#from the tower of diagon alley

[gonzodangerfeels]

Praise be thanks to the algorithm which chooses which picture to show me when I hover and lock the start button

[super-clearlysaltybouquet]

The One With the Blouse (1/2)

Part 1/2

Wolfstar x reader      Sirius Black x reader      Remus Lupin x reader      Sirius Black x Remus Lupin      Sirius Black x reader x Remus Lupin 

Established couple (throuple)

Summary: Reader cares about how people see her, tensions boil over when the group get ready for a Gryffindor party

Warnings:

Angst (argument)

Hurt (and minimal comfort…)

Lots of insecurity, feeling disposable in a relationship

my first fic ever so please be kind…will potentially write a part 2 if people like this one (feedback is welcomed)

word count: 1.8k

Sirius looks so pretty in his white blouse. The silk brings out his dark hair perfectly, and the fabrics warm undertones complimented his pale skin. “Is all the fuss really necessary?” Sirius asked, bothering with the bow neckline of the blouse.

“You want to look good, don’t you?” You respond stiffly, tying, and re-tying the bow, unsatisfied with how it sits around his neck. 

“You forgot to Iron it.”, you say, Tying, untying, re-tying. Completely zeroed in.

“Does it really matter?” Sirius responds, completely exasperated.

Remus watches on from the armchair by his bed. It’s standard routine at this point. Before every common room party, Remus is ready by dinner - always a plain top and trousers, today a white T-shirt with blue jeans. “Very James Dean”, Sirius had said. He's been sitting there entirely patient on the same armchair for the past two hours, reading only half attentively as you and Sirius get ready.

“Sweetheart, the bow is fine”, Remus advises gently. He’s not in a rush, but he can tell that as much as you usually enjoy it, today the up-doing process is stressing you out. 

“No..no, not yet”, you respond absentmindedly, still fixated on Sirius’s blouse. 

Tying, untying, re-tying the bow. Sirius huffs out a humourless laugh and takes a quick step back turning completely away from you. Your hands are still held up, frozen where his neck would be. Your eyebrows furrow, and Remus looks up from his book.

“It’s the same every bloody time!”, Sirius suddenly cries out, you’re completely taken aback. 

“Sirius”, Remus warns.

“Godric, Forgive me! I didn’t iron my fucking blouse!”, he feigns, “You’re suffocated me” he finishes, coldly, glaring daggers straight through you. He’s still so beautiful, with his ebony hair hanging long and dark over his face, but the pit in your stomach is somehow darker. 

Remus is stood to his full height now, book abandoned. “You’re out of line”, his anger still somehow contained. And Sirius has the gall to let out a laugh. The party in the common room seems to have started. You can hear music and laughing below the bluestone floors. You try and divert your focus to that lively sound and take it off the painful bob in your throat. 

“I’m out of line? You’re kidding Moony”, Sirius laughs. his lack of sincerity is incredibly unnerving. “The bitch is vapid”, and your heart nearly stops, you can feel the sick climbing up your throat. Remus is seething, but you’re not sure he knows exactly what to say anyway. 

“What?”, is all you can muster hopelessly. 

Sirius takes a step towards you, and you all seem to move at once. You take one step back at the same time Remus steps between you and the shorter boy.

“Cut it out Sirius”, Remus warns, towering above the both of you with his height, and his domineering demeanour. But Sirius is undeterred.

“You. are. entirely. vapid”, he repeats, now looking over at you past Remus’s shoulder. “you’re just like my mother” he whispers to himself, like some sort of secret revelation, and you just want it all to end. “Completely superficial, shallow, and entirely vapid” he seethes, before turning back away from you again, taking in a slow deep breath. You think you can hear his heart beating nearly just as quick as yours.

Sirius’s accusation sits inside you. You can’t deny that you do like nice things. Your jewellery was all made custom, you shopped at the best boutiques on Diagon Alley, and you kept up appearances. 

Your parents have always been devastatingly high-achieving. You were no stranger to the odd charity gala, or pureblood ball. So, for you that meant endless expectations to live up to. Making sure clothes were ironed, hair was done right and shoes were all polished was just second nature. You pay attention to these things because you have to. Your label as a “washed-up-witch” in Witch Weekly’s coverage of the Macmillan ball in 72 serves as a reminder. Filtered through pre-teen public humiliation, these things stick. As deflated as you felt regarding Sirius’s outburst, you could feel an equal anger bubbling just below the surface. 

“You did not just compare me to your draconian fanatic of a mother”, is the first thing that leaves your lips. Your eyes are wide, and that anger is bubbling over. Yet, your voice is so level that you think you just might have the upper hand. You can tell that Sirius was expecting you to respond with equal fervour, he wanted a fight, and your composure has caught him off guard. You think for a second, maybe he didn’t even mean to hurt you. 

Remus would back you up if you needed him to, but he knows you really don’t need him to. You’d like to say your piece, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze in support.

“Just because you can afford to reject tradition and expectation doesn’t mean we all have that luxury” you seethe.

Sirius has always had the reputation of a Black Sheep, but it made him shine nevertheless. Every act of rebellion on his part was praised and admired by your peers. But as a woman in the 70s, and the only child in a pureblood family - you were often subject to incomparable scrutiny.

“Maybe I’m too much sometimes” your voice breaks, and the tears have started to flow of their own accord now. Rushing like silent broken faucets, or shower heads. Sirius’s eyes flash with regret. You look up at the ceiling to blink them back, and Remus gives your hand another squeeze, silently shaking his head and biting his tongue. He’s glaring at Sirius with a healthy mixture of disappointment, and something akin to fury.

“I can’t help but care about how I look”, you whisper to no one in particular, “This is usually fun, getting dressed up together”, and Sirius looks completely in despair. That almost cocky, goading aura that surrounded him has been evaporated by your undeniable heartbreak. He’s fidgeting with the hem of the blouse now, and his fingers move hesitantly up to his neckline, where your hands sat only moments ago. He’s palming at the skin there, as it slowly turns pink from the pressure.

“I’m only fussy because I care, Sirius”, you say wavering, lip quivering as your crying takes both your eyes, and your voice. He can’t look you in the eye.

The subtext isn’t missed by either of the boys, you care because you love them. You enjoy dressing them up because you want them to look good and enjoy themselves. To protect them from any anxiety associated with landing on a worst dressed list, even informally among the Gryffindor party-goers three flood below.

You look down at your disco boots, perfect stockings and shift dress. It all feels so silly now, wearing the outfit you picked out three days in advance. You want to crawl out of your skin, and you really don’t feel like dancing. Sirius is still palming at his collarbones, staring with dazed and shallow eyes at his feet and the floor below them. You can’t see his face properly behind his hair, but you know him well enough to think he might be crying too. “I hope you’re proud of yourself Black” Remus chimes in, and you wince at the use of that last name. Remus’s hand rubs small circles around the back of your neck, you can't help but want his hot skin off you.

“I-I didn’t-”, Sirius starts, but you walk from the room with Remus quick at your heels before he can finish. 

The stairway down to the common room is empty, with the party building up below. It’s just you and Remus standing still on the stairs. “You know he didn’t mean that”, Remus says kindly, more for your sake than Sirius’s. He’s brushing the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, and gently pushing the hair back from around your face. “He gets like this when he’s stressed, it’s not your fault”, he reassures, kissing the top of your head. 

“I stressed him, I should have just let him be”, you whisper, and Remus is silent. This is the first big fight you've had as a couple. You’re a slightly more recent addition to their pairing. Quips and little disagreements have never been an issue. Even when you were all just friends these things were always resolved in a matter of minutes - or a few hours at most, but this is the first time a spat has ended in tears. 

You wonder if this was a mistake. You hope to Godric that Remus isn’t thinking it too. “I think I’ll go to bed”, you say finally, and you can feel him frown. 

“But you were so excited for tonight” he says sadly, more of an acknowledgment, you know he doesn’t mean to change your mind. You’re all hardly in the mood for a party.

“Maybe you and Sirius can still have some fun”, and you hope it doesn’t come across as bitter, but Remus’s solemn expression suggests otherwise, he lets it go.

“I’ll talk to him”, Remus assures, as he molds his body around yours in a much-needed embrace. Having him so close stirs a vulnerability within you, and you’re sure that if you could see his face, you wouldn't have the courage to open your mouth. 

“Maybe we were wrong”, you whisper into his chest, scared. 

Remus is burning 20 degrees hotter.

“What makes you say that?”, he responds measured, but the unease in his voice is palpable. He’s pulled back to look at your face now, and you fidget under his gaze. You give him a look to say without words, ‘are you kidding?’.

“But you know we love you”, Remus says desperately, more of a question than a statement, gripping the sides of your head firmly, so as to say, ‘please believe me’. You just shake your head between his hands. “You heard him, didn’t you?”, you start, “Completely superficial, shallow, and entirely vapid” you quote, and Remus cringes. 

“I’ll talk to him”, he repeats.

“No, no its okay, I’m going to bed”, you say, almost completely defeated by the tidal wave of self-doubt flooding through you.

“Dove-”

“How about you talk to him, and you two can decide what we do from here”, Remus looks heartbroken at the implication.

“Surely you don’t think we don’t want to see you anymore?”, There seems to be something sparkly welling in his eyes too, Godric, what a horrible evening.

You’re so in your head you hardly register Remus’s question. When he goes to pull you close again you take a small step back, your fingers still interlinked. The moonlight shines in through the stained glass, and the sparkle of salt in Remus’s eyes begins to fall. You can hear Diana Ross’s smooth voice echoing off the stone from downstairs, tonight could have gone so differently. You can’t help but feel you’ve caused all this. Whatever animosity Sirius seems to have been harbouring towards you, you’re sure it lives inside Remus too, even if you can’t see it yet. You turn around before you have the chance to look back.

“I’m going to bed”.

[stateofmarauders]

About You - James Potter

“Do you think I have forgotten about you?”

London hasn't really changed since the last time you were there.

It was charming as ever —timeless in its blend of old-world elegance and modern bustle. The streets were alive with their familiar rhythm: the hum of black cabs, the distant chime of church bells, and the chatter of bundled-up locals and tourists. The bridges over the Thames stretched gracefully as always, framed by a skyline where historic spires stood side-by-side with sleek glass towers. Every corner seemed to whisper stories, as if the city itself had been waiting patiently to welcome you back.

You strolled through the streets, colourful leaves crunching under your footsteps. You had no idea where you were going, relying on your instincts to guide you. You could’ve contacted your friends from Hogwarts to ask them if they want to meet up. You could’ve contacted him. But you didn’t. He probably doesn’t even remember you anymore.

He must have forgotten about you.

The thought lingered, bittersweet and unshakable, as you wandered through the city that seemed to remember everything. The golden light of the late afternoon wrapped London in a familiar warmth, but your heart felt caught in a chill. You had always told yourself it was better this way—leaving the past untouched, preserved like a perfect photograph. Yet, as the memories surfaced, unbidden, you couldn’t help but wonder if he ever walked these same streets, thinking of you too.

Perhaps it was foolish to hold onto the echoes of what once was, but you couldn’t help yourself. This town screamed his name.

You shook your head, trying to dispel the ache that swelled with each passing thought. But no matter how much you tried to focus on the now—the vibrant city bustling around you—his shadow remained, trailing you like the autumn leaves caught in the breeze.

———————————————————————

James Potter stood on the crowded pavement of Diagon Alley, leaning casually against the doorway of Quality Quidditch Supplies. He was supposed to be here to pick up a new pair of gloves before the Gryffindor team’s next match, but his mind was elsewhere.

His hazel eyes followed the movement of the crowd with idle curiosity, though his trademark grin tugged faintly at the corners of his mouth as he greeted passing friends and acquaintances. The chill of autumn was biting, but James barely felt it. He rarely felt the cold—it was hard to feel much of anything when his thoughts were as loud as they were today.

For the first time in ages, he wasn’t thinking about Quidditch strategies or even his mates back at Hogwarts. No, today his mind had wandered somewhere he usually tried not to let it go. Someone, to be exact.

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, ignoring the breeze that tousled his already messy hair, and allowed himself to think about her. About you.

The last time he’d seen you, you had been laughing. That was how he remembered it, anyway—your laughter, bright and full of life, echoing in his mind as if it were a memory burned into his soul. You had that way about you, didn’t you? You could fill a room just by being in it.

He had told himself not to dwell. People came and went in life, and Hogwarts had its way of making the fleeting feel permanent. But here he was, standing in the middle of the busiest wizarding shopping district in the country, wondering if he’d ever run into you again.

“Oi, James!” Sirius Black’s familiar voice broke through his thoughts. James looked up to see his best friend striding toward him, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

“What’s got you standing there like a lost Puffskein?” Sirius asked, slapping James on the shoulder.

James forced a laugh, the easy mask slipping back into place. “Just thinking, mate. Trying to decide whether I’d look better in black dragonhide gloves or burgundy. The decisions I have to make, eh?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You’re full of it, Potter. I know that look. Who’s got you all tangled up in your own head?”

James hesitated for a beat, his grin faltering ever so slightly. He glanced away, watching a group of witches hurrying by with packages from Flourish and Blotts.

“No one,” he said finally, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue.

Sirius snorted. “Right. And I’m about to join the Celestina Warbeck fan club.”

James rolled his eyes and then stared into the distance.

“Two years ago, today. . .” James spoke, trying hard to say the painful words, “she left.”

Sirius sighed. “You haven’t spoken about her in so long. I thought, we all thought, you got over it. Over her.”

James exhaled a sharp breath, his jaw tightening as he shifted on his feet. “Yeah, well,” he said, his voice low and uneven, “you were wrong.”

Sirius tilted his head, the usual teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something softer. It wasn’t often that James Potter showed cracks in his confident, easygoing exterior. But Sirius knew better than anyone how deep James’s feelings ran—how loyal he was to the people he cared about, even if he didn’t always say it out loud.

“I don’t get it,” Sirius said after a moment, folding his arms. “You’ve had girls throwing themselves at you since third year, mate. But her—” He paused, searching for the right words. “She wasn’t even… I mean, she was brilliant, but she wasn’t the type of girl you usually go for.”

James’s head snapped up, a flicker of defiance sparking in his hazel eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Relax,” Sirius said, holding up his hands. “I just mean she was… different. Muggle-born, quiet. Not exactly a Quidditch groupie, was she?”

James shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “No, she wasn’t. That’s what made her so… I don’t know. Real.”

Sirius frowned, leaning back against the shop window. “So why haven’t you done something about it? Two years is a long time to mope around.”

“I’m not moping,” James said quickly, though his voice lacked conviction. He kicked at a stray cobblestone, avoiding Sirius’s piercing gaze. “It’s not that simple. She’s out there in her world, living her life. She probably doesn’t even think about me anymore.”

Sirius snorted. “That’s bollocks, and you know it.”

James blinked, caught off guard. “What are you on about?”

“You don’t just forget someone like that, James,” Sirius said, his tone unusually serious. “If you haven’t let her go, what makes you think she’s let you go?”

James didn’t answer right away. The noise of Diagon Alley seemed to fade around them, replaced by the steady thrum of his own heartbeat. He wanted to believe Sirius was right. Merlin, he wanted to. But the fear of reaching out and finding nothing there—no spark, no connection—kept him frozen.

“What if she has?” James finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

———————————————————————

James wasn’t usually one to brood, but today the city felt heavy. The memory of his conversation with Sirius lingered, as did the unanswered questions that followed him like shadows. What if she had forgotten him? What if she hadn’t?

The thought was maddening, but James wasn’t ready to let it go. His feet carried him aimlessly through the bustling streets, weaving past bundled-up strangers and dodging the occasional pigeon. He kept his head down, trying to shake off the nagging ache in his chest.

He didn’t notice the figure until it was too late.

“Sorry!” you exclaimed as you collided with him, your shoulder bumping against his. Your shopping bag slipped from your hand, the contents spilling out onto the pavement.

“No, it’s my fault,” James said automatically, bending down to help. He reached for a book at the same time you did, and his hand brushed against yours.

“Here, let me—”

The words died on his lips as he looked up and saw your face.

You froze, the breath catching in your throat. For a moment, neither of you moved, your gazes locked in a mix of shock and disbelief.

“James?” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the noise of the street.

James swallowed hard, his mind racing. He hadn’t seen you in two years—not since the day you’d left Hogwarts—and yet here you were, as if the universe had decided to play some cruel trick on him.

“It’s you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He straightened up, still clutching your book in his hand. “I—wow. Hi.”

You blinked, your cheeks flushing. “Hi.”

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with all the things left unsaid. James searched your face, looking for answers to questions he didn’t even know how to ask.

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, avoiding his gaze.

“What are you doing here?” He repeated your question. “You’re supposed to be in America!”

“I’m here for just a week. My cousin’s getting married in a few days.”

“Married,” James repeated your words once again. “How exciting.”

You smiled, finally meeting his gaze for the first time. You’ve felt the same feeling you used to feel when you saw him. “Yes, it is. And what about you? What are you doing in Muggle London?”

His grin returned, faint but familiar. “Avoiding Sirius. He’s been nagging me about Quidditch gloves all day.”

Your lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Some things never change, do they?”

James laughed softly, the sound warm and easy. “No, I guess they don’t. Except you—you’ve changed.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and for a moment, he regretted them. But you didn’t look offended. If anything, you looked almost… wistful.

“Two years is a long time, James,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” he said, his throat tight. “It is.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy again, and James found himself wanting—no, needing—to fill it.

“I thought about writing to you,” he blurted, his cheeks flushing as the admission hung in the air. “A lot, actually.”

You blinked, startled. “Why didn’t you?”

James hesitated, his confidence faltering. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I thought maybe you’d moved on. I didn’t want to mess things up for you.”

You stared at him, your expression unreadable. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Did you move on?”

James opened his mouth to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. Because the truth—the messy, complicated truth—was that he hadn’t. Not really.

Instead, he reached up to scratch the back of his neck, a nervous habit that hadn’t changed since your Hogwarts days. “I guess I thought if I saw you again, I’d have my answer.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you didn’t let it show. “And do you?”

James looked at you, his hazel eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Not yet,” he said softly.

A chill wind swept through the street, rustling the leaves at your feet, and you pulled your coat tighter around you. James noticed and cleared his throat, his voice breaking the tension.

“There’s a café just up the road,” he said, nodding toward the corner. “It’s warm, and they do this cinnamon hot chocolate that’s… well, it’s something else. If you’ve got time, that is.”

You hesitated, your mind spinning with a thousand reasons to say no. But then you looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the boy you used to know. The boy you used to care for, who still looked at you like no one else existed.

“Alright,” you said, your lips curving into a small, tentative smile. “Lead the way, Potter.”

James’s grin broke through, bright and unguarded, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight between you didn’t feel so heavy.

As he walked beside you, the golden light of the late afternoon casting a soft glow over the streets, James couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—he was finally getting his answer.

