#flourish and blotts

[nikaknack]

sul sul!

recently conjured up Diagon Alley and the Ministry of Magic in the sims! If you fancy this build my game library is @nikaknack. 🪄✨

Oh, and if you're curious about how the magic happened, I made a yt video showing my process :) https://youtu.be/Cp6W75qXnUQ

[stabbyapologist]

I have such a strong desire to shop at Flourish and Blotts and Borgin and Burke's.

[braveclementine]

Chapter 1

Warnings: None. However, future chapters will contain sexual content so readers that are under the age of 18 may have to skip those chapters (However they are very few so those under the age of 18 can still read a majority of this book. However please keep note of the warnings).

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

ONE MONTH EARLIER

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𝖂𝖊'𝖉 𝖇𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖍𝖔𝖒𝖊 from Hogwarts for maybe two weeks when Trang came knocking on the door. Dad and I had been sitting on the couch reading the newspaper together. Quickly, dad put the newspaper down, upside down, so that if it was a Muggle, they wouldn't see the newspapers' pictures moving.

I got up, hoping that it was Trang and when I opened the door, I saw that my wish had came true- but she seemed nervous. No, not nervous. . .almost frightened. But I knew that could mean two things: she was hiding something from me and was worried how I'd react or something bad might've actually have happened. It was always hard to tell with Trang.

"H-hey Elizabeth?" She said, swallowing hard. "Can we. . . can we talk?"

I frowned and said, "Yeah, sure. Wanna come upstairs to my room?"

She'd paled, and then seemed to recover, and said, "Yes."

I let her in, closing the door behind her, and she followed me up to my room. I was a bit nervous, not sure if I'd put everything from school away. Trang didn't know about me being a witch and I certainly had to keep it like that.

I opened the door, peering in quickly. My broom was lying in the middle of the floor and I quickly picked it up and put it over in the corner, propped up. I wished at that moment it looked more like a broom to sweep floors with even though my bedroom floor was carpet.

Sadie's cage was in the corner, but she wasn't in it at the moment, she was off delivering an owl to Ginny, one of my school friends.

I sat down on the bed and Trang leaned against the wall, looking nervous.

"Well, spit it out." I said. "The suspense is killing me."

"I've been keeping this a secret for a really long time. . ." Trang said, "And I'm afraid you'll hate me for it. . .that I've kept it for so long."

For a split second, before she said what it was, I thought with dread that she was going to come out, saying she was gay, and say she had a crush on me. I wasn't going to be able to do that. I had enough people crushing on me as it was. And then, she said,

". . . I know you're a witch."

I blinked. "Sorry, what?"

Trang sighed. "You're a witch. Your dad's a werewolf. You fly on that broom right over there." She said, pointing to the broom that I had propped up in the corner.

I opened my mouth to protest and she said, "Don't lie- please. I was on a camping trip with my parents when I was seven. I watched your dad turn into a werewolf on that night, no one else was around."

I felt the color leave my face. "After that, I checked the calendar every time your dad had to leave for a trip." She continued.

It was too late, she knew, and I said, "Do you know how dangerous that was! He could've bitten you!"

Trang looked at me hesitantly and then pushed up her glasses that were slipping down her nose. "Are you mad that I know?"

I hesitated. And then I said honestly, "No. I just wished you'd told me sooner."

Trang blinked in surprise, "Really? I thought that there was some sort of magical secrecy code?"

I dropped my mouth. "How do you know about that?"

"Er-" Trang blushed. "I didn't- I assumed."

I rubbed my eyes and then my eyes lit up and I said, "Do you know how much stuff we can do now! I can bring you to Diagon Alley! We can ride brooms together!"

"Is it fun?" She asked, looking at my broom with the skepticism of a muggle who wonders if flying on a broom can be fun.

I thought about it for a moment, debating the idiocy of the plan, and then got up and grabbed my Nimbus 2000. "Let's go." I said.

We ran down the stairs and I said, "Dad, we're going out!"

"Okay! Be home by dark!" Dad shouted from the kitchen.

I snuck the broom out the door and Trang followed me out to the forest where I went in deep to a small clearing I had never seen anyone in and where I normally flew.

I handed her the broom. She took it, nervously. "Alright, now we have to be careful." I said with jittery anticipation. I wasn't supposed to be doing this. I was breaking the Secrecy Statute. "You need to know how to control it first, so don't get on it right away."

She nodded and just held it in her hands like it might explode. "So," I instructed, "The way that you mount it is by swinging your leg over it, but don't just yet." Trang nodded again. But really, hadn't she broken the stature first? "You have to lean forward to go forwards and pulled up and down to go in those directions. It's kind've like whatever you think, it'll do, but you have to do an action for it."

I took the broom from her and swung a leg over it. Then I jumped with my legs and the broom went up but I pulled and it stopped. "So watch." I said. I flew around a bit, much slower than normal so that she could see everything and then touched back down. Well, too late anyways. "Don't go too high." I warned. "I don't want you to fall and break something."

Trang took the broom from my hands and with a nervous breath, swung her leg over the broom. She jumped off lightly and took off. She screeched and nearly crashed into a tree and dodged it at the last second and flew in circles before she got control of her broom. She flew around for a few moments before touching down.

"That is fun!" She exclaimed. "You need to tell me more."

I grinned. "It's easier to show you than to tell you."

We spent nearly two hours in the forest and by the end of practice, she was doing well on the broom.

"Maybe I'll get a broom." She said happily. "How expensive are they?"

I hesitated. "Depends on the type. This one was 200 Galleons."

"Galleons?" Trang frowned.

"Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. A Galleon is about £5 per Galleon."

Trang paled, "I might not have that much money."

"Consider it a birthday present then." I said.

She stared at me in shock. "What?"

"I have my own bank account." I said. "From my parents." I answered. As we had flown, I'd told her the whole truth about my parents, my brother, my secrets, my visions and the past three years at my school- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Oh." She said softly. "This Voldemort dude. . . he's dead, isn't he?"

I hesitated, not wanting to scare her with everything at once. "I don't know Trang." I finally said. "There's some sort of part of him that's still alive. . . but he's weak and that's a good thing."

I put my broom over my shoulder and we headed back to my house. "Come back tomorrow and we can go over more."

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖉𝖆𝖞, Dad was out, looking for jobs. Since he'd resigned from being a Professor at my school, he'd been out of work and we'd been struggling. I think it had something to do with some sort of decree someone in the Ministry had passed. But he wouldn't talk about it, though his lips thinned every time the newspaper added the name 'Dolores Umbridge'.

I'd gotten a new side job that paid £13 an hour, but I only worked for a couple hours on Friday and Saturday, and it wasn't nearly enough. It was about the equivalent of 2 Galleons an hour. But Dad wouldn't take money from my vault and so the money I earned at the job went into the money jar in the living room above the fireplace.

Trang came over bright and early and I took her up to my bedroom again where I had all my course books out in stacks based on subject starting with year 1 on top through year 3 sitting on the bottom.

I also had my Quidditch books and other magical books not related to school sitting on a stool by my bed. She dropped her mouth as she picked up the cover of the Quidditch book and then looked at me, "The pictures move?"

I grinned at her amazement and excitement. Today was going to be fun.

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𝖂𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖆 majority of the day looking through the books and then we went downstairs so I could cook dinner and she kept looking through the Quidditch books.

"Is this the only sport in the wizarding world?" She asked curiously as I flipped the Italian sausages into a metal pan and turned on the stove.

"Hmm." I said, thinking. "Well I suppose it's our biggest sport. There's gobstone tournaments too but those don't get as much popularity. Wizarding Chess is also quite popular. We also like to collect cards like chocolate frog cards and we have self-shuffling packs. And there's exploding snap- that's a card game too."

"But those are mostly games." Trang said, "They aren't really sports."

I dumped string beans into the pan next to it and put the heat on up to 9. "No, perhaps they aren't. Quidditch I suppose would then be our only sport. There are some other broom sports, but they either died out or are only played in certain countries, not worldwide."

"That's kind've sad." Trang said.

I bristled, "It's a perfectly good sport!"

Trang was amused, "Touchy, touchy. I never said it wasn't a good sport, I just said it was sad that you only had one sport."

I rolled my eyes. "Name a good sport."

Trang started rattling off a list, "Football, Soccer, Baseball, Volleyball, Tennis, Gymnastics, Hockey, Swimming, Bowling-"

"Bowling isn't a sport." I snorted, flipping the sausages. "It's a game- like the way you think gobstones is a game."

"Bowling isn't a game!" She interjected.

"And what the hell is Soccer?" I continued as though I hadn't heard her.

"Oh, well Americans have a backward system." Trang stated. "So what we call football, they call soccer. And for them, Football is a game played with a brown oval shaped ball and-"

I yawned, "Sounds boring, I'd rather watch Quidditch."

I ducked as she threw a spoon at me.

"American Muggle sports are perfectly entertaining." Trang said. "I love watching Gymnastics and even Hockey because they are great sports."

I snorted, turning the boiling greenbeans off. Though admittedly, I did love watching Gymnastics at Trang's house on the TV. "Sure, whatever you say, but I'm going to take you to a Quidditch game one day."

And then, I realized that a Quidditch game was coming up. The Quidditch World Cup. I turned to her, opening my mouth.

"What?" She asked, putting all joking aside, "What is it?"

