#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”.

[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.

[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

[badger-tales]

Fire and Honey//F.W x reader

🚨WARNING: SMUT MINORS DNI, use of potion and unprotected sex🚨

a/n: Guys you have no idea how much I love Fred and I genuinely think this is one of my most favourite fics I’ve written!!! Again I’m not too good at writing smut imo but I gave it a solid shot!!! Also I want to put it out there that I’ve never had sex so all my knowledge is strictly from literature!! And for the anon that requested this it’s not super kinky I do apologise but there is potion use!!!

request: Fred Weasley x reader PLEASEEEEEE (afab/maybe plus size reader if that’s not too much to ask but not necessary). Preferably smut, BUT I’ll take anything (literally anything cuz I love some good angst/fluff). I just can’t find any kind of content ab him that fits my preferences since it’s been 4 years since hp blew up and he’s my current obsession 😩😩 btw if it’s smut, plsplspls make it kinky - anal, potions/spell use, toys, crazy positions, etc and maybe whatever you’d like to add!

word count: 8.3k

The chime of the small brass bell above the door to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes rang out, its cheerful trill slicing through the animated hum that permeated the air inside. You stepped over the threshold, and immediately, the shop’s warmth enfolded you like an embrace, the familiar swirl of chaos and laughter welcoming you back into its fold. The heady scent of sugar mingled with an unmistakable tang of smoke and the subtle, sparkly edge of enchantment. It was a symphony of sensations that spoke of mischievous pranks and the gleeful pandemonium that could only be found in the heart of Diagon Alley.

Everywhere you looked, the shop was alive with movement and color. Shelves crammed with whirring, clinking, and chattering objects towered around you, each vying for attention with dazzling, enchanted displays. A child’s giggle rang out as a pocket-sized dragon made of candy belched tiny, harmless flames, and the sudden puff of orange smoke lingered in the air, leaving behind the faint aroma of caramelized sugar.

George Weasley, with his signature ginger hair gleaming like a flame, stood at the front counter. He was leaning forward, animatedly explaining the finer points of Fanged Frisbees and Decoy Detonators to a group of wide-eyed students, their expressions torn between wonder and awe. His booming laughter filled the room, bouncing off the polished wood and sparking even more joy around him. His eyes crinkled in genuine amusement as he gestured with both hands, exaggerating some tale or another.

But the moment he spotted you making your way past a small, precariously teetering pile of Puking Pastilles, his face split into a grin that spoke of shared memories and easy camaraderie. “(Y/N)! Haven’t seen you in ages!” His voice was as warm and bright as a summer afternoon, pulling a smile to your own lips despite yourself.

You opened your mouth to respond, navigating carefully around the pastilles that seemed ready to topple with the slightest provocation, when a voice cut in from behind a towering stack of multicolored boxes. It was a voice you knew well—velvet and mischief, with a lilt that never failed to send a flutter through your chest.

“Oi, careful there, wouldn’t want you to trip and fall for me again, now would we?” Fred’s words were drenched in playful sarcasm, his grin appearing just a moment before the rest of him did. He leaned into view, half-hidden by the chaos of exploding novelty fireworks in their bright, gaudy packaging, his hair a riot of red that caught the soft glow of the shop’s enchanted lamps. That grin—half-cocked, knowing, and absolutely infuriating—sparked a memory that made your face warm. Third year, a muddy Quidditch pitch, and the storm that had turned the game into a comedy of slips and scrambles.

You narrowed your eyes at him, arms crossing over your chest in mock indignation. “If I recall correctly, Weasley, it was you who went down first,” you countered, a smirk lifting one corner of your mouth as the memory played out between you like a well-worn scene from an old play.

Fred stepped out from behind the boxes, closing the distance between you in two strides. He looked as he always did—untamed, a perpetual storm of energy. His hair was slightly mussed, evidence of a day spent in relentless activity, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, exposing freckled forearms streaked with faint smudges of flour and the blue-black smears of enchanted ink. You couldn’t help the small, appreciative flicker in your chest at the sight, at the easy way he carried himself as if the world were one big joke he hadn’t quite finished telling.

“Details, details,” he said, waving off your accusation with a casual flourish. But there was something in the way his eyes, dark with amusement, swept over your face, taking you in with a look so familiar it made your heart skip. The glimmer in his gaze was electric, playful, and it sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“But I’m glad to see you’re back,” he continued, and the note of sincerity hidden in the teasing made your stomach flip. “Here to help George, or have you finally decided to give in and help me test some of our newest products?” His voice dropped, dipping into a conspiratorial tone that made the space between you feel smaller, the air charged with a hundred unsaid things. He leaned in, just a touch, enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him and catch the faint, woody scent of broom polish and something uniquely Fred.

The room seemed to blur at the edges, the rest of the shop and its noise fading into a distant hum. It was just him, and the lingering pause where both of you waited to see who would break the moment first.

You chuckled, the sound light and familiar as it filled the small space between you, a warmth unfurling in your chest at Fred’s nearness. It was the kind of warmth that seeped into your bones and made your skin tingle, a secret heat reserved for moments like this—unexpected, charged, and sweetly unsettling. “George roped me in,” you said, the corners of your mouth lifting as you bit your lower lip, a teasing gesture that did not go unnoticed. “But I’m fairly certain that testing any of your experiments would have me checking in at St. Mungo’s faster than you could say ‘Fainting Fancies.’”

Fred’s smirk deepened, eyes glinting like molten copper beneath the shop’s enchanted lamps. The shadows played across his face, highlighting the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the hint of a dimple that only appeared when he was especially pleased with himself. “Can’t argue with that,” he said, voice dropping into that husky, conspiratorial tone that always made your pulse dance. The slight wink he tossed in your direction was almost too much, a playful punctuation that left the air crackling between you.

For a moment, the world around you seemed to dim, the noise and bustle of the shop fading into a muffled backdrop. The energy between you hummed, an invisible thread that had connected you both for years—woven from quick-witted exchanges that left your hearts thumping, subtle brushes of hands that lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary, and stolen glances that spoke in a language neither of you dared put to words. This was how it always was: a dance, a game, an endless conversation that teetered on the edge of something more.

Before either of you could break the silence, George’s voice pierced the moment, booming from across the shop where he stood surrounded by boxes and half-finished contraptions. “Fred, if you’re done trying to charm (Y/N), I could use your help with the Skiving Snackboxes!” His tone was loud and mock-exasperated, but it carried a fondness that only a brother could manage.

Fred’s eyes rolled dramatically, but a reluctant smile tugged at his lips as he turned to glare at George. The momentary interruption broke the spell, but not the tension. His gaze swung back to you, the spark in it now softened to something almost tender, almost shy. “Duty calls,” he said, but his voice dipped, wrapping around the words as if they were meant only for you. “But don’t go anywhere, yeah?” It wasn’t a question so much as a quiet request, laced with a sincerity that sent your heart stumbling over its next beat.

A blush rose to your cheeks, warm and unbidden, and you nodded, unable to keep the smile from breaking across your face. “Not planning on it,” you answered, the words feeling like a promise, light but solid.

As Fred turned away, the spell wasn’t completely broken. His movements, usually quick and purposeful, seemed to linger as if he, too, felt the weight of what had passed between you. Your eyes followed him as he crossed the shop, and though the chaos of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes buzzed around you—shelves bursting with colorful, enchanted goods and the soft puffs of smoke from a forgotten trick candle—it wasn’t the spark of magic that captured your attention.

It was him. The subtle shift of his shoulders beneath his shirt, the way he glanced back at you just once, his eyes holding yours for a heartbeat before he turned away. The look was fleeting, but it spoke volumes: anticipation, unsaid words, and the easy familiarity of someone who knew you better than most. It settled between you like a shared secret, leaving the room feeling both too small and brimming with possibilities.

The laughter of a nearby child and the sudden pop of a Decoy Detonator brought you back to the present, but the lingering warmth of Fred’s gaze refused to fade. It stayed with you, a whisper of promise and a question left unanswered, weaving itself into the fabric of the moment and making your chest ache with a kind of happy, hopeful longing.

The last dregs of sunlight bathed Diagon Alley in a honeyed glow, casting long, golden streaks that stretched through the tall front windows of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. The shop, usually a riot of chatter and clatter, had fallen into an almost sacred silence. The laughter and footsteps that had filled the space earlier were gone, leaving only the occasional creak of wood and the soft rustle of your breath. You sat perched on a stool behind the counter, its surface polished smooth by years of bustling activity. The warm glow of the enchanted lamps flickered around you, casting playful shadows that made the shelves seem to dance, each jar and trinket catching the light and shimmering like captured stars.

George had finished his closing routine hours ago, with a grin and a cheerful comment about meeting Angelina before disappearing into the night, the final echo of the door’s bell trailing after him like a sigh. Now, it was just you and Fred, and the quiet of the shop seemed deeper, filled with an undercurrent that made your skin prickle.

Fred stood a few paces away, leaning against the counter with a kind of effortless grace that drew your eyes. The soft, amber light spilled over him, highlighting the tousled red of his hair and the way it caught on the line of his jaw. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing freckled forearms that spoke of summer days spent under the sun and long hours tinkering with inventions. The freckles, scattered like a constellation, followed the gentle curve of his muscles, a detail that held your attention a moment too long.

His eyes met yours, glancing up from the rows of small, glittering bottles he was carefully aligning. They flicked back to the task at hand, but not before you caught the glint of mischief that had become as familiar to you as your own heartbeat. The silence between you was thick with the unspoken—shared jokes, stolen glances, moments that had tiptoed to the edge of something deeper but never quite crossed.

“So, (Y/N),” Fred finally said, breaking the stillness with that voice that always seemed to balance somewhere between playful and daring. There was a spark in his tone that made your fingers tighten against the counter’s edge. “Ever wonder what happens when the shop closes?”