[lemoncherrypop]

To Build A Home

seventeen x harry potter au

deatheater!seungcheol x gryffindorprincess!reader

summary:  The war has finally come and your entire world falls into ruin. After a surprise attack from the Death Eaters, you barely escape with your life and find refuge in a faraway safe house. Everything would have been fine, all things considered, except for the fact that you had fallen right into the snake’s pit. 

notes: finally! a delicious backstory for our two main characters. let's get FUCKED UP, shall we? length: 8.7k

Series Masterlist

One l Two l Three | Four | Five | Six l coming soon...

Chapter Six

//

Year One

The first thing you noticed was his crooked smile.

Then his messy, unkempt bangs falling over his heavy-lidded eyes and the long lashes that almost brushed his cheeks everytime he blinked. Then came the almost cruel twinkle in his eyes as he shouldered a freckled boy aside to push his way to the front.

He swung his arms around two other boys— a quiet-looking one with circular glasses and another with a chipped, toothy grin— laughing uproariously at some joke you couldn’t hear over the nervous chatter of the other students around you. You clenched the sleeves of your brand new cloak into fists, feeling just as nervous as the rest.

Two months ago, you didn't even know magic existed— until an owl flew in through your open kitchen window, dropped a thick letter in the middle of your family breakfast. Before anyone could even scream in surprise, the doorbell rang. Your father, wide-eyed and frightened, slowly walked to the door. After a short, muffled conversation, he returned with a woman in a long emerald green dress, a black cloak and a dramatically pointed hat. She took the empty chair next to you, and in a calm, polite voice, explained everything.

She seemed to know about every unexplainable incident that has happened to your life: how the bullies at school tripped into puddles that strangely appeared out of nowhere, how your hair grew to your desired length whenever your mother cut it too short, and how, whenever your parents steered you away from the candy aisle at the grocery store, a handful of your favourite toffees mysteriously appeared in your right pocket.

“There’s magic in you,” she said warmly, placing her soft hands on yours. “At Hogwarts, we will teach you everything about magic and how to use it. You’re a witch, little one.”

You couldn't fully understand it then, even if you wanted to, but it thrilled you nonetheless. It was like your favourite fantasy book had come to life. At eleven years old, the world was full of wonders, and fear didn’t yet exist in your mind. From shopping in Diagon Alley to running through the bricked wall at Platform 9 ¾ , to unwrapping your first chocolate frog on the Hogwarts Express, you were brimming with excitement.

It all felt like a dream.

But then, the double doors swung open, and reality struck. The Great Hall, as the headmistress called it, was simply breathtaking. Four identical long tables overflowed with glistening food. Towering windows lined the room, and the ceiling reflected the jaw-dropping beauty of the night sky, shimmering with the starry constellations that were illuminated alongside countless dripping wax candles.

Now, it all felt real.

The noise around you faded, leaving only the sound of your heartbeat. Every first-year student was herded down the centre, made to stand before the Sorting Hat. The boy with the crooked smile stood beside you, and your heart raced even faster. His hand brushed yours as he looked down at you with curiosity, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. Just as he was about to say something, the Headmistress called your name.

Swallowing nervously, you looked at the hat, then glanced back at him.

“Good luck,” he whispered, his crooked smile somehow making your heart skip a beat.

It didn’t take much for the Sorting Hat to place you into your new home. Instantly shouting “Gryffindor!” with such a conviction that pride bloomed in your chest. Grinning, you nearly tripped as you ran over to your new family, who welcomed you with open arms.

A dozen students later, his name was called. You watched as he confidently strode up the steps, secretly hoping he'd join your house. But as soon as the hat touched his head, it declared, “Slytherin!” and his crooked smile stretched into a look of complete satisfaction.

It didn’t take long to figure out what kind of person he was: loudmouthed, arrogant and spoiled.

Your first class together was Potions, and you clenched your fists as he bragged about his family’s legacy, his father, who held a high position in the Ministry (whatever that was), was presumably best friends with anyone of any importance. That was apparently the only credentials he needed to boast about being the best in his house, nay— the whole year.

You wanted to swipe that smug smile off his face, so you made a bet: whoever brewed the best potion would win, and the loser would have to lick the dungeon floor after class.

For the first time in your life, you tasted defeat, and lost, monumentally, and unfortunately, the boy with the crooked smile had won, magnificently so.

The taste of it was bitter and gritty on your tongue, but you swallowed it down with dumb pride.

That night, you spent your first of many nights, in the infirmary. Licking up the crusty remnants of decades-old potions in the dungeon probably wasn’t your brightest idea.

Class after class, month after month, the rivalry intensified, fights broke out, detentions were made, and bets were gambled amongst classmates. He had an ego that you were determined to quash, while your unbreakable pride was a challenge he seemed set on ruining.

There was an unspoken, mutually understood plan for destruction, and this was just the beginning.

//

Year Two

One day, after a particularly satisfying victory over escaping a bludger in Flying Class, you jokingly called yourself the Queen of Gryffindor, seeing as how you managed to get your house the most points in your class the year before. It was only a matter of time, you figured, everyone could see just how valuable you were to the best house at Hogwarts.

Sneering from the loser’s side, the boy with his crooked grimace slammed his textbook shut. It was unfortunate that he overheard your joke, because at that moment, he thought it was more appropriate to call you the “Princess of Gryffindor” instead, someone naive, weak, spoiled, and disgustingly adored by everyone around her.

Somehow, the nickname stuck. That was the kind of influence he had, and the most you resisted, the harder he clung to your new “title”. Soon, even the older students from other houses were calling you “Princess” without bothering to learn your real name.

But despite the teasing and the jokes, you had no trouble making friends. Friendly and bubbly, you were always ready to help out a classmate or sneak off to the kitchens with friends for a snack. Within the first week back, you had made a new friend in Charms class, and he came with the face of an angel. Jeonghan was wicked good at the levitating charm, and when you caught him using the charm to swap his worn dragon-hide gloves for newer ones in Herbology, you knew you had to be friends.

With a flick of his long hair behind his ears, he placed his hand on yours to help you practise the charm during lunch in the Great Hall. All around you, students were busy scribbling homework into their scrolls and practising spells, cheeks stuffed with food.

“Hold it steady,” he said, “It’s LeviOsa, not LeviosA.”

When the half eaten scone successfully floated from your plate to his, you reached over and clapped your hands with his in victory. Just as you were about to float a glass of pumpkin ale into your hands, the boy with his crooked smile sauntered over and plopped down right next to your new friend.

As friendly and helpful as you were, this boy was charming. Even as a bully, he somehow managed to win others over with his words and his smile. He knew exactly what to say in order to get the things he wanted, and despite being notorious for his antics even as a second year, people loved him. And your new friend, like everyone else, fell for his wicked smile, and not even a week later, they practically became attached at the hip despite him not even being in Slytherin.

It was clear he’d come over to ruin something you enjoyed—whether it was spellwork, class, or even friendships, he delighted in getting in your way. And although he usually didn’t take it too seriously, somehow, his friendship with Jeonghan stuck. It stung. Jeonghan was supposed to be your friend, yet here he was, swept away by the boy with the crooked smile, like so many other things he wanted from your life.

A month later, you challenged him to a duel after Potions class. Quick on your feet and fast with your temper, the boy lost, embarrassingly, and this had marked your historic first win in duelling.

During breakfast the next morning, still bitter from his loss, he saw you talking to Seokmin, another muggle-born like you. Fuelled by resentment from his loss the night before, he thought it was only fair to bully the pair of you together.

“Filthy Mudblood,” he called you.

A word you were completely unfamiliar with. It wasn’t until an older housemate had intervened and threatened to call a professor on him that you realised the gravity of the word.

There was a stubbornness in how he wanted to stand his ground, but the Headmaster was slowly making his way down the aisle to his seat at the Professor’s table, and the fear of being caught made him slink back to his table. Right them, you swore to defeat him in every way imaginable. Be it in class, in pride, or reputation.

And so, the childish pranks began at this time.

“Wingadium leviosa.”

A discreet flick of your wand, and a vial of Hair-Raising Potion slipped into his soup. Watching every hair on his body, from even his brows to his lashes, stand on end was almost too delightful. He looked as if he got electrocuted, the shock in his eyes even adding to the charm of the potion.

He knew it was you. Even with your laughter getting lost in the bustle of the Great Hall, he knew because it would only ever be you.

This catapulted your feud in full force. The pranks were constant, riotous, and sometimes downright diabolical.

He retaliated by dropping a dungbomb on your head before Quidditch practice, forcing you to leave a trail of stink in your wake. In turn, you hit him with a Tickling Charm during History of Magic, making him laugh so hysterically he had to spend two weeks mopping the floor as punishment. He mixed up a rather potent batch of Swelling Solution into your lotion, causing your entire face to balloon, and you got back at him by slipping a few Hiccough Sweets into a Nose-Biting Teacup, so that once he sipped his tea, his nose was attacked by sharp ceramic as he hiccuped uncontrollably. 

But even these pranks weren’t enough. Both young, proud, fiery and dumb, you fought each other in duels as often as you could get away with. Things escalated until the Herbology professor finally had to inform the Headmaster, resulting in a strict duelling ban.

Yet stubbornness and insolent behaviour fueled the two of you to sneak out after bedtime hours for secret duels, and the caretaker had caught you both wand-handed.

The rest of the school year was spent in detention, making sandwiches alongside the house elves in the kitchen.

//

Year Three

Your dorm mate had somehow fallen for the boy with the crooked smile’s evil deception.

“I’m in love!” she declared, spreading her arms wide before falling onto her four-poster bed. You stuck a finger down your throat and pretended to gag. The thought of anyone finding him attractive seemed only possible through the use of Amortencia.

Yet, not even a week later, you were on your way to the library when you saw him leaning in, eyes closed and lips puckered, toward the very same girl, the one who’d vow to marry him after Hogwarts. Your stomach soured at the sight, and a flash of anger went through you that he was showing anyone else but you, his attention.

This feeling didn’t make any sense to you. So, you decided to hex him.

“Locomotor Mortis.”

All four of his limbs snapped together, pressing against his body as he stiffened and toppled forward, straight into your dorm mate’s chest. She shrieked in embarrassment, shoving him off before fleeing, leaving him rigid and crooked-smiled as he fell onto the cold, marble floor.

Howls of laughter rang from a large tapestry just paces away, and the heads of Mingyu and Minghao were peeking out from the embroidered drapery of Hogwarts’ very first Potions professor. Undoubtedly, the pair of them hid in the back to watch and see how their friend’s first kiss would go. Calm and steady, Wonwoo approached, kneeling to work the counterspell.

“You should have listened to Jeonghan,” he murmured, “He told you to go somewhere more private.”

As the spell melted off his body, he slowly got back up onto his feet, his face the colour of an unforgivable scarlet. Not even two steps towards you (because somehow, he always knew where you were), Minghao hooked his arm around his neck and held him back.

He unleashed a spiel of curses as Mingyu joined in with Minghao,wiping away tears from laughter. “You better run, Princess!” he shouted at you, wrapping his lanky arm around his shoulders and holding him back as well. “We’re only helping you this one time for giving us such a good laugh!”

For a moment, you locked eyes with him. You’ve never seen such humiliation in his eyes before, and a sinking feeling in your chest told you that you didn’t enjoy it.

“Why aren’t you running?” Mingyu questioned, still laughing. “Or have you got another trick up your sleeve?”

Minghao leans down to whisper something into the boy’s ear and he rips his gaze away from you, burning even brighter still.

“He would have done the same,” you stubbornly say, trying to mask a strange nervousness. “Worse even, probably.”

His gaze found yours again with a ferocity that burned so heavily, it was only ever made for you.

So you run. The laughter of the other boys still ringing down the corridor as your heart began to beat erratically in your chest. He was your enemy, and you were his, and that was all you ever knew of each other. Yet, in that instant, you couldn’t shake the thought: what if things had been different? What if, on that very first day at Hogwarts, he’d walked beside you towards the Sorting Hat, leaning in just a little closer?

Running up moving staircases and through endless doors, and past old classrooms and abandoned bathrooms, you wondered what it would have been like if he had closed his eyes and leaned toward you instead.

Your heart continued to beat wildly in your chest, even as you crawled under your covers and tried to shut the sight of his wrathful eyes away from your mind. You were a Gryffindor and he was a Slytherin, and being natural enemies, this feud between the two of you was just how the world was supposed to work. He had no interest in you, he made it more than clear when he called you a Mudblood for the first time. You needed to feel the same about him.

So you pushed those inane thoughts away, the thoughts of him leaning in close, his breath mingling with yours, and the look in his eyes softened with anything other than hate. You pushed them down to the deepest parts of your soul, and locked them away. You knew better than letting them see the light.

The rest of the year was relentless. You hexed and pranked him viciously, hoping he’d rack up enough detentions or lose enough points to sabotage Slytherin’s standing, but he came at you with a different, crueler kind of fury.

He sabotaged any boy who tried to get close to you. How he always seemed to know who was interested in you, you’d never understand. But each time, you’d find out the hard way. You would peel back your bed sheets to the sight of shredded flower petals, ripped up letters of confessions, or shards of broken glasses of your favourite fizzy drinks. His “gifts” were a painful reminder of what you had cost him.

It became harder for you to make friends after this. Nights in the dining hall grew more lonely. You had lost your friendship with Jeonghan, Vernon averted his gaze in class, Seungkwan stopped sneaking into the kitchens with you, and Soonyoung once fled at the sight of you approaching in the hallway.

There was only one person who would wish such unhappiness upon you, and it was all because you’d ruined his first kiss.

How you would ever get back at him for this, you did not know.

You weren’t ever sure if you wanted to.

//

Year Four

It was a miserably cold and wet day, and Gryffindor had lost against Hufflepuff in the first match of the Quidditch season. Seokmin found you sulking just outside the Quidditch changing room and pulled you back inside the empty tent to apologise.

“Apologise for what?” You frowned, the frustration of losing clearly bringing tears to the edge of your eyes. “You guys won fair and square.”

“Doesn’t make me feel any less bad,” he replied, guilt written all over his face. “You played so well today too! You could have won if—”

“Except we didn’t,” you interrupted. “We lost. Everyone was witness to it.”

“They also saw how brilliantly you dove to get the quaffle after it dropped. It was like you disappeared in front of me and reappeared within a blink of an eye.”

Blinking back the tears, you try not to let his compliment overwhelm you. “Thanks,” you muttered.

“We got a rematch in a couple months,” he offered with a hopeful smile. “Hope it’ll be another great game.”

A deep sigh came out of you, trying to blow the disappointment out of your mind in one big breath. “We’ll just kick your ass next time,” you replied, forcing a smile.

Seokmin grinned back, his smile so bright it seemed to light up the tent.

You were about to head back out when he gently caught your arm.

“Actually, I came back here because… well…” Seokmin’s face had suddenly changed into a bashfulness you’ve never seen on him. “I wanted to tell you s-something,” he stammered, the tips of ears looking bright red.

Looking up at him curiously, you nodded. “Yeah?”

“I— I just wanted to tell you… that I— “

You chuckled at how flustered he got all of a sudden. “Well? Out with it.”

“I like you,” he confesses. “I like you, please, go out with me.”

It was shocking just how quickly your face matched the colour of his.

And then he kissed you.

And you kissed him back.

And he was your first kiss.

And you were his.

And it felt so right.

Seokmin was always so sweet to you.

There were always whispers amongst the upperclassmen, saying that the fourth year at Hogwarts will be the first real year for students. You never understood it until now, because now, you finally had a boyfriend. Walking hand in hand with Seokmin down the hallways felt like someone had pulled back a curtain, revealing a new world of couples sneaking off into alcoves, whispering sweet nothings, or snogging openly against the windows.

Then, down the hall, you saw him— the boy with his hair as tousled as ever, his grin as maddeningly crooked. Leaning casually against a closed door, he whispered something to Ravenclaw’s Seeker, who giggled, her long black hair swaying as she tilted her head to meet his gaze. He pressed her body close against his and your steps quickened, unwilling to witness what was undeniably about to happen. At the sound of your footsteps, he glanced up and saw it was you. He grinned wickedly before leaning in and pressing his lips to the Seeker’s neck.

Without thinking, you tighten your grip on Seokmin’s hand, pulling him behind a giant tapestry of two snakes battling a boar. Before he could ask what was happening, you pulled him down for a kiss. Hastily, Seokmin wrapped his arms around you without hesitation; his love for you was clear in every touch.

This was the year of the Winter Ball, and you were finally at the age to join the school’s most spectacular event of the year.

Countless hours were spent on getting ready for this grandiose party. Pieces of the finest cloth you could afford were pulled together into drapes that would flatter your body. Multicorfor being cast every ten minutes to change your gown to the most magnificent shade of ruby-red, so it looked like you were walking through flames itself. You twisted and twirled your hair until it cascaded down your open back, and the rouge on your lips and cheeks was done just enough to make you glow.

There was a sparkle in your eyes, and you couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear as you descended the stairways to meet your partner.

But there, at the bottom of the stairs, stood the boy with the crooked smile. In the finest of silks and velvet, he was dressed in obsidian black, matching his glowering eyes. 

Almost like he was anticipating you, your footsteps gave you away again, and he snapped his head up, truly looking at you for the first time since that night you ruined his first kiss. You don’t miss the way his eyes look at you, wandering down to your dress and then back up at your eyes. They contort into something completely unreadable, and when his crooked smile vanishes, his eyes seem to hold a hatred you’ve never seen in him before.

It almost seemed like he was angry with himself.

“What a pity,” you said flatly, tilting your head as you reached up to pluck a petal from the rose on his lapel.

“I don’t need your fucking pity,” he seethed through his teeth.

“You tried to scare everyone away from me,” you whispered so no one else could hear. “But it didn’t work.”

He blinked, and then his grin returned, sadistic and crooked. “There’s still time, Princess.”

A shiver ran down your spine, and you walked past him and into the Great Hall with just your silence as response.

With his shiny eyes and impeccably ironed plum coloured suit, Seokmin stood at the entrance, waiting for you. He pinned a red rose into the curls of your hair, and when you were smiling again, he took your hand and the small of your back, and danced in joyful circles around the open floor. His practised steps made you spin and twirl with ease, his whispered confessions melting into your skin.

The night wore on, the candlelights dimmed and the music softened into gentler streams of violin. Seokmin held you close, his lips brushing your cheek as he whispered softly about how much he adored you. His faze flickered down to your lips before returning to your eyes— his telltale sign before a kiss, and you closed your eyes. Gentle as ever, that was always in his nature.

It didn’t take long for the fire to overcome you both. It greedily licked up the delicate layers of your dress, and as you spun around in fright, it caught onto Seokmin’s plum coloured robes and the both of you were set aflame.

“Aguamenti!”

Seokmin had quickly doused the fire, but left both of you drenched. Your beautiful curls wet against your cheeks, the flower in your hair crushed under your own heels, and your beautiful dress, left to almost nothing but burnt tatters. That was how quickly the fire had spread. Seokmin stood there, gasping to catch his own breath, still in shock of his own.