"I should take you to the Quidditch World cup this year!" I exclaimed, rifling through the cupboards to find tea to go with dinner. We had about thirty different types of tea.

"The Quidditch World cup?" Trang frowned, "What is that?"

I rolled my eyes. "It's Ireland vs. Bulgaria. They'll be competing for the cup, obviously. And it's Quidditch."

"Will I be allowed to go?" Trang asked hesitantly, getting excited.

"I think so." I said, deciding on Lemon Zinger tea. "There'll be plenty of Muggles there, I think, or at least like parents of Muggle-born wizarding children. I already told Ron- he's my friend at school- to get me two tickets or I'd buy two tickets, so I must've known somewhere in my subconscious that you would be going."

"Well if you predicted it, I'll trust it." Trang said, picking up a Quidditch magazine and watched the brooms race back and forth on the page.

"We'll have to get you you to floo powder though." I said, quickly flipping the sausages again, biting my bottom lip.

"What's floo powder?" She asked, flipping through the magazine.

"It's the way underage wizards travel." I said, grabbing a steak knife so that I could start cutting the sausages into pieces. "We can't apparate until we're eighteen, and brooms will take to long. Since we'll be staying at Ron's house, we'd have to travel there by the fireplace, floo powder helps us do that."

"Elizabeth, who are you talking to?" Trang and I both froze at dad's voice. My cheeks started to burn. Dad must've come in when we were talking and we didn't hear him. My hands were frozen over the pan, the sausages half cut.

Dad came into the kitchen and looked from me to Trang to the magical book in Trang's hands and his face drained of color.

"Hi. . . dad." I said weakly, turning off the stove, setting the knife aside.

"Elizabeth. . ." Dad didn't seem to be able to comprehend Trang knowing about magic.

"It's my fault." Trang said quickly, putting the book down, face up so that the pictures were zooming around on the cover. "I already knew you guys were a magical family since I was seven and I only just told her yesterday when we went out and er- well I've been grilling her for questions ever since."

Dad raised his hand to put his leather bag on the counter and missed. I quickly took the bag from him, cheeks still burning, and put the bag down on the counter for him.

"Maybe you should sit down, dad." I said anxiously, pulling the pan off the stove.

Dad gave a stiff nod and went into the dining room. I dished out the sausages on the plate with the greenbeans and filled three glasses with milk, forgetting about the ice tea I'd just put in the refrigerator. I put the slightly rarer sausages on dad's plate and gave Trang and I more thoroughly cooked ones.

I put the plates down on the table while Trang put the milk glasses and silverware down and we both sat down, Trang on my side so that I was sitting between the two of them.

"How- how much did you know before you approached Elizabeth?" Dad asked, his hands folded and his forehead resting on them.

"I watched you transform into a werewolf." Trang said, a little to bluntly. "When I was seven."

The little color that had come back to dad's face drained again, and he moaned softly. "Oh Merlin. . ." He put his face in his hands.

I pitied him, knowing that his worst nightmare was that someone might get close enough to him that he'd bite them. He never wanted to hurt anyone- much less bite someone as a werewolf. Especially a child.

"I'm sorry!" Trang exclaimed, looking horrible. "I didn't mean too. My family was camping and I was exploring at night when my parents were asleep, and I saw you and I was going to approach you and ask you what you were doing cause you were naked and then you transformed and I -er- ran back to the tent."

I almost laughed. Dad had been naked?

"Dad. . . are you okay?" I asked gently, putting my hand on his arm.

"I just can't believe I could've. . ." He drifted off. He seemed mortally embarrassed about the naked comment.

"I- I can leave." Trang murmured, cheeks red, and got up from her seat quickly, looking distressed.

"No!" Both dad and I exclaimed. "No, it's alright." Dad said again, still looking pale. "You've known for a long time and you've never told anyone. . . have you?"

Trang shook her head. "I knew no one would believe me and I didn't want to bring any potential trouble down on you regardless. I didn't want to lose Elizabeth."

"Well that's good." Dad said, sounding breathless. He picked up his plate. "I'm going to recover in my room, Elizabeth. Good night girls."

"Night dad." I said.

"Night Mr. Lupin." Trang said, still sounding troubled.

Dad heard the tone in her voice and gave her a strained smile, "Learn as much as you want Trang, a lot of it is very interesting."

His footsteps went upstairs and I wolfed down my sausages and cleaned off my plate. "Okay, let's go." I said.

Trang finished her food quickly, looking confused. "Where are we going?"

I checked the clock. It was eight-thirty. "Hmm, actually, I'll just show you how to travel and we'll go tomorrow. It'll be less busy and we can explore the entire day."

"Oh." Trang said as we went over to the fireplace, "Okay. Er- where?"

I pulled down the pail with the green dust in it. "Diagon Alley of course. This is called floo powder. Now, what you do is you take a handful- not tonight- and you hold it in your hand when you step into the fireplace. Then, you throw it down and shout where you want to go."

"Doesn't sound to hard." Trang said, frowning at the fireplace but her voice sounded nervous.

"You'll probably want to put your glasses in your pocket when you do it." I said. "People usually fall on their face on the first time and I'm underage and won't be able to fix them. Anyways, you have to speak very clearly because if the fireplace doesn't understand, you could get lost in the gates. Or you could end up in Timbuktu."

Trang laughed. "How early should I be here?"

I thought about it. "Depends on if you want to eat three meals there or two."

"Just two, I think" Trang said. "I'll eat breakfast at home."

"Then come here around 8:45." I said, putting the bowl of powder back on the fireplace mantle. "A lot of shops open up at 8:00 and they won't be to crowded until later."

Trang left after a cup of tea. I quickly boiled some water and made Dad's favorite Earl Gray blend with the right amount of honey, made myself another cup of cold Lemon Zinger tea, and then carried the two cups upstairs.

I knocked on the door and dad said, "come in."

I went into dad's room. His empty plate and glass were on the bedside table. He was already in his bed clothes and he was sitting up on the bed with a book in hand, the small lamp lit behind him.

I climbed onto the bed next to him, handing him his cup. He thanked me for the tea, putting it on the bedside table. I did the same.

I wished I was smaller now. Before, I had wanted to be taller and I had gotten my wish. I'd grown five inches this summer. I snuggled up next to him and he put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

"Are you okay dad?" I asked softly. He was reading a book on the American industry.

"No luck where jobs are concerned." He said lightly, flipping the page with one hand. "But I'm okay. And I'm glad you and Trang are able to put the secrecy out of the way. I just worry about you getting in trouble for it."

"It'll be okay dad." I said. "No one will know."

"You were talking about bringing her to the Quidditch World Cup." Dad said imploringly.

I blushed. "Well, okay, yeah. We were talking about sports and I thought it would be fun to take her."

"Are tickets expensive?" Dad asked and even though he tried to hide it, I'd lived with him to long. I knew he was thinking about the job. Was he really thinking about going to America to get a job? He'd need a passport and a green card. . .

"I'm not spending a knut." I promised. "Ron's dad is going to get free tickets from Ludo Bagman." I paused and then said, "Dad, why don't you just use my Gringotts-"

"No." Dad said firmly. "I'm not going to support this family on your funds. I'll get a job, it's just going to take some time, okay?"

I bit my bottom lip and snuggled into his chest.

Dad laughed, "You're getting a bit big for snuggles, don't you think?" But he hugged me to his chest regardless.

"Only a little bit." I said sullenly. This made dad laugh again.

"You know I meant height." Dad said amused, "You're still very skinny." He put his book aside and put both his arms around me, pulling me higher up on his chest and resting his chin on my head. "What are you so worried about?"

"We're going to be okay, aren't we?" I asked.

"Of course we are." Dad murmured. "I'll find-"

"I'm not worried about the job or the money." I interrupted. "Worst comes to worst, use the fund. . . but. . . I don't know. . . I just have a really bad feeling about something and I don't know what. . ."

Dad squeezed me tighter. "I'll always protect you." He whispered.

I turned and hugged him back, laying my head on his chest. I may have fallen asleep at some part because I woke up in my bed the next morning with no idea how I had gotten there.

Trang showed up at 8:40 and so I let her in, yawning. I had already dressed and combed out my hair. She was bouncing with nervous energy. I had already told dad over toast and bacon what we were doing today, and he looked over his newspaper, not bothering to hide the moving pictures this time.

"Please be careful girls." He said anxiously.

"I'll go first." I said. "That way you can watch and then dad can help you on your way here, okay?"

"Sure." Trang said nervously.

I took a handful of power and then stepped into the fireplace and threw the floo powder down and shouted, "Diagon Alley!"

Green flames erupted around me and Trang took a frightened step back and then I was swirling through a mixture of colors and images and then, I stepped out into the Leaky Cauldron. I waited, nervously for Trang to come through.

Two minutes later, Trang shot out of the fireplace, onto her face. I laughed, helping her to her feet. She looked around with a dropped mouth.

"Close your mouth," I hissed. "You've been here before."

Luckily, no one had paid us any attention. I waved to Tom the bartender as we headed out the back door. Trang was still looking around, having put her glasses back on her face, taking in the surroundings.

When we reached the brick wall, Trang looked confused. "I don't understand." She said, looking around the small dump. I giggled.

I took out my wand and tapped the bricks up three and two across and tapping it twice. The bricks moved away to form a gateway and I walked through, Trang trailing behind me looking as though she might drop her mouth again. "Where do. . . where do we start?" She asked faintly.