A smirk pulled at your lips as you tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “I’d hazard a guess that it involves you and George setting off fireworks or testing things that’ll inevitably get you on the Ministry’s bad side.” Your voice was steady, teasing, but there was a thrum in your chest that spoke of anticipation.

Fred’s chuckle was low, warm, and impossibly magnetic. It rippled through the quiet, settling in your bones and sending a pleasant shiver racing down your spine. He straightened, pushing away from the counter with a languid ease and crossing the distance between you in a few strides. When he stopped, he was close enough that you had to tip your chin up to meet his gaze, the small space between you charged with a current that seemed to hum just beneath your skin.

“Well, tonight, you’re in luck,” he murmured, eyes crinkling at the corners as they locked onto yours. The way he looked at you—like he was memorizing the curve of your lips and the light in your eyes—made your breath catch. He lifted one hand, and in it, a small vial glimmered, the liquid inside a mesmerizing swirl of gold that reflected the light like liquid sun.

Your pulse quickened, thrumming against your ribs like a wild drumbeat. Fred’s expression softened, watching you with a kind of quiet intensity as if this moment were something rare. “And what exactly is that?” you asked, trying to keep your voice from betraying the way your heart raced. You could feel it—a flutter of nerves mixed with the sharp spike of excitement. The question hung between you, heavy with curiosity and the promise of the unexpected.

His gaze dipped to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes, a knowing smile curving his mouth. “Something special,” he said, voice lowering to a near whisper, sending warmth cascading through you. The words seemed to tangle in the air between you, waiting, tempting, as the moment stretched like a taut string, ready to snap.

“A little something we’ve been working on. Enhances your senses,” Fred said, his voice dipping to a softer, almost velvet tone that seemed to wrap around you like a whisper in the dark. The shop, with its kaleidoscope of bright colors and enchanted trinkets, suddenly seemed dimmer, the space between you charged with a heat that made the air feel thick. “Every touch, every sound, everything becomes sharper,” he continued, the promise in his words igniting a spark low in your belly.

You swallowed hard, the room shrinking until it felt as if the walls were pressing in, leaving just the two of you caught in this magnetic pull. Fred leaned in closer, the subtle scent of him—a mix of cedar, smoke, and something uniquely Fred—enveloping you. His proximity was dizzying, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, even as your pulse quickened. “Fred, is this one of those things where I end up with purple hair for a week?” you asked, aiming for humor to steady yourself, though your voice came out shakier than intended.

“No side effects,” he said, his grin widening into a playful smirk, eyes glinting with a mix of sincerity and that irresistible touch of mischief that always seemed to dance there. He leaned in, his breath brushing against your cheek, close enough that you felt the warmth of it. “I swear on my broomstick. Trust me, love?”

The question settled between you, weighted and electric, the words hanging like a challenge. The way he looked at you then—eyes dark, mouth barely a breath away from yours—made the room tilt. You felt the question reverberate in the thrum of your heart, in the way your skin seemed to hum under the golden glow of the lamps. Slowly, you nodded, the playful tension that had danced between you all evening sparking into something deeper, something more.

Fred’s smile shifted, a flicker of warmth softening the sharp edge of his grin as he uncorked the vial, the sound of it popping open far louder than it should have been. The glimmering gold liquid caught the light, refracting tiny prisms that seemed to shimmer with possibility. His eyes never left yours as he handed you the vial, fingers brushing yours—a fleeting touch that sent a jolt of warmth up your arm, lingering like an echo.

You lifted the vial to your lips, the cool glass pressing against your skin before the liquid slid over your tongue. It tasted like citrus and starlight, bright and unfamiliar. The heat that followed was immediate, blooming in your chest and spreading outwards, tendrils of fire igniting each nerve ending one by one. You shivered, the sensation both strange and addictive, making the room feel brighter, sharper.

Fred’s eyes darkened as he watched you, his gaze tracing the flush that spread across your cheeks, the way your lashes fluttered as the magic coursed through you. His expression was unreadable for a moment, a blend of fascination and something deeper, almost reverent. “Feel anything yet?” he asked, the words almost a murmur, and as he stepped closer, the space between you seemed to sizzle.

“Yeah,” you whispered, the simple word catching in your throat as your fingertips tingled and your heartbeat drummed loud and insistent in your ears. The room felt alive, each creak of the floorboards, each distant whir of a clock in the corner, amplified. But none of that mattered. It was Fred’s gaze holding you captive, the slow way he reached out and let a single calloused finger trace the line of your jaw, the touch so feather-light it made your breath hitch.

The trail of his touch left a path of fire in its wake, and he leaned in further, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, lingering as if testing the waters. His eyes searched yours, an unspoken question there, an invitation. The charged silence stretched, and the only thing you could hear was the erratic pounding of your pulse. Your breath shuddered as you felt the weight of the moment shift, tipping past the point of return.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice a rich, molten sound that seemed to sink into your skin and light up every nerve. The way he said it was more than a word—it was a promise, dark and thrilling. His fingers cupped your face, the rough pads of his thumb brushing over your cheek in a touch that was somehow both tender and possessive. The warmth of his other arm slipped around your waist, drawing you flush against him until there was no space left, only the intoxicating press of his body, solid and fiercely real.

The heat radiating from him seeped into you, chasing any coherent thought away as his lips found yours. The kiss was not gentle; it was fierce and unapologetic, as if he had waited for this moment longer than he’d admit, a hunger finally given release. His mouth moved over yours with a fervor that left you breathless, a perfect blend of heat and urgency. You responded in kind, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt, nails digging in enough to make him draw a sharp breath that vibrated between your lips.

The potion’s effects rippled through you, amplifying each shift of his lips, each slide of his tongue, until it felt as though the world itself spun around you. The warmth that had ignited in your chest spread in hot waves, coiling lower, making everything sharper, more vivid. You were dimly aware of the way his hands tightened on you, the flex of his muscles under your touch, before you realized he’d lifted you effortlessly onto the counter. The hard edge bit into the backs of your thighs, grounding you for a moment in the storm of sensation.

Fred’s eyes met yours as he pulled back, his pupils blown wide, dark and smoldering as they roamed over your face. His breath came in ragged pulls, chest heaving with the same urgency you felt. “If this is too much—” he started, voice rough, words catching as if even the question cost him effort.

You shook your head quickly, fingers curling tighter around the back of his neck, tugging him close. “Don’t you dare stop,” you whispered, your voice a low tremble that barely contained the ache surging through you.

His grin was immediate, wicked and laced with satisfaction, a look that made your pulse race faster. “As you wish, love,” he whispered against your lips before claiming them again, deeper this time, with a focus that bordered on worshipful. His hand remained firm at your hip, anchoring you while the other moved, skimming up the curve of your waist. Each brush of his fingers left a trail of heat that made you shiver, anticipation twisting and coiling low in your belly.

His touch dipped to the hem of your skirt, fingers finding purchase and dragging it upward, the scrape of fabric against your skin only adding to the fire building between you. The feel of him, so close, so intent, was a heady mix of desire and reassurance. His hand squeezed your thigh, the pressure enough to make your breath hitch and your heartbeat drum wildly in your chest.

Every moment stretched and blurred, each sensation heightened to a fever pitch. The low rasp of his voice, the press of his hips against yours, and the way his body seemed to fit perfectly against yours made it impossible to think beyond this—beyond him. The world outside the shop dissolved into the background, leaving only the soft glow of the lamps and the charged silence, broken only by shared, breathless gasps.

The anticipation crackled between you, hot and relentless, as Fred’s eyes met yours once more, a silent question and a spark of mischief that promised there was still more to come.

“Stay still,” he commanded softly, the words grazing your ear like the whisper of silk, sending a shiver down your spine. His lips barely brushed the delicate skin just below your earlobe, and the warmth of his breath curled around you, making it hard to hold back the tremor that threatened to break your composure. The command was gentle but unyielding, more than a simple request—it was a promise, binding the air between you with an intensity that made your heart stutter and sent heat pooling deep in your core. Your chest rose and fell in rapid succession as you nodded, eyes closing against the wave of sensation.

Fred’s mouth curved into a satisfied smirk, even as he leaned in, his lips tracing a slow path along the curve of your jaw and down the side of your neck. He moved deliberately, finding the sensitive spots that made your breath catch, each kiss igniting sparks that fanned out like wildfire beneath your skin. The room seemed to narrow to just this—just the heat of him pressed close, the tantalizing brush of his mouth, and the way his stubble grazed your skin with a delicious roughness that made you gasp.

Your back arched involuntarily, the motion instinctive, a silent plea to close the almost unbearable distance between your bodies. Fred’s arm tightened around your waist in response, holding you firm, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. The pressure of his body against yours was intoxicating, and the room spun with the heady mix of desire and the faint crackle of magic that pulsed in the air. Somewhere behind you, a trinket sputtered to life with a faint whir and spark, but the noise barely registered in the haze that enveloped you both.

The only sounds that mattered were the mingling of your breaths, ragged and uneven, and the low hum that resonated in Fred’s throat as he took his time, worshiping the line of your neck with practiced ease. His lips moved lower, tasting and teasing, each deliberate kiss making your skin flush hot under the warm glow of the shop’s lamps. The light wrapped around you like a golden shroud, highlighting the slight sheen on your skin and casting shadows that flickered with the movement of his head as he explored.

Each moment felt sharper, more defined, as if time itself had slowed to savor every detail. The pressure of his arm anchored you, while his other hand found its way up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just enough to give him better access. The simple touch was possessive, reverent, and it made a new surge of heat coil in your stomach. Your pulse thundered in your ears, drowning out everything but the slick, intoxicating symphony of heartbeats, breath, and the low murmurs that slipped between his lips.

