradle. The crimson mask lay in your hands, a stunning creation adorned with gemstones that caught and reflected the light with each subtle movement. Blush flooded your cheeks as you approached the mirror, slipping the mask on. Turning your head in every direction, you marveled at the way it enhanced your features, making you feel like a mysterious enchantress.

The beauty of the mask was beyond words, and even though the logical part of you knew it had to be from Mattheo, the sheer magnificence of the gift made it feel almost surreal.

After what felt like an eternity lost in the mirror, admiring the stunning mask, the realization hit that you needed to meet Theodore. He'd mentioned waiting for you at the entrance to your common room, so as swiftly as possible, you adjusted your dress, attempting to cover up your chest, and gracefully slipped out of your room, navigating the familiar halls with a sense of purpose.

The chilled corridor welcomed you as you emerged, and after a brief moment of searching, there, like an awakening spell, you spotted Theo--and your stomach nearly leapt into your chest at the sight of him.

"Holy shit, Nott...are you...are you actually wearing enemy colors?" Your jaw dropped as you beheld Theodore in a Ravenclaw blue suit, a sight you'd never expected in a million years. "Hold still, I need to take a bloody picture of this."

Theo's arrogant response came with a sly smirk, his dark eyes tracing hungrily over your figure. He stood before you in a pristine suit, accompanied by matching vest, and a crisp white dress shirt underneath. The ensemble was adorned with exquisite gold links and buttons, showcasing his impeccable taste. His confident demeanour suggested that he indeed cleaned up more than nicely, and this was only a slight indication of his professionalism.

"Sure, have your laughs," he quipped, an arrogant smirk playing on his lips. His eyes moved deliberately, scanning the curves of your figure. "Enjoy the view while it lasts, little bird. This suit's debut is a one-time thing—I might just set it ablaze once the night is over."

"Well you certainly know how to make a girl feel special, don't you?..." you teased, grin stretching past your ears as you took another step closer. "How honoured I am to accompany you in this suits first and only outing."

"Your wit is far too sharp for a Ravenclaw," Theo huffed in amusement, his stormy eyes glistening behind his dark blue mask. "You look properly fucking flaming by the way...do pardon my French."

You snorted, gracefully taking his arm as he offered it, intertwining yours around his. "French? I was under the impression you were Italian, Signor Nott."

"You speak it?" Theo raised an intrigued eyebrow, briefly glancing down at you as the two of you strolled towards the ballroom.

"Partially," you replied, a playful glint in your eye, your attention split between the conversation and the challenge of navigating gracefully in your black heels. Each step resonated with a confident clack on the school floors. "I dabble in a multitude of tongues...a side effect of an inquisitive mind."

"Is that so?" he said, pure intrigue in his tone. "Talk to me in Italian then,"

"Are you serious?" You snorted, far louder than you'd intended, waiting for him to say he was joking. He simply looked down at you, eyes locked on yours behind the mysterious mask.

"Absolutely serious," Theo chuckled, the breathy tones dancing in the air, a subtle spark of challenge in his eyes. "A little ball of knowledge, huh? Prove it."

A warm flush crept up your cheeks as you stifled your laughter. Theo had a charm of his own, a natural way of drawing people in much like Mattheo, although the troublemaking wizard had a slightly more breathtaking allure with those dark, intoxicating eyes and that unruly mop of chocolate curls. It wasn't a shortcoming on Theo's part--it was simply the irreplaceable magnetism that Mattheo possessed, but you couldn't deny the way Nott was making you feel.

"Alright, you want me to put my money where my mouth is, I respect that." You teased, clearing your throat as you pondered an Italian phrase that might leave an impression. After a brief moment of contemplation, it dawned on you. "Non c'è rosa senza spine."

(There is no rose without thorns.)

"Buona scelta," he replied with a smirk, his tone holding an air of both appreciation and subtle challenge. "Sei più astuta di quanto pensassi."

(Good choice; you’re more clever than I thought.)

"You underestimate me, Nott," you chuckled, a surge of pride coursing through you. "Consider that your first mistake."

"You know, the more I get to know you, the larger my desire to figure you out becomes,” he said, dropping his tone into a husky whisper as the two of you turned a corner. "You are...intriguing."