I paused, thinking, and then said, "Let's start at Gringotts, alright? Then we'll make our way down."

"I brought some money." Trang said pulling out a lot of bills. "Not necessarily for a broom, but I wanted to pay my fair share for some things." She said quickly.

I smiled. "We can get the bills exchanged at Gringotts, alright? They'll exchange Muggle currency for Wizarding coins."

She nodded, relieved.

We headed up the streets and she kept looking around, but it wouldn't matter to anyone out here. We walked up the large marble steps into Gringotts and I led her over to a counter, taking the money from her hand. She nearly fainted at the sight of the goblins.

"We'd like to exchange this for Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts please." I said, handing up the money to the Goblin behind the counter. He took it in his long fingered hand and counted it out and turned to a large old fashioned machine and converted the pounds into wizarding gold and slipped the coins into a little bag and gave the bag to me.

"Thank you." I said.

He nodded and got back to weighing some emeralds behind his desk. Trang eyed them with interest for a moment and then followed me to a different desk.

"Requesting a cart?" The goblin behind the counter asked promptly.

"Yes please." I said. I named my vault number (718), handed up the key, and Trang and I followed the goblin through a door, and into the stone hallway where the carts were. Trang was looking around the cavern as though she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

"First time?" The goblin asked me, nodding to Trang.

"Yes." I said with a grin.

The goblin chuckled. "They always look stunned on the first trip."

Trang climbed into the cart and I got in next to her and we took off down the ramp. She shrieked, clutching the side of the cart. I laughed aloud.

"It's like a roller coaster with no seat belts!" She exclaimed.

I looked at her mischievously. "Why would we need seat belts? Takes the fun out of everything!"

When we arrived at my vault, I opened it with my key and took out a large quantity of gold. I was surprised that after three years, a dent had barely been made in the size of my pile. I wondered if maybe it replenished or something. It made me uncomfortable when Dad had nothing. I filled two bags to the brim and then we set off.

The goblin was very interested in the amount of gold that I was taking out, especially two student aged kids with no parental supervision.

"Racing brooms." I explained. "Firebolts hopefully."

The goblin nodded and said, "Yes, those do require a lot of gold, don't they?"

I nodded, "But worth it."

Above surface, I put the bags of gold in the backpack I had brought with me so I wasn't lugging around two big bags of gold and gave Trang her little bag.

I quickly filled out a transfer form so that 1,000 Galleons would magically be transferred into Dad's account under the name 'anonymous'. I did the same for the Weasleys with 500 Galleons. Then Trang and I laughed.

She laughed as she held her small bag, dwarfed by my large ones. "Even £500 doesn't match anywhere close to what you have."

"It's okay." I said, though I wondered dully how she had gotten her hands on £500! I wondered if maybe dad could get a job wherever Trang's dad worked. "We'll spend most of mine anyways."

"You're not really going to get me a firebolt are you?" Trang asked nervously. "I don't want a better broom than you. Either same or under is fine with me." She'd researched the different brooms last night. "To be honest, I wouldn't have minded a silver arrow."

"They were a pretty model." I said. "I liked them better than swiftsticks anyways, and don't worry, I'm not getting a Firebolt, I just needed an explanation about the amount of gold we're getting. I have a feeling your going to want a lot of books."

"As many as I can carry." Trang said earnestly. "But I'll spend my money first."

I shrugged, "I don't really care. Maybe you can just pay for our meals."

She thought about that and pocketed the small bag she kept tossing from hand to hand. "Deal."

We went into some of the smaller shops first. There was a junk shop with legitimate items and I found film developer to make pictures move. I bought two boxes, one for me and one for Trang. Now I'd be able to make some of my posters move and some of my pictures as well.

Trang was fascinated with everything she saw and I kept reminding her to be careful not to touch anything.

"Remember." I said. "Muggles have a sort of allergy to some magical things. That's why you can't take magical concoctions like potions."

Then, we made our way to the broom shop and she looked at all the different models and I bought her the Firebolt- despite what I'd previously said. "Happy Birthday." I said, giving it to her. She took it carefully as though it might explode if she dropped it, a huge expression of joy on her face.

I showed her the robe and wand shops, but we didn't go in because she didn't need robes and she couldn't get a wand, though she stood outside the window for a couple of seconds in longing. It was the first time that I wondered if perhaps this had been a bad idea.

But then she turned, smiled, and teased, "At least I don't have to carry a piece of wood in my pocket all the time!" and we hurried down the street to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. There, we put her broom down and we ordered large ice creams. Then she paid the bill and we made our way back down the street.

Next was the book store. She explored the books shelf by shelf, picking up nearly every book available. She had started a stack and the book-keeper watched amused.

"She must really be your friend." He said as he rang up all of her books. "She buys nearly as many books as you do!"

Mr. Blotts had seen me coming and going since I was maybe seven or eight. So, he knew what sorts of books I liked reading. Sometimes when I came in, he'd have a book or two under the counter to recommend. I usually ended up buying them. Dad and I were his best customers.

I chuckled. "I'll buy my own extra books soon."

I did indeed pick up a few books. Mostly about the different creatures of the dark world. I thought it was a fascinating subject and it was also what dad had taught last year. I also picked up another divination book. I didn't know my Hogwarts booklist yet- it wouldn't come until the end of July.

Trang had about twenty or thirty books and I stacked my own six up next to hers and we bought them. I had, had dad enlargen the backpack with a spell so all the books fit into it and the bag stayed fairly light.

"So, are we going home now?" Trang asked, looking around. The sun was a bit lower in the sky, perhaps about four o'clock or so.

"Not yet." I said. "Two more shops."

First, we stopped by a Divination store and I searched for a really good Tarot deck. I closed my eyes, moving among them and trying to see which one felt the best to me. There was so much that had to be done for tarot cards. Certain boxes, certain jewels, certain stones, certain herbs.

I finally found my Tarot deck. They were covered with bunnies and I absolutely loved them. I also had to get a box to keep my cards, herbs for cleansing, and stones or crystals to enhance the cards.

The thing about Divination was that each component had it's own properties. For instance, those who specialize in questions about health got Apple wood boxes. Those with fiery personalities got Mesquite wood boxes. Hazel was fire resistant. Alder wood boxes are best for those who kept their boxes outside or underwater.

I personally debated between a Bay wood box which is best for those artistically inclined (I am a good artist if I may be so humble), a Chestnut wood box which is for those who crave knowledge, or a Beech box which increases accuracy for readings about the past. I saw the future, but I wanted to known more about mine and my parents past.

But the other thing about Divination is that you can't just choose a box and hope that it works. You have to feel the box. Like the way that the wand chooses the wizard- the cards, the box, the herbs, the gemstone choose the wizard as well. . .to a slightly less powerful degree.

Finally, I went with the Chestnut wood box. It was very smooth and the top lifted up, connected to the box by small hinges. There was no handles to carry it and there was no lock either. The wood was very smooth, though the light colored wood had dark blemishes along it.

I browsed the herbs next. There are 23 types of wood boxes, 115 different types of herbs, and 246 different types of stones, crystals, or gems that could be used. Each had different properties, different uses, and different strengths and weaknesses. Needless to say, picking tarot cards and utensils is very difficult.

I finally went with Blackberry as a herb (for those who wish to get more accurate reading on big questions [marriage, moving, new jobs]) and Bloodstone as the gem (well suited for self-readings).

After everything was rung up and I paid, I led Trang to the Owl Emporium and gestured around at all of the owls. "Pick one."

She looked at me, "An owl?"

"How else do you think we're going to send each other letters now that you're a full member of the magical world." I said, smiling kindly.

Trang took a long look at all of the owls. After careful consideration, she selected a brown and white speckled Barred Owl. She paid for him.

I got in the fireplace with Trang's broom and owl, having given her the backpack instead as she was less experienced with floo travel. She had gone first and I hadn't seen any problems and so I named where I wanted to go and ended up in Dad's house.

I stepped out into the living room. Trang let her owl out to fly around and petted his head feathers. "What do you think I should call him?"

"Up to you." I said, gently releasing the books from the bag and separating my six from her books. "Harry named his owl Hedwig from a book he'd read and I just came up with the name Sadie for my owl off the spot."

Trang flipped through books while I cooked and finally she came up with the name Carter for the owl. "There's just something right about that name." She said.

I shrugged. "Alright then." Who was I to stop people from doing what their feelings said? I did things off my feelings. . .100% of the time.

She had her books in two stacks and her broom next to it. Carter was still flying around. She helped me fix dinner and then, I put the lids on everything and I helped her get everything home.

After that, nearly every day was spent in the field flying or inside reading. We sent each other little notes over the weekend with our owls when I couldn't hang out because I was working. Carter and Sadie liked each other too, which was nice. I was always glad when owls got along.

Sadie was finally getting along with Sushi, my rabbit, too. I caught her sleeping next to him one night, her wing over his furry back and his head tucked in. I'd taken a picture and kept in my album.

Nothing exciting happened for a very long time. 