Every second crackled with unspoken possibilities, each heartbeat a testament to the space you occupied together. The rest of the world could have fallen away, leaving just you and Fred and the uncharted territories mapped between skin and whispered commands. Nothing else mattered—not the ticking of clocks, not the fading light outside the shop’s windows, not the lingering echoes of laughter that had once filled the room. All that existed was the tightrope of anticipation that stretched between you and Fred, sparking like embers, daring one of you to push it further.

And as he drew back, just enough for his eyes to find yours, dark and laced with mischief, you knew that this moment was just the beginning.

The shop was bathed in a hush, shadows pooling in the corners and stretching languidly across the floor, broken only by the flickering glow of the enchanted lamps that cast pools of golden light. The world outside was a distant memory; in this space, only the two of you existed, tangled in a moment that defied the ticking of the clock. Your heart thudded hard in your chest, each beat reverberating through your body like a drum, as Fred’s eyes swept over you—dark, intense, brimming with a hunger that made your pulse stutter.

His fingers, warm and roughened from years of crafting jokes and pranks, brushed up the length of your thighs, the touch slow and deliberate. The soft rustle of fabric as he pushed your skirt higher made the air thicken, pressing down on you with a palpable weight. Each breath you drew felt laden, each tiny shift magnified by the lingering effects of the potion coursing through your veins. It was as if every whisper of movement, every brush of skin, sent a jolt of electricity sparking through you, setting your nerves ablaze.

“You’re stunning, you know that?” Fred’s voice was low, a gravelly rumble that seemed to seep into your very skin. The sincerity that threaded through the heat in his tone made something inside you tighten, warmth blooming in your chest and spreading outward until you felt both rooted in place and light as air. The words stole your response before it could form, leaving only the shallow, uneven rise and fall of your breath.

Before you could regain your composure, his lips captured yours again. The kiss was insistent, demanding, and it tasted of longing that had been simmering far too long. It was the kind of kiss that claimed and gave in equal measure, pulling you under so completely that the world around you seemed to blur at the edges. His hand slid behind you, fingers pressing into the small of your back as he drew you even closer, so close that you felt every heartbeat, every tremor, aligned perfectly with his.

“Fred,” you gasped, the name slipping out unbidden as he left your lips to trail a path down your neck. His mouth was hot, each kiss open and searing as it met the sensitive skin, igniting a chain reaction that sent shivers racing over your skin. When he paused at the curve of your collarbone, the faint scrape of his teeth grazing just enough to make your body tense and then melt, a soft sound escaped you, half-whisper, half-sigh.

He lifted his head, eyes meeting yours with a spark of mischief that never fully left him, even in moments like this. “Hmm?” he murmured, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he spoke. His fingers, which had settled on your thigh, began tracing lazy, teasing circles just above your knee, the touch feather-light but potent enough to make your skin hum with the promise of more.

The potion thrummed through you, amplifying everything—the press of his fingertips, the rush of your blood beneath your skin, the heat of his breath as it fanned across your flushed cheeks. The slight rasp of his stubble as it grazed your neck added another layer of sensation, a delicious contrast to the warmth of his lips and the firmness of his hands. Every nerve in your body seemed to wake at once, straining toward his touch, savoring the way he moved, the way he watched you as though memorizing each reaction.

Time was meaningless, measured only by the whispered touches and the silent, shared anticipation that coiled tighter and tighter, leaving you breathless and aching for whatever would come next.

“Stop teasing,” you managed, though the words barely made it past your lips, breathless and edged with desperation. The response came not as mercy but as the sound of Fred’s chuckle, rich and low, vibrating against your skin where his mouth lingered. The sensation rippled through you, sending a shiver racing down your spine, making you clench your thighs in a futile attempt to steady yourself.

“As you wish,” he murmured, the velvet tone a contrast to the glint in his eyes. It was a promise and a challenge all at once, the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk that told you he had no intentions of making this easy. With a confident grace that set your heart pounding, he drew back, hands warm and sure as they gripped your hips, guiding you to the edge of the counter. The cool surface pressed into the backs of your thighs, grounding you as anticipation twisted in your chest.

The room around you seemed to dissolve, swallowed by the soft, golden glow of the enchanted lamps. The only thing that existed was Fred, now dropping to his knees before you, eyes fixed on yours with a look so intense it stole the breath from your lungs. The heat in his gaze, dark and unwavering, sent another rush of warmth through you, coiling low in your belly and spreading out until you felt liquid, pliant under his touch.

He leaned in, and your breath hitched as his mouth skimmed up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The first brush of his lips was gentle, almost reverent, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Each kiss grew firmer, more insistent, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. The potion’s magic coursed through you, sharpening every sensation until the world narrowed to the points of contact where his skin met yours. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, and it made stillness impossible.

Your fingers found their way into his hair, tangling in the unruly, fire-kissed strands and tugging slightly. The low groan that rumbled in his chest resonated through you, sparking a fresh wave of heat that settled low, tight, and wanting. The sound made your pulse race, a quick, erratic drumbeat that echoed in your ears as he paused, lifting his head just enough for his eyes to meet yours.

“Patience,” he said, the single word dripping with a teasing command that both frustrated and thrilled you. His grin was wicked, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief even now, as if this moment was just another game he planned to win. Before you could respond, before you could even draw a proper breath, his head dipped again, and the distance between want and fulfillment disappeared.

When his mouth finally met the place where you ached for him most, the sensation crashed over you like a wave, making you gasp, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. The heat of him, relentless and skilled, combined with the amplified edge of the potion, sent jolts of pleasure singing through your veins. It was impossible to think, to focus on anything but the way he made you feel. Your hands tightened in his hair, the counter digging into your palms as you gripped its edge for stability, a lifeline as your body responded to every deliberate movement.

The soft hum of the shop, the distant clatter of a forgotten gadget sparking in the background, was lost to the rush of your heartbeat and the erratic pattern of your breathing. The tension that had coiled so tightly within you threatened to snap, leaving you trembling, the world around you blurred with the force of sensation. Fred’s hands, firm against your thighs, anchored you, guiding you through the storm, until every nerve in your body sang with the fire only he could ignite.

Fred’s movements were deliberate, each calculated touch and flick designed to strip away your composure piece by trembling piece. His hands, strong and commanding, pressed into your thighs, keeping you open, exposed, and utterly at his mercy. The heat of his palms seared into your skin, grounding you as his mouth worked its magic, tongue tracing intricate, maddening patterns that sent shocks of pleasure racing through your veins. The potion’s effects heightened every sensation, turning each delicate flick and press into a jolt that made your breath stutter, your voice splinter into gasps that broke on his name like a whispered prayer.

Every moment was an exquisite torment, the pressure inside you building relentlessly, coiling tighter and tighter until it bordered on unbearable. The only sounds that reached your ears were the ragged pulls of your breath, the soft rustle of fabric under your quivering fingers, and Fred’s occasional hum of satisfaction, the vibration adding another layer to the storm within you.

“You taste incredible,” he murmured between kisses, his voice rough, the words rolling out like smoke and sparking a new wave of heat that set your nerves alight. His eyes, dark and dilated, flicked up to meet yours, the connection sending a thrill down your spine. Your response was nothing more than a broken moan, caught and lost somewhere between a plea and surrender, as he pushed you closer to that impossible, breathtaking edge. The world around you shrank, fading into a blur until only Fred remained—the feel of him, the taste, the scent—consuming every sense, every thought.

The tension that had been building, wound tight enough to snap, finally did. The release came in a rush, pleasure crashing over you in relentless waves that left you arching against him, your fingers digging into the counter behind you in a desperate bid for stability. The sensation was overwhelming, blinding, a burst of warmth and light that seared through you, leaving you trembling and boneless. Fred stayed with you through it, his hold on your thighs tightening, anchoring you as the tremors rippled out, slowly ebbing into a soft, residual hum that left you dazed and breathless.

You drew in a shaky breath, the rise and fall of your chest erratic as Fred’s strong arms wrapped around you. With an ease that made your pulse quicken, he lifted you off the counter, guiding you towards one of the plush chairs nestled in the corner of the shop. The room felt charged, the remnants of your shared heat thickening the air. The faint glow of the lamps cast shifting pools of light, flickering shadows playing across the walls as if echoing the intensity between you. His eyes never left yours, the dark gleam within them hinting at a promise unfinished, a desire yet to be sated.

Fred sat down, his posture relaxed yet predatory, and pulled you onto his lap in a fluid motion that left you straddling him, knees pressed into the soft cushion on either side of his hips. His hands slid up your sides, the touch roughened by work and warm against your skin, taking the hem of your shirt with them. The anticipation crackled between you, sparking with every inch of fabric that lifted away, baring more of you to the dim light and his admiring gaze.

He paused once the fabric reached your shoulders, his eyes searching yours with a look so intense it stole your breath. The unspoken question in his gaze was met with your nod, your heartbeat drumming out a wild, impatient rhythm. With a final tug, he pulled the shirt over your head and let it fall to the floor, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to the cool air and his unwavering attention.

“You’re perfect,” he said, the words weighted and reverent, resonating deep within you and scattering any lingering doubts or insecurities. His voice was low, a soft rumble that seemed to travel straight through you, making your skin flush anew. The way he looked at you—eyes wide, full of wonder and hunger—made you feel cherished, seen in a way that transcended the physical.

His hands roamed over your curves, fingers tracing the gentle slopes and hollows with a touch that was both possessive and tender. Each pass of his palm over your skin was a silent declaration, a way of mapping you with touch alone, as though committing every line and contour to memory. The feeling was overwhelming, raw and intimate, and it left you teetering between the need to close your eyes and simply feel and the compulsion to watch him as he worshipped you.

His lips found yours again, this time softer, imbued with a depth that made your heart ache even as it stoked the embers of desire still burning in your veins. The kiss was less hurried, more deliberate—a dance of tongues and parted lips that spoke of affection as much as it did want. You shifted on his lap, your thighs tightening as the solid press of him beneath you stirred a fresh wave of anticipation that curled low and hot in your belly.