It was at this moment, as the two of you entered into the bustling main hall, that you were extremely thankful this event was a masquerade. The mask provided a welcome veil of anonymity, shielding you from the prying gazes that threatened to make you uneasy. It seemed you were blending seamlessly into Theo's arm, a part of the enigmatic allure rather than a subject of scrutiny.

"You couldn't figure me out in a million years," you retorted, a sharp edge to your tone, the corners of your lips subtly playing with a hint of a smirk. "Better men have tried."

Theo, as expected, didn't like that response. "Don't tempt me, little bird...I will make it my life's mission."

You rolled your eyes, chewing on your cheek. "You're far too sure of yourself, Theodore."

"Look at that, Bella...you're already using my first name," he quipped, smirking. "I'm making progress without even trying."

You fought the urge to smack him, your eyes narrowing in a playful challenge. "To know me, Signor Nott, I'll put you through hell...just ask Riddle, he can certainly attest."

"Mm, thats precisely the thing, little bird..." he said, his smirk holding a touch of intrigue. "Riddle's a closed book when it comes to you. Doesn't spill a damn thing, makes me wonder what secrets the two of you are hiding.”

"Quite a conspiracy, I'd say," you chuckled, relishing the light banter between you two as the distant sounds of music and laughter from the ballroom grew louder. With a nod and a playful smile, you gestured toward the entrance. "Shall we?"

Theo nodded, a playful glint in his eyes, as he released your arm and extended a hand to the small of your back, ushering you forward. "After you, milady"

Upon crossing the threshold into the ballroom, a breathtaking scene unfolded before your eyes. The room was adorned with vibrant spring decorations, an enchanting celebration marking the approaching end of the term. The fragrance of fresh flowers wafted through the air, and the soft glow of enchanted lanterns bathed the room in a warm, golden radiance. Hogwarts students from all years, dressed in their finest attire, wore a dazzling array of masks, each one a unique work of art.

As your eyes darted around the room, the search for familiar faces led you to a moment of anticipation. The diversity of masks, ranging from intricate designs to whimsical shapes, made it challenging to discern familiar faces.

Finally, your gaze landed on the only man you'd ever go out of your way to search for, his distinctive chocolate curls drawing your attention like a magnet amidst the sea of masked enchantment. The mere fucking sight of him, cloaked in newfound sophistication, sent a thrilling pulse through your veins, awakening sensations in your body that you were unprepared to face.

He stood there, like a fucking silhouette of elegance, adorned entirely in black--black mask, black suit pants, a sleek black dress shirt, and a finely tailored black suit vest. The only splash of colour adorned him in the form of a satin red tie, perfectly mirroring the shade of your dress. The entirety of your being froze in place, your throat resembling a parched desert, the sole reminder to keep moving coming from the steady pressure of Theo's hand on your back, coaxing you forward through the enchanting crowd.

As the two of you veered closer to them, the tension in your body was almost painful. Truth be told, it wasn't the singular presence of Mattheo that set your heart racing like a high-performance sports car on race day--oh, no, the true accelerant was his fucking date. The very girl from the washroom, the one you had directed him to accompany, and the vibrant colour of her long, flowing dress:

Yellow.

"Riddle, Malfoy," Theo uttered, initiating a firm handshake with each of his Slytherin comrades as they exchanged greetings. "Parkinson, Lanalock."

"Nott," Parkinson remarked, a smile gracing her features. "Never expected to see you in blue. You could easily pass for a Ravenclaw, you know."

Theo's response carried a touch of cunning arrogance, sneaking you a glance. "A choice made with utmost consideration, you might say."

In the midst of the social dance, your gaze and Mattheo's remained locked, an unbroken connection that felt more like a silent conversation than a mere exchange of glances. The unspoken tension between you two hung thick, and in that charged moment, it was uncertain if either of you had even blinked. Your heart pounded not only in your throat but also seemingly echoed in another, more intimate part of you as well.

Mattheo had never looked more fucking captivating, and the longing for him intensified by the millions--that merciless irresistible force effortlessly working to pull you closer.