There’s a bark of laughter, and you look up to see the boy with his damned crooked smile. The mocking cackle wasn’t even coming from him, but Mingyu and Minghao who stood on either side, trying their hardest not to draw attention to the violation he’s committed against you.

His grin is wicked as ever, but there is no laughter in his eyes when he stares you down. His wand is hastily shoved into the pockets of his robes, and you can see Wonwoo pulling him back with urgency. His burning gaze never leaves yours as he’s pulled back into the growing crowd, unflinching as tears start blooming in your eyes.

This had cost the two of you dearly. Jean was witness to him setting your dress on fire, and told on the Headmaster, which resulted in his most severe punishment yet. Ruining what was meant to be your most magical night at Hogwarts had cost him three straight months of detention, but it wasn’t enough. Not for you. His act of cruelty on you had cost you Seokmin.

Seokmin ended it with you after that night. Not out of fear, but because he knew being with you would only bring more acts of wickedness. It broke your heart, but you knew he was right. Truth be told, the relationship lasted far longer than you thought possible. You reached up on the tips of your toes to give him one final kiss.

And then it was back. The rageful fire that burned between you and the boy with the crooked smile roared back to life. You watched him reject girls, just as you did with boys. He risked further detentions by tampering with your schoolwork and disrupting your Quidditch practices. You spiked his food with Puking Potions and set his prized books ablaze, a reminder of what he’d done to you.

You knew the year would end as it always did, with both of you serving detention.

This school would never be a safe space for you. Not as long as he was there with you.

//

Year Five

Oddly, to everyone’s dismay, the energy has shifted this year. The dreaded year of the OWLs has finally arrived.

From the very beginning, there was a mad rush to the libraries to get a head start on classwork and studies. Even you and your worst enemy couldn’t deny the importance of these exams. Countless nights were spent on the opposite ends of the long tables in the library. Heads both buried deeply into every book you could grab, quills were being used up left and right, scrawling away furiously into your scrolls.

There was no time for tomfoolery, and yet, you and the boy with the crooked smile— to the surprise of absolutely no one—still managed to find time to wreck absolute havoc.

He was always top of the class in Potions. Five years into Hogwarts, and this much you could admit out loud, even if it was begrudgingly so. However, no one could deny that you were the best in Charms.

During the History of Magic exam, you shot a finger-removing jinx at him multiple times in rapid succession. Minutes in, he was scrambling to pick up his quill with just his two nubs for hands, having lost all ten fingers. He tried to make a scene, but luckily for you, your ghostly Professor stayed soundly asleep, and all your other classmates— tired of your endless rivalry—just shushed him so they could concentrate on their own exam.

It took at least half an hour before his fingers finally grew back, and he managed to write about six inches of essay in his largest handwriting ever before the hourglass ran out.

He got back at you during Potions, like the fucking devil he was, and ruined you more than you could have ever imagined in your worst subject. Your face erupted into an absolute chaos of cystic acne, and the boy’s crooked smile spread so wide at the success of his furnunculus charm. Absolutely livid, your cheeks flushed hotly with a rush of rage until the freshly sprouted boiled burst, splattering messily into your Befuddlement Draught.

Your cauldron bubbled tenfold, spilling and gurgling into your classmate’s cauldrons, and caused a chain reaction of ruined potions. Befuddlement had run amok that day, and clearly from the Professor’s disappointment, it was not from the intended use of the required potion.

You fought back during the Herbology exam. You’d read about a fun new jinx while studying for the OWLs, and who better to test it on than on your worst enemy?

The students were tasked with taming Chinese Chomping Cabbages, Screech Snaps and Fanged Geraniums, and the entire greenhouse was filled with wails from both plants and students alike. He was wrestling a particularly feisty Fanged Geranium when you discreetly snapped your wand in his direction. Bunches of leeks sprouted from his ears, effectively pushing off the precious earmuffs that were crucial for today’s exams, and he clapped his hands over them in pure shock and screamed.

You swallowed down your laughter the best you could, and watched as he ran towards the Professor for help, crying treason as he pointed his wicked finger directly towards you. You mocked surprise as you continued to handle a pair of Chomping Cabbages on your table.

The two of you have always tried your best to not involve anyone else outside of your rivalry, but this year was different. With the relentless onslaught of petty hexes and pranks against each other being performed specifically during the exams, it was impossible to not get your other classmates involved.

Chan was so distracted by the loss of his ten fingers, he wrote the wrong dates down for all four historic battles during the Great Goblin War. Jeonghan’s potion was one of many that also got ruined by the explosion of boils on your face, an incident that he thoroughly berated the both of you for. Vernon and Seungkwan are both certain that they will receive a Dreadful in Herbology because the sudden disturbance of leeks had made them drop their Screech Saps, accidentally crushing them under the soles of their boots.

In the end, both of you lost your houses one hundred and fifty points, and earned a full month in detention.

Knees pebbled with grime and broken bits of stone and wood, you spent hours every night, sweeping away decades long cobwebs and wiping at the grimey corners of every unused room in the castle. And there, right by your side, was him.

Every year that you have spent at Hogwarts, and all those long weeks and months you’ve had detention for, was thankfully on your own. But for some cruel reason, the Headmaster thought it was only fitting that you shared detention this year with him. You believed that he thought the forced proximity between you two will someday create a more cordial relationship.

If only he knew better.

At first, the boy whined and complained the whole time, and you with your impatience and rage, threw buckets full of muddy soapy waters and brooms against the wall in defiance, trying your best to ignore him. If he made one wrong move, said one wrong word, you would have pulled on his hair and collar, and bitten his face clean off.

But the other professors very quickly had threatened for your punishment to go past the school year and into the summer months if anything else went wrong, so the two of you stayed silent. He stopped his grumbling and got to work, and you did your best to scrub, mop, and clean.

Then, on your last week at Hogwarts, he spoke.

“I shouldn’t be in here,” he ground out. “Not with you of all people.”

Rolling your eyes, you don’t even entertain him by responding.

“This is all so beneath me,” he continues, aggravation clear in his tone. “I’d be better off making sandwiches in the kitchen with the elves.”

Still, you stay silent.

And so does he, for only a moment. All you could hear was the angry scrubbing of a decades old mop against the stained marble floor that you knew would never get cleaned.

Then, he breaks open the window out of frustration, throwing the mop onto the floor, and stands there, unmoving.

“If only you hadn’t— if you had just—” he breaks off, unable to finish his sentence. You stop what you're doing now, brows furrowed with annoyance when you sit up from your knees to look at him. He is gazing out the open window, the cool night air swirling in and blowing his hair back, the stars already twinkling out in the night sky.

“If only I hadn’t what?”

His gaze turns towards you. He blinks slowly, his expression vacant. The silence hangs thick between you, only the cool breeze whispering through the cracked window as the castle settles into its nightly stillness. For a moment, you wonder if he’s going to say anything at all. He tears his eyes from you and back out the window. Then, in a voice so soft that it almost seems lost in the wind, he mutters, “If only it had never been you.”

Unsure whether to be offended or intrigued. “Been me?” you repeat, your voice edged with disbelief. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He grips the edge of the window tightly, the white of his knuckles showing. “If you hadn’t been so… stubborn. So fucking infuriating. Maybe…  we never would have gotten to this point.”

You let out a dry laugh. “So it’s my fault we’re both scrubbing the floor at midnight? And here I thought it was because you couldn’t keep yourself from casting boils on my face.”

A ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe,” he says, his voice low and soft. “But you never made it easy for me, did you?”

The question catches you off guard, and in that moment, you recall the years you’ve spent at Hogwarts — the bitter rivalry, the countless hexes and jinxes, the sleepless nights in stubborn competition, and the complete and utter disdain you held for each other. But now, all you can see is the quiet vulnerability that peeks through in his gaze, the lingering traces of something almost… uncertain. You clench your jaws, wanting to break through the strange haze that’s settled over the room, but no words come out.

He stares, expecting you to retort back at him, like you always do. But all you can do is stare back, lips still sealed.

“Forget it,” he murmurs, breaking the silence and picks up his mop.

You swallow down whatever strange feeling has started to well up and return to scrubbing the floor, willing the silence back into the room. But it doesn’t last long. You can feel his glare turn back on you, and before you know it, he’s muttering under his breath again. 

“Maybe,” he says, voice low and cold, “maybe if you didn’t act like you were better than everyone else, we wouldn’t be in his mess every damn year.”

You snap up, tightening your grip on the dirty rag. “Better than everyone?” You echoed disbelievingly. “This is coming out of your mouth?”

He scoffs, giving you a scathing look. “You’ve been going around and acting like you belong with the rest of us. It’s pathetic.”

The word hits you like a slap. The muscle in your jaw ticks, but you force yourself to stay composed. “Is that why you hate me? Because I’m a fucking Mudblood that beats you in duels and charms, and you can’t stand the sight of someone so beneath you winning?”

A dark flush creeps up his neck. “Don’t flatter yourself. Like you’d hold that much importance in my life.” his voice drips with disdain, and for a split second, you can see something flicker in his eyes— a bitterness that goes deeper than the usual rivalry.

Laughter bubbles out despite the tension. “Then why do you keep going out of your way to make my life miserable? Why do you spend all your time finding ways to get under my skin rather than studying for your own exams?”

His face twists, frustration beginning to boil over. “Because you make me—” He stops himself, words hanging in the air, heavy and unfinished. His fists clench, and he looks away, the veins in his neck pulsating. “Forget it.”

But you’re done with his unfinished sentences now. Your patience has worn out. “No, go on,” you say, standing up to face him. “Tell me. Tell me why you hate me so much.”

He glares at you, and before you can blink, he’s stepping forward, practically nose-to-nose with you. “You really want to know?” He snarls. You could smell the sage and rosewood from his collar.

“I do.” You cracked a smile. “Maybe then we could finally end our fighting.”

“Fine,” he snarls, “because every time I see you, every damn time I even think about you, it’s like I’m being reminded of every single thing I can’t stand about myself.”

You take in a sharp breath. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. “You don’t get it, you never will.” His lips are curled, the smell of his cologne getting stronger. “You’re so repulsively stubborn, so fucking persistent, always fighting for something. It’s like—” His hands are shaking at his sides. “You don’t know when to quit, the worst of all these fucking Gryffindors, and every time you don’t, it just… it reminds me that I’m the same and— you make me feel so fucking insane, that I could ever possibly be someone like you—”

The words cut off abruptly, and in that silence, something shifts. Neither of you know what to do with it.

Then, before you can stop yourself, you reach out and grab his collar, pulling him close until the fabric is bunched up in your fists. “Maybe,” you hissed. “Maybe if you stopped blaming me for your problems, you could actually get somewhere in life, instead of living in your family’s shadows.”

Shock flickers across his face before he, too, grabs hold of your collar, pulling you in even tighter. “Let go,” he says, his voice laced with warning. But neither of you releases, fingers digging into the fabric and skin, pushing and pulling, each trying to prove a point you can’t put into words.

“You’re fucking unbelievable,” you spit out, the words trembling with frustration.

He growls, his hand slipping up to the back of your neck, fingers coiling up in your hair. He pulls sharply, enough to make you yelp, and you retaliate, your own hand quickly reaching up to do the same, fingers threading into his hair, tugging hard.

Before you know it, your foot catches on the leg of an old chair, and you’re stumbling backwards. When the chair topples with a loud crash, he steps, catching on the bottom of your robe, and loses his balance. You are roughly pulled down with him, limbs tangling up in each other. The two of you hit the floor hard, the impact jarring as you crash into a worn desk. A pile of ancient scrolls are flying, dusty potion bottles are rolling off and breaking, and the crack of wood echoes as the desk splinters beneath your combined weight.

Still, neither of you loosen your hold. Your bare knees scrape against the rough stone, and you can feel the skin breaking. Pinned awkwardly on the ground, he twists to the side, his shoulder slamming into yours and you go tumbling over one another, rolling on the shattered glass that shimmer in the moonlight. There is a thin line of blood bleeding on his brow, and you can feel a warm, wet sting along your own cheekbone. You’re both gasping now, faces inches apart, skin scraped and already swelling.

“Just let go,” he says again, his voice still low with a tremor you don’t recognize. You stay where you are, arms and legs locked uncomfortably, face tilted up and eyes fixed on him.

“No,” you grit back, refusing to move. “Not until you do.”

The tension is like a live wire, sparking and searing in the air between you as you glare at each other, chests heaving, bruised and wounded from your clumsy fall. He searches for something in your eyes, a sort of desperation that you don’t want to answer.

Then, slowly, he lets go. Fingers loosening, his hand slides away from your hair, leaving it dishevelled. You both sit up, still breathing heavily, staring at each other in the dim light.

“You are my fucking nightmare, Princess,” he finally says, voice hoarse. It’s a broken sound, like a confession he never wanted to say out loud.

You laugh, soulless and heartless. Your skirt is bunched up to your thighs as you shift your legs, robes falling off your shoulders as you turn towards him.

You stab a finger to his chest. ���And you,” you seethe, pressing hard against him. “You are the bane of my existence. Everything— everything that is wrong in my life is caused by you.”

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he reaches up, wrapping his fingers around yours, holding you firmly to his chest, right over his heart. His pulse is heavy under your touch, and his eyes don’t leave yours, his gaze almost daring you to pull away.

“Everything I ever did to you,” he says slowly, his voice almost a whisper, “was to make you feel as miserable as I did.”

His face is so close to yours, close enough that you can see the faint bruises blooming on his cheeks. Close enough to see the small scratch just below his brow trickle blood. Close enough for his hair to brush your forehead as it falls into his eyes.

For the first time that night, you don’t question him. You didn’t want to know what made him want to fight you, make you cry, or lose your friends. You didn’t want to know what made him so miserable that he wanted to cause you just as much pain that he was in. You didn’t want to understand him. If you knew, you felt as if the resentment you’ve held for years would simply crumble under the weight of his confession.

Your hand remained trapped under his, his chest rises and falls, and his hold on you is surprisingly gentle now. The echo of his confession fades into the silence of this decrepit room, and you realise— this fight, this bitter rivalry— it’s just as much a part of him as it was to you. And even in this messy, bruised, and bloody silence, neither of you are ready to let it go.

When you break apart, you slowly lay down on the floor and rub the palms of your hands firmly into your eyes. You were so tired. So tired of fighting, getting put into detention, cleaning floors, studying for exams, and always trying your best to survive. The exhaustion soon takes over, and you pass out.

He watches you the whole time. The way you grit your teeth in exasperation and groan, the way your chest is heaving in frustrated huffs before slowing down into deeper, slower breaths. He watches you until you fall asleep, and then, right by your side, he lays down and closes his eyes, joining you in sleep with beaten limbs and bloodied skin. 

The caretaker walks in when the sun begins to rise. The damage to the room was undeniable. The windows were still grimy, the cobwebs still hanging, and the floor littered with broken glass, ripped scrolls with boot prints, and two students, laying side by side, barely touching.

You guess it was inevitable for the both of you to get summer detention.

//

Year Six

The first day back at Hogwarts, you saw it immediately— something was terribly wrong with him.

His hair was longer, tangled and messier, and the shadows under his eyes were darker and bruised, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. His face, once sharp with wit, looked gaunt, looking almost sickly. Something had changed over the scorching hot summer, like it had hollowed him out and left only a ghostly echo of the person you once knew.

And yet, he still greeted you, like he always did, almost endearingly so. “Mudblood,” he drawled. “Hope your summer was terrible.”

Your mouth opened, but the words snagged inside you, heavy and sour. It should’ve sparked that familiar flame between you, but you stopped yourself. His tone, his expression— all the life, the spark, the sickening thrill that always animated him when he saw you, it was gone. There was an uncomfortable ache in your chest, heavy and acidic. You almost couldn’t even recognize him.

For months, this feeling never went away. You never saw him around anymore.

In class, he isolated himself, working alone with his usual friends away at a distance. His head always kept down as he poured into his books in silence. Outside of class, he was nowhere to be seen. It became a whispered mystery in the hallways, one that no one seemed able to answer. You caught glimpses of his snake friends tucking wrapped bundles of food  into their pockets, likely sneaking him meals because he’s never seen in the Great Hall anymore.

Even Jeonghan didn’t know what was going on with him. They had barely spoken more anymore than you did with him.

He became a complete stranger to you, his silence louder than any taunt he’d ever thrown your way. When you tried to challenge him, sometimes even uncharacteristically in a playful way, he didn’t even acknowledge you. He would only look at you with a strange, vacant expression, as if you were miles away.

Every time he looked at you with those empty eyes, that strange feeling in your chest turned into a gnawing ache that only grew. Your curiosity on what happened to him over the summer was insistent, like a parasite digging deeper with each passing day. But it was impossible for you to ask, because to do so would break the unspoken, hateful relationship you’d build together after all these years. How could you reach out to him when all you’d ever known was fire and fury?

Then, one late Saturday afternoon, you were passing by the abandoned classroom near the Bell Tower when you heard something, a sound that stopped you cold. A low, guttural sob, the kind of anguish that would make your heart drop into your stomach.

You could have turned your cheek. You could have pretended as if you hadn’t heard anything. You could have walked away.

But the sobbing continued, those agonising, wrenching sounds so raw, so hauntingly familiar. You couldn’t stop yourself, you stepped closer, heart hammering as you pushed open the cracked door to peek inside.

There, huddled on the cold floor, was the boy you knew— the boy who taunted and tormented you, who laughed as he goaded you into every petty fight. He was now slumped forward, fingers clawing at the stone floor as his shoulder shook from the weight of all his miserable tears. Broken glass lay all around him, vials from this week’s Charms lesson, meant to turn water into wine, and his robes soaked with it had turned the air heavy and sour in the small room. The knuckles on his hand were blood, cut and stained, red streaks running down his fingers.

You stood frozen, your heart lodged painfully in your throat. You were never meant to see this. He was unravelling before you, stripped bare of all the pride and scorn he used to wear like a badge. But you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

You wanted to run to him, and grab him by his shoulders. Come back. You wanted to yell at him. Come back to me and fight me. Come yell curses at me, jinx all the hair off my head, or poison my drinks. Just come back.

But he never saw you. His eyes were as vacant as ever, the light in them extinguished. The boy with the crooked smile, the one who used to take so much pleasure in all your misery, was gone. He blinked once, swayed on his knees, and then, without warning, fell forward and collapsed.

You pulled away from the door, heart racing. You couldn’t bear to see him like this anymore. You just ran. You needed to find someone, anyone, that could help him.

You tore down the North Hall, your footsteps echoing off the stone walls, until you crashed headfirst into Wonwoo, almost knocking him over. He caught you, his fingers digging into your shoulders, eyes wide and frantic.

“Did you see him?” he demanded, his voice breaking, scared and desperate. You’ve never heard him this hysterical before.

Trembling, you lifted a shaky finger, your own voice sounding terrified. “The old room for Arithmancy… down the hall.”