Fred’s hands slid to your hips, fingers flexing as he guided you, helping you find a rhythm that sent sparks of pleasure skittering through both of you. The friction built slowly, deliciously, each movement drawing gasps and shallow breaths from your lips that mingled with his own. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, mouth parting as a sound escaped him—a sound that told you he was as undone as you were, as lost in the sensations and the moment.

The room seemed to hum with the energy between you, each shift, each press of your bodies against one another igniting the space with unspoken promises. The quiet groans, the soft hitch of breath, the subtle creak of the chair beneath you—all of it blurred together into a symphony that only the two of you could hear, drowning out everything else. The world outside the shop, the flicker of the lamps, even the magic that hummed faintly in the air—all of it faded to the background, leaving only the two of you and the consuming heat that bound you together.

The room around you seemed to dissolve into a hazy blur as your bodies moved in perfect sync, each movement stoking the embers of shared desire. The air was thick with heat, each breath labored, mingling with whispered names that passed between your lips like sacred incantations. The quiet hum of magic that surrounded the shop, usually a background comfort, now pulsed like a heartbeat, adding to the electric charge that threaded through the space.

Fred’s eyes remained locked on yours, their usual mischief replaced with an intensity that made your breath catch. Even as the rhythm between you grew faster, more desperate, his gaze didn’t waver. It spoke volumes, a silent conversation that said more than any words could: that this was real, that it was shared, and that he was wholly here with you. His hands gripped your hips, fingers pressing into your skin with a possessive strength that anchored you, holding you steady as the storm between you built to a fever pitch.

When release finally claimed you, it came in a rush that seemed to pull the air from your lungs, the tension unraveling in a white-hot wave that left you shuddering. Fred’s grip tightened, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he followed you into that blissful abyss, the two of you caught in a moment that felt suspended in time. The echo of it hummed in your bones, and your body collapsed against his, muscles trembling as you both struggled to catch your breath.

His arms wrapped around you, strong and reassuring, drawing you close until your cheek rested against the rapid thud of his heartbeat. The aftershocks coursed through you both, little tremors that left you breathless and weak, a soft sigh slipping from your lips as the world began to right itself. The shop, with its dimly flickering lamps and quiet creaks, seemed almost reverent in its silence, as though even the lingering magic respected this moment between you.

Fred pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips warm and lingering, the gesture a blend of tenderness and exhaustion. The subtle scent of him—woodsmoke and spice—wrapped around you, grounding you further in the here and now. His fingers, now gentle, traced lazy patterns along your back, the touch soothing and intimate, a silent promise that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment.

“I think we might need to test more of that potion,” he said, the corners of his lips curling into a tired, contented grin that made your heart squeeze with affection.

A chuckle bubbled up, soft and genuine, and you tilted your head to press a kiss to the sharp edge of his jaw, where the faint stubble rasped pleasantly against your lips. “I’d say it passed,” you murmured, the words punctuated by the faint crackle of the lamps, which flickered as if in agreement.

The shop settled into a comfortable stillness, the warmth of your bodies pressed close, the steady rise and fall of your breaths intertwining. It felt like a secret kept in the glow of the lamps and the quiet hum of magic—a secret that was yours, wrapped in the soft aftermath and the shared, unspoken promise of more moments like this to come.

Soft, golden rays of morning sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, painting warm stripes that danced across the wooden floor and climbed the walls. The room was hushed, a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of chatter, laughter, and bursts of magic that filled it during the day. The early dawn seemed to hold its breath, embracing the quiet as if it were something sacred. Your eyes blinked open slowly, the remnants of sleep falling away as the memories of last night washed over you in gentle waves—snippets of laughter that had bubbled between kisses, heated whispers exchanged in the dim glow, the unguarded moments that left a soft, lingering warmth in your chest.

The air carried a calm stillness, and as you shifted slightly, the comforting weight of Fred’s arm draped over your waist became more pronounced. His breath was steady and warm against your shoulder, each exhale a gentle reassurance that anchored you in place. The plush bed beneath you, worn in from years of shared stories and stolen moments, creaked softly as you turned to face him. The sound blended with the muffled stirrings of the early morning outside, where the world was only just waking up.

Fred’s face was softened by sleep, the perpetual mischief that usually sparked in his eyes momentarily at rest. A hint of a smile lingered at the corner of his mouth, as if even in dreams, he found reasons to be amused. Freckles, scattered like constellations, stood out on his nose and cheeks, illuminated by the tender light that spilled over both of you. You reached out instinctively, tracing one of those freckles with a touch so light it was almost reverent. The skin beneath your fingertips was warm, the gesture small but filled with a quiet affection that made your chest tighten.

At your touch, Fred’s eyes fluttered open, the soft brown depths catching the light and pulling it in, making them glow with a gentle warmth. It took a heartbeat for his gaze to sharpen, to focus on you, and when it did, a slow, lazy grin spread across his face. “Morning, love,” he murmured, the words wrapped in the rough, gravelly timbre of sleep. The sound was enough to send a pleasant shiver down your spine, sparking a contented hum low in your throat.

“Morning,” you replied, voice softer than a whisper, fingers moving to toy with the tousled strands of his hair. The auburn mess caught the morning light, shifting between shades of flame and copper. For a moment, time seemed to stretch, elastic and forgiving, holding the two of you in a golden sliver of stillness where the rest of the world didn’t matter. It was just the two of you, suspended between the night and the coming day, wrapped in the fragile, perfect quiet.

But as the silence between you lingered, a shadow of doubt crept in, coiling at the edges of your thoughts. The serenity of the morning, as beautiful as it was, seemed almost too delicate, too transient. You wondered if this moment could hold, if the world outside the shop’s walls—filled with noise, expectation, and the relentless march of reality—could ever understand the tenderness that had bloomed here. The uncertainty prickled at the back of your mind, threatening to mar the peace you’d found.

Fred’s eyes, observant even when softened by sleep, seemed to catch the shift in your expression. His hand slid up your back in a slow, reassuring gesture, fingers tracing lazy patterns that said without words that he was here, that this was real. And as the first bird outside began to sing, tentative and sweet, the room seemed to exhale with you, the morning holding its breath just a moment longer.

The memories of last night felt almost too vivid, too tender, to be real. They shimmered in your mind like the remnants of a dream, leaving behind an ache of doubt that gnawed at the edges of your thoughts. What if this was just a fleeting moment, a beautiful spark that would fade in the light of day? The question tightened in your chest, pressing against your ribs as you shifted slightly, breaking the comfortable cocoon of warmth the two of you had shared through the night.

“Fred, about last night…” you began, the words catching in your throat as you sat up, the morning light painting soft golden stripes across your bare skin. The quiet vulnerability in your voice was enough to make him stir, his brow furrowing as he sensed the hesitation lacing your tone. His expression softened, the mischievous glint usually dancing in his eyes replaced by something deeper, more serious. His hand, warm and reassuring, tightened slightly on your hip, a silent tether that held you both in the moment.

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, the word wrapped in a softness that calmed the storm brewing in your chest. He pushed himself up to sit beside you, the creak of the chair beneath shifting with him. His eyes met yours, earnest and open, their familiar warmth now tinged with an intensity that made your heart stumble. He searched your face as if he could read every unspoken fear and soothe them with his gaze alone.

“If you’re worried that it didn’t mean anything, don’t be,” he said, his voice steady, each syllable weighted with conviction.

The pad of his thumb brushed your cheek, the touch so tender it sent a shiver down your spine. It was grounding, pulling you back from the precipice of doubt. The quiet sincerity in his eyes, the way his brows knitted slightly as if willing you to believe him, made the room seem smaller, cozier, as if it held only the two of you and this fragile moment.

 “Last night wasn’t just… a one-off thing, (Y/N). Not for me,” he continued, and his voice dropped to a near whisper, as if saying it any louder would break the spell. The confession hung between you, heavy and achingly real, chasing away the shadow that had lingered in your mind.

A warmth unfurled inside you, starting at the center of your chest and spreading outward, tinged with relief and something deeper that made your eyes prickle. You felt the corners of your mouth lift in a soft, genuine smile, a quiet laugh bubbling up as you leaned into his touch, pressing your cheek into his palm. The gesture was simple but filled with trust, and the vulnerability that had scared you before now felt shared, lighter.

“Good,” you whispered, the single word carrying more weight than you intended, your fingers finding their way to the back of his neck, tracing the edge of his hair. Your eyes, which had momentarily drifted to the curve of his lips, met his again, steady and clear. 

“Because I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want this—didn’t want you.”

Fred’s eyes softened further, a slow, contented grin spreading across his face, crinkling the skin around his eyes in that way that always made your heart flutter. The morning light caught the red in his hair, turning it into a halo of copper and gold, and you felt a sense of peace settle over you, deeper than anything you’d known. The silence that followed was no longer heavy with doubt, but warm, alive with the unspoken promise of more mornings like this one, shared in the quiet stillness before the world stirred.

With a small, almost imperceptible nod, Fred leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling in the small space between.

“Then we’re on the same page, love,” he murmured, voice barely more than a sigh, before capturing your lips in a kiss that spoke of assurance, affection, and the certainty that this—you and him—was something worth holding onto.

Fred’s grin turned playful, and with it, the last tendrils of tension unraveling, replaced by the lightness of the moment. His fingers found their way to the curve of your smile, tracing it with a touch that sent a subtle warmth trickling through you. “Well, that’s convenient, isn’t it? Because I plan to make this a regular occurrence,” he said, his tone rich with mock-seriousness and a hint of mischief that made your heart skip. He gestured around the cluttered room, jars and enchanted trinkets glinting in the morning light. “Might even clear a shelf for you here,” he added, the twinkle in his eyes daring you to laugh.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, the playful exasperation bubbling over as a laugh escaped your lips, bright and unburdened. The sound filled the room, resonating against the stacks of spell ingredients and rows of joke products that lined the shelves, creating an echo that seemed to amplify the warmth between you. In that moment, the world outside of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes ceased to exist—no bustling shoppers, no clamor of Diagon Alley—just the two of you in the cocoon of your shared laughter.