Just as the tension threatened to become all-encompassing, Professor Dumbledore's voice reverberated over the lively chatter, his warm tone weaving through the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the enchanting Spring Masquerade. I hope the magic of the night unfolds to your desires. Now, if you would kindly make your way to the dance floor, we are about to commence the first slow dance of the evening. So, let the celebration begin."

The resonance of Dumbledore's voice snapped you from Mattheo's visual captivity, prompting a few deliberate blinks and an expelled breath laden with tension. Theo, with a gentle glance, took your hand, guiding the group to choose spots on the dance floor directly adjacent to one another. It required every fiber of your being not to steal a glance at Mattheo, aware that the mere sight of him holding another girl would induce a wave of nausea within you.

Your attention became an exclusive affair with Theo. As he placed his hands on your hips, his grip was tender, a sensation entirely distinct from anything you'd experienced with Mattheo. A sharp intake of breath accompanied the elevation of your arms, led your palms to find a gentle perch on Theo's shoulders. In the depths of his stormy blue eyes, you unintentionally delved, oblivious to the intensity of the eye contact you established--you were so lost in your own thoughts that a bomb could go off in this very room, and you were certain you wouldn't even flinch.

Then, Theo's voice broke the silence. "Little bird, are you alright?"

"Oh, yes," you blinked, your voice escaping your throat in a cracked whisper, as though each word were a struggle for breath. "And you?"

"More than," he quipped, a teasing smirk playing on his lips.

Your watchful eyes tracked the journey of his gaze, starting from your eyes, sliding leisurely to your lips, lingering provocatively before venturing lower, dipping over your chest with a seductive grace before sinuously slithering back up. The subtle intimacy of the visual exploration ignited a warmth within you, and you glimpsed his lips, recalling Emily's advice from your dorm. Make these men squirm.

"Glad to hear it," you mused, a playful edge to your tone, your fingers tightening their grip on his shoulders as he delicately drew you closer. "Wouldn't want the Italian playboy to be anything other than alright."

His grip tightened perceptibly, the sensation almost tangible as if his nails could breach the delicate fabric of your dress. The room plunged into a soft dimness, signaling the beginning of the slow dance. The shift in atmosphere was unexpected, enough to make you jump slightly. For a fleeting moment, you locked eyes with Mattheo, finding his gaze fixed on you, his hands scarcely making contact with his date.

Hastily looking away, Theo's voice reached your ear, dangerously close, "Italian playboy, hmm? Is that what they're calling me these days?"

"Don't act like you weren't already aware," you chuckled softly, the resonance carrying a hint of mischief. "Though, I must say, the rumors might be onto something."

Theo smirked, his voice a low murmur tinged with arrogance. "Well, uccellino, despite the rumors, I assure you I am a proper gentleman..."

A sharp intake of breath caught in your throat as his nails dug deeper into the fabric of your dress, compelling you closer as the two of you gracefully swayed to the music.

"How gentle you are, indeed," you mumbled, chewing your lip as you met his gaze, the two of you dangerously close together.

Theo's gaze deepened, his lean frame bending down as his lips brushed against your ear. "I may be a gentleman, Bella," he murmured, the words a seductive whisper. "...but if you keep looking at me like that--with those big eyes, biting on your goddamn lip...we might just be fucking on the nearest surface I find."

Oh, no. This was bad. Your response stammered out before you could even think to stop it, panic flickering in your eyes.

"I-I, excuse me," you stuttered, hastily breaking away from the dance just as the song was nearing its end. The abrupt departure carried a mix of flustered embarrassment and a desperate need to collect yourself.

Seeking refuge, you maneuvered toward the drink table nestled in the far corner of the room. The dim light and distant chatter provided a momentary escape as you began to slam back drinks, attempting to drown the intensity of the encounter with Theo.

As the remnants of a calm facade settled within, a subtle shift in the atmosphere stirred your senses. A tingling awareness compelled you to glance over your shoulder, only to find yourself ensnared in the dark, intoxicating depths of Mattheo's eyes. A strange yet undeniable wave of relief washed over you, despite the fact that he stood looming directly behind, adopting the guise of casualness while pretending to grab a drink.

"Mattheo," you breathed his name, the syllables escaping your lips like a breathless sin, a recognition of the forbidden allure that surrounded him. "What are you doing?"

