#harry potter headcanon

[blueberrycasanova]

i think dumbledore was growing weed in the forbidden forest the whole time and that’s why it was forbidden. that’s also why he acts the way he does.

[rottenherbs]

Ink-Stained Mischief

Pairings: G.W x Ravenclaw! Reader

Summary: You’re a Ravenclaw student who works in the library after hours, helping Madam Pince restore damaged books and organize restricted section materials. You’re known for your quiet nature, your sharp tongue when provoked, and your ink-stained fingertips. George Weasley is, predictably, a frequent library nuisance—sneaking in after hours for pranks, secret D.A. meetings, or to charm the books into doing anything but behave.

W/C: 3.7k

A/N: after writing this i prayed and tried so hard to lucid dream in Hogwarts lmaoooo. Didn’t work… only happens once in a blue moon.

[masterlist]

Much love, Saige

The library was silent, save for the soft, rhythmic scratch of your quill. It was late—long after most students had vanished back to their common rooms—but you liked it that way. No one to bump into the table, no one to smudge the carefully restored ink, no one to ask if you were still here like it was strange to enjoy solitude more than the common room’s chaos.

You dipped the quill again and continued tracing the damaged runes on the corner of a delicate, centuries-old manuscript. The parchment shimmered faintly, the ink repairing itself under your careful touch. Madam Pince had trusted you with this one—an honor, even if most students would rather scrub cauldrons than sit with dusty spellbooks.

The peace didn’t last.

A soft click echoed from the far side of the room. You froze. Not a clock. A door latch. Your brow furrowed as you set your quill down, the hairs on the back of your neck rising.

“Pince?” you called warily.

No answer.

You stood, cautiously peering around the corner toward the Restricted Section. A flicker of red—a Weasley red—ducked behind a shelf, followed by a muffled snort of laughter.

Your eye twitched. Of course.

You rounded the shelf with your arms crossed. “Weasley.”

George froze mid-step, a glowing Extendable Ear in one hand, the other clutching a small pouch that definitely wasn’t regulation. He looked up at you with mock innocence and a flash of that charming, roguish smile.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Ravenclaw’s resident library ghost,” he said cheerfully. “Do you ever leave this place?”

“Do you ever not break into it?”

“You wound me. I’m just here for academic enrichment.”

You glanced at the pouch. “That’s a Decoy Detonator.”

He tucked it behind his back. “It’s for… Divination.”

“Get out before I hex you.”

“I’d leave, love, I really would, but I might’ve… accidentally set off a Sticky Charm on the back exit.”

You groaned.

George smiled wider. “Which means, lucky you—we’re stuck here together. Just you, me, and about six dozen ways Madam Pince will murder us if we break so much as a spine.”

You resisted the urge to curse under your breath.

This was going to be a long night.

—-

You turned on your heel, stalking back to your table. “Fine. Do what you want, but if you break anything, I’m not cleaning it up.”

George followed like a stray Kneazle, entirely too pleased with himself. “Oh, come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Left it somewhere between ‘don’t touch that’ and ‘please stop setting off smoke bombs in the Charms corridor.’”

He let out a bark of laughter. “That was Fred, actually. I only set the books on fire.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “Charming.”

“I try.”

You dropped into your seat with a sigh and pulled the manuscript back toward you. The runes were beginning to fade again—of course they were—because the spell only held if you stayed focused. You took a deep breath and recast the stasis charm, ignoring the redhead leaning far too close over your shoulder.

“You do realize that if Madam Pince catches you in here, she’ll ban you from even looking at books for the rest of the year.”

George let out a dramatic gasp. “That’s the harshest threat I’ve ever heard. You say that to all the boys?”

“Only the ones who mistake the library for their personal joke shop.”

He grinned, but you didn’t look up. He was clearly trying to rile you, and you had no intention of giving him the satisfaction. You dipped your quill again, carefully outlining a corner of the page that had nearly crumbled into dust.

Behind you, George wandered between the shelves, whistling a tune that sounded suspiciously like the Hogwarts school song—only off-key, and slightly mournful, like a funeral dirge for academic peace.

“Do you ever shut up?” you asked calmly, not bothering to look up.

“No, but I appreciate the optimism.”

A loud thump echoed behind you.

You jerked upright. “What was that?!”

George peeked his head around the shelf with the guiltiest expression you’d ever seen on a human face.

“I was testing gravity.”

You stood slowly. “Did you just knock over the stack of enchanted bestiaries?”

“They might have knocked me over, actually. Hard to say. Bit of a gray area.”

You pushed past him and crouched to examine the pile. “These are cursed to bite when disrespected.”

As if on cue, a massive leather-bound volume titled Predatory Plants and Where They Might Hide Your Bones snapped open and chomped at the air.

George yelped and jumped back. “Bloody—okay, okay, lesson learned.”

You scooped up the books—gently—and recast the soft-binding spell to keep their pages from twitching. When you looked up again, George was watching you with a curious tilt of his head, the usual mischief in his eyes slightly softened.

“What?” you asked warily.

He shrugged. “Nothing. Just… you really care about this stuff, don’t you?”

You hesitated. “Someone has to.”

The pause that followed was the quietest he’d been since entering the room.

Then: “Still doesn’t explain why you like parchment fumes and ancient curses more than people.”

You looked up at him. “Because parchment fumes don’t talk back.”

His grin returned in full force. “Ah. So you do like me.”

You stood and brushed your hands off. “I tolerate you.”

“That’s practically a declaration of love, coming from you.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back toward the table.

Behind you, George said, with exaggerated cheer: “I can’t wait for our next romantic rendezvous. Same time next week?”

You didn’t answer, but your lips twitched as you sat down.