Fred’s embrace was quick and effortless, pulling you close until you could feel the steady beat of his heart against yours, his chin resting atop your head for a moment. It was grounding, solid, and you sank into it, letting the familiar scent of him—woodsmoke, cinnamon, and the faintest trace of parchment—wrap around you like a second skin.

He tilted his head down, pressing a kiss to the crown of your hair, his lips lingering as he spoke, voice dropping into that familiar, teasing drawl that made your stomach flutter. “I’ll make breakfast. Well, I’ll attempt it. No promises on how edible it’ll be,” he said, the smile in his tone unmistakable.

“Considering I saw you burn water once, I’m prepared for the worst,” you retorted, a grin splitting your face as you looked up at him. The laughter that followed was soft, shared, and it drew a playful nudge from Fred as he released you, eyes twinkling with the kind of joy that seemed inexhaustible.

He pushed himself up, stretching his arms high over his head, muscles shifting under the thin fabric of his sleep-rumpled shirt. The motion revealed a strip of skin, toned and freckled, catching the sunlight in a way that made your breath hitch and a blush creep up your neck. Fred noticed, his gaze snapping to yours just as your teeth caught your lower lip. The smirk that spread across his face was pure mischief, eyes narrowing slightly as if he’d just caught you red-handed.

“If you keep looking at me like that, breakfast might have to wait,” he warned, the playful lilt in his voice sending a new spark of heat through you. His eyes danced with that familiar challenge, the kind that made your heart skip and your pulse drum a little faster.

You laughed, the sound a little breathier than you intended, but didn’t look away. The quiet intimacy of the moment wrapped around you both, filling the shop with a warmth that had nothing to do with the sunlight streaming through the window. For now, there was no rush, no outside world knocking on the door—just Fred, you, and the golden glow of the morning, full of unspoken promises and the sense that moments like this would soon become part of the everyday tapestry of your life together.

[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.”

[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

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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.

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Read the next part here!

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[george-weasleys-girl]

Hi! I was wondering if you’d do headcanons of both of the Weasley twins and what it’ll be like hanging out with them during Halloween? I just need funsies and giggles.

A Weasley Halloween

It goes without saying that George and Fred love Halloween.

As kids, they dressed up as something different every day of October.

And constantly ran around the house jump scaring everybody.

It drove Molly up the wall.

They were very competitive when it came to pumpkin carving.

Which one carved the best design.

Which one carved their pumpkin the fastest.

Which jack o' lantern was the funniest or scariest or weirdest and so on.

These usually culminated into the two of them throwing pumpkin guts at each other.

This also drove Molly up the wall.

When they were still at Hogwarts, they turned Gryffindor Tower into a haunted house every year.

Everyone, even Slytherin, was invited.

Though Slytherin got a few extra jump scares and pranks.

Now that they have their shop, they go all out.

The place is decked out from top to bottom with every conceivable Halloween decoration.

And a few unconceivable ones.

Cheesy muggle Halloween music, like the Monster Mash, is blasting all month long.

They hold events throughout the month.

Pumpkin carving contest (no magic allowed).

There are multiple costume contests.

Best Halloween joke.

A screaming competition.

Winners get free loot from the store.

Fred dresses in all black, which makes his pale skin ever paler.

George teases that he's seen ghosts with more color.

On the opposite end of the spectrum is George wearing multiple shades of bright orange.

Fred says he looks like a drunk jack o' lantern threw up on him.

It's one giant celebration at the shop on Halloween.

Throughout the day, there are scavenger hunts for the kids.

Apple bobbing.

Trick or treating.

At first only the joke shop did tricks or treats.

But thanks to George and Fred's tireless persistence more and more shops joined in.

Now, Diagon Alley is one gigantic trick or treat extravaganza on Halloween night.

After 9:00pm, they throw an adults only party at the shop with music, dancing, drinks and costume contests.

And, of course, pranks.

The shop is closed the next day.

Because the party goes on until the wee hours of the morning.

Neither George nor Fred will wake up before noon the next day.

As soon as everything is cleaned up, they start planning for next year.

~•~

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[draco-dormiens]

THE STRANGEST OF PLACES - Chapter Ten

draco x fem!ravenclaw reader / postwar au series

warnings: strong language

wc: 3105

masterlist

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Chapter Ten: A Misunderstanding

The letter with Narcissa's instructions arrived on Sunday morning. It said to meet Astoria at a small restaurant in Diagon Alley at 12pm sharp. That morning Draco had woken in a better mood due to your evening together, but as soon as that letter appeared on top of his breakfast, that solemn, sinking feeling started to bubble in his stomach again. He did as his mother asked and dressed nicely, just a button up and trousers with a black suit jacket to finish it all off. Above all else, Draco was a gentleman, so he arrived ten minutes prior to Astoria's arrival and got the table. When she did arrive, he pulled out the chair for her, said that she looked nice and ordered a pot of tea. She complimented his appearance, thanked him for the tea and then the conversation started. He'd perhaps been in Astoria's presence for half an hour when he decided that it would be much better if it was you sitting across from him.

"How are your studies coming along?" Astoria asks, collecting salad on her fork, "I know potions were something you had an interest in."

"Well," he says, prodding at his steak, "I often wish I hadn't taken Divination, but you can't have everything."

"Oh, I love Divination," she boasts, and all Draco can think is you would, "I find Professor Trelawney utterly fascinating. Don't you?"

"I find her rather," Draco searches for the correct wording, "extravagant."

Astoria giggles. All he hears is the sound of yours.

"She is," Astoria agrees, "but nevertheless, I like her classes."

Draco says no more on the subject, looking down at his steak as if it was about to do something interesting. He'd taken two bites of his food, which Astoria had noticed. They bask in the quietness for a moment, Draco's mind heavy with thoughts of how you were spending your Sunday. She could tell something else was on his mind, or more so, someone else. She placed her cutlery down and took a sip of water, all the while watching him.

"I've noticed you spend less time in your dorm lately," she says, "have you found something to do outside of class?"

Of course, his mind only flickers to you and your nights in the Astronomy tower. He wasn't going to tell Astoria that, obviously. He knew it would get back to his mother.

"Not really," he lies, "I sometimes read elsewhere in the castle."

It wasn't exactly a lie, he does wander out of the dormitories when it's late and other houses aren't around. Draco enjoys his own company and the silence that comes along with it, although lately, his own company doesn't seem to have the same effect it used to.

"What about your Ravenclaw friend?" she says rather blatantly, "do you see her often?"

Draco's head shoots up to meet Astoria's stare. He couldn't tell if she was looking at him in displeasure or curiosity.

"Are you watching me or something?" he raises an eyebrow, "a tad creepy, Greengrass."

"Who is she?" Astoria asks, ignoring the jab and sipping more water, "are you dating?"

Draco chokes on nothing.

"What? No, of course not-"

"Are you saying you wouldn't date her? Is it because she's half-blood?"

"That has nothing do with it," Draco scoffs, losing his train of thought with the need to defend you, "she's wonderful, half blood or not." He becomes even more agitated when he notices the smile curling at her lips, "why are you smiling like that?"

"Because," she shrugs, looking triumphant, "you clearly like her. That's why you've been distant this entire time. It had to be something; you look like a wet weekend."

He huffs irritably, looking out the window to calm himself.

"That's not it at all," he mumbles. She knows he's lying through his teeth.

"I'm not stupid, Draco. I know you're only here to appease your parents," she says, "I was surprised when your mother said you had agreed."

Draco looks back at her from the corner of his eye.

"How do you know that?" he asks curiously, and she just smiles.

"First of all, you've barely eaten a thing or started a single conversation," she tells him, and he begins to feel a little guilty, "but mostly because I've seen the way you look at her across the hall."

He moves to fully face her again, his food now stone cold, and pours himself another glass of water. After a long gulp, he places the glass down with force.

"You're right, I didn't come here voluntarily," he says, "you're a nice girl, Astoria, and I'm sorry. I can't make myself think a certain way just because my mother tells me to. I'm afraid you've wasted your Sunday."

"I wouldn't say so," she says cheerily, "if anything, we've both pleased our parents by showing up. Plus, the food here is good. So, not entirely wasted."

"One way to look at it I suppose," he smiles lightly, swirling the water in his glass, "I am sorry, though."

"Don't be," she shakes her head, "I hardly expected anything from this. Don't think you're being discreet when you can't stop looking in her direction."

"I don't do that," he protests, turning back to the water because his secrets were being exposed. Astoria just laughs, and then reaches into her purse to pull out a small makeup tray.

"I'm just heading to the bathroom," she announces, "try and eat some of that, it's a shame."

He nods, and she begins to walk away, but Draco suddenly has a spike of panic.

"Wait, Astoria, about what you said-"

"I won't breathe a word to your mother," she turns to say, "don't worry."

His shoulders visibly slump from the tension leaving his body. She leaves, and Draco takes one last look at the cold food on his plate before pushing it further away.

Sometimes you like to start your day off in the library, just looking for a new story to pass the time with. Monday mornings were always quiet because no one enjoyed getting up early after the weekend, especially with a sore head. This particular morning you found yourself in the fantasy isle, which had piqued your interest after your last read, and now you were reading blurbs and flicking through pages. The only sound was that of paper turning and quills scribbling on parchment. It was peaceful, and you were at ease, until a group of giggling, gossiping girls interrupted your search.