Mattheo's breath, a tantalizing whisper, brushed against the nape of your neck, setting your nerves ablaze. "I can't stand the way he's touching you, Raven...I can't even stand the way he's fucking looking at you..."

Your lungs seemed to stall. "This was your idea, Matty..."

"I'm well aware," he hissed, the energy radiating from him palpable in the charged air. "Fuck, you look so fucking sexy...you are so goddamn beautiful, you know that?"

"I'm not sure I do..." your heart melted, a subtle heat pulsating through your thighs. "I think I need you to tell me again."

"You are so, so fucking beautiful..." he muttered, his voice a deep husk, strained with lust as it left his throat. "You are the most captivating girl in this entire fucking room...I can't stop staring at you...I can't stop needing you..." you gasped as his hand grazed over your ass, subtly, but a feeling you'd never miss. "What do you think you're fucking doing to me, hm?"

You nibbled on your bottom lip, the flush of blood coloring your face. "At this moment...nowhere bloody close to enough."

Mattheo's voice, saturated with desire, responded, "You're absolutely right, princess...and I can't wait to have you all to myself, as soon as this dumb fucking dance is over."

A soft hum escaped you as your lids fluttered, reveling in the warmth of Mattheo's body behind you. "Unless Nott gets to me first..."

As though a switch had been flipped, Mattheo's hand seized your wrist with a subtle yet undeniable warning, a silent caution against uttering anything remotely similar again.

"Don't even joke about that, Raven," he growled, the intensity in his voice cutting through the air. "I swear to Salazar himself, what I did to Berkshire will pale in comparison to what I'll do to Nott."

"So jealous, Matty..." you purred, smirking as he slowly released your wrist. You couldn't deny that his possessive tendencies did something to you, however fucking insane they were. "So angry..."

"You like that, don't you?...dirty little slut..." you could practically hear the smirk on his perfect fucking lips, your entire body vibrating with need. "Keep tempting me, princess...I'll bend you over this table, fuck you in front of the whole fucking school...I'll point my gun at Notts fucking head and make him watch, on his knees in front of you as I fuck you stupid...how does that sound for jealous, hm?"

Breath eluded you, the sheer intensity threatening your consciousness. "Godric, help you..."

"Sorry, Raven, but the only help from above that I believe in is a sniper on a rooftop..." Mattheo's voice, a deep, honeyed drawl, slipped from his lips. "And just so you're aware, I know eighty different ways to kill a man--and I can make an easy seventy nine of them look like a bloody accident...understand?"

"Fuck..." your mind struggled to form coherent thoughts. It had been days since his last touch, and the way he spoke now made you crave him more than the very air you breathed. "I don't think I do...I think I need you to tell me again..."

"I've never been a jealous man, Raven..." Mattheo's gaze swept the surroundings, ensuring no lingering gazes were watching. Satisfied, he shifted slightly, his lips now at your other ear. "I've never envied someone for what they have or who they're with, and yet, I'm damn jealous of every asshole you smile at, everyone you openly converse with...I've never fucking wanted something that I couldn't have, a girl I couldn't get...so this, all of this...is fucking maddening."

Your lungs seemed to stall, a momentary freeze as if he'd submerged you into the heart of a raging inferno. A surge of warmth flooded through every fiber of your being, an intoxicating heat.

"I need you," your voice murmured, the words dripping with a desperate longing. "I need you in every fucking way imaginable..."

"Mm," Mattheo hummed, the warmth of his touch tracing the curve of your hip. "Such a delightfully dirty mouth for a princess..."

Feigning innocence, you lifted your gaze to meet his, a coy smile gracing your lips. "Perhaps...but even princesses have their secret pleasures, don't they, Matty?"

For a moment--a fleeting, beautiful fucking moment--your eyes locked, and it was in that secret realm, where slight smirks played on each of your lips, and the tension was fucking so thick that you could hardly breathe--where you both knew you've found what the whole fucking world was still carelessly searching for.

And it was there, that you knew--no man, no job, no fucking career could ever make you feel as happy and needed and treasured as Mattheo Riddle did. In his own, crazy, fucked up way.