Wonwoo ran.

It was the final week of Hogwarts. 

It was past curfew, and you were running, practically flying through the empty corridors as you tried to reach your Common Room. The halls were dark, steeped in an eerie silence, and you tried your best to be as silent as possible because it was three hours past curfew, and you could not risk another night in detention again, not now, not with exams pressing down on you. 

It’s been weeks since you last saw him. Classmates gossiped amongst each other that he had disappeared since that night you saw him in the abandoned classroom, and with how hectic the end of the year terms were, you woefully wondered if the exam season was a helpful distraction to what you had witnessed that night.

You kept close to the shadows, stepping as quickly and quietly as possible, you tried to reach the suspension bridge when suddenly, a sickening crack echoed through the air. A sound that was so unnatural in the usual stillness of the night, it made you stumble, gripping on the wall to steady yourself.

Dread twisted up in your stomach. That was the sound of something breaking— no, something falling.

You turned a corner, breath hitching as you reached the open space by the bridge. There, sprawled out on the cobblestone courtyard, lay a figure— a mess of long, white hair spread out like a gruesome halo, blood already seeping into the cracks between the stones. Grey eyes, which were normally so vibrant and bright, were glazed over as they stared straight up into the night sky.

The headmaster lay dead in front of you.

A scream tore out into the cold, dark night. Your throat was raw and broken, the sound of your cry ringing off the stone walls, piercing into the silence of the night. Your knees buckled, and when you fell, you pressed a shaking hand to your mouth, trying to muffle the sob that clawed its way out your mouth. Your whole body was trembling, heart beating so fast, your vision blurred as you desperately scanned the darkness of any sign, any glimpse of whoever had done this.

Your breath came up in shallow gasps, looking everywhere until finally, you looked up.

There he was.

He was standing on the stoned dome above, looking down at you. His figure was draped in shadow, illuminated only by the faint silver glow of the moon. Your heart clenched, a sad comfort that he was finally looking at you in what felt like the first time in forever. But there was something terribly wrong. His eyes— his normally heavily, hooded dark eyes, were deliriously manic. The whites of them showing an intensity that you’ve never seen on him.

A chill seeped into your bones as he watched you, and when you stood back up on shaky limbs, your eyes never leaving him, you wondered if the boy you once knew had been replaced by someone else entirely. 

His face had changed so much.

You almost missed his crooked smile.

//

Year Seven

He never came back to Hogwarts.

[theundercoversquid]

A trip to 12 Grimmauld Place

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Request: I saw the trip to diagon alley fic I love the idea of Remus and reader adopting Harry and not telling anyone and also them having their own biological children I was wondering if you could make more like this maybe where their kids are older

Maybe even include some uncle Sirius when he escapes from Azkaban and they visit him at grimmauld place

Warnings: Pregnancy

A/N: Part of the Domestic Bliss universe but can be read alone!

A/N2: How much do you guys want me to mess with canon? I feel that growing up in a loving home (but specifically with Remus) means that Harry would probably be a different person and make different decisions.

Masterlist

Domestic Bliss universe

"Hurry up, boys." You called up the stairs. "Or your father and I will leave with ought you."

A series of thuds and crashes met your words. But you just fondly rolled your eyes as you got back to packing your bag, ready to go.

"First." A voice shouted before you felt a hand land on your shoulder.

"Oh, come on!" Another voice shouted. "That's not fair."

"You snooze, you lose." The voice closest to you called out.

"Hello, my dear." You laughed. Pressing a kiss to the top of Harry's head.

Then, only a moment later, you heard the sound of thundering feet as your other son, Teddy came charging down the stairs. Hurtling towards you.

Crashing into you, Teddy wrapped his arms around you.

"Hello, my love." you greeted. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, too.

"Are you two muppets ready to leave now?" You questioned them as you picked up your bag.

"Yeah." Harry grinned. Tugging at your arm as, he pulled you into the living room where Remus was waiting. 

Sat in his favourite armchair with a newspaper open on his lap.

When he heard the three of you enter the room, he folded the newspaper. Standing up, he deposited it back on his seat as he walked towards you and the boys.

"Shall we, my lady." Remus teased. Bowing to you in an overexaggerated way.

Laughing, you swatted at his arm as you led your boys out of the house. Make sure to lock the door behind you.

When you got out into the garden you grabbed a hold of Teddy as Remus took Harry.

"Everyone ready?" You called out.

When all your boys replied with sounds of agreement, you and Remus both disappeared with a pop.

Reappearing in a narrow alleyway just down from Grimuld place. 

Momenterly fussing over your boys, you made sure that no one had been spliced before you all walked out of the alleyway.

Harry and Teddy leapt ahead, teasing each other as they ran ahead. Rasing up to number 12. With his longer legs, Teddy ended up making it first. His hand reached for the knocker as he stuck his tongue out at Harry.

The door flew open not even a moment later as Sirues towering frame took over the doorway.

"Well, if it isn't the lupins," Sirius beamed as he took in the sight of your little family. "Come in, come in." He waved as she stepped to the side, allowing you all to come.

The moment the door was safely shut behind the five of you, and you were out of the foyer, Harry and Teddy threw themselves at Sirus.

Who only laughed. Wrapping them up in a great big hug.

"How are my favourite troublemakers?" Sirues questioned them.

Causing them to chatter on to him about there exploits as he momentarily comes over to you and Remus.

"And how are the pair of you?" Sirues questions quickly as he pulls you into a hug. Pressing a kiss to both your cheeks.

"We are good." Remus assured him. As he got pulled into his own hug by Sirues.

"How are you?" You asked Sirues softly.

"Oh I'm good." Sirues waved off your concern. "Same old, same old."

You only fondly smiled at him as Harry and Teddy came up to Sirues. Each grabbing him by an arm as together they pulled him off so they could carry on chatting his ear off about something.

You couldn't quite make out what they were saying, and quite frankly, you weren't sure if you wanted to.

Also, watching the scene from behind you, Remus snorted.

"if we left now, how long do you think it would take for them to notice?" He asked you teasingly.

"Don't say that." You laughed. Gently hitting him in the chest.

Laughing, Remus grabbed the offending hand and brought it to his lips. Dropping a delicate kiss to your knuckles you and Remus finally followed after the chaos that was your children and a certain Sirues black.

You followed the three of them into the living room, where Sirues was sitting in the middle of the sofa. One of your boys on either side as Harry, seemed to be narrating an exciting tale. His hands waving as Teddy and Sires just watched on. Occasionly nodding.

Smiling at the scene, you and Remus sat in the nearby Love seat. Your bodies pressed together as you fondly watched the scene in front of you.

You didn't know what you would do with ought your boys. They really were your whole world.

[roseyreveries]

Far Away - 1

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Muggle!Reader

Summary: You wake up inside the Harry Potter universe without any explanation as to why you’re there.

Disclaimer: All characters are being aged up for PLOT (1st years are 15, 7th years are 21). Not accurate to the books or movies. This specific part doesn’t include Draco. This will be a large series so it’s gonna have backstory and such.

CW: none I don’t think

Directory

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

The living room was small, but it was home. I sat cross-legged on the scratchy carpet, feeling its rough texture under my bare legs, though it didn’t bother me anymore. I was used to it— just like I was used to the worn-out couch in the corner, the faint smell of old wood and dust, and the low hum of our ancient, brick-like TV.

The screen flickered as the opening credits of “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” rolled. I leaned forward, eyes wide, mesmerized by the magic unfolding before me. Harry, Ron, Hermione— they felt like old friends, pulling me into their world of spells, broomsticks, and adventure. But it was Draco Malfoy who caught my attention the most. He was arrogant, sure, but there was something else there— a curiosity, a sadness maybe— that I couldn’t quite place.

Dad was at work, as usual, so it was just me and the TV, the walls seeming to close in just a little more every day. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was getting late, but I didn’t care. I didn’t have to get up early for school in the morning anyway.

I leaned back, letting the TV’s soft glow warm the dark room. Draco’s sneering face flashed across the screen, and I smiled despite myself. Even at eleven, he seemed so sure of who he was. So certain of where he belonged. I wondered what that felt like.

The movie played on, the carpet’s rough texture grounding me as my eyes grew heavy. I blinked slowly, my thoughts drifting between reality and the magic on the screen. My eyelids felt like they had weights on them, and eventually, I gave in, curling up on the floor. The last thing I saw was Draco’s pale face fading into darkness, as my dreams swept me away.

The morning light filtered through my eyelids, but something felt off. The scratchy carpet, the dim hum of the TV, the small living room—all of it was gone. My eyes fluttered open, expecting to see the familiar walls of my home, but instead, I was surrounded by bustling people, strange noises, and towering shops unlike anything I’d ever seen.

I blinked, rubbing my eyes as if that might clear away the impossibility of it all. But when I opened them again, I was still there, standing in the middle of what could only be Diagon Alley. Cobblestones stretched beneath my feet, and people in robes hurried past, some chatting animatedly, others peering into shop windows filled with things that should have only existed in my imagination.

A chill ran down my spine, and I shivered despite the warmth of the morning sun. This had to be a dream. I was sure of it. No way was I actually here—in the world of magic, where owls swooped overhead and wands were sold in cozy little shops.

I looked down, noticing for the first time that I was clutching something in my hand. A thick envelope, crinkled slightly from my tight grip. My heart skipped a beat as I turned it over. It was an acceptance letter, like the ones I’d seen so many times in the movies. The wax seal with the Hogwarts crest gleamed in the light.

I took a breath, trying to steady myself as I read the name on the front: “Y/N Thunderbrooke.”

Thunderbrooke? That wasn’t my name. I turned the letter over again, half expecting the name to change. It didn’t. A strange mix of excitement and confusion twisted in my chest.

What was happening? This wasn’t real— couldn’t be real. I looked around, searching for something familiar, but all I found were more strange faces and towering buildings that tilted at odd angles.

I squeezed the letter, feeling the edges dig into my palm. The name “Thunderbrooke” echoed in my mind, a wrongness that didn’t sit right. Was this some kind of joke? Some bizarre trick of my imagination?

I pinched myself, hard, wincing at the sharp sting. The scene didn’t waver. I was still here, still standing in the middle of Diagon Alley with a letter addressed to someone I wasn’t.

“This has to be a dream,” I whispered to myself, my voice lost in the noise of the crowd. But as I stared at the cobblestones underfoot and the shops lining the street, a tiny voice in the back of my mind wondered: what if it wasn’t?

As I took a hesitant step forward, I realized I was standing right in front of Ollivanders. The shop’s ancient, weathered sign hung above the door, its gold letters barely visible against the dark wood. A small bell jingled as I pushed the door open, and a soft, musty scent enveloped me immediately—an aroma of aged wood and leather, mingling with the faint hint of old parchment from the countless wand boxes stacked around the shop.

The interior was dimly lit, with narrow aisles lined with shelves overflowing with wooden boxes of all shapes and sizes. The walls were cluttered with dusty, leather-bound books and curiosities I couldn’t quite identify. The wooden floor creaked beneath my feet as I stepped inside, the sound blending with the gentle hum of the shop’s mysterious ambiance.

At the back of the shop, behind a large, cluttered counter, was a man hunched over a stack of boxes. He had a wiry frame, silver hair that fell over his face, and his hands were quick and deft as he shuffled through the boxes. The faint glint of his spectacles caught the light as he looked up briefly, his eyes reflecting a knowing glimmer.

“Welcome to Ollivanders,” he said, his voice soft and rich, carrying an air of ancient wisdom. “I see we have a new customer.”

His gaze shifted to me, and for a moment, I felt like I was intruding on a world that had been waiting for me, as if every dusty corner of the shop held secrets and stories of its own.

Ollivander’s gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made me feel like I was under a magnifying glass. He straightened up from his stooped position, brushing dust from his hands as he peered over the counter. “And what might your name be?”

I glanced down at the letter still clutched in my hand, feeling the weight of the situation pressing on me. “Y/N Thunderbrooke,” I read aloud, my voice wavering slightly.

The moment the name left my lips, Ollivander’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. He staggered backward, his reaction so sudden and exaggerated that he nearly lost his balance. “Thunderbrooke?” he repeated, his voice a mix of astonishment and recognition. “You’re Y/N Thunderbrooke?”

I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. “Yes, but why are you so surprised—”

Before I could complete my question, Ollivander’s focus abruptly shifted. He seemed to snap out of his daze, his expression morphing into one of intense concentration and urgency. “One moment, please,” he said, almost to himself, and he hurriedly moved to a tall, dust-covered cabinet behind the counter.

The cabinet was filled with an array of wand boxes, some old and faded, others pristine and new. Ollivander’s hands flew over the boxes with a practiced, almost frantic efficiency, pulling them out and examining them in rapid succession. His movements were a blur of motion, as if he were on a quest to find something specific amidst the clutter.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, my mind racing with questions. Why was he reacting this way? What did my name mean to him? But Ollivander was too absorbed in his task to answer. His face was a mask of concentration, brows furrowed as he sifted through the wands with an urgency that bordered on desperation.

“Just a moment,” he repeated, his voice more to himself than to me, his eyes never quite meeting mine. The cacophony of his hurried movements filled the shop, mingling with the scent of old wood and leather that hung heavily in the air.

I waited, my anxiety growing with each passing second, as Ollivander continued his search. The room seemed to shrink around me, the walls lined with wand boxes and old books, and the magical atmosphere of Diagon Alley outside feeling like a distant memory.

Ollivander finally emerged from behind the counter, his face alight with a mixture of excitement and pride. In his hands was a slender, elegant wand, its surface gleaming with a subtle, golden sheen. He approached me, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Here we are,” he said, his voice carrying a note of reverence. “This wand is quite special—twelve inches, made of phoenix feather core with a supple, willow wood. It’s known for its adaptability and finesse. I believe it will be a perfect match for you.”

He carefully placed the wand in my hand, the wood warm and surprisingly light. I held it tentatively, feeling a slight hum as if it were alive. I glanced at Ollivander, who was watching me with keen interest.

“Give it a try,” he encouraged. “Just a simple swish and flick to start.”

I took a deep breath and waved the wand through the air, trying to replicate the graceful motion I had seen countless times in the movies. I waited for some sign of magic— perhaps a sparkle, a burst of light, or even a whisper of enchantment. But nothing happened. The wand remained inert in my hand, and the air around me was as still as before.

I tried again, this time with a bit more force, but still, no effect. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment as I looked at Ollivander, who was now peering at me with a puzzled expression.

I tried again, this time with a bit more force, but still, no effect. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment as I looked at Ollivander, who was now peering at me with a puzzled expression. His face suddenly shifted, as if a lightbulb had gone off in his head.

“Of course!” he exclaimed, more to himself than to me. “I almost forgot!”

Without another word, Ollivander dashed to the back of the shop, his footsteps echoing through the cluttered space. The seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity as I stood there, clutching the wand, a mix of anxiety and hope churning within me.

Moments later, he reappeared, holding a small vial of shimmering liquid. His eyes were now hidden behind a pair of round glasses that seemed to magnify his intense focus. He looked at me with a sense of urgency and excitement.

“Dumbledore mentioned this might be necessary,” Ollivander explained, his voice hurried. “I had completely forgotten you were a Muggle. I spent some time preparing this potion for just such an occasion.”

He carefully uncapped the vial and extracted a syringe from his pocket. The vial’s contents glimmered with a faint, ethereal glow, and Ollivander’s hands were steady as he filled the syringe with the liquid. He then put on his glasses, peering at the wand with a scrutinizing gaze.

“This should help,” he said, his voice almost reverent. “It’s a special potion designed to bridge the gap between a wand and a Muggle. It helps to activate the wand’s core, allowing it to respond as it should. Very illegal.”

With deft precision, he inserted the needle into the core of the wand, carefully injecting the liquid. The wand seemed to hum slightly, and a faint, warm glow began to emanate from its tip.

Ollivander watched with bated breath, his eyes locked on the wand. “There we go,” he murmured. “That should do the trick.”

He handed the wand back to me, a hopeful smile on his face. “Give it another try now. You should notice a difference.”

I took the wand, feeling a renewed sense of anticipation. I waved it once more, this time with a cautious optimism. The wand felt different in my hand, as if it were finally waking up to its purpose. I focused on the swish and flick, and this time, a soft, sparkling light burst from the tip, illuminating the shop with a gentle glow.

Ollivander’s face lit up with satisfaction. “There you go! It appears the potion has worked. You’re connected to your wand now.”

Relief and excitement washed over me as I tested the wand with a few more swishes, each movement producing a soft, magical effect. The shop seemed to come alive with the magic, and I couldn’t help but grin.

As the wand finally responded to my movements, a wave of relief and excitement surged through me. I turned to Ollivander, a question burning on my lips. “Why am I here? Why did Dumbledore send me a wand?”

Ollivander’s expression shifted from pleased to guarded. He glanced around the shop as if ensuring no one else was listening. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “I’ve already gone to great lengths just to provide you with this wand. It’s not my place to explain the reasons behind it.”

His tone was firm, almost pleading, as if he were trying to protect both me and himself from something. “You need to speak with Dumbledore directly. He’s the one who has the answers you seek.”

He stepped back, his gaze shifting away from me as he began tidying up the counter. “I’m already risking quite a bit by helping you. It’s best if you go to Hogwarts and discuss this matter with him. He’ll be able to provide you with the information you need.”

I stared at him, a mix of frustration and curiosity bubbling inside me. “But—”

Ollivander cut me off gently but firmly. “Trust me, it’s for the best. Dumbledore will explain everything to you. For now, focus on getting to Hogwarts and learning to use your wand. That’s what’s important.”

With that, he gave me a reassuring nod and turned his attention back to his work. I took a deep breath, my mind racing with questions. It seemed my journey was far from over, and the answers I sought were waiting for me at Hogwarts.

I stepped out of Ollivander’s shop, still holding the wand loosely in my hand, feeling like I was floating through a strange, hazy dream. The bustling noise of Diagon Alley buzzed around me, but it all seemed distant and muffled, like I was watching a scene play out on a foggy screen. I stared at the acceptance letter again, the name “Y/N Thunderbrooke” glaring up at me in bold, looping script. None of this made any sense.

“This has to be a dream,” I muttered to myself, half-expecting to wake up back in my scratchy-carpeted living room with the movie credits rolling on the old TV. I pinched my arm, but nothing changed. The world around me was still vibrant and impossibly magical. I took a few hesitant steps forward, the cobblestones rough beneath my feet, when suddenly, with a sharp crack, a figure appeared directly in front of me.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

Read the next part here!

Join my Taglist!

[biggestxsimps]

Happy Birthday

Slytherin House/Draco Malfoy x Slytherin Male Reader

A/N: This was requested over on our Wattpad. This was originally head-canons but it didn't flow properly, so I hope this is okay. I know literally nothing about other students in Slytherin so it's probably not accurate (at all) so any feedback is appreciated.