"Tell us about it, Astoria," one of them uttered excitedly, and you knew exactly who was standing on the other side of the shelf, "we want to know everything."

You decided to block it out, picking up another book and reading the blurb. They chatted, but the words weren't going in, because Astoria Greengrass was just another pretty airhead that gained far too much attention, and you had very little interest in her escapades. Just as you were getting into the first page of a book that looked promising, you heard something that caught your attention.

"My lunch with Draco yesterday is none of your business," Astoria's voice spoke up, "we just chatted and ordered dinner, that's all you need to know."

"What did he dress like?" a girl said, and you couldn't help yourself, cringing at the fact you were listening in, "did he look good?"

"Of course, he did, it's Draco," Astoria answered, and you could hear the smile in her voice.

"Are you seeing him again?" another voice whispered, and there was a long pause. By this point you were staring at the shelf before you, as if you might get a glimpse at the happenings on the other side. Your stomach had dropped, and the anticipation was killing you.

"I would like to," Astoria said, and you feel a lump in your throat and a knot in your chest, "but he's a bit harder to read."

The other girls make excited little noises, as you fall back against the shelf behind you. He'd told you he was studying, but that was turning out to be a lie, because he was in fact wining and dining Astoria Greengrass. For some reason he felt the need to lie about it, and you couldn't figure out why, because right now your heart felt like someone had jabbed their wand right through it. But then you remind yourself that to him, you're just a friend.

He has free reign to see who he likes. He has no commitment to you in that sense, so if he wants to date Astoria Greengrass, or any girl for that matter, who are you to stop him? He has no obligation to tell you anything. Then the bell rings, and you hear the girls scurry off. You rub your eyes to stop the welling tears from falling, because if hearing that conversation had taught you anything, it was like you really, really like Draco. You compose yourself with a deep breath, and then hurry out of the library to find a pillow to scream into.

Due to sulking in your dorm, you showed up a little late to History of Magic. The entire class turned as you walked in, professor Binns continuing his lecture and not noticing your arrival. Your eyes clocked Draco right away, and a small smile broke out across his face. For the first time, you didn't return it. You didn't look long enough to see his confused expression. Hermione gave a look of concern as you sat down beside her.

"Where have you been?" she asked, "you missed the first twenty minutes."

"Was it important?"

"It's Binns," she laughed quietly, "he went on a tangent about his favourite book ends for half of it."

"Good," you sigh in relief, "I can't say I do well in this subject."

"Who does?" she says, "you basically have to teach yourself."

You take out some parchment and write the date along the top. Hermione passes you her notes and you copy what she's managed to decipher from Binns' speech. All the while you can feel eyes on you, and it doesn't take two guesses to know who it was.

"Why were you late, then?" She asks after a while of silent scribbling. Hermione notices how you stop writing, quill floating above the parchment, "is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine," you lie, giving her your best smile, "I was just napping."

"Napping?" she raises an eyebrow, "you don't nap through class, Y/N. Even if it's Binns."

"Well, I did today," you whisper with more urgency, "so just forget it."

Hermione sighs and looks over her shoulder to see several students asleep at their desk. When her eyes land on Draco at the back, his gaze shifts towards the front. She then looks back at you, and the pieces fall together.

"Has something happened with Malfoy?" she asks, sounding a little angrier than before, "if he's upset you, I'll hex him into next week."

"Hermione, it's nothing," you press, but she isn't having it.

"You're never late to class," she points out, "something's wrong."

You knew she only cared, and you were grateful for that. When you look across at her, the kind smile on her face doesn't match the frustration in her tone. With a defeated sigh, you lay down your quill.

"I overhead that he went on a date yesterday," you tell her, "he told me he was studying, and that's why he couldn't see me. I guess I'm just a bit narked."

"Who was the date?" she asks, and your face contorts into one of displeasure.

"Astoria Greengrass," you lean in to whisper very quietly. Hermione scrunches her nose up at that.

"How lovely for him," she says sarcastically, and then her face softens, "perhaps he was trying to save your feelings?"

"If that's the case, then I must be embarrassingly obvious."

"About liking him?"

Your cheeks burn red, and the words get stuck on their way up your throat. Hermione offers you one of her comforting smiles.

"I'm sorry you had to find out that way," she says softly, "he should have just told you. He's done you no favours by lying."

"I just feel so stupid," you utter frustratedly, "as if I spent so long moping, I ended up being late."

"Maybe you should tell him," Hermione suggests, and you shoot her a look of pure horror, "then at least he knows how you feel."

"'Mione, I could never admit that to him," you shake your head vigorously, "it could ruin our entire friendship."

"Are you listening, ladies?" Binns' voice interrupts, and you both snap your heads in his direction.

"Yes, sir," Hermione lies, "we were just discussing our notes."

As Binns floats back to the centre of the room, the two of you go back to scribbling nonsense.

"I think you should at least talk to him," Hermione mutters to you, "he looks like a kicked puppy over there."

You chance a look back, and she was right. He looked downright miserable.

Draco made a beeline for you at the end of that lesson, but you grabbed Hermione's arm and headed straight out the door. You didn't have it in you to talk to him just yet, plus you still hadn't decided if you were angry at him or yourself. He gave up after your second to last lesson, once you immediately exited the potion storage room the second that he entered. You would approach him when your head was less of an emotional mess. It might have been selfish, but you were trying to save your friendship from your brewing feelings. You bid Hermione a farewell that evening, heading for your dorm to stay there until dinner. He couldn't try to talk to you in there, and it would give you time to think about what to say to him. Along the way you replayed several different conversations in your head, and many ended with you giving away how you felt about him, which was not the desired ending. Almost there, several steps from the door when someone clears their throat.

"Evening," Draco drawled, an unimpressed look on his face. He'd beat you to it, leaning against the wall by the door, waiting for you. You stared at him like a deer in the headlights, no plan to get out of this conversation coming to mind.

"Evening," you repeated, and he pushed himself off the wall to stand right before you. His gaze never left you, his hard eyes peering down at your stunned expression.

"Are you going to explain why you've been giving me the cold shoulder all day?"

"Sorry?"

"Don't play dumb, Y/N," he rolled his eyes, "I know you've been avoiding me."

You shuffled awkwardly, fixing your bag on your shoulder, and trying not to look directly at him.

"I've just not been feeling well, so-"

He took your jaw between his fingers and forced your attention back to him. Draco's eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes laced with both concern and frustration. Your skin felt like fire where he touched you, his face so close that your mind loses track of what you were even talking about.

"If I've done something, then I want you to tell me," he says seriously, "I want to make it right."

You swallow thickly. You should tell him, Hermione is right about that, but there were so many reasons why you couldn't, or so you thought, anyway. His grip on your jaw loosens, then he's running his knuckles down your cheek and you heart is pounding against your ribcage.

"Talk to me," he mutters to you, "I fucking hated today."

"Sorry," you mumble, his gentle movements not stopping, "it was selfish of me."

"Have I upset you?" he asks, now cupping your face with one hand, his eyes darting between yours. You shake your head.

"No," you breathe, forcing a smile, "I just heard about your date with Astoria, and I guess I got a little annoyed that you had lied to me about what you were doing. I don't want you to do that, Draco. You're allowed to have a life without me, you know."

"How did you find out?" his expression turned serious again, "did she tell you?"

"No," you say quickly, "I just overhead something. It doesn't matter, what matters is that you can use your time how you please. Don't think I'll be offended."

He lowers his hand, and the absence makes you feel a little empty, shoving it in his pocket.

"So, you're not bothered if I date, then?"

Now his eyes were on the floor, and his entire demeanour had changed. You weren't sure if he was upset, annoyed or just anxious about your response. He was all three, actually.

"You are your own person," you say, trying not to have a meltdown in front of him, and place your hand on his forearm, "you're free to make your own choices, despite anyone else."

"But I care about your opinion," he said a little sternly, head snapping up to look at you, "If you tell me to never see her again, then I won't. So, answer my question."

"I did," you said stubbornly, "what else do you want me to say?"

He sighs agitatedly, pulling his arm from your grip and running his hand through his hair.

"I didn't ask her out," he then says, "my mother arranged it. I went purely out of politeness, and I didn't tell you because I was worried you would say exactly what you just did."

"I'm confused," you raise your hands, "you were worried I wouldn't mind you going?"

"Yes, God," he yells, echoing slightly in the empty corridor, "I wanted you to tell me not to go, to say you didn't want me to see her. I want," he starts to say but stops himself, "I don't even know anymore."

"Draco," you say softly, hopeful that he's trying to say what you think, even if you feel like your hearts about to burst out of your chest, "what are you trying to say?"

"It doesn't matter," he shakes his head, "I won't keep it from you next time. Sorry for lying about it."

"Wait," you grab his sleeve as he turns, "please, don't leave. Say what you wanted to."

"I already said, it doesn't matter," he spits, and its sour, spiteful, and it makes your chest hurt, "just drop it. I apologised, that's what you wanted, isn't it?"

He snatches his arm from you forcefully and begins to walk away. You call him back to no avail and watch as he disappears around the corner. Tears begin to tickle the corners of your eyes, one escaping down your cheek. This boy had your entire heart and soul in his hands with no idea of how easily he could crush it. The mystery of what he was going to say would haunt you for the next few days, leaving you with the hope that maybe, in some strange turn of events, he felt the same way. You stand, staring at the end of the corridor, praying he'd turn back around.

He never did.

[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]

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

Lavender Haze

pairing: regulus black x reader

genre: fluff

el's thoughts: i've had this song on repeat for the last hour bahaha, i hope y'all like it<3

Meet me at midnight.

Y/N smiled down at the note and stuffed it in her bag. She looked up adn locked eyes with the young Black who sent the paper crane flying her way. “Midnight.” Her lips formed the words soundlessly before she continued her work.