⬅️➡️

[alfaangel]

Flourish and Blotts 

[theriddiculustwins]

Remus John lupin for a fact worked at flourish and blotts at some point in time

Like he could be so brooding and angsty 😌

[cecenyss]

s/o to that one flourish & blotts manager that spent an entire summer wrangling Hagrid’s nightmare books into submission

[hnzkaitlyn]

[locations-hq]

Flourish & Blotts is a bookshop in Diagon Alley in the wizarding quarter of London, established in 1654 where most Hogwarts students purchase their schoolbooks. The shop is filled floor to ceiling with books, some of which they had issues with such as The Invisable Book of Invisibility which kept going missing and The Monster Book of Monsters which ate itself. The shop holds regular book signings, especially with Gilderoy Lockhart who has been known to randomly turn up and start signing his books, pieces of parchment and people as well as turning up for planned signings when he launches new works.

EXPLORE THE LOCATION FURTHER...

[dramioneasks]

Flourish & Blott's All Hallows' Eve Fest 🎃🎃🎃🎃 Hosted by the following communities: Flourish & Blotts 18+ Discord | HP Fanfics Facebook | Flourish & Blott's Tumblr| Harry Potter Fanfiction Subreddit

Who's ready for Halloween?

You can submit any prompt you've been wanting to see-- whether that's monogamous, triad, or poly -- and whether that's spooky fun or darkest of prompts as Dead Dove content is allowed.

You can claim any prompts to write. You can submit at any time however the submissions will start being advertised within reddit/discord/Facebook in October for Halloween.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

[starchaserdreams]

I set a scene at Flourish & Blotts in my fanfic one time and now I get this ad *literally every day* I fucking hate this reality

But also if I didn't already have too many sweaters I would totally buy a version of this off Etsy because damn it is cute

[mywhisperingwords]

everyone wants him | fred g. weasley

summary: everyone wants fred weasley, why would he want you? word count: 3.2k masterlist

The Leaky Cauldron was alive with its usual chaos—laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional misplaced spell fizzling out before causing any real harm.

You sat tucked into the corner of the pub, nursing a Butterbeer that had long since gone lukewarm. Alicia had dragged you out tonight, claiming you needed to “live a little.” You weren’t entirely convinced, but there was something about her enthusiasm that made saying no impossible.

And then there was Fred Weasley.

You’d noticed him the second he walked in, though you’d never admit it. His presence was magnetic in a way you couldn’t quite explain, drawing attention without even trying. He laughed too loud, flashed that mischievous grin too easily, and had the audacity to look good doing it.

He was surrounded, of course. Angelina was at his side, rolling her eyes at something he’d said, but not enough to hide her smile. A couple of other faces hovered nearby—girls who leaned in a little too close, their laughter a little too eager.

You forced yourself to look away, focusing instead on Alicia, who was recounting some outrageous story involving a Niffler and a stolen bracelet.

“And then—are you even listening?”

You blinked, startled, and Alicia followed your gaze across the room. She smirked. “Ah. Fred Weasley.”

You frowned. “What about him?”

“You were practically drooling.”

“I was not.”

She laughed, leaning back in her chair. “Don’t bother denying it. Everyone looks at him like that at least once. It’s infuriating, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“How bloody charming he is.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Infuriating was a good word for it.

It wasn’t until later in the night, after the crowd had thinned and Alicia had gone off to dance with some guy you didn’t recognize, that Fred approached you.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, already sliding into the chair across from you.

You glanced up, startled. “Uh, sure?”

His grin widened, and you felt an unwelcome flutter in your chest. “You’re Alicia’s friend, right? I’ve seen you around. I’m Fred.”

“I know who you are.”

“Do you?” He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

You narrowed your eyes, refusing to rise to the bait. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether or not you’re about to use that ridiculous charm of yours to try and get in my pants.”

He laughed—a genuine, full-bodied sound that caught you off guard. “Merlin, you’re sharp, aren’t you? I like that.”

“I wasn’t trying to be likable.”

“Even better.”

You shook your head, unsure whether to be annoyed or amused. He was persistent, you’d give him that.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Why are you here, all tucked away in the corner like some kind of mysterious enigma?”

“Mysterious enigma?”

“It’s the best I could come up with on short notice. Don’t judge me.”

This time, you couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto your face. “I didn’t want to come tonight. Alicia dragged me here.”

“Well, remind me to thank her later,” he said, his tone light but his eyes unexpectedly serious.

You hesitated, caught off guard by the shift. For a moment, you wondered if there might be more to Fred Weasley than the charming facade.

But then someone called his name—a girl, predictably—and the moment passed.

Fred glanced over his shoulder, his grin returning as he waved her off. When he turned back to you, he seemed almost reluctant.

“Duty calls,” he said, rising from his chair. “But don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

“Why would I be anything else?”

His laughter followed him as he walked away, and you were left alone, staring at your now-empty glass and wondering what, exactly, had just happened.

&

Diagon Alley was unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon. The crisp autumn air carried the faint scent of roasted chestnuts from a nearby cart, mingling with the earthy smell of parchment and ink that clung to the shopfront of Flourish and Blotts. You had come to pick up a new quill, your old one having finally succumbed to overuse during a particularly tedious set of reports.

As you stepped out of the shop, quill and a small stack of books tucked under your arm, you nearly collided with someone coming in the opposite direction.

“Careful there,” came the familiar voice, low and teasing.

Fred Weasley.

You took a step back, startled, and looked up to find him grinning down at you. His hair was windswept, cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, and he had the same effortless energy that seemed to follow him everywhere.

“Do you make a habit of running into people, or am I just lucky?” he asked.

“Only the particularly unfortunate,” you replied, stepping aside to let him pass.

“Unfortunate?” He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Here I thought you’d be thrilled to see me.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t quite suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. “What are you doing here, anyway? Don’t tell me you’re in need of a good book.”

“I’ll have you know I’m an avid reader,” he said, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. “In fact, I was just about to pick up a—” He paused, glancing over your stack of books. “What’s this? ‘The Art of Brewing Potent Potions’? Didn’t take you for the potion-making type.”

You shifted the books slightly, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m not. It’s for a friend.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding solemnly. “A likely story.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Despite yourself, you laughed—a small, involuntary sound that you quickly tried to stifle. Fred noticed, of course, and his grin softened into something warmer, more genuine.

“Well, I’d hate to keep you from your important potion-related business,” he said after a moment, stepping aside to let you pass.

“Important quill-related business, actually,” you corrected, holding up the bag in your hand.

“Ah, of course. How could I forget?”

You shook your head, already turning to leave, but his voice stopped you.

“Wait,” he said, his tone shifting slightly.

You turned back, surprised to see something uncertain flicker across his face. It was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his usual confidence, but it left you curious.

“Let me walk you back,” he said, gesturing down the street.

You hesitated, torn between instinctively brushing him off and the strange, unfamiliar pull you felt to say yes. In the end, the latter won out.

“Alright,” you said, falling into step beside him.

The walk back was filled with the kind of aimless chatter that felt oddly natural—Fred recounting some escapade involving a rogue charm and a very unhappy house-elf, you half-listening, half-watching the way his hands moved as he spoke.

When you finally reached your door, he paused, rocking back on his heels. “Well, this is me,” you said, nodding towards the entrance.

Fred nodded, his grin returning. “Good to know. I’ll keep this in mind for next time.”

“Next time?”

“Sure,” he said, already stepping away. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

And with that, he turned and walked off, leaving you standing in the doorway with a faint smile and a strange, fluttering feeling in your chest.

&

The weeks that followed your second encounter were marked by an unexpected rhythm.

Fred had a way of showing up—not at your door like expected, but in the spaces in between. He had a knack for making himself unavoidable, though never in an overbearing way. You’d catch him at the tea shop near your office, juggling two mugs precariously in his hands and grinning at you as if it were fate. Or in the park, where he’d be charming a group of kids with conjured fireworks, his laughter echoing over the treetops.

“I swear, you’re everywhere,” you said one afternoon when you bumped into him yet again outside Flourish and Blotts.

“Or maybe you’re just not very good at avoiding me,” he replied, his grin maddeningly confident.

Despite your best efforts, the barriers you’d carefully constructed began to shift, piece by piece. It started with the smallest of gestures—him carrying your books when your arms were full, sneaking you a bag of your favorite sweets when he somehow discovered your weakness for honey drops. The conversations, too, began to stretch beyond the surface, slipping into territory you weren’t entirely comfortable with but couldn’t resist exploring.

“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone,” Fred said one evening, his voice softer than usual.

You had both ended up in the same quiet corner of The Leaky Cauldron—pure coincidence, or so he claimed. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, and for once, his usual smirk was nowhere to be found.

“Why would I do that?” you asked, deflecting with a raised eyebrow.

“Because I’d like to know,” he said simply.

You hesitated, your fingers brushing the rim of your mug. The question had an intimacy to it that made you feel vulnerable, and yet, there was something about the way he looked at you—like he could see straight through the walls you kept up.

“I’m scared of not being good enough,” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

Fred blinked, surprised by your honesty, but his expression quickly softened. “Good enough for what?”

“For anything. Everything,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” he said firmly, his gaze steady. “And for the record, I think you’re more than good enough.”

The moment lingered, delicate and raw, before you cleared your throat and changed the subject. Fred let you, but the look in his eyes stayed with you long after you’d said goodnight.

As time passed, your world seemed to orbit closer to his. He found reasons to seek you out, and you found yourself looking forward to his presence, even when you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

One evening, he brought you to his joke shop after hours, proudly showing you prototypes of new products. His enthusiasm was infectious, his face lighting up as he explained the intricacies of a new line of trick wands.

“Why do I feel like you’re trying to recruit me?” you teased as he handed you one to test.