Mattheo blinked. "Meet me in the washroom in forty minutes.”

—————————

Chapter 26->

[sun-kissy]

sit together | s.b.

tw: angst, hurt/comfort

a/n: inspiration really struck with this one! was feeling sad about poa sirius so i decided to write this :) enjoy!

summary: sirius is back from azkaban, but things just don’t feel like they used to

“I wish I knew how to talk about it,” you murmur, gaze fixed on the tearing leather of the couch as you thumb it absentmindedly, like it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Sirius looks up from where he slouches on the other end, surprise flashing across his features. “What?”

He’s startled, really, that you decided to start a conversation. It’s something you haven’t done once in these past few days.

Sirius presumed you’d be happy to have him home, glad to be reunited with your lover after twelve long years. But ever since he returned, he’s felt a constant craving for your affection.

The truth was that he didn’t feel much different right now from how he did in Azkaban.

Hours spent tirelessly longing for you - for the touch of your soft skin beneath his calloused hands, the feel of your tender lips on his chapped ones. It was how he survived, dreaming of who was waiting for him on the other side of the cruel metal bars.

It had felt like he was going mad sometimes, crazy for you. Hands grasping at what he thought was the fabric of your dress. Fever dreams and hallucinations of soft moans, whispered promises. Loud sobs racking his body because he envisioned a glimpse of your death. But you were here, now, sitting stoic in front of him.

You weren’t the same anymore, though. You were no longer the person he had left behind when he was taken away. You weren’t his.

What had once been stolen kisses and longing stares had turned into accidental touches and pulling away. Late night heart-to-hearts about rings and cradles had been replaced with small talk, mindless rambling for the sake of conversation.

Where there had been love, there was now a barrier. And Sirius couldn’t tell if it was a mental one or a physical one; considering that you now slept with two doors separating you.

He wished he could say all of this, express the twinge of pain that tore through his chest every time he looked into your lifeless eyes. But all that he managed to croak out was, “What do you mean?”

“This,” you gesture between the two of you, finally mustering the strength to meet his steady gaze. You wish you hadn’t. The torment in his eyes was going to haunt you for the rest of your life.

Everything had changed, it was as obvious as the rising of the sun. His departure had left you like a rag doll, solemn and still as though the life had been sucked out of you. It was more than a decade ago. But you had felt the anguish grip you every minute of every day from the time he was taken away.

He had left you with so much anger, so much hatred for the circumstances you were left in. You knew deep down that it wasn’t his fault, of course it wasn’t. But you weren’t about to direct your fury at anyone else. Not at Remus, the pathetic bloke who had just lost his best friends. Not at Peter - he deserved nothing, not even your emotions.

So you channeled your rage at Sirius. Because you were so desperate to get the image of his pleading eyes out of your head, so fraught with the need to kill the longing ache that filled your body when he double-crossed your mind. You couldn’t bear the pain of loving him, so you convinced yourself to hate him. Told yourself that he killed James and Lily. He abandoned you and was never coming back.

But he was here now, looking at you like his universe began and ended with your love.

You suck in a shaky breath and continue, convincing yourself that if you didn’t have this conversation now, you never would. “I don’t know how to talk about this. About us. Nothing’s…. nothing’s the same anymore.”

Sirius’ eyebrows bunch in concern, and you don’t miss the slight quiver in his lips as he bites down on them. He breathes sharply, blinking away what looks suspiciously like tears.

“Well,” he starts, gulping down a lump in his throat as he continues to train his eyes on you. “You don’t- we don’t have to talk about it.”

“I don’t?”

“No, you don’t.”

“We can just… we can just sit together,” he blurts out, seeming puzzled at his own words for a moment as he averts his gaze to the ground.

But then his expression clears up, and he looks back into your eyes, surprisingly firm. “If you’d like to, I mean. If you’d like to sit together.”

“Sit with you?” you repeat.

“Sit with me,” he says again.

“Okay.”

Sirius lets out a tense exhale, visibly relieved. He gives you a terse yet encouraging smile, patting the spot next to him.

You take a deep breath, pressing your palms into the couch as you move yourself towards him.