~

Once she walked up the steps to the astronomy tower she saw Regulus leaning on the rail holding a newspaper out in front of him. “What are you looking at?” He wasn’t startled by her voice, “We made the headlines… Again.” She leanded up and placed a kiss to his cheek before looking at the paper, sighing when she saw a moving photo of them walking around Diagon Alley during christmas holidays. Y/N L/N: One night or a wife?

She scoffed, “That’s all they could come up with? How can they only think of me like that? I mean, girls in general… What if we were just friends?” Regulus chuckled, “Well this photo says more than friends, love.” She looked back down and saw him point to a photo of them sharing a kiss. Rolling her eyes, she huffed, “My point still stands.” He kissed her forehead, “It does, and it’s valid. I hate the fact that they do that to you, to young ladies like you as if you don’t deserve proper respect.”

Regulus sighed as he turned the page and read the article on the back. “They must’ve done some digging to find all this. My life can’t ever be private can it?” He tossed the paper down to the side by his feet, wrapping an arm around the y/h/c haired girl. “And I can’t believe that they dragged you into this.” 

Y/N looked up at him with a faux scolding expression, “Regulus Reggie Black! Do you think I didn’t do my own reasearch before we started dating?” She nudged his side teasingly, “I know what I sighed up for, darling. I’d be damned if I give a damn what people say.” She let out a sigh and leaned her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist and placed a kiss on his collar bone. 

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hid the smile that his lips formed at the words. Y/N L/N, pureblood who didn’t give a crap about blood status. The strongest girl he knew. A girl who stood firm in her beliefs and always heard people out. How he ended up with her, he couldn’t tell if he wanted to. He swore it was some higher power above that happened to push the two in each other’s direction. Fate, the universe, Merlin, or whatever else that could be out there… He owed them everything. 

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” Y/N mumbled into his neck. Regulus buried his nose in her hair, “Just how you handle everything so beautifully. The scrutiny, all that nineteen-fifties crap our parents want from you, and not to mention my melancholia.” “We both know I have a thing for depressed boys dressed in black.” Her teasing tone made the taller of the two throw his head back in laughter. 

Once he calmed down he brought his head down to rest on her’s. “I wish we could stay here forever. That we didn’t have anything looming over us all the time.” He felt her nod as they leaned against each other. 

The couple stayed there till the sun started to rise. Till the midnight blue started fading into a amethyst purple and watched it bleed into the dark reds and oranges the sun carried with it. Both of them wishing they could stay in a time capsule, stuck in a world where the sky always held a lavender haze.

~*~

regulus black taglist: @mad-elia @sw34terw34ther @roxaya @caldor-28 @bookaholics-stuff @juneberrie @whorehalloween @broccoliitree @masivechaos @lily-the-ravenclaw

[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?”

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

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[jeongyunhoed]

As seen on my FF.net Also seen on my Ao3

Following the events of fifth year, a new adventure awaits for Norah Lee. Boys, exams, school events, common room parties, and old foes outside of Hogwarts. Even battling pensieve guardians was easier than this.

Main Pair: OC / Ominis Gaunt Genre: Adventure/Angst/Fluff (it's a little of everything, tbh)

KEEP IN MIND: Characters are aged up (even if the story's got them in sixth year) to make it more appropriate. Time period is leaning towards the modern day so in case you might find anachronisms in the dialogue or references, this is why. This may also be quite a lengthy fic too.

BE WARNED: Social anxiety, mentions of blood and injury, grief, drinking, kissing but nothing more than that, death (this is Hogwarts Legacy, after all)

P.P.S: Mutual pining ahead! Also Amit revealing his thoughts about his romantic situation, Ominis and Norah being idiots. Oh yeah, Norah's dress is inspired by the raven queen gown by Linda Friesen.

Masterlist

Chapter 19

It was the day of the Hufflepuff common room party, and the students were undoubtedly livelier. Including the sixth-years, who once again had the opportunity to really let loose and have fun. But as the Yule Ball drew near, many of the students left to go shopping for dresses and dress robes. The lines outside of Gladrags were long that it filled up the space of Dervish and Banges and outside.

As for Norah, she was in Diagon Alley, having stepped out of Gringotts to withdraw the money her father gave her. Compared to Hogsmeade, the waiting in Madam Malkin's wasn't as long, perhaps as it was all the way in London. This time around, her visit to Diagon Alley was different, and it was definitely due to her recent award. Norah had shaken hands with several shopkeepers and customers at the Apothecary and the Owl Emporium while she bought some more owl treats for Starlight along with other potion ingredients.

Seeing as Madam Malkin's was full and that it would take her the whole day to wait, she saw the quiet Second-Hand Robes wasn't as crowded. Norah entered the shop, seeing a few other students with their parents picking out some dress robes for the ball. Her presence seemed to make the students among them whisper and glance as she approached the nearest rack of robes to see if anything caught her fancy.

She could always wear Herodiana's ensemble, she thought as she skimmed through the rack, nothing catching her attention. If not, she could always use something from here to pair with whatever attire she found, which was stocked away in the Room of Requirement. She found a midnight blue cloak, the fabric felt soft to the touch, and it gave her an idea. After paying for it, she hurried to the nearest floo flame going back to Hogwarts.

As she reappeared at the North gate, she saw Henry on his next round of non-verbal Summoner's Court, this time with Samantha. Natty was also watching nearby, talking animatedly to Poppy and Andrew.

"How's the game going so far?" Norah approached them just as Henry was about to make his turn for his third and final ball.

Samantha grinned. "He's doing quite well," She glanced at the blonde, looking impressed. "But don't count me out yet!"

"Non-verbal's hard!" Henry pointed out, seeing four balls already on the ground. "Where have you been anyway?" He turned back to his ball, trying to concentrate.

Norah waited until he cast his non-verbal summoning, seeing the ball move a little too fast but stopping just at the edge of the 50-point mark. Henry breathed a sigh of relief, while Samantha suddenly looked determined.

"Diagon Alley, just picked up something for my Yule Ball outfit," Norah held up the bag that had the cloak.

"Outfit? Grace said a package arrived for you in the Astronomy tower. Amit was kind enough to drop it off when your owl dropped it in the Owlery, at least that's what he told her," Henry looked over at her, lowering his voice at the mention of Amit which Norah felt was because Samantha was near.

Norah raised a brow, realizing that her parents had likely received her letter. She almost forgot about meeting with Amit to talk about what had been happening with him, Nellie, and Samantha. Hurriedly waving to Natty and the rest, she took the floo flame to the Astronomy tower, where she saw Amit huddled over the telescope.

"Amit? I'm sorry I know we were supposed to talk in the room," She said, making him flinch in surprise. "Sorry..."

Amit shook his head profusely. "Nothing to apologize for, I kind of forgot about it too until I passed by the room," He said. "Where did you go?"

"Diagon Alley, I picked up a nice cloak for my Yule Ball dress, or at least I hope it goes with it," Norah said. "You want to talk about it now? at least before the party later?"

The Ravenclaw boy nodded, and followed her down the stairs into the room. Leading Amit into the separate room while leaving Deek to tidy up in the vivariums, Norah pulled the curtains that served to cover the room from the stairs that connected them to where her potions and plants were.

In time for the party, the vanity drawers were already set up along with multiple changing partitions. On the small desk was a package that Norah remembered was for her. Deek must have taken it upon himself to bring it inside. Amit sighed as he sat on the nearby chair, while Norah observed him, crossing her arms. "Alright, Amit, we're in a private space. What's going on?"

Amit buried his face in his hands. "Where do I even start?" He mumbled, ruffling his own hair out of frustration. "So, I guess you must have heard from Garreth that Nellie told me of her-"

"Feelings for you? Yeah, he did," Norah recalled with a nod, leaning against the table with the package. "Samantha likes you too. But what's not known is how you feel about it? Two girls like you."

"I know," He groaned. "It's just-I don't know. I mean Samantha's really great to be with, but Nellie's just different. They're both different."

"Amit Thakkar, are you thinking of dating both of them at the same time?!" Norah gaped, partly trying to tease him to lighten the mood.

"Of course not! That wouldn't be right!" Amit shook his head, his cheeks turning pink. "It wasn't just a confession that I got from Nellie at the Gryffindor party..."

"She kissed you?" Norah asked, and he slowly nodded. "And... Samantha caught you?" Amit nodded again. "So...that means you like Samantha more than Nellie?"

"I-I don't know," Amit looked down. "She is pretty, yes, but I don't know. I've never been this overwhelmed before, well, aside from our mine trip."

Norah tried to wrap her head around his explanation. "You like Samantha but not enough to say that you like her? Yet you feel guilty because Nellie kissed you?...Did you kiss her back?"

The question seemed to make Amit stare at his friend. "Kiss her back?"

"Yeah? I mean, if Nellie kissed you, did you... you know?" She shrugged. "...Or do I ask Samantha about this?"

As Norah was about to turn around, Amit grabbed her wrist and shook his head. "No, please don't, I don't think I'll hear the end of it," He said, letting her wrist go. "Samantha's going to know I talked to you about this."

Norah was still confused. "But if Nellie kissed you but Samantha caught you, did you try and explain to Samantha what happened?" She asked, brows furrowed.

"I did, the morning after, during breakfast, but she didn't want to hear the explanation," He reasoned.

"Merlin," Norah was in disbelief. "This is a lot more complicated than I thought. But if you don't make up your mind soon, you'll lose both of them. Then again, your reluctance to even choose may already be a sign that you're not ready for a relationship and you're afraid of saying it."

"That might be it," Amit stared at her. "I guess-I guess I need more time. We've got NEWT exams, and I really like hanging out with all of you, a relationship is something I don't find important at the moment. I'm not like Henry, who can juggle a relationship, being a prefect, and schoolwork, and before you and I met, I was used to being at the back, and I was perfectly fine with it. And then you and I became friends and it hasn't been the same since."