“Because I am,” he said without hesitation. “You’d be great at it. You’ve got a good eye for details, and you don’t take my nonsense too seriously.”

“Someone has to keep you grounded.”

Fred grinned. “Exactly. That’s why you’re perfect for the job.”

You laughed, shaking your head, but something warm and unspoken passed between you.

It wasn’t long before people began to notice.

The first comment came from a colleague at work, offhand and seemingly harmless. “You and Fred Weasley seem awfully friendly,” they said, their tone laced with just enough curiosity to make you feel self-conscious.

The whispers followed soon after—barely audible at first but growing louder with each passing day. Fred’s reputation preceded him, and people were quick to remind you of it.

“Everyone knows he’s a flirt. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“He’s not exactly the relationship type.”

The words wormed their way into your mind, sowing seeds of doubt. You began to notice the way people looked at you when you were with him, their gazes heavy with judgment or pity.

Fred, oblivious to the change, continued to treat you the same—warm, attentive, and maddeningly Fred. But the whispers weighed on you, and before long, you found yourself pulling back.

The first time you ignored his owl, it felt like a betrayal. The second time, it felt like self-preservation. By the third, it had become a habit.

Fred noticed, of course, though he didn’t understand.

“Have I done something wrong?” he asked one day, cornering you outside the tea shop where he’d so often ‘accidentally’ run into you.

“No,” you lied, refusing to meet his eyes.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

The hurt in his voice was almost too much to bear, but you held firm. The walls you’d rebuilt were sturdy now, bolstered by fear and the voices of those who’d warned you to stay away.

Fred watched you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before stepping back. “Alright,” he said quietly. “If that’s what you want.”

You told yourself it was. But as he walked away, the ache in your chest suggested otherwise.

The days after your confrontation with Fred dragged on, every hour stretching unbearably long. You told yourself you were doing the right thing, retreating before you got too close, before the inevitable heartbreak. But the certainty that had driven you to push him away began to waver in his absence.

You didn’t realize how much space Fred had occupied in your life until it was suddenly empty. The silence felt heavier now. Your tea breaks were lonely, lacking his easy laughter. Even the parks seemed duller without the sound of him enchanting children with his conjured fireworks.

Work became a refuge—a place where you could bury yourself in tasks and avoid thinking about him. But even there, his presence lingered. The bag of honey drops he’d given you sat unopened in your desk drawer. You’d thought about tossing it a dozen times, but your hand always hesitated, as though getting rid of it would make the loss of him too real.

It was during one of these long, quiet days that you overheard them.

“I heard she’s been seeing Fred Weasley,” someone said behind you in the tearoom.

Your stomach dropped, and you froze, pretending to stir sugar into your tea.

“She’s deluded if she thinks he’s serious about her,” another voice replied. “Fred Weasley doesn’t settle down. She’s just a bit of fun, like all the others.”

Their laughter echoed in your ears, sharp and grating. You forced yourself to walk out calmly, but their words stayed with you. By the time you got home, they’d grown into a roar in your mind, impossible to ignore.

He deserves better. Someone more exciting, more confident. Someone who isn’t scared of taking up space in his life.

The thoughts clawed at you as you sat at your desk, staring at the parchment in front of you.

You don’t belong in his world.

Your hand moved before you could stop it, the quill scratching out the words you thought would sever the tie cleanly. The letter was short, clinical, void of the emotions tearing through you.

“Fred, I think it’s best we go our separate ways. Thank you for everything. Take care.”

The owl flew off with it before you could change your mind, its silhouette disappearing into the night. The moment it was gone, the finality of it hit you like a curse.

You curled up in bed that night, the ache in your chest feeling like a physical weight. You told yourself it was for the best. But deep down, you started to think you’d made a mistake.

You waited for him to show up at your door, demanding answers in his usual larger-than-life way. But Fred didn’t come.

At first, you convinced yourself that his silence was proof that you were right—he wasn’t serious about you. But as the days turned into a week, the void he left behind became unbearable.

It was Alicia who finally forced you to confront it.

“You’ve been sulking for days,” she said, plopping down on your couch uninvited. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you mumbled, not looking up from the book you weren’t actually reading.

Alicia snatched the book out of your hands, her sharp gaze piercing. “You don’t look like this over ‘nothing.’ Spill.”

You hesitated, but the words came spilling out anyway—the whispers, the letter, the crushing fear that you’d never be enough for someone like Fred.

When you finished, Alicia looked at you as though you’d just told her you planned to live on the moon.

“You’re an idiot,” she said bluntly.

“Thanks,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

“I’m serious,” Alicia said, her voice softening. “Fred isn’t like that. Not with you. Do you have any idea how he lights up when he talks about you?”

Your chest tightened at her words, but you shook your head. “He’s Fred Weasley. He lights up for everyone.”

“No,” she said firmly. “Not like this. Trust me, I’ve seen him flirt a hundred times. This isn’t flirting, love. He’s serious about you. And if you can’t see that, you’re going to regret it.”

Her words haunted you that night as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. By the time morning came, you knew you couldn’t leave things as they were.

The shop was quiet when you arrived, the familiar smell of wood polish and faint smoke lingering in the air. You knocked hesitantly, and Fred appeared in the doorway moments later, his expression unreadable.

“Hey,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Fred stepped aside without a word, letting you in. The silence between you was suffocating, the usually lively space feeling oddly hollow.

You fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, searching for the right words. “I—”

Fred cut you off. “Why are you here?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that made your chest tighten.

“I… I wanted to explain,” you said, your throat dry.

“Explain what?” he asked, his arms crossed. “Why you decided to shut me out without a real reason?”

The hurt in his voice cracked something inside you. “I was scared,” you admitted. “Of getting hurt. Of not being enough.”

Fred stared at you for a long moment, his expression softening as he stepped closer. “Why would you think that?”

“Because everyone says—”

“To hell with what everyone says,” Fred interrupted, his voice fierce. “I don’t care what they think. The only person whose opinion matters is yours.”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. “I didn’t know if you were serious. About me.”

Fred reached out, taking your hands in his. “I’m as serious as it gets,” he said quietly. “But I can’t make you believe that. You have to let yourself believe it.”

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, and Fred gently pulled you into his arms. His embrace was warm, steady, and everything you hadn’t realized you’d needed.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered against his chest.

Fred pressed a kiss to your hair, his voice soft but certain. “You’re the only one I want.”

When you finally pulled back, his hands lingered on your face, his thumbs brushing away the last of your tears. The look in his eyes was so full of warmth and determination that you felt the last of your doubts dissolve.

When he kissed you, it wasn’t just a promise—it was a beginning.

[iris-qt]

𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚐𝚊𝚐𝚎 / 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔

ꜱʟʏᴛʜᴇʀɪɴ ʙᴏʏꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛ

I. Mattheo Riddle

Mattheo freezes mid-bite of his chocolate frog, giving you the kind of look someone reserves for a talking cat. "You can’t pay the what now?" he says, mouth still half-full.

When you repeat it, his eyebrows shoot up so high they practically disappear into his curls. "Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me you’ve been paying the rent this whole time? Babe, what rent? Where are you sending this money? Do I need to send the lads to go 'talk' to someone?"

You insist you’re serious, and he bursts into laughter so loud it echoes around the room. He’s clutching his stomach, tears forming in his eyes. "Oh, this is rich! Next, you’ll tell me you’ve been working overtime at Flourish and Blotts to afford my ‘extravagant lifestyle.’ What’s next, huh? Selling cauldron cakes on the side?"

When you try to keep a straight face, he leans forward, his expression deadpan now but his voice dripping with sarcasm. "No, seriously, though. Should I sell my broom? Start knitting scarves for a Galleon a pop? Maybe I can busk on Diagon Alley…play the ukulele or some crap. People love that."

By now, you’re wheezing with laughter, and he just shakes his head, smirking. "Merlin, Y/N, if your acting career doesn’t work out, at least we know you’ve got a future in comedy. But seriously…rent? That’s cute.”

By now, you’re gasping for air, struggling to hold it together, and Mattheo’s smirk only grows wider as he watches you. He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping to a softer, almost teasing tone. "You know," he says with a glint in his eye, "If you really need help with the rent... maybe I could offer you a private lesson in how to make some extra Galleons."

II. Theodore Nott

Theo looks up from the chessboard he’s been meticulously studying for the last half hour, an eyebrow raised in mild confusion. "What do you mean you can’t pay the rent?" he asks, his tone calm but with a dangerous edge of skepticism.  

You repeat it, adding a dramatic sigh for effect.  

He blinks slowly, as if trying to process whether you’ve gone mad or if he missed some critical detail in your relationship. "You’ve... been paying the rent? Since when? Because I distinctly recall handling all of that."  

When you insist, he leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers like he’s analyzing a particularly tricky potion. "Alright, either you’ve been scammed by an exceptionally creative con artist, or this is your latest attempt to distract me from beating you at chess."  

You pout, staying in character, and he sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Y/N, do you even know where the rent money comes from? Because I can assure you, it’s not your side gig selling those questionable potions on Etsy.”  

The corners of his mouth twitch as he fights a grin. Finally, when you can’t hold back your laughter anymore, he rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Honestly, I need to start charging you rent for all this nonsense. At least make it worth my while.”  