Waking up in the Slytherin House on your birthday is great. Slytherin's, contrary to popular belief, aren't all that rude if you're on their good side. Though it might also help being one of the most well known Slytherins.

You're woken up by someone softly nudging you, the muffled sound of your name just being audible. As you start to properly wake, you recognize the voice. You turn, coming face to face with Draco. "Good morning." You mumble out a 'Morning' before Draco places a quick kiss to your lips.

"Happy Birthday." He whispers against your lips before lifting off the bed, softly tugging at your arm. "Now get up, today's your special day." You playfully grumble as you sit up, Draco pulling you out of your bed. "Go get dressed and then come down, I planned a little something for you." He kisses you once more before leaving the dormitories.

Once putting on your robes, you walked down into the common room. A large group of students, including Draco, were standing around a table filled with gifts, chatting away as they, you assumed, waited for you.

Once reaching the group, you realized it was most of your friends from your house. One of your closest friends, Pansy, was the first to give you a gift, she grabbed it off the table and handed it over to you. "Open mine first, I'm sure you'll love it." You take the neatly wrapped gift from the dark-haired girl. Thanking her as you open it, your eyes fall upon a familiar book.

Pansy's smirk grows at your growing smile. "Merlin Pansy, thank you so much." It was a book you had had a quick read through while shopping through Diagon Alley with Pansy, it being too expensive to buy then. "I knew you'd like it." After Pansy, the others start to offer their own gifts.

It hits breakfast time before you're able to open all the gifts, so you apparate them to your dorm before leaving, thanking everyone as you make your way out.

During the day, you were stopped by many students, most of them being in your own house. Word of your birthday must've gotten around, students wishing you a 'Happy Birthday' as you went about your day.

Your classes were made easier by the students offering you answers or offering to do things for you. You thanked them but didn't take the help unless you absolutely needed it, still appreciative of the thought.

And not too long later, dinner rolled around. After making it to the Great Hall, you walked over to the Slytherin table. Once taking a seat next to Draco, he flicked his wand at the spot in front of you on the table. A portion of your favourite meal appears, as well as a cupcake of your favourite flavour.

You turn to the blonde beside you, thanking him with a kiss before enjoying your food. Pansy had stopped you before you ate the cupcake though, placing a candle on the top of it. She waved her wand near the wick, a small flame lighting it.