"Sorry," She looked apologetic.

"Nothing to be sorry about. You've changed my life when we went into the mine. All of a sudden I'm popular, people know me and think I'm cool, it's been a bit too much to take in," Amit shook his head. "And before you ask, I don't mean this all in a bad way."

Norah sat down on the chair across from him, hands fumbling with the string that tied up the entire package in front of them. "If it helps, I never asked for all of this to happen," She said quietly. "I never asked to be a hero."

"I know," He agreed. "It's been overwhelming, that's all."

"Then," Norah sat back. "What are you going to do? You have to tell them."

"That, I know too. Perhaps I'm a lot more scared than I thought."

"Might want to consider telling them later at the party. I just saw Samantha, she was playing the next round of Summoner's Court with Henry when they told me about this," Norah tapped the box.

Amit nodded. "Thanks. I just have to muster up the courage of a Gryffindor and do it."

"You're a lot braver than you think," Norah pointed out with a soft smile. "I should know," She stood back up and untied the string, carefully removing the wrapping paper that covered an elaborate box. Conjuring a mannequin, Norah opened the box to find a long powder blue tulle ball gown with silvery-gray flowery lace appliques on the shoulders. It looked regal, even more so when Norah fitted the gown over on the mannequin. "Wow..."

Amit also looked in awe. "That's what you'll be wearing to the ball?"

"Mhmm," Norah felt the sleeves. "I even got a really nice cloak to go with it," She picked up the card at the bottom. It was from her parents, having bought it at a boutique. With her gown on display along with her cloak, she turned to her friend. "So, I guess this means you plan on attending the Yule Ball by yourself?"

"Perhaps. I don't want to assume that, though. Maybe by then I'll figure out what to do," Amit shrugged. "Thank you for talking about this with me."

Norah shrugged. "It's just me being a friend."

"Right," Amit felt assured. "I have a friend," He looked out the window, seeing how the sun was going to set. "What do you think's going to happen later?"

"A party's what's going to happen. If you don't feel like going, you're perfectly welcome to stay here," Norah suggested. "Actually, I'm having second thoughts now on whether I'm going later."

It was making her think about Ominis. If he showed up at the Hufflepuff party, she wasn't sure if she could stand seeing him maybe approach whoever it was that he had his eye on in case it wasn't Anne that he had feelings for.

Later, Norah and Natty, along with the boys, were getting ready for the party that night. As Norah changed into something a little similar to what she wore in the previous party, she kept thinking about what Amit said to her. She made sure to keep her Yule Ball dress a secret for now, keeping it in one of the cupboards of the extended room in the Room of Requirement.

She changed his life in a way he didn't expect. As she remembered him saying while they were in the mine, this was more than what he bargained for. Even though Amit made clear that it wasn't bad, Norah couldn't help but feel guilty. She wondered if Natty actually felt that way since they met, or if Sebastian or even Ominis thought about it.

"I heard you already got your dress for the Yule Ball," Natty suddenly said as she did her makeup.

The comment made Norah snap out of her thoughts as she slipped on her jacket and parted her hair differently. "I did. My parents sent me a gown, and the rest of you will have to see it at the ball itself," She grinned.

"Alright, I'm sure people will be blown away at the sight of you by then," Natty teased as she got up from the chair. "I already got mine last week, you really have to see it soon! I can't wait to see the look on Henry's face."

The mention of the Ravenclaw boy made Norah smile. "So, things are going well with the two of you? Does Professor Onai know?"

"Yes," Natty's smile went from ear to ear. "I really like him. But my mother... I'm not sure, but it's not like Henry's a bad student. He's doing very well, and he's a prefect too."

Norah sighed. "Both of you just naturally gravitated towards each other, didn't you? It's really nice to see that."

"Thank you," Natty said. Her expression fell slightly. "Henry... mentioned something as well. He thinks you've been having a hard time lately, and I'm sorry if I wasn't there for you a lot."

She shook her head. "Nothing to be sorry about. I mean, Poppy's basically gone off with Andrew and his friends now. They're inseparable, and I have a feeling you and Henry will be too. Besides, we've all got lives to live."

Natty frowned. "You keep saying it's alright when it's clearly not. Garreth has also told me you've been having a hard time."

"I didn't want to ruin your happy mood, all of you. The last thing I want is to sour the good mood we've been having whenever we're all together," Norah explained. "I didn't want to make this a problem for all of you."

"You're making it a problem by not telling us, and I've had to hear about you from two other people," Natty pointed out. "...Are we not your friends?"

"Of course you are, of course all of you are my friends," Norah said. "I just needed some time to think about it. Really Natty, I just needed to think about how it can go away or what I could do to stop having a hard time..."

The Gryffindor girl crossed her arms and raised a brow at her. "Norah, I know you are still shaken by what happened in fifth year. To be honest, I am too, now I know what being cursed feels like. But I could not have gotten past those things had it not been for my friends, including you. I could only imagine what you went through with Professor Fig, Lodgok, Rookwood, and with Ranrok. But rain does not fall on one roof alone."

Norah tilted her head at the familiar saying. "You were just as much tormented by Harlow, Rookwood, and Ranrok last year. It's okay," Natty continued to assure her. "You have done so much for so many. You have heard it from the teachers, right? The school is indebted to you for what you have done. Anyone in your position would feel what you are feeling now, it is only natural."

She nodded. "That is only part of it. There's something else."

"Garreth told me that too," Natty finished, her voice lowered this time. "I had a feeling you liked Ominis. He was what you smelled in the amortentia the other day, wasn't he?"

"I hate it when you're right," Norah frowned, making the Gryffindor girl grin. "But yes."

"And he summoned your name in Ronen's assignment too. Yes?"

"Yes. But," Norah looked down. "He said he likes someone else, and I have a feeling I know who it is."

"You do? Who do you think it would be?" Natty asked curiously.

"Who else? Anne. I can't compete with her. She's known them longer, she's known you longer, she's known everyone longer. Anne's also incredibly nice, and she's a really talented witch," Norah frowned. "She's been nothing but kind to me. Ominis said he plans to ask her to the Yule Ball."

Natty's expression fell. "Ominis said he plans to ask Anne to the Yule Ball? As in he said her name?" She asked.

"No, but that seemed like a given, right?" Norah shrugged. "Well, if I can't get a date, then I'm really going to the ball alone. And no, I will not have Henry ask me out of pity," She added before her friend could interject.

Natty raised a brow. "If you're sure. There's nothing wrong with going to the ball alone. Don't let it get to you," She advised. "You'll only be proving that Carrow boy right. Besides. I'm sure you'll be the center of attention when you make your grand entrance."

She laughed. "I'm not counting on it. I'm sure you and Henry will definitely make an entrance."

"Come on, enough of this, we're going to have fun tonight, and that includes you," Natty pointed out, pulling Norah by the arm to go up to the main room. Sebastian, Ominis, Amit, and Henry were playing a game of wizard's chess near the phoenix vivarium. Deek, who was tidying nearby, also observed them make their moves.

"Tower to a-3," Henry said coolly, watching his chess piece move forward a few paces. When Sebastian made his move, Henry's tower whacked Sebastian's off.

"How on earth are you also good at wizard's chess?" Sebastian narrowed his eyes at the Ravenclaw boy.

"My parents played a game or two when I was a child, it's one of their favorites," Henry replied, standing up when he saw Natty and Norah come in. He climbed down the steps to take Natty's hand, lacing their fingers together.

"What can't you do exactly? Other than see without your glasses?" Sebastian followed them, evidently annoyed at the blonde's response while Ominis grinned, amused at his friend's frustration.

Henry and Natty exchanged looks. "Looks like Norah and Ominis are matching again tonight," The Ravenclaw mentioned, gesturing to their clothes.

"Yes, what a coincidence," Natty added. "Sebastian and Amit look great as usual."

"Thanks," Amit nodded. "We all look great, don't we?"

Sebastian shrugged. "I try."

"You don't have to try, you know you're good-looking," Norah teased, glancing at Ominis. It's annoying how good he looks and he doesn't even know it, she thought. If she stood close enough, she could get a whiff of that familiar perfume he always seemed to wear. The scent was very him, something she didn't mind if it got on her clothes after the party. The thought alone made her cheeks heat up and she fidgeted a little in her place. Idiot, he likes Anne, she reminded herself.

Ominis, on the other hand, fought the urge to tilt his wand in Norah's direction. He too, could get a whiff of her perfume and sensed how good she looked. He kept thinking about what Henry told him in the library the other day. He hadn't mapped her face all this time.

"So, let's get on then," Sebastian nodded, gesturing everyone to leave the room. "I hope everyone hasn't eaten yet, there's going to be a lot of food later."

Much like what happened in the Gryffindor party, everyone started lining up to enter the Hufflepuff common rooms. Some students were seen leaving the kitchens with tureens and platters of food, possibly to replenish the stocks that were likely depleting in the room. They passed by Garreth, who had his keg of fizz-beer levitating in front of him as he entered the room, waving at them while he did.

"That's strong stuff, I heard," Amit said as they saw Arthur Plummly stand by, quickly tapping the barrels to open up and let them inside.

"Have fun!" He called out to them with a pleased grin.

"Yeah, strong stuff. It got me tipsy," Norah said, all of them stopping when they saw the giant tables that were conjured and filled with platters of food. There was a chocolate fountain nearby, along with stacks of glasses next to kegs of butterbeer and Garreth's brew.

Sebastian and Ominis exchanged knowing looks, with the latter recalling the conversation they had. Unsurprisingly, Poppy was surrounded by Andrew and his friends, the pair themselves sitting closely together.

"Spin the Bottle!" They heard Charlotte announce, with many gathering in a circle.

"Oh...I guess we're already playing," Sebastian muttered.

[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…