As you finally break into laughter, Theo sets his chess pieces down with a dramatic sigh, his eyes softening just a bit. He leans in, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. "You’re impossible," he mutters, his voice a little quieter now, though there’s still a teasing glint in his eyes. "But you know, I wouldn’t have it any other way."

He gives you a small, almost shy smile, then leans back in his chair, his usual cool demeanor returning. "Now, let’s see if you can distract me enough to win this game."

III. Draco Malfoy

He would look at you like you’ve gone MENTAL

“Haha funny joke, y/n,” he rolls his eyes, going right back to reading his book and munching on his green apple.

When you reiterate it, Draco squints at you, lowering his book slightly, the crunch of his apple freezing mid-chew. "Excuse me? You what?" he says, a hint of incredulity creeping into his voice.

When you repeat it again, this time with extra drama, he sits bolt upright, his apple rolling forgotten onto the table. "Wait, wait, wait…you pay the mortgage? Since when? Did I suddenly get amnesia and forget we’re Muggles now? Because last I checked, the Manor doesn’t even have a mortgage!”

He grabs his wand, waving it theatrically. "Accio sense, because clearly you’ve lost yours!”

You keep the act going, insisting you’re serious, and he just gapes at you like you’ve declared you’ve taken up dragon wrestling as a hobby. Finally, he narrows his eyes.

“Y/N, love, if this is about that handbag you wanted last week, just say so. No need to concoct elaborate tales about rent payments. Merlin’s beard, you're ridiculous.”

When you burst into laughter, he leans back in his chair, scowling but unable to hide the faintest smirk. "I’m marrying a lunatic," he mutters, reaching for his apple again. "At least the lunatic has good taste in handbags."

IV. Blaise Zabini

Blaise looks up from his cup of espresso, one perfectly arched brow lifting as he tilts his head at you. "I’m sorry, darling. Did I hear that correctly? You can’t pay the rent? You mean the rent that I, Blaise Zabini, the man with seven vaults at Gringotts, didn’t even let you look at, let alone contribute to?"

You double down, trying to sell your story, and he exhales slowly, setting his glass down with the exaggerated care of a man trying to keep his composure. "This is new. Tragic, even. Shall I sell the antique Italian sofa to keep us afloat? Or, Merlin forbid, cut back on the imported silk sheets?"

When you keep insisting, he leans back, crossing his arms and giving you a slow once-over, his lips twitching with amusement. "You know what? You’re right. It’s all gone. We’re destitute. Better start knitting socks and selling them on Knockturn Alley. Maybe I’ll start charging Draco for advice. He’s overdue for paying his mate tax.”

Finally, when you burst into laughter, Blaise smirks, shaking his head and snaking an arm around your waist, pulling you close. "You’re lucky you’re cute, Y/N. If anyone else tried this nonsense, I’d have them banned from my flat and my life. But you? You get away with everything.”

V. Regulus Black

Regulus doesn’t even look up from his book, clearly too absorbed to even register your words at first. But when you repeat it, his eyes flicker briefly to you, a quizzical expression crossing his face. "Wait, what do you mean you can’t pay the rent?"

You try to explain, going for maximum drama, and he sighs, setting his book down with a soft thud. "Y/N, darling, I pay the rent. I handle everything. You’re telling me you’ve been struggling to pay it all this time?" His tone is flat, not even slightly concerned, just bemused. "I’ve already transferred the payment for the month. Did you forget?"

You continue the joke, and Regulus glances at you again, narrowing his eyes. "Are you seriously trying to convince me that you…you…have been paying the rent? Did you somehow think I’d believe that, or did you just want an excuse to create drama?"

He picks up his book again, unfazed. "You’re lucky you’re charming, because if anyone else tried this, I’d seriously reconsider their grip on reality." He sighs with exaggerated patience, "Don’t you remember? I’m the one who handles the bills. The whole thing is already sorted. No need to panic, love."

When you can’t keep it going anymore and laugh, he glances up once more with a slight smirk, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, Y/N, your attempts at theatrics are as bad as your cooking. At least make the drama more believable next time.”

As you laugh, Regulus's serious expression softens just a touch, and he leans over, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You’re impossible, you know that?" he mutters, but there's a warmth in his voice. "If you ever do run into a problem, though... just tell me."

You smile, and he sighs, shaking his head with a hint of affection. "I swear, you’ll be the death of me." But there’s a small, barely noticeable smile tugging at the corners of his lips, the kind he only gives when he’s not trying to be all stoic and mysterious.

VI. Tom Riddle

Tom Riddle doesn’t even flinch when you announce that you can’t pay the rent, simply pausing for a moment before his sharp, calculating gaze turns to you. "What are you on about?" he asks, his voice smooth but laced with a hint of annoyance. "You’ve been paying the rent? Since when did you even have the opportunity to pay it?"

When you repeat it with exaggerated seriousness, he leans back in his chair, narrowing his eyes, clearly trying to make sense of it. "I’ll admit, you’re certainly creative...but no. I’ve always taken care of the bills. I don’t recall a single instance where you were involved in such matters."

You continue the joke, and he chuckles darkly, though it’s clear he doesn’t fully buy it. "If this is your attempt at gaining attention, it's a poor one, darling. Do you think I’m so easily fooled?" His tone softens just slightly, a flash of something that could almost be affection in his eyes.

He stands and steps toward you, leaning in just close enough to make you feel his presence, but not too close to be truly comforting. "Next time you need a distraction, don’t go around pretending to pay rent," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear ever so slightly. "It’s beneath you. If you need something, ask. But don’t insult my intelligence."

When you finally start laughing, Tom smirks, his eyes glimmering with something softer, though it’s well hidden behind his usual cold demeanor. "You’re insufferable, Y/N. And that’s probably why I... let you get away with it."

A/N: Thank you to @fanfics4ever for this idea ♡

[ahqkas]

Ex bf theo who was really toxic and was a bad bf but after the break up he matures and tries tonget you back?

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THEODORE NOTT HAD ALWAYS BEEN AN ENIGMA, a puzzle that you never quite managed to solve. during your relationship, his brooding silence and sharp wit had initially drawn you in, but over time, they became the very things that chipped away at your happiness. he was toxic — possessive, distant, and emotionally unavailable. the relationship became a series of ups and downs, with moments of passion followed by long stretches of cold indifference. you spent too much time trying to reach him, trying to make him care the way you did, but in the end, it was clear that he wasn't ready to be the person you needed him to be.

the breakup had been inevitable. it was messy and painful, filled with harsh words and lingering regrets. you walked away shattered but determined to heal, to rebuild yourself without the weight of his darkness pulling you down. months passed, and slowly but surely, you began to find your footing again. life moved on, and so did you — or at least, you tried to.

then, one day, theodore showed up in your life again.

it was the warmest day of early september. you were in diagon alley, browsing through the rows of books at flourish and blotts, when you felt that painfully familiar presence behind you. your heart skipped a beat, a mixture of dread and curiosity flooding your senses. you turned, and there he was, standing awkwardly near the entrance, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

theodore looked different. although he was still the tall, slender figure with the same piercing eyes that once made your heart race, something had changed. his posture was more relaxed, his expression softer. gone was the constant scowl that used to mar his handsome features, replaced now with what seemed like genuine vulnerability.

“hey,” he said, his voice lower than you remembered, almost hesitant.

you blinked slowly, caught off guard by his presence. “theo?”

he shifted on his feet, glancing around the shop before meeting your gaze again. the use of his nickname by you stirred up unforgettable memories inside him. “can we talk? in private,”

you nodded at his request hesitantly and followed the boy, now who seemed like a man. he hurt you badly, and there was no reason for him to talk to you ever again, so why was he seeking you now?

theo’s quiet voice broke the silence between the two of you as you stood in a smaller aisle of the shop. “i’ve been thinking about you — a lot,” he admitted. “there’s something i have to say to you or i’ll go mad.”

you didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to expect. theodore had never been one to easily admit fault, and seeing him now, looking almost remorseful, was jarring. part of you wanted to turn and walk away, to avoid reopening old wounds, but another part — the part that once loved him truly and deeply — wanted to hear what he had to say.

“i know now i was a terrible boyfriend,” he began, his eyes not leaving yours. “i treated you horribly, and i don’t deserve your forgiveness. but i’ve changed. i know it’s hard to believe, but i’ve spent a lot of time thinking about everything i did wrong, everything i took for granted.”

he paused, as if searching for the right words. “i’ve been working on myself, trying to understand why i was the way i was. i didn’t realize how much i needed to grow up until you were gone.”

his words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. you could hear the sincerity in his voice, see the regret in his eyes, but it wasn’t easy to let go of the past. too many memories of broken promises and hurtful words still lingered in your mind.

“theo, i . . .” you hesitated, unsure how to respond. “i’m glad you’ve been working on yourself, really, but i don’t know if i can just forget everything that happened. you hurt me, a lot.”

he nodded and his eyes found comfort on your hands. “i know. and i don’t expect you to just take me back. i just wanted you to know that i’m sorry for how i was. truly. and . . . if there’s ever a chance, even a small one, that we could try again . . . i would do everything differently. i would be better for you.”

theodore nott’s words were raw, unfiltered, and they hit you in a way you hadn’t expected. this wasn’t the theodore you had known — the one who hid behind sarcasm and anger. this was someone who had faced his demons and was trying, really trying, to be a better man. but could you trust him? could you risk your heart again after everything that had happened?