The group around you sang 'Happy Birthday'. Once finishing, you blew out the candle, pulling it out of the desert and resting it on a napkin. You thanked them all, telling them how appreciative of them you were.

~~~~~

When leaving the Dining Hall, you were stopped by none other than your boyfriend, Draco. He told you to follow him, and that your birthday wasn't quite over yet. You stayed by his side as he directed the two of you, conversations about nothing filling the halls as you two walked.

It wasn't long until you had arrived, Draco opening the doors to the empty astronomy tower. He guided you over to the edge, moving the telescope as he looked up at the stars. He looked back down to you a few seconds later, grasping your hands in his before speaking. "Happy Birthday, Y/N."

His smile grows wider as he reaches for his pocket, bringing out a small gold box. He takes your hand again and places it in your palm, waiting for you to open it. He starts to speak up as you open it. "I know it's not much, but I-" "I love it. Thank you, Draco." In the box lay two silver rings, in the shape of serpents; it had small emeralds scattered over the serpents scales and the words 'I Love You' engraved on the inside.

"They're promise rings." You could hear the smile in Draco's voice. "They're beautiful." You look back up at Draco, leaning in for a quick kiss before pulling the rings out. Draco eagerly picks up one of the rings, slotting it onto your ring finger. You take the other one out of the box, doing the same to his own finger.

"I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too, Draco. Thank you for today."

A/N: I've got a few requests I'm writing right now, so if you've requested something, it might come out a little late, so sorry!

Masterlist

- Written by Owner 1

[emeritusemeritus]

hey! I love your work, you're incredibly talented ❤️ I was thinking, could you write something about y/n and george weasley going to hogwarts together (not best friends but not strangers either) but losing connection after the war and reuniting when she opens a cafe in diagon alley, so they start to see each other more often and hang out, and one day they confess that they used to have a crush on each other? very fluffy🥰

sorry if this is badly worded haha, english is not my first language

don't feel obligated to do it if you don't want to, no worries!

Hey Anon! Thank you so much, that’s so sweet of you! My love it would be a pleasure 🖤

Warnings: brief mentions of the war, George losing his ear, tooth rotting fluff. Fred’s only mentioned once, ambiguous if he’s alive or not. George calls us sweetness.

Word count: 2.2k

My favourite.

It had to be him, you were almost certain of it.

The familiar shade of red hair exactly as you remembered, the towering height and the mischievous smile that seemed to light up a room. It was almost certainly George Weasley that you were looking at.

He was stood further down the line, his face partially blocked by the coffee machine as you prepared orders for your customers. Never once had you anticipated the butterflies that would appear at the very sight of George Weasley again when you opened your cafe in Diagon Alley, but here you were, plating up the homemade cakes with a smile, nerves building as he neared the counter.

"George?" You asked, drawing his attention away from the display of cakes and pastries in front of you as his eyes flicked up to your face. He remained expressionless for a few seconds, almost frozen as he looked at you and you could almost feel the sense of dread and embarrassment sinking in. Either it was George and he didn't recognise you or it was definitely not George and you'd made a huge fool of yourself.

"Y/n?" He says with a wide smile, suddenly slipping out of his little daydream, "what are you doing here? I haven't seen you in years!"

You smile and blush under his gaze, hardly believing that this was really happening.

"I came back about six months ago, I went to Paris to study. Decided it wasn't for me and I opened up this little place," you explained, hardly able to get your words out you were grinning so hard.

You and George were friends once upon a time, not overly close but friendly, friends of friends and definitely the person you'd wished you spent more time with at Hogwarts. He made you laugh, he was kind, polite, a great Quidditch player and more than anything he was absolutely gorgeous. He'd been the object of your desire since near enough your third year, with your school girl crush holding out until you eventually lost contact after the war. It seemed silly really but as you stood there in front of him, it was like that teenage crush was still having an affect on you, hear racing, cheeks flushed and butterflies fluttering in your belly.

Marcia, one of your employees kindly took over taking everyone's order as you and George stood for a while chatting like old friends by the side of the till. The years had been good to him, he looked so handsome in his three piece suit with vertical stripes, the colours complimenting him very well. You cursed yourself for not putting more effort into your appearance that morning, unaware that the boy you'd had a crush on for at least four of your seven school years would be standing right there. His laugh was like music, flowing out of him so effortlessly, the sound transporting you back to the time you'd longed to hear him laugh like that for you, the sound always capturing your attention wherever you were in the castle.

"I'm sorry I have to go and open the store," he says after a while, a guilty look on his face as he runs the back of his neck. "How much do I owe you?" He gestures towards the takeaway tea in his hand that Marcia had brought over for him and you frown at his ridiculous question.

"It's on the house," you say casually, as if it were obvious. "Wait one second."

You step over to the display cabinet and pull out one of the pastries you'd baked that morning, a lemon curd turnover that you favoured amongst all the other treats, quickly bagging it up and taking it over to George, holding it out for him to take.

"A deal," you explain as he takes the bag from you with a thankful smile, "free tea if you try this, come back and tell me what you think."

He beams, looking between you and the bagged up naked good in his hand whilst nodding.

"Deal," he smiles, a little moment shared between you.

It had been two weeks since George had stepped into your little cafe and truthfully you'd not stopped thinking about him since. It was like the past few years hadn't happened at all, like no time had gone by, the second he crossed your mind you were rendered useless, unable to concentrate on anything except him. It was ridiculous, you didn't know if he was single, married whatever, but each and every time he stepped through the door, you melted.

He'd been back nearly everyday since, always leaving with a different baked good and a steaming hot cup of tea ready to start the day. You'd started trying to guess his favourite, to find the thing he liked the most in all of the shop. It had become a game between you, he'd try something new and tell you the day after how it compared whilst you tried to guess what his favourite was but he was aloof and secretive, making you work for it.

Each time he'd been back, the lingering at the end had gotten worse, to the point it was dragged out significantly as you both giggled and fought to prolong the inevitable separation. You'd found out in  passing, a stroke of luck, that he was single. He said that he hadn't dated much since the war, too focused on the shop, which had admittedly eased your guilt a little, knowing that you weren't flirting with a married man. You were almost certain that George was flirting back with you, the devilish twinkle in his eye always present.

"What did you think?" You ask as George walks through the door Friday morning before the shop opens, the usual routine you'd built.

"It's was unbelievable," he says with a smile, walking towards you at the counter. "Crispy all over, not even a little bit soggy and the filling was perfect; not too sweet."

"So..."

"Still not my favourite."

"Fuck sake George!" You laugh, encouraging him to laugh along with you, "I'm nearly out of recipes!"

"Then you'll just have to try harder, won't you sweetness."

There it was, the nickname he'd given you that was randomly dropped into conversation over a week ago and had been used everyday since. It made your cheeks heat up and your head spin every time, though you tried to hide it behind your fallen strands of hair. Talking to George was so easy, the conversation flowed so effortlessly that you lost track of time frequently, the two of you so caught up that you only realised the time when the timer went off on one of the ovens, signalling that the bread rolls were ready- and that it was 9am.

"What are you doing tonight?" He asks, grabbing his tea and bag of goodies to try.

"It's bread day, have to make the loaves ready for the weekend, why?" You asked, filling up the coffee beans as you prepared for the impending morning rush, finally springing back to work as you realised that you had barely even made a dent in the jobs you had planned to do.

"Oh, no reason," he says, "hope you have a good day sweetness."

He'd barely walked through the door when Marcia appears by your side, nudging you in the side.

"I thought you liked him?"

"What?" You ask, confused at her words.

"You light up like a Christmas tree whenever he's around, you giggle and I've seen raspberry tarts let pink than your cheeks when he calls you sweetness," she says with a knowing smile. "Poor bloke finally gets up the courage to ask you out and you turn him down."

"What? That wasn't him asking me out! He just wanted to... oh."

Any colour that had been in your face drained almost immediately as you realised your mistake. George had tried to ask you out and you'd waffled on about bloody bread loaves. The over-door bell chimed, signalling the influx of customers and you panicked, needing to stay and serve the line of customers piling on but also wanting to straighten things out with George. You were torn, stressed out by the obvious decision you had to make.

"Go, I've got it," she says, nudging you out the way with her hip. You blurt out a thank you and run out from around the corner, through the door and down the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley until you neared the huge orange building right at the top.

You pulled open the door and immediately tried to seek out George, trying to find his red hair in a sea of people. You spotted Ron on the stairs, finding his red hair first before trying again, sighing heavily feeling deflated after a minute or so of looking when you couldn't see George anywhere.

"Care to try our love potions miss? They really do work," you heard from behind you, the voice sending a shiver up your spine.

"Don't need it," you replied, turning and smiling when you saw George grinning down at you. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise," you paused, feeling like an idiot all of a sudden. What if he hadn't been asking you out? As you glanced up at him, feeling his gaze on you, you lost your nerve slightly.

"If I read this wrong I'm sorry, for you I'm free as a bird tonight," you say, adding. "But if you're not asking like that, then I'm baking bread and we never talk about this again."

You watch as his eyebrows raise slightly before a big smile stretches slowly across his face, eyes lighting up at your words.

“Pick you up at 7?” He asks rather quickly, sparing you from any embarrassment of the moment lingering on. You beam up at him with a nod of your head, reaching up to give him a kiss on the cheek before leaving, casting one last glance back to see George watching you walk away with a smirk.

7pm finally comes around and you’re a bundle of nervous energy, fingers twitching as you adjust your dress for the fifth time in two minutes.

“Relax,” Marcia says from behind you, grabbing her bag and coat ready to leave for the day. “You look incredible and if he doesn’t agree then I’d say he lost his eyes as well as his ear in the war.”

“Marcia!” You say but she simply laughs, waving you goodbye as she steps out of the door leaving you alone.

“You look incredible,” you hear George say and your eyes shoot up to see him looking so handsome, holding a small bouquet of flowers with a gorgeous smile on his face.

“So do you Mr Weasley,” you say, biting your lip slightly at the sight before you and then grinning once he hands you the flowers.

“Okay I have a bit of a confession,” he says as you sit at the intimate little table at the Cauldron, one of the nicest and newest restaurants in Diagon Alley. You look at him with a slight frown of concern, stomach twisting a little as you pray it’s not bad news. He smiles gently at you and you can almost see the hint of a blush upon his cheeks.

“I feel like I need to keep pinching myself, being here with you now, I had the biggest crush on you at school.”

George laughs when your mouth falls open, almost comically so as his words sink in.

“You’re kidding!” You sat, eyed glistening as you look across at him in disbelief.

“I’m completely serious,” he chuckles, “I wasn’t very good at showing it back then, never dreamt of actually being able to tell you. Fred used to tease me about it all the time. But then when I saw you again, I couldn’t let you slip away again without knowing.”

“That would have been very useful to know back then,” you say with a smile, taking a sip of your wine. “I also had a massive crush on you.”

“No way,” he says with a dismissive chuckle.

“Way,” you counter argue with a smirk, “started around third year, by fourth year it was already too late for me.” You laugh, as does George.

“I swear when you hit that rogue bludger away from Harry during the first match against Slytherin, you were right in front of me in the stand, thought I was gonna fall onto the pitch I was so attracted to you.”

“Was?” He says with a smirk, using your use of past tense against you.

“Am,” you corrected, taking another sip of wine and smiling behind the glass. There’s a moment where neither of you say anything, simply looking at each other with dangerously attracted eyes and smiles.

“Would you like to order dessert?” The waiter suddenly appears by your side, gesturing towards the dessert menus in front of you.

“I’ll have the cinnamon apple cake,” George says with a nod and you order your own, offering a thank you to the waiter.

“That your favourite?” You ask teasingly, calling back to the game of guessing his favourite sweet treats.

“‘Fraid not sweetness,” he says with a smirk and a little wink.

“I’m never going to guess am I?”

“Ask me again in 20 years, we’ve got plenty of time to find out.”

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Wizard!Phil Masterlist

6 Things Phil Regrets Ordering By Owl Post (ao3) - fourthingsandawizard

Summary: Dan confronts Phil about his obsession with ordering useless junk via owl post.

A Kiss in the Tower (ao3) - gamingbeats

Summary: Who would have expected these two to fall for each other?

Blessed with a Curse (ao3) - Mi_Munson

Summary: A prince accidentally wrongs a wizard and is cursed so that no woman shall ever love him. Fortunately, the prince is gay and now that the wizard is a little calmer he notices that the prince is super cute.

Sparks fly, and not because of a magic spell.

crush (ao3) - howelllesters

Summary: "The problem with being a Slytherin was that if you were caught with anything even slightly darker than normal, people got suspicious. And apparently, a book on how to raise the dead classified as ‘slightly darker than normal’, and then some."

Firewhisky - fourthingsandawizard

Summary: Dan is fast asleep at Hogwarts when he gets a 2am call from a Firewhisky-fueled Phil in the club.

Galaxies and Greenhouses (ao3) - fourthingsandawizard

Summary: When Dan meets a boy with piercings and a dragon tattoo while shopping in Diagon Alley, he’s pretty quick to jump to conclusions, much to his own embarrassment. But as they become fast friends, they both come to see that sometimes the most important lessons learned at Hogwarts are the ones that happen without a wand.

Kisses on the Cheek (ao3) - Star4545

Summary: Gryffindor Dan Howell and Hufflepuff Phil Lester meet on the Hogwarts Express. As their time through Hogwarts goes on, Phil starts to kiss people on the cheek, all Dan wants is one simple kiss on his own cheek.

One golden glance of what should be (ao3) - maybeformepersonally

Summary: Hogwarts AU where inter-house friendship blooms, Dan plays Quidditch, Phil cheers for him, and realisations are acted upon.

pure (it’s not about your blood; it’s about your heart) (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Dan arrived at Hogwarts entirely unprepared and he doesn't understand how rare it is for a Muggle-born like himself to be placed in Slytherin. However, he quickly learns that his housemates believe it to be a bad thing and by accident he gets wrapped up in the lie of being son of a powerful wizard dueller instead.

It makes his skin crawl to see his new Slytherin friends bully people with Muggle parents, most of all when they go after sweet half-blood Phil Lester, who was kind to him on the first day of school. A couple of months after their first meeting, Dan and Phil wind up alone in a classroom and Dan is stunned when Phil offers to help him with his spell work.

Sketching in Moonlit Darkness (ao3) - rainbowchristy, spaceandvinyls

Summary: Dan’s whole family are Slytherins, and he was expected to be one as well. But the stupid sorting hat had other ideas. Dan Howell: A Hufflepuff. What a disappointment, right? Luckily there’s a nerdy black-haired boy in the year above him who’s more than happy to supply cuddles and kind words when Dan’s in need.

Spiders and Spells - fiction-phan

Summary: Phil was never great at transfiguration but thought he was getting better. At least he did until Professor McGonagall paired him up to work with Dan Howell. Dan is nice but there’s just one problem. He’s Phil’s crush and Phil is prone to make mistakes when working under pressure.

The Magic Within (ao3) - writingfunstories

Summary: Daniel James Howell always knew that he was special

The One With The Dragons (ao3) - CanDanAndPhilNot (enbycalhoun)

Summary: Phil is a young creature collector and the famous wizard and dragon training expert, Daniel Howell, catches wind of Phils rare Miniature Red Reaper.

the serpent and the badger (ao3) - CallofTheCurlew

Summary: Dan's getting a late night snack in the kitchens, when a certain Hufflepuff crosses his path.

they were all yellow (ao3) - kishere

Summary: when phil gets injured in a quidditch game, he reflects on the past year of his life and how dan fits into it

To Dwell on Dreams (ao3) - carltzmann

Summary: “Taking in the whole image, though, it hardly hurt. Watching this perfect version of himself smile and wave and talk to his friends, bathing in success and appreciation, Dan suddenly started to believe that maybe all that was possible, even with the confirmation of a terrifying secret.”

Dan and Phil meet at the Mirror of Erised.

Treat You Just The Same - huphilpuffs

Summary: Daniel Howell was definitely not a Hufflepuff. Except that he was, and Phil was determined to befriend the boy with straightened hair who loved transfiguration and probably should have been sorted into Slytherin. A Harry Potter AU.

You Light Me Up (ao3) - ShippingFangirl26 (IceQueenJules26)

Summary: From their 17th birthday on, wizards could try performing a spell to find their soulmate via marks on their arm. Phil was anxiously waiting for the day to perform it, but he never really expected it to fail…

[battle-scvrs]

Regulus rarely escaped the ministry on his lunch break, instead choosing to eat lunch at his desk so he could return to his work quickly. However, today had been difficult and so Regulus had made an escape into the fresh air that Diagon Alley afforded. The bustling crowds down the street weren't enough to put Regulus off buying a sugar quill from the sweet shop, a childhood favourite that still satisfied his sweet tooth more than anything else. He was chewing slowly on the quill and meandering towards Flourish and Blotts, quite content to spend the rest of his lunch break amongst the towering shelves until he found something new to take home and read. Feeling quite at peace, Regulus found himself wondering why he didn't pop out more regularly...until his eyes unwittingly fell upon his cousin, and his niece. Stopping dead in his tracks, Regulus couldn't drag his eyes away from the small toddler clinging to Andromeda's side. He should turn and go, should make known his disgust, he should curse them for being blood traitors....and yet he did nothing. "Andromeda," he said almost involuntarily, his voice so small and quiet that she may not have heard it at all. @tonksxandromeda

[monachopsis7209]

Unintended Confessions

6th july, prompt: cat by @jegulus-microfic

prologue/continuation is ‘a sleepy cat and a stunned stag’

271 words

james had always loved animals, he would pet the strays he saw on the streets in diagon alley. so it was nothing out of the ordinary for him to pet the cats that he saw around hogwarts.

he’d already known professor mcgonagall was an animagi since the first year. whenever he’d see her wandering around he’d just smile cheekily at her and give her a treat, considering that most of the time he saw her was when he was out on “late night walks” with the rest of the marauders.

so when he found out that the little black kitten that he’d meet on his more lonely walks was regulus, well, let’s just say that his face was as red as the gryffindor sweater he was wearing at the time.

till this day, regulus wouldn’t let james forget how he used to pet and cuddle regulus as well as all the pet names he’d call the kitten. but something that regulus would forever fondly remember were the confessions james would make to him when he was in his animagus form.

it was after james had unknowingly confessed the feelings that he harboured towards the younger boy to the kitten, only did regulus be a little more open when james talked to him in the corridors or before quidditch matches. from talking and joking in the corridors to meeting on the astronomy tower to eventually kissing on the roof of the astronomy tower, one thing led to the next and now regulus and james were on their way from the adoption centre with baby harry back home to a little black kitten.

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Tess' Sharpuary - 24. Slytherin

Young Aesop Sharp takes his very first journey to Hogwarts.

chapter specific tags: prequel, friendship, coming to hogwarts

relationships: aesop sharp & aesop's auror partner, aesop sharp & abraham ronen

24. Slytherin (2.7k)

tw: mentions of parent death

The young lad had been shaking with anticipation as well as anxiety ever since he first stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express. At first, he didn’t understand why his mother insisted he ride the train, as they lived pretty much just around the corner from Hogwarts. So, instead of simply using the Floo to get to school, they had to Floo all the way to London instead, then take a carriage from the Diagon Alley to the King’s Cross station, so Aesop could spend several hours on a train going someplace he saw so many times in the distance just during his and his mum’s leisurely strolls. Well, he always saw  the top towers at the very least, anyway. 

However, he had to admit that he wasn’t exactly opposed to his mother treating him to an ice cream and hot chocolate in this neat little sweets shop before he was to depart, and once he actually did step on the train, he knew what his mother meant by saying that ‘he should experience the first train ride’. His stomach was all jittery, and pure excitement pumped through his veins as he slowly walked through the train and looked into the many compartments in search of a very special person - his best friend Ashley. He didn’t see her on the platform or boarding the train, which brought him a bit of panic, but his mother calmed him down by saying that seeing as there were hundreds of students boarding, each one having at least one parent around, finding one person among the moving crowd was next to impossible.

So, his trunk loaded, he wandered the corridor on his own until he finally spotted the very familiar shock of long blonde hair. Only, she wasn’t alone. He shyly opened the compartment door and peeked inside. His friend immediately noticed him and stood up to envelop him in a big hug, making the already blushing Aesop’s cheeks redden further. The other occupant of the compartment gave a chuckle. “See, I was right in keeping you here, he said in a jovial voice, “there’d be no point in both of you roaming the train and constantly missing each other, when your friend here proved that he would indeed actively seek you out.”

Aesop fidgeted with his hands, as was his habit when he was feeling bashful when Ash finally let him go. “Aesop, this is Abraham Ronen,” she said happily, “I wanted to go find you, but he told me it’s smarter for me to stay in case you walked by. And he was right!” Abraham extended his considerably larger hand towards the 11 year old boy, who first looked at it with mild apprehension, but then did reach out his own to shake. 

“Now,” Abraham said after the two younger students sat down, “you two needn't worry, I shan’t bore you the entire way to Hogwarts - I’ll have to meet with the prefects in a while, and will most likely only join you again shortly before we arrive at Hogsmeade station.” Ashley’s eyes lit up with curiosity: “Ooh, you’re a prefect?” Abraham’s face once more stretched in a large smile. Aesop didn’t know why, but the older boy’s presence was strangely calming, friendly and warm. Despite his initial shyness, he had to admit he already felt safe with him.

“That I am! Or, that is, I was,” the older boy said and fished in his pocket for something. He pulled out a small green pin badge upon which stood out in silver letters ‘HEAD BOY’. The two young students marvelled at the badge. 

“As you can see, I am a Head Boy now, so I can make sure you two and your classmates receive the proper care from your prefects, regardless of the house you’ll end up in. Given that I still have a few minutes to spare, why don’t you humour me and  tell me a bit about yourself? Which house do you think you will be in, which house you’d like to be in, maybe something about your family while you’re at it?”

And so Aesop and Ashley talked, sharing their views on the houses as well as their backgrounds. Abraham smiled sadly when they revealed they both came from families with a missing parent. Then however came the time for Abraham to depart for his meeting and he prepared to leave the compartment: “When I come back, we could perhaps play a little game, what do you two say? Probably best not to chance playing Gobstones here but I’m certain we’ll figure something out. Just know that you’re never truly alone in Hogwarts - while the prefects can be something of a bore oftentimes, and the professors can be quite annoying with their insistence upon favouring studies over fun, I promise each and every one of us is looking out for you, and we want you to be happy and thriving at the castle.”

And with that and a little wink, he was gone.

So the two friends, now on their own, swiftly changed into their uniforms and chatted quietly among themselves, looking out of the window at the landscape changing before their eyes. They were only interrupted once, by a sweet looking middle aged woman pushing a tray of frankly mouth-watering sweets before her. Neither of them being able to resist, they put the pocket money from their parents together, and got a nice little mix of the offered confections. With each minute, their anticipation was rising, and so did their nervousness, and by the time the sun dipped below the horizon and it started getting dark, both were positively buzzing where they sat. Abraham came back, and indeed played a little game of exploding snap with them, this time speaking about himself, his father, and his belief that fun and studies go hand in hand.

And then, when he bid them goodbye and good luck as they boarded off the train, they gave each other one more look and gulped. They were to follow a man with a large lantern, who Abraham told them was the gatekeeper, while their older classmates walked off into another direction entirely, led by the prefects. The Head Boy was unwilling to reveal to them how they’d be getting to the castle, as did their parents and all other wizards and witches they knew, so Aesop and Ashley were very much in the dark.

However, as they emerged from the path along some thick trees and onto a large bank, Aesop instantly knew why everyone was being so secretive.

He originally thought that he’d be feeling absolutely normal when he finally saw more of Hogwarts than the upper towers, but the opposite was actually true. When he finally saw the huge castle in all of its grandeur, his heart first skipped a beat and then began beating hard and fast. A chill ran through him that had nothing to do with the cool evening air, and he felt a smile spreading on his awestruck face.

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. The castle wasn’t even huge, it was completely humongous! Gargantuan! It stood strong above the dark murky waters upon a hill, proud and majestic, the upper towers he remembered seeing so many times in his life looked as if they were actively attempting to touch the stars up above. “Do you too have gooseflesh? Because I absolutely have gooseflesh,” Ashley whispered into his ear, and Aesop wasn’t even able to reply verbally, merely slowly nodding his head, still mesmerised by the sight.