The next moment, your indent in the couch is melding with his, knees touching the other’s. He extends his arm behind you, unsure. But when you don’t protest, he wraps it around you gently, pulling you into his side with all the care in the world.

“Okay?”

Uncertainty.

“Okay.”

Hope.

You feel your walls start to collapse, involuntarily melting into Sirius’ touch. This is what it used to be like, this is how you used to spend your days.

It was engraved into your very bones, the feel of his skin against yours. Etched on your soul were the hearts he used to trace with his slender fingers, the marks of where he left his kisses. Visible to no one but you and him.

He sucks in a trembling breath and you fear he’s going to start crying. Worse, you think you might just crumble into a pool of tears yourself. So you do what your heart is screaming at you to, and wrap your arms around him tenderly.

Sirius immediately tugs you impossibly closer, burying his face in your hair. You feel the yearning in his embrace, his hungry craving to hold you close. His tears wet your hair as you nestle your face in his chest.

The both of you stay like that for what feels like forever, making up for all the time you should’ve had. At one point you start to rock him as he cries, trying to pretend like his muffled sobs didn’t send daggers through your heart.

“I love you,” Sirius breathes shakily, a while after his bout of tears has passed.

Silence.

He seems to understand, seems to accept it. He gently rakes his fingers through your hair. “Do you love me?”

It’s less of a question, more of a plead. You think he might already know the answer. And you know he’d continue to love you either way.

“I don’t know,” you admit softly, feeling the guilt squeeze your chest.

You feel his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” he murmurs, a hint of heartbreak in his voice. He lays his head on your yours and closes his eyes as he squeezes you just a little bit tighter. “You don’t have to love me. Not now, not ever. But… until you do, we can just continue to sit together, you know?”

That earns a soft chuckle from you.

“Sit together,” you muse, feeling your lips start to curve upwards. Your agreement is obvious from the smile in your voice.

“Sit together,” he echoes, smiling softly.

Sirius would love you for the rest of his life if you’d let him. But until you did, he was content to just sit next to you with his arm around your shoulder and head resting on yours.

[pearlynia]

Canon is so scary like what do you mean Sirius black spent more time Azkaban than with his friends

What do you mean the marauders didn't live happily ever after with their lovers

What do you mean Sirius and Regulus never fixed their relationship and died thinking one hated the other

What do you mean Peter wasn't the cool uncle who bakes cake for Harry and Luna

What do you mean Lily Evans wasn't a swiftie and will never know who Taylor Swift is

Like, WHAT DO YOU MEAN??

[a-sunset-outside-my-window]

fic rec friday

hope in a heart attack

by Swoops on Ao3

In the end, it’s Molly who realises Scabbers is a fraud.

In which Remus is adopted by his professor, Arthur is a good husband, and Peter is a very, very bad rat.

It's another fic rec friday and today I have a shorter, fluffy fic for you! This is pretty much what it says on the tin, one of my favourite kind of fics to read, just a little fix it for my soul!

favourite tropes included are:

fixing what is broken

Sirius getting out of Azkaban

a happy and healthy marriage

COMUNICATION (I can't express enough how much I love this)

amazing Minerva McGonagall

Remus beeing forcefully mothered

wolfstar healing

as always, leave lots of love and kudos to to the author and have an amazing rest of the week <3

[eleadore]

a very quick thing for the isle of ogygia by @citrusses ft. draco's fluorescent green windbreaker. read for an incredibly charming setting and draco pov + romance + THE SEA

“It’s actually quite cosy in here, isn’t it?” he says.  Draco lets out a derisive snort.  “It is!” Potter says. “There’s a fire, and it’s kind of like a storybook, with the rain and the lighthouse in the middle of nowhere?”  Draco fixes him with a cold stare. “You said you wanted to know I wasn’t somewhere worse than Azkaban? Well I’m not. I’m alone and hungry most of the time, and I don’t have anything to do except whatever the Ministry tells me to, but I’m not in Azkaban. So I have that. But please don’t tell me this gods-forsaken rock is ‘cosy,’ Potter. It’s better than prison. That’s it.”  Potter looks down at his hands. Draco almost feels sorry for a moment, then he remembers that he hates Harry Potter and he’s glad to have made him feel uncomfortable.