“i need time, theo,” you finally said, your voice soft but firm. “i can’t just jump back into something that hurt me so much.”

the slytherin nodded again, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. “i understand. i’ll wait as long as it takes. and if you never want to try again, i’ll respect that too. i just needed you to know that i’m sorry, and that i’m here if you ever want to give us another chance.”

with that, he turned to leave, but not before giving you one last, lingering look — a look filled with all the things he had never been able to say before.

[hoggleswart]

impassioned  speech  about  the  wonder  of  books  is  a  bittersweet  symphony  to  roshana’s  ears.  the  little  girl  she  used  to  be  would’ve  wholeheartedly  agreed.  that  version  of  her  loved  to  read.  she  would  lose  herself  in  fantasy    &    fairytales,  and  use  the  content  to  imagine  her  own  grand  adventure.  unfortunately,  as  she  got  older,  the  illusions  found  themselves  shattered  by  harsh  reality.  it  was  hard  to  keep  believing  in  happy  endings  when  her  own  had  been  so  abruptly  snatched  from  grasp.  still,  it  coaxed  a  faint  smile  to  hear  not  everybody  had  sacrificed  their  imagination  just  yet.  ＂  lord  of  the  rings.  i’ll  have  to  remember  that  one.  if  not  for  me,  then  for  my  son.  he’s  almost  impossible  to  buy  gifts  for  now  he’s  all  grown  up.  ＂  a  frustration  no  doubt  shared  by  many  parents.  head  tilts  curiously  when  paxton  introduces  himself,  name  familiar  enough  to  hana  given  her  own  order  affiliation.  at  least  now  there  was  a  face  to  go  with  it.  ＂  roshana  cresswell.  most  people  call  me  hana.  now  you  know  who  to  blame  if  my  recommendation  turns  out  to  be  the  wrong  one.  ＂

features soften as paxton nods. not everybody was a keen reader nor an avid collector of rare tomes, even paxton would once laugh at the idea of reading for entertainment or distraction - he wouldn't laugh now. "you'd be surprised at the worlds books can create, especially muggle books . . . if you ever do pick up a good book, i'd recommend the lord of the rings. fascinating piece of literature." lips curl into a half-smile as he looks between the books in his hands, humming gently before placing the one from his right hand back to it's respective postion on the shelves besides them, looking at the battered cover of the one that remains in his hand. well-read and well-loved. "i suppose i am now another to trust his recommendations. thank you, i'll give it a go." he goes to walk away before stopping and offering his free hand, "paxton holloway, by the way." a pettigrew boy.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Not a date - @wolfstarmicrofic - 289 words

“I’m going to bed,” Sirius grumbled, throwing his bag down and half-diving into his four-poster.

“Are you alright?” Remus asked, confused. Sirius had barely spoken two words to any of them on the way back from Hogsmeade.

“Fine.”

Remus pinched his eyebrows together. “What’s up with him?” he asked James, who was unpacking his purchases from Zonko’s.

“He’s been in a strop ever since he saw you on your date earlier,” James shrugged. 

“I- date?” Remus asked, pausing. He hadn’t been on a date. He’d been with Gregory, working on a project in the Three Broomsticks. And if Sirius was mad, that meant-

“Padfoot!” he nearly yelled, wrenching back Sirius’s bedhangings.

“Fuck, what, Remus?” Sirius asked, quickly wiping at his face as he was revealed. He had clearly been crying.

“I wasn’t on a date, Pads. Greg and I were-” Remus tried to explain.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Sirius laughed derisively. “You could’ve just told me when I asked you out before, that you were going with someone else.”

“Ask- Asked me out?” Remus repeated, floored. “You said you wanted to buy me a drink when we all went to the Three Broomsticks!”

“And you said you had homework!” Sirius whined, still looking upset.

“Yes! I met Greg in Hogsmeade because the book we needed was in Flourish and Blotts!” Remus said, frustrated. “We weren’t on a date! And if I had know you were asking me out, I would have-” but he stopped, nervous he had said too much.

“Would have what?” Sirius repeated softly from his bed, eyes wide and nervous.

“I would’ve ditched him in a heartbeat, Sirius,” Remus murmured. “For a date with you? Merlin, I would have cancelled on fucking Bowie.”

[tomriddleslove]

Obliviate.

✩ Mattheo Riddle x Reader angst

Summary: The one where tensions are running higher, and everyone has to pick a side. You promised to stick by one another, but a stupid oath you made when you first met threatens to drive that apart. Alternatively: If you love her, then you have to let her go.

A/N: If you don’t listen to the recommended song when reading this i will fight you 🤺🤺

Song: Goodbye - Billie Eilish

The Daily Prophet

Unrest Brews as Dark Forces Loom

By Rita Skeeter

In a disturbing turn of events, Diagon Alley was rocked by an unprecedented attack last night, sending shockwaves throughout the wizarding community. Witnesses reported seeing a group of hooded figures, suspected to be Death Eaters, descending upon the famous magical thoroughfare with malicious intent.

The Flourish and Blotts bookstore bore the brunt of the assault, with its windows shattered and shelves overturned. Several nearby shops, including Ollivanders Wand Shop and Eeylops Owl Emporium, also sustained significant damage.

"I've never seen anything like it," said Horace Slughorn, a retired Potions Master who happened to be in the area during the attack. "It was pure pandemonium. People were running for cover, spells flying everywhere. It was like a scene out of the darkest days of the last wizarding war."

Ministry of Magic officials were quick to respond to the scene, deploying Aurors and members of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol to contain the situation. However, the attackers managed to evade capture, leaving behind a trail of destruction and instilling fear in the hearts of many.

The Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, condemned the attack in the strongest terms, vowing to apprehend those responsible and bring them to justice.

"We will not tolerate such brazen acts of violence in our society," Minister Shacklebolt declared in a statement issued this morning. "The Ministry is fully committed to ensuring the safety and security of all witches and wizards, and we will spare no effort in our pursuit of these criminals."

The attack on Diagon Alley serves as a grim reminder of the growing threat posed by Voldemort's followers, who have been emboldened in recent months by reports of their dark lord's rumoured return. With tensions running high and fear gripping the wizarding world, many are left wondering what the future holds in this time of uncertainty.

You frown as you observe Mattheo, watching as he tosses the paper down onto the table in front of you with a huff. The tension in his face has become increasingly evident over the past few weeks, and you've begun to forget what Mattheo looks like when he isn't frowning.

You wrap your arms around his arm, leaning in close to him as you speak quietly.

“Hey. It’s alright,” You reassure, pressing a light kiss to his shoulder. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from the fireplace, a small huff of both frustration and amusement escaping his lips as he clenches his jaw, nodding.

“It’s alright.” He scoffs, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

It’s alright? No, it wasn’t alright. His father was a murderous lunatic who was about to trigger the second wizarding war. He had to sit back and watch his own friend get tortured for hours for failing to complete a task. He can't close his eyes without seeing Theodore writhing in pain on the floor.

Mattheo was expected to fight with them. The time would come, that was for certain. Mattheo would have to stand there, and raise his wand against the people he's shared a dorm with and sat in class with.

Hell, he would be expected to raise his wand against you.

“They always say this, Mattheo. They’ve been saying it for years, and nothing has happened.” You say, but even you can see how pathetic it sounds. Despite your efforts to comfort him, it's clear that his mind is elsewhere, consumed by the looming threat of war and the impossible choices he may soon be forced to make.

Mattheo finally tears his gaze away from the fireplace, his eyes meeting yours. Your breath hitches, the sheer look of sorrow in his eyes enough to shatter your heart into a million little pieces.

"I don't want to drag you into this," he confesses, his voice raw with emotion. "You deserve better than to be caught up in my mess."

Your heart sinks as you realize where this conversation is headed. "Mattheo, please," you plead, the fear in your voice palpable, "don't do this. Don't shut me out."

But he shakes his head, his expression pained. "I have to," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Remember our promise?"

Mattheo looks up when he sees you sit next to him, a wide grin on your face as you unpack your bag.

He had seen you here and there in the common room. You always seemed to have an impossibly bright smile, far too lovely for the gloominess of Slytherin.

“Riddle.” You hum with a small grin, and he can't help but let a small smile tug at his lips as he looks over at you.

“What's wrong? You’re looking at me as though I’ve grown another head” You tease as you sit down next to him .

Mattheo blinks in surprise as you address him, the warmth of your smile catching him off guard. He's used to being treated with caution and apprehension, especially given his family's reputation and his own reserved demeanor. But your easy manner and genuine curiosity leave him feeling strangely disarmed.

"Nothing's wrong, just lost in thought, I suppose," he replies, a hint of amusement in his voice as he watches you unpack your bag. Despite himself, he can't help but feel a sense of curiosity about you, wondering what it is that draws you to him when so many others keep their distance.

-•-

“Please-” Mattheo pleads in frustration, slamming the door shut behind him as he storms through the empty common room. You follow after him briskly, slamming the door that separates the common room from the dorms closed with a flick of your wand as you corner him.

“What do you mean, please?” You snap, frowning at him.

“Stop-” He says, his movements exasperated as he motions between the two of you “- this! Stop trying to be friends with me! It’s for your own good.” He says, looking up at you.

You let out a dry laugh, a mix of amusement and frustration as you shove him lightly.