As per the gatekeeper's instructions, they boarded the small boats that were waiting for them at a little pier in groups of four, and the boats set sail as soon as the last student from each group settled upon it. Aesop was once more mesmerised by the lights from the castle reflecting on the dark water. But then -

A shriek cut through the cool air.

“Hush now, lass!” the gatekeeper called over his shoulder at the source of the scream. It was a slight ginger girl, who was shaking and pointing somewhere on Aesop’s left. The lad turned his head, and only just managed to catch a glimpse of it with his own eyes: a dark tentacle disappearing beneath the water’s surface. “That is the Giant squid,” the gatekeeper called, his voice completely calm as if there wasn’t a monster of leviathan proportions swimming below them. “There is no need to fear it - it has lived here for hundreds of years, and will hopefully keep living here for hundreds more, as not only does it not harm students, it’s been known to actually engage in play with them. So please, no screaming and shrieking.”

Aesop’s heart still missed a beat when another tentacle shot through the water. One more thing he’ll need to get used to.

While he kept his eyes trained on the squid, he didn’t immediately notice the wall covered by ivy before them, and when he finally did, he was certain they were going to crash into it. Except they didn’t, as there was no wall. Instead, the boats effortlessly glided into what appeared a sort of underground harbour, where they all climbed out of the dinghies. They followed the gatekeeper once more, up the stairs and into some sort of courtyard. He instructed them to form a line, and enter the castle through huge double doors. He too bidded them all good luck, and departed shortly.

Their queue most likely wasn’t as organised as the gatekeeper would’ve liked, but still they did make their way inside. Another man already waited for them there, looking down at them from the top of more stairs. He appeared old, but by no means frail, and he was dressed in very fine dark purple garments.

“Welcome, first years,” he spoke, voice both authoritative and soft, “I see all of you survived your journey here in one piece. Today, you’ll be joining your classmates in their studies here at Hogwarts, and you’ll be doing so sorted into four houses. Gryffindor values those of a brave, adventurous and chivalrous heart. Hufflepuff will be most appealing to those who work hard and are able to execute patience, as well as loyalty to their friends. Those with a sharp mind, creative soul, and those seeking knowledge will find their place in Ravenclaw. And finally, wizards and witches able to survive all kinds of situations using their resourcefulness, cunningness, and ambition shall be right at home in Slytherin. 

“As a way to motivate you to reach your greatest potential, as well as uphold the high standard of Hogwarts students, you will be rewarded points for your successes. However, should you misbehave, or fail to attend to your duties as students, points will be taken from you, and therefore your whole house. In just a few short moments, we shall enter the Great Hall where you will be sorted into your respective houses. Let us make this queue a bit neater then, shall we?”

Some shuffling and moving later, the bunch of eleven year olds stood ready in rows of four, and the door in front of them opened, revealing another already opening door. They walked slowly, led by the wizard in purple robes. Aesop sensed Ashley trembling slightly next to him, so he did the only thing he thought of - he took a hold of her hand. It was warm and clammy, but Aesop didn’t mind, as his presence and touch seemed to help put the girl more at ease. This innocent childish action of comfort was well hidden by the students both in front of and behind them.

His mouth went dry, and his heart started beating wildly again when they walked through the last door, and found themselves standing in a giant room, which seemingly had no ceiling. Aesop stared above himself with a slightly opened mouth, the night sky above them littered with a million stars. Below the sky, thousands of levitating candles burned bright, just like the stars did. They were walking between four gigantic tables, all of them hosting dozens upon dozens upon dozens of students, and Aesop felt uncomfortably exposed despite being nestled safely in the middle rows of the group with Ashley. In front of them another large table stood, this one nearly horizontal to the student tables, and many adult wizards and witches sat there. His professors for the following seven years, Aesop realised.

In the centre stood a lectern in the shape of a majestic golden owl, and finally, in front of it, a simple wooden stool with a shabby, old looking hat sitting atop it. There were several moments of silence, but then Aesop’s eyes opened wide as the hat began moving. A hole opened at one side of it, and… was it singing? Indeed it was! The hat started singing, the hole in it appearing to move like a mouth would. It sang of the four houses and then of Hogwarts as a whole. It was rather strange, Aesop thought.

“I shall now call out your names alphabetically. The one I call shall come up here and take a seat on the stool, after which I’ll put the Sorting hat upon your head,” the purple clad wizard said once the hat finished its song. Aesop squeezed Ashley’s hand.

One by one, their group was becoming smaller and smaller, and Aesop had to let go of Ashley once her name was called. She walked towards the stool tensely, and gave a little jerk a second or two after the hat was placed upon her golden head. It took about fifteen seconds, but finally the hat cried loudly: “Hufflepuff!”

The Hufflepuff table broke into applause, and Ashley jumped from the stool as if a huge weight had been lifted off her chest. She gave Aesop a brilliant grin before literally skipping towards her house table. It was then Aesop remembered her mother had been a Hufflepuff as well. Aesop swallowed. 

His father didn’t attend Hogwarts, he was a muggle. And though Aesop was very young when Theodore Sharp died, Aesop was certain his father would’ve been a Hufflepuff too - hard working, patient and loyal. Or would he have been a Gryffindor? Brave and chivalrous? His mother was a Slytherin, but only just so - she told him she was almost a Ravenclaw. Back then, she didn’t tell Aesop how the sorting worked. Which was perhaps for the best; he wasn’t sure if he’d believe her had she told him the sorting was done by a shabby old hat.

Aesop considered which house he’d like to be in. And he still hasn’t decided when his name was called. His hands were now clammy too as he made his way towards the stool and sat down on it.

He soon understood why Ashley jumped upon having the Hat sat on her head.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here, hm…” came a voice from somewhere, and Aesop soon realised that somewhere was his own head. “You’re brave enough, that’s for certain, and you are thirsty for knowledge as well… Above all else, however, I can sense that you want to prove yourself. You want to prove that Aesop Sharp won’t ever back down from a challenge, and I can sense you’ve enough resourcefulness to ensure you shall succeed. I could see you performing brilliantly in whichever house I could sort you into, but I can only see you thriving in one - “

Suddenly, the voice left his head and started coming from atop it: “Better be - Slytherin!”

The Hat was lifted and he stood up again. The students sitting at the right side of the room were clapping and beckoning him closer. He gazed to the left, immediately catching Ashley’s eyes. She was still smiling, and clapping as well. He returned her smile, and began making his way to his new housemates.

A pair of sparkling eyes captured his own next. Abraham was smiling brightly, patting the spot next to him. “I knew it since I first saw you - you’re one of our own, young Aesop.” 

The eleven year old grinned at the older boy - better be Slytherin indeed.

---

a/n while adult sharp is completely irresistable to women with his handsome face and roguish personality, little sharp is completely irresistable mainly to older witches who want to pich those adorable rosy cheeks 🤭

Thank you for reading! ❤

[AO3] - [Sharpuary 2024] - [Masterlist]

[backtothefanfiction]

The Angel In The Garden of Evil | Chapter Twelve: The Good Nurse

Summary: Peter's having nightmares and Angel just wants to be in her own bed.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!, Mentions of injuries, medical equipment, nightmares, the Gwen thing, angst, fluff, genre typical tropes and topics.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: Some might say that these two's relationship is just like a freaking yoyo. Also the women in the Daredevil universe keep sneaking into this story, hmmmm. I'm also trying to be reasonable with this recovery time so we got a lot of talking and bonding with different characters going on too.

TWELVE

Sirens blared, red and blue lights flashing as one cop car after another raced down the street. Peter stilled on the corner of the street as he watched them pass, that feeling in the back of his neck putting him on alert. He quickly turned down the closest alley, shedding his clothes and donning his suit as he began to climb up to the roof.

His feet pounded on the hard concrete rooftops as he jumped from one roof to the next before leaping diagonally off the last, free falling towards the ground. Thwip. He fired a web, the other end sticking to one of the nearby buildings and he swung himself forward. He carried on like that, chasing the sirens and flashing lights as they continued to move towards a large electrical surge at Oscorp tower.

As his feet finally hit the ground and he looked around he found he wasn’t at Oscorp. He was suddenly on the roof of a building in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen. He looked along the rooftop to find The Vulture, kitted out in some sort of flight gear and Angel. 

“Oh no Pete, looks like I’ve got your girl.” The Vulture taunted. 

Peter crouched into his fighting stance but the Vulture just laughed. But it wasn’t his laugh, it was much more chilling and familiar. The Goblin. Peter looked around frantically and when he turned back to Angel and the Vulture, neither of them were there. Instead he was at a clock tower. He looked above him to see The Goblin in a green suit and on a glider, in his grasp, flailing around in mid air. “GWEN!” he heard his voice shout. “GWEN!” But suddenly the image changed again. It wasn’t Gwen and it wasn’t the Goblin, it was Angel and the Vulture.

There was a scream as the Vulture let her go. “PEETTEEERRR!” she screamed.

He jumped off the building as her body passed him, his arms lying flat to his sides as he dove, his body piercing the air as it tried to catch up with her but no matter how fast he fell, she seemed to stay just out of his reach, her hands reaching for him. “I’m coming baby, I’m coming.” he said.

He reached out his arm, his fingers moving to release a web but nothing happened. He kept clicking the mechanism, but nothing happened. He could see the ground coming up fast behind her, he had to do something. ‘Come on!’ he groaned. He had one hand reaching out to her, his fingers inches away from hers, as he continued to tap his web shooter on his wrist with the other. Thwip! Smack! His body jolted to a stop just before he hit the ground but he was too late. He had just begun to process what had happened, red blood pooling out onto the side walk when-

Peter awoke with a start, his body jolting itself awake in the wooden high back armchair he had placed by the side of her bed. The steady sounds of beeping in the room quickly eased him, along with the steady sounds of her breathing beside him. He rubbed the sleep from his face as he shifted in the chair. He was still dressed in his shirt and trousers he’d worn all day for work and his skin felt pinched where some of the clothes had ridden up in his sleep. He let out a small moan and a sigh as he pulled his trouser legs back down slightly, sitting forward on the chair, his hand reaching out for hers.

She had been fast asleep when he had come back earlier. His moment with Hobie ended up being a bit longer than expected. Eddie had informed him of Angel and Felicia’s little spat while he’d been gone. He hoped Felicia would just walk it off and be back to work as normal in the morning like nothing had happened, but he wasn’t quite sure anymore. He wasn’t sure about anything. He hadn’t felt this unhinged since, well, Gwen; his dream only acting as a reminder for how everything could go so wrong. 

They had been lucky, again, but it was only a matter of time before that luck ran out. It was clear that Adrian Toombes meant business, everything he had been through with Fisk mere child's play compared to the stakes the Vulture was willing to go to. The man wasn’t from the city. He had no respect for the people.

Peter had gone round and round in circles trying to talk to George Stacy and explain things. 

“Come on Chief, you know this isn’t my game. Everything I’ve ever done in this city was to help it, not hurt it.”

“I don’t care Parker, you’ve brought a gang war to my streets, whatever happens now I can’t protect you. And if they can tie the bombing back to you they will and there’s nothing I can do to stop them from arresting you.”

“And what about you sir? Are you gonna arrest me? You know that without those hubs, crime goes up. You wanted me to hang up the suit and let the police do their jobs, I did that. You wanted me to find another way to help. I did that. I don’t want this fight here anymore than you do.”

“I’m sorry Peter, there’s nothing I can do.”

Peter lowered his forehead onto her hand, his eyes closing. He needed to think. He needed to work this out. He needed to keep her safe. No matter the cost he had to keep her safe. He kissed her hand before he got up and left the room.

He moved down the hall to his office that he had set up so he could be closer to her. He switched on a small table top lamp on his desk before he started rooting around in the boxes he’d had moved over. He then grabbed a roll of tape off of his desk and moved over to the far wall of the office. He wiggled the framed print that had been put up on the wall off of its hook, his fingers still wrapped tightly around the roll of tape and bits of paper. Once the wall was completely blank he started taping the bits of paper to it before rummaging around in the boxes once more for more pieces of paper. Scraps of newspaper articles, photos, hastily written notes, maps, all being added to the wall. When he ran out of things from the boxes he sat himself at his desk, opening up his laptop, searching and printing more things off until the entire wall was covered.

----

Angel woke up alone. She figured someone had to be at home but she had no idea who. She felt disgusting. She wanted to get up and just wash off all the sweat and grime from her body and give her teeth a good brush, but she couldn’t very well do that while she was plugged into these bloody machines, who’s beeping was starting to do her head in.

“PEETTE!”  she called out. “PETERR!” There was a delay before Eddie came into the room. “Where’s Peter?” she asked.

“He had to go out again?” 

“What time did he come back last night?” she pondered. She had tried to wait up for him but the drugs had made her so drowsy. 

“He got back just before midnight I think? I mean I went home at like, quarter past so yeah, I’d say just before midnight.” Eddie rambled.

“When is he gonna be back?”

“Not sure? Why is there something you need?

“Yeah, I want to be free of all this.” she said, raising her hand and showing off the cannula and tube attached to it, motioning to all the other bits and bobs she was attached to. “And I want to have a shower.”

“Okay, okay.” Eddie said, sensing her distress. “I’ll call Pete, get him to get someone out to check you over and see what they say. In the meantime, can I get you any breakfast?”

She thought for a moment before she said, “UUUhh I could murder one of those bagels from-”

“That shop on the boulevard?” Eddie finished for her, more than familiar with the place himself.

“Yesss.” she beamed.

“Cream cheese?” 

‘Yup.”

“Coming right up.” he said as he left the room.

“Morning?” Miles said as he hobbled in on his crutches.

“Heyy.” She greeted him with a smile.

Miles used his crutches to hop across the floor and grab the TV remote from where it had been left the night before. He hit the power button, letting it load, before he swung himself over to the chair at the side of her bed.

“How you doing?” she asked.

“Not bad. Docs got me on these painkillers.” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small tube of pills, tossing it on the bed in her direction. “Pretty good stuff.” he joked.

“How’s your leg?” she continued to ask as she looked over the label of the bottle before handing it back to him.

“Ehhh, I’ve had worse.” Angel raised her eyebrows at him, pressing him to continue. “Okay, maybe I haven't,” he said, doubling back on himself and making her smile. “What about you?”

“Sore.” she said, her hand moving to ghost across her ribs. 

“I bet… Hey, at least you didn’t have internal bleeding.” he joked.

“What?” she frowned.

He chuckled. “The paramedic rushed you out of there because she thought you might have internal bleeding. Hit the side of that car pretty hard. Not seen a dent like that since my cousin pinched my Uncle's car and jumped a red light.”

“Well that would explain why my body feels like it’s been hit by a truck.” she joked back. They both let out a small chuckle before she coughed and winced in pain.

“Heard you wanna be off that stuff. You sure it’s a good idea?” Miles asked.

“If I have to stay chained to this bed for one more day I’m gonna end up committing murder.” She jested. “Hey, maybe they’ll put me on some of those painkillers you’ve got, I mean, it seems like they’re doing a good job.”

“Nah, I’m just built like a house, man.” Miles continued to joke.

Miles flicked through the channels until they found a movie they both wanted to watch, settling down and watching Jumanji. Eddie returned about 30 minutes into the movie, dragging his own chair into the room and they all sat there watching the movie as they ate their bagels.

When the movie was done, Eddie left the room as Miles and Angel went back and forth about what to watch next.

“The Princess Bride.” Miles threw out. “I am Inigo Montoya, you killed my Father, prepare to die.” he said as he impersonated the famous line.

“Ehhh. What about Shrek?” Angel asked as they shuffled through the movies on Netflix.

“I watched it while you were out for the count the other day.” Miles interjected. “OOOH what about Hook?” 

“Nahh, I’ve already watched one Robin Williams film today, I can’t do another, it’ll just make me dwell on the fact that he’s dead and it’ll depress me again.”

“Big Robin Williams fan then.” Miles observed as he continued to flick through the movies.

“My Mom was.” Angel replied. 

“What was her favourite?” Miles asked.

“Mrs Doubtfire.” Angel smiled as a memory of her and her parents sitting down to watch the movie on a Saturday night when she was little, crossed her mind.

“Oh I love that film.” Miles said before breaking into yet another bad impression. “HELP IS ON THE WAY DEAR!” he called out before chuckling to himself.

“Oh what about this.” Angel said eagerly as Miles stopped on The School of Rock. “Uhh I loved this film growing up. It’s what made me learn how to play the bass guitar.”

“You know how to play the bass.”

“Knew. I knew how to play the bass. I haven’t played since I was maybe 14 when the reality of my Dad’s job finally hit home and I realised I was never gonna be in an actual band.”

“Why’s that?”

“When your Dad’s Wilson Fisk, you don’t tend to have many friends.” Angel said a little disheartened by her childhood memories.

“That sucks.”

“Yup.” she quietly agreed.

“You know I’ve never actually watched it.” Miles said as he started to load the film.

“You what!?” Angel’s head whipped around to him in shock.

“Yeah, it was a little after my time.”

“A little after your time!” Angel’s eyebrows raised. “Are you calling me old? I thought you said you weren’t a kid.” she continued to jest and poke at him.

“Oh shut up, you know what I mean.” he grumbled.

----

Angel fell asleep around half way through the movie. One second she was watching the kids pretending to be sick with ‘stickittothemanosis’, the next she was waking up 2 hours later. She was alone again, Miles no doubt having hobbled out on his crutches to leave her to sleep as soon as the film ended. ‘Uuuuhhgg.’ she groaned stiffly, as she tried to prop herself back up against the pillows again. She really hated how all these drugs were starting to make her feel.

She was about to call out for Eddie to chase him up about the doctors when her phone buzzed.

She frowned as her head turned to the bedside table where it sat. The only person who had ever really messaged her on it was her Dad and he was dead. ‘Maybe Peter had noticed it last night and put his number in it and it was him’ she thought. When she pulled it over and opened it up, it wasn’t Peter. She didn’t know who it was. It was an unknown number. There was a message, sent 6 minutes ago.

‘And there was me thinking Felicia Day was the Black Cat, but you seem to have 9 lives all of your own.’

The message wasn’t signed off.

‘Who is this? How did you get this number?’ she typed back.

Nothing. The message said it had been seen, but nothing. There was no response. ‘What the fuck?’ she frowned as she analysed the series of numbers attached to the message, trying to work out if they were familiar or not. They weren’t.

“Hey, Baby.” Peter said as he strode into the room. “What’s wrong?” he observed, his face suddenly becoming paranoid and serious as he observed her look of confusion towards her phone.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” she said shrugging off the message and closing her phone, placing it back on the bedside table.

“Okaaayyy.” Peter said slowly. “So I hear you’re not being a very good patient.” Peter pivoted the conversation. 

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” she said back.

“Oh really. Picking fights with Felicia, making demands left right and centre.”

“All I want is a shower Pete.” she tried to reason with a sickly sweet demeanour. “Look at me, I look disgusting. I feel disgusting. And I know you can smell me from over there Spider boy so don’t try and spin me some web about me smelling like roses because it aint happening. Get me off this shit, I want to have a shower.” she said as she gestured towards the machines and tubes around her. “Oh and by the way, I can get up and pee for myself just fine thank you without this fucking thing.” she said as she pointed out the catheter, the thing that irritated her the most.

“Okay, okay, sassy pants.” she frowned at the old nickname she hadn’t heard since she was probably 23. “Docs on his way up okay.”

“Thank you.” she sighed in relief at the news.

“Don’t know how well it’s gonna go though-”

“Pete, I swear to whichever God so happens to be listening right now, if you are about to make a comment and rub it in my face about your regenerative spider abilities-”

“-I’m not, I’m not.” he said, his hands being thrown up in front of him defensively. “I’m just saying no matter how much you don’t like it, you still have broken ribs and a-”

“-fractured wrist, I know!” she said back. “But unlike Miles, there is absolutely nothing wrong with my legs.” she began to snarl as her irritation began to rise again.

“Okay, okay!” Peter said again, his voice getting higher in pitch the more agitated she became.

They were gratefully interrupted by the Doctor who came in, a nurse in blue scrubs hot on his tail as he came into the room.

“Ahhh Miss Fisk,”

“Parker.” Both Angel and Peter corrected together.

“Sorry, Mrs Parker,” the older gentleman said, correcting himself. From his balding hair and crows feet, Angel assumed he must have been in his early 50s. “Right so I’m here to take a look at things, my name is Dr Healey,” he said, “this is Nurse Temple.”

“Just Claire’s fine.” the younger woman interjected, her hands slipping into her pockets as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, waiting to start her work after the Doctor’s assessment. Angel sent a small smile of apology her way for having to work with the good doctor.

“Okay…” Dr Healy said as he started up his regular spiel again. “I’m just gonna check over your vitals, take a look at the bandaging on those ribs, do a couple of physical tests to check your movements-”

“Just get me out of the bed Doc.” Angel snipped at him, eliciting Claire to look down at her feet to hide the smile across her face and the small snicker that escaped her lips.

“Yes, well… very well then.” Dr Healy said, suddenly on the back foot.

“Angel.” Peter chastised.

“What?!” she threw back defensively. “I just want to shower and be able to pee for myself. I’m not planning on going anywhere other than the bathroom- and maybe my own bed,” she quickly added, “I promise.” she said to him.

Peter sighed as he gave in. “Can we do that Doc?” Peter asked him.

“Yeah, of course we can.” Claire chimed in as she stepped forward, grabbing a pair of gloves out of her bag and slipping them on as she started to make her way around the side of the bed.

“Umm yes, yes.” The Doctor hesitantly agreed, still on the back foot. 

As Claire began to remove the cannula from the back of Angel’s hand, the Doctor checked over Angel’s abrasions and mobility. She was still very sore and achy but with slow careful movements the Doctor finally conceded, with a nod of his head before moving away to allow Claire to remove the catheter, as he wrote out a prescription for some painkillers.

“Okay, this is gonna feel uncomfortable.” Claire said to Angel as she started to brace her fingers around the small tube attached between Angel’s legs. “Okay I need you to take a deep breath for me alright, I’m gonna count you in okay?” she attempted to reassure. “1,2,3-” 

Angel let out a small wince as she was detached from the catheter. “There, you go, there you go.” Claire coached softly.

“Okay, you’re probably gonna want help taking that shower.” Claire informed as she moved back around the bed to where Angel was already trying to shift her legs over the side of the mattress. “Actually if I’m honest, I don’t really recommend a shower at all, just maybe a really shallow bath and a wipe off with a washcloth.” she continued to say as she took her gloves off before reaching her hands out to Angel’s to help steady her as she stood.

After being stuck in bed with little mobility for the last 3 days, it was no surprise Angel’s legs wobbled and gave out when she tried to stand. “It’s alright I got you.” Claire said as she took most of Angel’s weight against her own body, as Peter raced around the bed to help. “It’s okay, you’ve been lying down for a while now, this is normal, just give your legs a chance for the blood flow to get round them again, you’ll be okay.”

Angel felt slightly dizzy as her blood now raced around her body, finally reaching her toes properly for the first time in days. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got it.” Peter said as he swapped places with Claire.

“Yeah no problem.” Claire said as she allowed Peter to take over. “Umm I can go start getting the bathtub ready if you want?” she offered.

“Yeah, it’s just across the hall.” Peter informed her as she began to leave. “You okay?” he asked, checking in with his wife.

“Yup.” she said fighting through the mild pain in her back and ribs and the odd sensation in her legs.

“You ready to start moving?” She didn’t give a verbal response, just nodded. “You want me to carry you?” he asked, noting her obvious attempt to downplay her pain.

“Nope, I’ve got this.” she reassured him with heavy breaths as she began to start hobbling with his assistance towards the door.

“Uh Mr Parker.” Dr Healy interjected, “She’s gonna need this prescription filled out as soon as possible.” He said lifting up the bit of paper he had just ripped off of his notepad.

“Uh Yeah, okay. Can you pass it on to one of the guys down the hall?” Peter threw back over his shoulder. “Preferably not the one with crutches.” Peter tried to joke, using it as some way of apology and ease the tension created by his stubborn wife.

“Ummm yes, of course.” The Doctor stammered as he attempted to gather back up his things.

“There we go.” Claire said as she helped Peter eaze Angel into the bathtub. The water was shallow, only just covering her legs and hips as she sat herself upright in the tub, her arms resting on the sides of the bath to prop her up and make sure she wasn’t leaning back against her ribs in the hard tub.

Peter could sense Angel’s tension at having Claire watch over his shoulder as his hand reached into the water for the red washcloth she had found and placed into the tub.

“Make sure you ring it out well, she can’t get her bandages wet.” Claire informed.

“Okay, okay. I think I’ve got it.” Peter said, turning his head to look at her. “Ummm thank you, I think I can take care of things from here.” Peter said, kindly dismissing her.

“Okay.” Claire conceded with a nod. “I’m just gonna hang around out there for a moment just in case there is anything you need.”

“Thank you, but I don’t think that will be necessary.” Peter said, driving home her dismissal a little harder this time.

“Okay. It was nice to meet you.” Claire said over Peter’s shoulder to Angel with a wave.

“Thank you.” Angel said timidly from behind the cover of Peter’s body.

When Claire left the room, Peter began brushing the damp cloth across Angel’s bruised skin. “What?” she queried when he began to frown.

“It’s just,” his voice said quietly as his fingers traced across one of the bruises on the top of her chest. 

“I know, I know.” she said equally as softly as she too took in the bruising all over her body.

“It just… makes me feel so helpless.” Peter confessed.

“I know. But this isn’t your fault Pete and you know it.” she tried to reassure him.

There was a pause between them before he said, “I had a dream last night.” he confided. “She was in it.”

“Gwen?” Angel confirmed.

“Yeah.” 

Gwen had still been alive when Peter had first swung into her life, saving her from that explosion at her Dad’s warehouse. They hadn’t met again until after Gwen had died. They used to run into each other at the cemetery, her visiting her Mom, him visiting Gwen. They used to just sit with each other and talk, reminisce about their loved ones. 

“I’m not her Peter.”

“I know that.” he sighed. “I know that.” he said more confidently. “It’s just…” his voice trailed off and tears began to form in his eyes, “I can’t lose you too okay? Not again, not for good, okay?”

“Okay.” she repeated quietly, a silent promise just between the two of them.

“You can’t be doing shit like that again, you know?”

She looked confused, “What go help out at-”

“No, I mean, what happened downstairs. You can’t- I can’t” he corrected himself, “I don’t know how to keep you safe when you do shit like that okay.”

“But maybe you’re not meant to.” she said cautiously as he continued to wipe at her skin, “Maybe you can’t, maybe you’re not meant to. Maybe that’s…” her voice trailed off as she had a thought ‘Maybe that was what her Father was training her for all along.’ 

“Maybe that’s what?” he asked, growing tense at the idea of not being able to protect her, to keep his own wife safe.

“Peter, maybe that was the point of my Dad keeping me away from you. Not just to protect me, but to show me how to stand on my own two feet, how to protect myself.”

“But you shouldn’t have to-”

“And why not? Because you’re my husband and that’s your job? Bullshit. Who’s there to save you huh? When shit hits the fan, which it already has, mind you; who looks out for you?” She looked deeply into his eyes. “Who is there to save you?”

-----------------------------------------

New chapters go live on Wednesdays and Fridays! If you want to be added to the tag list make sure you put it in writing for me. Also if you are enjoying the story don’t forget to tip me like you would your waiter by reblogging and leaving feedback and letting me know what you think!

@scmdsblog @angiexsv @thef1nalgirl @did-someone-change-my-name @sincericida @tarzinnia @liz-allyn @blacksoul09 @humxncrxvings @sunnycolors @suicide-sweetheart636 @ahryi @ms-wild-card-56

[itsviankagaunt]

Errand Girl, Make Money

Vianka wasn’t one to take on favors without a fair trade, and Zenobia’s offer of school supplies was too practical to ignore.

The younger girl, all round-faced innocence and nervous energy, cornered her near the DADA tower with a dramatic tale of Gobstones gone rogue—scattered by bullies who clearly had too much free time.

While Vianka initially questioned why anyone would take pleasure in such mischief, Zenobia’s dejected pout and promise of an ink-and-quill bounty sealed the deal. A fair trade, indeed.

With all six Gobstones in her bag, Vianka made her way to the courtyard where Zenobia was waiting. The younger Ravenclaw girl looked up eagerly as Vianka approached, her eyes lighting up when she spotted the small pouch in Vianka’s hand.

“You found them!” Zenobia exclaimed, practically bouncing on her toes.

“I can’t thank you enough. I’ve missed these little things so much—it’s been dreadful without them.”

Vianka, small enough that high ledges felt higher and long strides meant running twice as fast, handed over the Gobstones with a small smile—but didn’t release the pouch just yet.

“You’re welcome, Zenobia, but you have to admit, this wasn’t exactly an easy task,” she quipped, still catching her breath.

“I had to scramble up ledges built for taller legs, dodge enchanted suits of armor that barely noticed me, and endure Peeves’ endless cackling—all for a handful of Gobstones. A simple thank-you doesn’t quite seem to match the effort, don’t you think?”

Zenobia blinked, her enthusiasm faltering slightly as she glanced at Vianka’s petite frame, suddenly realizing just how much harder the task must have been for someone her size.

“Oh, um, well… I did promise you ink, parchment, and quills,” she said hesitantly, shifting on her feet. “That was the deal.”

Vianka tilted her head, her expression thoughtful but firm. “True, but don’t you think a little extra reward is fair? After all, it’s not everyday someone takes the time to comb through the entire castle for a favor.”

Zenobia hesitated, biting her lip. “I… suppose you do have a point. What else do you want?”

Vianka grinned. “How about some seeds for my Herbology collection? I noticed you’ve got quite a few rare ones in your stash—Venomous Tentacula, perhaps?”

Zenobia’s eyes widened. “Those are… expensive. My parents sent them from a specialty shop in Diagon Alley.”

Vianka shrugged lightly, her grin widening. “Exactly why they’d make the perfect addition to the reward. Think of it as a token of your appreciation for my dedication.”

After a long pause, Zenobia sighed and nodded.

“Alright, fine. You drive a hard bargain, but I suppose you’ve earned it.”

She reached into her bag and handed over a small pouch containing the requested seeds, along with the promised ink, parchment, and quills.

“Here you go. Don’t let Professor Garlick catch you mishandling that plant—they’re feisty.”

“Thank you, Zenobia,” Vianka said cheerfully, tucking the items away. “You’ve been very generous.”

As Vianka rejoined Sebastian and Ominis, who had been waiting nearby, Sebastian let out a low whistle. “Venomous Tentacula seeds? Do you even know how much those cost?”

Ominis, ever observant, smirked. “You’re quite the haggler, Vianka. I didn’t expect that from you.”

Vianka chuckled, brushing off their comments. “Ehm…it’s negotiation. Besides, it’s all fair. I did the hard part, didn’t I?”

Sebastian laughed, shaking his head. “Remind me never to make a deal with you. You’d probably take my wand and my robes if I wasn’t careful.”

Ominis tilted his head slightly, his tone amused.

“She’d take more than that. I suspect she could negotiate the hat off a Headmaster.”

Vianka grinned at the banter, feeling a small sense of pride in her resourcefulness. “Well, you two better stay on my good side, then.” 

Sebastian and Ominis laugh as they headed back toward the castle, Vianka’s small stature makes her have to run to keep up with the boys, and after their trio-headed adventures.

Vianka was already planning her next move—selling her newly acquired seeds in the Market as they headed back to the castle. Yet, this time, she hesitated. Instead of selling them immediately, she decided to plant and sow them first. With patience, they would yield even more profit in the long run!

Seb and Omi pic from Pinterest @phinik

[petrificusx]

— was that ted tonks passing through diagon alley? those close to them say they remind them of mismatched socks and jumpers with holes all over, eyes like a cloudless summer sky with a determined blaze within them, bandaids with superheroes and smiley faces on them, the faint smell of sage and bergamot blending with spearmint gum, tattered tennis shoes with pen marks all along the sole, dimples so deep you can drown in them, endless fidgeting and the desperate need to always be in motion, glasses with small scratches and smudges across the lenses, the warm comfort of a cup of hot cocoa on a cold wet day, which i suppose seems to fit that gryffindor alumnus. they’re actually pretty valiant, determined, and gullible for a twenty nine year old, but i wonder if it serves them well when working as a healer at st mungo’s. rumor has it that the muggleborn has stayed neutral… for now. i wouldn’t have guessed… but this is a conversation we should be having somewhere else.

GENERAL

FULL NAME: Edward Theodore Tonks NICKNAME(S): Ted, Teddy, Ed, Eddy AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 29, c. 1949 GENDER: Cisman PRONOUNS: He/Him HOMETOWN: London (Greenwich) BLOOD STATUS: Muggleborn HOUSE: Gryffindor ALIGNMENT: Neutral (but Order Leaning)

BIOGRAPHY

Triggers: Injury mention, Prejudice / Blood Purity BS

The Tonks family of Greenwich are about as mediocrely middle class as they get. Mr. Graham Tonks is a low level banker with an affinity for mince pie and Charlton Athletic F.C., and his wife, Margaret Tonks, is a former primary school teacher turned stay at home mother after the birth of their second son — who was aptly followed by three more boys. Five boys, something that deeply excited Graham since that meant plenty of sons to bond over “manly things” with, such as sports, his vintage firearm collection, or deep rooted love of muscle cars. Margaret meanwhile had given up hope for a daughter to even out the playing field at the house, choosing to love and dote on their many sons, being especially fond of the youngest of the boys. Named alphabetically, it gave her great joy to opt in to name the fifth child, letter E, after her deceased father, Edward Burton, and to declare the dark haired blue eyed babe her most special little boy.

Edward Theodore Tonks had a truly mundane childhood. Raised in South London, he attended the same school his mother once taught at, spent most of his youth playing team sports, terrorizing local haunts with the group of popular kids at school, or being one of five burly boys being ordered about by a petite mother around the garden outside their modest house. It was an easy kind of life, Ted’s only real problems stemming from being the youngest and therefore the object of older brother’s relentless teasing. This had bred a bit of a sensitivity in the boy, but it likewise made him grow a thicker skin. After all, the only way to combat the bullying of four rugby players was by matching their jabs with equally painful barbs. Ted just didn’t have a mean bone in his body, which meant he became an easier target for his brothers. His only armor soon became just shrugging it off, an act that seemed to bother his brothers more but ultimately made them respect him. After all, he wasn’t that much different from them. At least, for most of their childhood he wasn’t.

When puberty hit, Ted followed the basic blueprint that every Tonks man seemed to at that point in adolescence. Skyrocketing in height, eclipsing the tallest of his equally towering brothers and father by at least two inches, his dedication to sports also meant his body began to widen until he was just another broad athletic Tonks boy. The only difference between Ted and his older brothers manifested in a distant moodiness that had his parents deeply concerned. He started skipping school, practice, and acting out at home. And after enough shouts of, “You just wouldn’t understand,” when they made attempts at figuring out what had happened with their goofy little boy, Graham and Margaret had had enough of his attitude. They called a family meeting, or more like an intervention, with the intention of getting to the bottom of their youngest teenager’s shift in personality. Cornering Ted after dinner one night, the family demanded answers but the interaction ended when an angry outburst from Ted caused what could only be described as an invisible force which shattered all the glass in the kitchen, and tossed patriarch Graham back onto the coffee table in the adjoining living room, breaking it under his weight and injuring his back.

It was in horror and disbelief that the rest of the Tonks family looked back across the room at Ted, breathing heavy and staring with panic and fear back at his family. A freak. That’s what Alfie, the eldest Tonks boy, had called him, joined by second eldest Ben as they tried to keep Ted back while their mother and other brothers, Charlie and Danny, checked on their prone father. When the family rushed to the hospital later, Ted was not in attendance. Instead he was sneaking out of his bedroom window and running off into the dark night in anguish. He wouldn’t come back until hours later, finding his mother waiting at the kitchen table for him. His father was okay, staying overnight at the hospital and with a couple of his brothers there at his side. But she had to come back and wait for him, for her special boy, to tell him everything would be okay, and that whatever this — what he’d done and whatever he was going through — was, that they would get through it together. Ted folded into her arms, but only briefly. Despite how badly he wanted to, he just didn’t believe her.

It wasn’t long before two men had shown up at the Tonks’ family residence. Maybe a week or so later, when Mr. Tonks was back home and recovering in bed. It was one of the other boys that answered the door, and he hesitated to let them in, until the two men insisted that they were there to talk about the incident and “young Edward Tonks”. Meeting alone with Margaret and Ted in the living room, the two men introduced themselves as a representative of the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry respectfully, and explained that they had come to meet with Ted because they believed that he was a wizard. Incredulous at first and unwilling to listen, Ted wanted to strong arm them out of the house, but Margaret insisted they hear them out, especially as they pulled out wands and showed their capabilities, fixing the coffee table which had still laid broken, a reminder of Ted’s shame, in the corner of the room. What ensued was a couple hours long talk in which the men explained what the Wixen World was, and how magical beings truly existed. “Sometimes wixen are born to muggles — what we call non-magical beings, such as yourself, Mrs. Tonks, and your husband. We call these wixen ‘Muggleborns’, and we believe your son here is a Muggleborn wizard.” Following the info dump, the representative of this “Hogwarts School” handed Ted a letter, which contained a formal invite for him to attend the magical school come fall. Melancholic, angry at this supposed truth of being so drastically different from his family, Ted stormed out, leaving the invitation behind. But when he’d come home hours later, his mother was still sitting there on the loveseat, holding that letter in her hand. And after a tear filled conversation, she convinced him to go.

The train ride to Scotland had been unbearable. He hadn’t even made it to the castle yet, and Ted was homesick and irritable. He didn’t socialize with anyone else on the train. He just found a spot to sit and stew in silence, hating these “robes” and this promise he was going to a fantastical school. Any other kid would be champing at the bits to be magical — Ted just wanted to be normal. He just wanted to go to school with his friends back home, play on the rugby team with his mates, watch games on the telly with his dad and joke with his brothers again. As he was shuffled into the Great Hall with the other first years, he was mentally trying to figure out how he’d get out of there. He hadn’t even paid attention during the sorting ceremony, not until the hat was placed on his head and called out Gryffindor, and he was pointed in the direction of the table he was to sit at. Sliding into an empty place on the bench, he intended to be sullen and distant all night, until he felt a tap on his shoulder and the student beside him introduced themselves to him. After approximately one hour of eating and talking, Ted had forgotten what he’d been moping about. The other kids were like him — nervous, some equally new to the magic thing, and with personalities that weren’t a far cry from the other teenagers he left behind in Greenwich. When they were heading to their dorms for the night, he began to think maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe he could have fun at a magic school.

Slowly but surely, magic had become Ted’s new normal. As he learned about the wixen world and his latent magic, he became more engrossed by it. A desire to want to get better at charms and wand work, an elation at his first ascent during flying class, and all the rest that Hogwarts’ curriculum had afforded him made Ted go through a full 180 with his attitude about being a wizard. By the time he was visiting home for holiday break, he was excitedly telling his family all about Hogwarts and the fantastical world he now lived in. It took a while for his father and brothers to come around to it — still traumatized by the incident that lead to them learning about his magical abilities — but his mother was keen to learn more from the get go, and stayed up into the late hours of the night to hear all his stories about school. Pretty soon, Hogwarts was becoming more like home than Greenwich had been. He left behind his peers, not bothering to reconnect with them over the summer like planned, and developed a circle of wonderful friends at the wizarding academy instead. His eventual joining into the Gryffindor Quidditch team as a beater filled the void that muggle team sports had left behind (though this was mostly at the insistence of housemates than a deep desire to play quidditch). Chudley Cannons posters soon replaced the Charlton Atheltic F.C. posters in his childhood bedroom, a top of the line broom now hanging above his bed while his rugby things were shoved into the back of a closet.

Ted enjoyed a level of popularity that being a handsome, charming quidditch player afforded him, even if he wasn’t the best or most passionate on the pitch. He was fun and known to be a good laugh, sometimes not the best behaved student (at least during earlier years). The only thing is that being Muggleborn did not recommend him to certain crowds. He didn’t realize there was a such thing as blood purity until a couple years into his time at Hogwarts, and was deeply taken aback by it the first time he was called by a slur. He retreated into a dark and moody place almost immediately, but an encouraging letter from home (something that was rare if only because his mother was still getting used to receiving and sending communication by owl) advised Ted to be brave in the face of adversity and fight the hate with kindness. At first a rather difficult pill for any to swallow, but ultimately he had agreed with his mother. So he met those who would scorn his existence with a dimpled smile and a kind gesture at any turn; helping them pick up their belongings when they fell from their grasp, always wishing them a good morning in response to their scowls, offering up a free chair at his study table when the library was full, even if they refused to take it. It had not won him many fans, but Ted comforted in being able to sleep peacefully knowing he would never stoop to such a foul level. And besides, there were plenty at Hogwarts who didn’t care about his heritage, so why should he fret? Choosing to be optimistic about his situation, he focused his energy on bettering himself and maintaining high marks. It was of little surprise he had been selected a prefect, becoming an exemplary student in later years, not just in the classroom, but also for being so friendly and respected among his peers.

But it was not just in these ways that Ted wished to improve. After hurting his father with the early bursts of his magical abilities, Ted wanted to ensure his magic was only used in the aims of helping others. Quitting the quidditch team in his last two years, Ted instead pivoted to focus on his studies and allow his ambitions to follow a more “helpful” route to the public, filling that newfound time with a work experience programme held at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries during his final year at the encouragement of a professor. When he graduated from Hogwarts, it was with having secured a position as a Healer Trainee with St. Mungo’s, where he’d then spend a bit more time studying all about medicinal and healing magic and potions until he graduated from the programme and was taken on full time. The hours are long, with barely a day off, but the young man thrills in helping others and has found quite a knack for it. Working primarily on the Third Floor (though occasionally helping on the first for Creature Induced Injuries), he attends to the healing needs of those afflicted by potion and plant poisoning. While he sees people of all ages, Ted takes the most joy out of helping younger patients. His office is the most colorful at St. Mungo’s, walls adorned in drawings and thank you letters received over the years from his pediatric patients, whom he never allows to leave without a sweet in hand for being so brave during their appointments. It’s no wonder he’s a common favorite among the younger crowd who come in, with him being so jolly in nature and having a bit of a “fun uncle” persona. Donning colorful tennis shoes and jeans to work, he even elects to wear a goofy tie under his robes every day in hopes of it eliciting a smile from the little, more scared patients who come in to see him. Some colleagues have remarked to Ted that it’s proof he will someday make a good father, a thought that has him blushing and smiling fondly often.

He’s aware of the war and the unrest around him, but Ted is unwilling to step up to the plate just yet. Even being the exact kind of being whose lives are being threatened, he feels it’s best to stick to the fringes of the conflict at this time. It is not that he has a blind faith that things will not progress or grow worse — on the contrary, he has a feeling in his gut that things are about to get far more dangerous and scary for people like him — but Ted isn’t sure how he can contribute to the cause. While he is gallant and rather handy with his wand, he has made a vow to never harm another person after the incident with his father, and sticks to his word. He fears if he were to go against himself, then he cannot be someone deemed trustworthy, because all he really has is his good word. And he likewise has too many people he cares about, and fears that if he were to join a side or even become radicalized, that he could be putting loved ones, both family and friends, in some sort of danger. For now Ted is claiming neutrality, though he does quietly support the Order. Unless something calls him to fight, he continues instead to be a model citizen, gleefully going into work every day to help his fellow wix with their maladies and injuries, abides by the law and lives a reasonably normal wizard life. He still goes to the pub on weekends with friends, some weeknights with colleagues, and sometimes he goes out on dates (though they’re often first dates and hardly follow ups). He frequents Diagon Alley and even Hogsmeade, and, if he can afford to, you’ll find him in the stands at Cannons’ games, cheering his favorite team on. He’s leading a relatively peaceful and normal life, for as long as he reasonably can.

MISC

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Heterosexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Heteromantic RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single? FAMILY: Graham Tonks (father, muggle), Margaret Tonks (mother, muggle), Alfred Tonks (oldest brother, muggle), Benjamin Tonks (second oldest brother, muggle), Charles Tonks (third oldest brother, muggle), Daniel Tonks (fourth oldest brother, muggle) FACE CLAIM: David Corenswet HEIGHT: 6’4” OCCUPATION: Healer at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries WAND: 11 1/2” Alder wood, Phoenix Feather core, Unyielding flexibility PATRONUS: Hedgehog BOGGART: A Swarm of Hornets, as he is deathly allergic LANGUAGES: English PINTEREST: (x) ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: TBD

WANTED CONNECTIONS

tbd

[evcninglight]

( sarah catherine hook | cis woman | she/her) — was that vespera malfoy passing through diagon alley? those close to them say they remind them of overly critical eyes watching your every move, blonde hair with not a single strand out of place, the blink and you'll miss it motion of fingers anxiously ripping at cuticles, a mist of perfume so intoxicating it overwhelms your senses which i suppose seems to fit that slytherin alumnus. they’re actually pretty opinionated, aloof, and charming for a twenty three year old, but i wonder if it serves them well while being a socialite. rumor has it that the pureblood is aligning with the death eaters… for now. i wouldn’t have guessed… but this is a conversation we should be having somewhere else.

about.

name: vespera selene malfoy

name meaning: evening light

faceclaim: sarah catherine hook

age: twenty three

birthday: august 1st, 1953

zodiac: leo

gender & pronouns: cis woman. she/her

orientation: pansexual, demiromantic

relationship status: single and uninterested

occupation: socialite

blood status: pureblood

alignment: death eaters

hogwarts house: slytherin

wand: chestnut with a dragon heartstring core, 11 inches & slightly yielding felxibility

patronus: nightjar

boggart: someone shivering and dirty underneath an old, worn and ugly cloak, begging for someone to help them. when the beneath's face shown, it is revealed to be a version of vespera. however this shows he deepest fears, her fear of failure and rejection in a society that once loved her.

family.

father - abraxas malfoy mother - lucinda malfoy older brother - lucius malfoy

history.

vespera was doted on by her parents growing up. a spitting image of her mother at her age, abraxas favored his little girl due to how much she reminded him of his wife. and her mother, lucinda, enjoyed what came along with having a little girl. dressing her up and showing her off like a living doll to all the other members of society. the final addition to their perfect little family. vespera learned quickly how much she enjoyed the attention she was given if she did as she was told and acted as she was supposed to.

she was eighteen when her father suddenly and unexpectedly passed away, something vespera never would have thought a possibility. the loss of her father impacted her heavily. gone was the girl who enjoyed wearing pretty dresses and being doted on, and borne was someone who's eyes were opened to the possibility of death. a fear that if her brother somehow was felled, then her family could fall into ruin.

regardless of being a twenty three year old woman, she's yet to learn what her goals are in life. she knows what is expected of her by the family - be beautiful, be perfect, be pure. and then, through the guidance of her mother and brother, find a pureblood man of high standing and respect in society to marry and have his children to further strength the line and family influence. so far she has yet to meet anyone that can even keep her interest for longer then a few minutes.

the only time vespera has felt a lick of true connection with someone else was in her sixth year at hogwarts. it was a new dorm mate, a girl that transferred from beauxbatons. after bonding throughout the school year and growing close, an interaction one night in the astronomy tower ended with the two girls exchanging soft touches and shared moans. vespera was not delusional enough to think anything could ever come from the union, and ultimately ended the tryst before retuning home for the summer. since then, she has enjoyed quick moments of passion with people she has no intention of ever growing close to.

currently she is unemployed, instead living amongst the other high society young adults as a socialite and making sure everyone she comes in contact with hopes to have the malfoys on their side. while she has no strong feelings regarding the impending war and which side to be on, she knows which one she'll benefit most from.

connections.

lucius malfoy. {brother dearest.} lucius and vespera have never been incredibly close, and after the death of their father it seems perhaps that distance is even larger. that being said, vespera does care for her brother and knowns how important it is that he succeed. and she will use any sway she has within the pureblood community to make sure everyone finds him useful. narcissa black {sister to be.} narcissa and vespera know each other from their years matriculating at hogwarts and living in the slytherin dorms together. vespera is aware how important the union between her brother and narcissa is, but she is still wary of the connection and is watching from the wings with critical eyes before welcoming narcissa into the family with open arms. bryony wilkes {social frenemies.} bryony was someone vespera once idolized and hoped to follow in the footsteps of while attending hogwarts. now that they are older, and bryony married, vespera has noticed a change in her friend. now the two walk a fine line between friends and competition within the pureblood social scene. james potter {the schoolyard nuisance.} vespera and james attended hogwarts together and due to their incredibly different personalities, did not get along. vespera was often the recipient of a number of james' childish pranks, and in return she sent a rather nasty hex or potion his way as well. the irritation she feels towards him has yet to go away.