“Oh fuck off. So you can kiss me and spend every evening with me but when it suits you we are just friends. You don't get to decide what’s good for me, Mattheo. I choose what I do and who I associate with, and if that hurts me then so fucking be it.” You retort harshly. Mattheo goes to interject but you cut him off.

“No! You don't get to choose when you want to be with me. I want you, Mattheo. All of you. I couldn’t give two flying shits about who your father is, or who you associate with. I'm capable of making my own decisions.”

He remains silent, his expression torn between turmoil and guilt, as your words hang heavy in the air between you. You feel slightly guilty for your outburst and your expression softens, reaching out to hold his hand gently as you speak.

"You know, if you really think it's that dangerous for me to be around you, you could always just obliviate me. Make me forget about you completely."You quip, trying to lighten the mood

For a moment, Mattheo's shock gives way to a burst of laughter, the tension in the room dissipating as he shakes his head in disbelief. "You're impossible," he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

-•-

You pull back from Mattheo, shaking your head. “No. No, that was a joke.” You stammer, but he turns to you.

“It wasn’t. We spoke about it afterwards. You promised me.” Mattheo says, sternly.

You know he’s right. You only agreed because the idea seemed so laughable. But now it was a reality, and you could see the hurt and disappointment in Mattheo's eyes.

Tears well up in your eyes as you struggle to find the right words, the weight of everything crashing down on you like a ton of bricks. "I love you, Mattheo," you say, more of a plea than anything else. He draws you into him, a strong arm wrapping around you tightly, as though he is scared to let you go. His hand cups the back of your head, pulling your head down to rest on his shoulder as he kisses the top of your head.

“I know. I love you too. That's why we have to.” He murmurs, trying his hardest to not let his voice break.

-•-

It’s not fair.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

Mattheo had just found it. Found his reason for living. Found his reason to keep going when all the odds were stacked against him. You were the air he breathed, the light that lit his life up and the tender hand that soothed him. You were his everything, and you had to be snatched away from him.

He gently raps on the door to your dorm, just to let you know he was about to enter before cracking the door open. You hastily scramble, shoving the book you were writing with under your pillow as you spot Mattheo.

He notices but he doesn't say a thing, no, he can't. Because in a few minutes, it would be as though he never existed to you. He couldn't tell what would have hurt more, you not being able to see him, or you not even knowing who he was. You’d hold his heart in your hands, unknowingly, and he would be nothing but a stranger.

“Not in here, Please, not in here.” You breathe out, your words hitching in your throat as you fight back tears. He nods wordlessly, taking a step back.

“No one’s in the common room. I’ll uh- go there.” He murmurs, his voice hollow and empty as he turns to leave, unable to bear the thought of facing you for what may be the last time.

As he makes his way down to the common room, every step heavier than the last, he can't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnaws at his insides. It's like a void, swallowing him whole and leaving nothing behind but a hollow shell of the person he used to be.

He finds a seat in the furthermost corner, where you both usually sat, facing the fireplace. He watches the embers crackle and dance, not even noticing your presence till you slide up into the seat next to him. He wants to avert his gaze when he sees the tears in your eyes, but instead, he reaches up.

His hands were shaking. Why were they shaking?

He wipes a stray tear from your cheek.

“My wand. Let me go uh-” He blurts , quickly getting up as he looks away. He blinks back tears as he hurries up the stairs. Instead of going up to his dorm, however, he sneaks into yours.

He walks over to your bed, pulling back your pillow. Sure enough, the small book you were so desperate to conceal from Mattheo was there. He looks around and then with a small huff, tucks it into his back pocket. He hurries back downstairs.

Returning to the common room, he sits back down next to you, his hand reaching out to gently intertwine with yours as you sit together in silence. For a while, you don't say anything. You fear that speaking will break this small bubble, where time has frozen and you can just enjoy your last moments together.

As Mattheo gently cups your face, his touch trembling with the weight of what's to come, he feels the soft dampness of your tears against his fingertips. Your eyes, filled with sorrow and pleading, search his for some semblance of reassurance, some sign that this isn't the end.

"I can't do this," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, his heart breaking with every word. "I can't lose you. You mean everything to me. I’m so scared"

Your sobs fill the air around you, the sound like a knife to Mattheo's heart as he struggles to hold back his own tears. He leans in, pressing his lips against yours in a tender, bittersweet kiss, savouring the taste of your lips one last time before it's all gone.

“I love you.” Is all you can muster. It’s pathetic, but it hurts to even think about anything.

You cling to him desperately, your fingers tangling in his hair as though trying to anchor yourself to the present. Mattheo feels a lump form in his throat, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket, but he knows that he has to do this. For your own safety, for your own sake, he has to let you go.

His forehead presses against yours, taking in every last moment of intimacy he’s granted. You don't open your eyes, and he's grateful, for he doesn't think he could bear to look you in the eye.

“Obliviate.”

The second after he murmurs the words he stumbles away from you, reeling backwards as though your touch has burnt him. You wouldn't remember a thing about him, not even his name. He couldn’t be close to you anymore.

Mattheo watches as you blink, confusion clouding your features as you try to make sense of your surroundings. You look around the room, your eyes scanning the familiar surroundings with a sense of bewilderment, and for a moment, Mattheo's heart clenches with the hope that maybe, just maybe, you'll remember him. But deep down, he knows that it's futile, that the spell has already taken effect, erasing every trace of him from your mind.

You shake your head slightly, as if trying to clear the fog from your thoughts, before turning and heading up to your bed. Mattheo watches you go, his heart breaking with every step you take away from him, knowing that he can never follow.

But then, just as you reach the top of the stairs, you pause, your gaze flickering back to where Mattheo stands in the corner of the room. And in that moment, you give him a small, absentminded smile, the kind of smile you might give to a passing stranger.

Mattheo's heart lurches in his chest at the sight of your smile. He wants to call out to you, to tell you who he is, to beg you to remember him, but he knows that it's pointless. You're gone, lost to him forever, and there's nothing he can do to change that.

As you disappear, he collapses down onto the sofa, He wants to sob, and for a second he thinks he is, a horrible restictive choking feeling in his throat as he looks down at the floor. He reaches into his pocket, fingers fumbling with the small black book, perhaps the last piece of you he’d truly have.

He finds the most recent entry and wipes away the tears that blur his vision as he begins to read.

Don't be alarmed when you see this. I want you to read every word of this carefully. This is you, that is writing. It is the 26th of June, 1996. You might have felt like you’ve woken up in the common room, feeling a bit disoriented.

You were obliviated. And it was your idea.

When you were that annoying, pestering little kid, you had taken it upon yourself to befriend a boy called Mattheo Riddle. You’ll see him over the next few days, perhaps. He might look at you as though it hurts him to. It most definitely does. He’s devastatingly handsome, with the softest brown curls and the most expressive eyes. I do believe you won't need me to describe him. Really, my love for him is so strong I doubt any sort of obliviate can erase the idea that Mattheo Riddle lives within the recesses of your heart. Everyone had warned you of how dangerous he was, how his father was rumoured to be the Dark Lord and that he was bound to be no good. But you, in your true Slytherin ambition, set out on a mission to befriend him.

And you fell in love. It was impossible not to, really.

He is everything to me. He was everything to you. He is the most brilliant boy I’ve known. Far too many people gave up on him early. He’s beyond just being incredibly intelligent. He feels. And that’s rarer than you might believe. For someone who was subjected to such horrible things growing up, he is tender. Do not let his bruised knuckles and split lips fool you.

Now, more than ever, he will struggle. He believes you are fully not aware of him. But with this, I hope you are.

Be there for him. Do not tell him about this. You were awfully good at forcing your way into people's lives. Do that for him now. Make him think it was a coincidence. Be there for him, and don’t let his stubbornness fool you. Merlin knows he will be stubborn. He is simply scared, and you mustn’t let that deter you.

People will often compare their lovers to the sun. Bright, warm, near perfect. Mattheo is the moon, casting a gentle glow in the darkness, guiding you through the night. He may not shine as brightly as the sun, but his presence is no less mesmerizing, no less essential.

You had always preferred the moon more, anyway.

Take care of him.

You stupid girl. You stupid, selfish girl.

Mattheo's hands tremble as he reads the letter, his heart constricting with every word, every line. It's like a knife to his heart, the pain of knowing that even in a situation like this, you still found a way to look after him, to care for him, to love him.

Tears blur his vision as he reads on, each word cutting deeper than the last. The book, filled with pages of recollections of the time they spent together, feels like a cruel reminder of everything he's lost, everything he can never get back.You had nearly filled the whole book, addressed to yourself with worries and letters in the hopes of getting your obliviated mind to fall back in love with Mattheo. To remember him, and to negate the whole idea of obliviating yourself by leaving this book for your future self.

And you did all of this just because you wanted to look after him.

It hurts to breathe, to even entertain the idea of going to bed tonight knowing that the love of his life sees him as nothing but a stranger. And in his hands, he holds the thing that could do the impossible, that could somehow reverse it all.

The very selfish part of him wants you to see the book. He wants to slip upstairs, and hide it back under your pillow, and let you find the words you addressed to yourself.

But he couldn’t. He could die far more happily knowing he’s not leaving you behind, no. Really, you were never his, the two of you forcing destiny in the opposite direction, living on borrowed time. Now he has to face the consequences of it all, and if he can stop you bearing the brunt of it, then he’s made no mistake.

He places the book down on the table, and doesn’t think twice about his actions.

“Incendio.”