George didn’t leave. Not right away.

——

George was balancing a quill behind his ear and pretending to read Magical Mishaps and Mayhem: A Guide to Catastrophic Casting upside-down when the door creaked open. You both froze.

There were very few sounds in the world as terrifying as the slow, sharp click of Madam Irma Pince’s boots echoing against the stone floor. They were the sound of judgment. Of doom. Of overdue book fines.

You didn’t look up. Maybe if you stayed perfectly still, she’d miss you.

No such luck.

Her voice sliced through the air like a Severing Charm.

“Weasley.”

George sat up straighter. “Madam Pince. Lovely night, isn’t it? You’ve done wonders with the—er—dust.”

You winced.

Her eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a line so thin you were sure it violated some magical law. “Explain. Yourself.”

You opened your mouth—surely it was better you explained—when George jumped in like a knight charging headfirst into dragon fire.

“Well, I was doing a bit of late-night studying. You know, as one does. Putting in the extra effort. N.E.W.T.s, and all that. Very stressful.”

Madam Pince’s eyebrow arched dangerously.

“Also, I may have set off a minor charm in the Transfiguration aisle. Nothing serious! Only one book bit me.”

You smacked your forehead with your palm.

She turned to you slowly. “And you allowed this?”

Your mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “I didn’t allow anything, he just—he broke in!”

“Technically I just stuck around,” George added helpfully. “For the ambiance.”

Pince ignored him. “Miss [Last Name], I expect better judgment from you. This is not a playground. It is a temple of knowledge.”

George, ever the agent of chaos, whispered, “You hear that? You’re a temple nun now.”

You elbowed him.

Madam Pince was already walking away, muttering spells under her breath. Shelves creaked and quivered, some rearranging themselves in what looked like a defensive formation.

She turned back around. “Mr. Weasley, since you’ve made such a mess of my library, you’ll be reporting here every Tuesday and Thursday evening until further notice.”

George blinked. “Every—? Wait, what?”

“And you,” she said, pointing a long, ink-stained finger at you, “will be supervising him.”

“What?” you said at the exact same time as George, though yours was more horrified and his was more delighted.

“You were already working here. Consider this… an additional responsibility.” Her voice dropped ominously. “Or I can revoke your special access and let you explain to Professor Flitwick why one of his prized manuscripts now has bite marks.”

You went very still. “I’ll supervise him.”

Madam Pince smiled—a rare, grim thing—then disappeared back into her office, the door slamming shut behind her like the ending of a funeral march.

George turned to you, beaming.

“Well, this is romantic. It’s practically fate.”

You gave him the coldest glare you could muster.

“Touch anything, and I will personally let the books eat you.”

His grin only widened. “Now I have to come back.”

———

Tuesday evening arrived far too quickly for your liking.

The library was dim, the sun dipping low enough that the enchanted sconces flickered to life along the stone walls. You’d already set out the materials for the night’s task: a small stack of damaged Transfiguration texts charred around the edges, courtesy of a poorly cast combustion charm—not yours, for once.

You were halfway through a stasis spell when the door creaked open. You didn’t look up.

“You’re late.”

“Fashionably,” came the smug reply.

George Weasley strolled in like he owned the place. Shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, a quill tucked behind one ear, and a smugness that could set off protective enchantments by sheer proximity.

“You brought snacks,” you noted flatly, eyeing the crumpled paper bag in his hand.

“Bribery,” he said with a wink. “Can’t supervise me on an empty stomach.”

You ignored the way your mouth betrayed you with the tiniest twitch. “Food isn’t allowed in the library.”

“Right, right—then I guess I’ll just have to hide it in the Restricted Section.”

“George.”

“Don’t worry, love, I’m here to work.”

He dropped into the chair across from you and promptly leaned back, feet propped on the edge of the table like it was the Gryffindor common room.

You didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you slid a burned copy of Intermediate Transfigurations across the table. “Start with this one. Try the cleansing charm first—slowly. If the ink fades, you’ve cast it too hard.”

He took the book gingerly, blinking at the crisp black scorch marks. “Merlin’s beard. Who lit this on fire?”

You looked up. “You did. Last month. You and Fred tried to see if a self-inking quill could write in midair.”

“…Oh yeah. That was a good day.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself.

He caught it instantly, eyes gleaming. “Did you just laugh?”

“I sneezed.”

“You absolutely did not—”

“I sneezed, George.”

He looked smug. “I knew I’d break you eventually.”

You shook your head, but your focus slipped for just long enough that the runes on your parchment sparked and fizzled. You cursed under your breath and reached for your wand, muttering a stabilizing incantation as the spellbook trembled in warning.

George watched, eyebrows raised.

“You know,” he said, more quietly, “you’re really good at this.”

You glanced up, startled by the sincerity. “It’s just magic repair.”

“Yeah, but you treat the books like they matter. Like you respect them. Most people don’t bother.”

Your fingers paused on the edge of the page.

“I like things that can be fixed,” you said softly. “Even if they’re a bit scorched.”

George didn’t say anything for a moment. He just looked at you with a strange, unreadable expression—one that didn’t suit his usual mischief.

Then he reached for his wand, gave it a little flourish, and attempted the cleansing charm. It sparked… sputtered… and promptly caused the page to curl inward with a horrible crinkling sound.

You winced.

George froze. “That… wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?”

You slowly slid the book away from him. “No.”

He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “I’ll do better Thursday?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ll do better in five minutes.”

He groaned. “You’re relentless.”

You smirked just enough to surprise him. “And you’re stubborn. Let’s see who wins.”

George leaned forward, rested his chin on his hand, and grinned like you’d just declared a duel.

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

——-

Thursday night crept in quietly, blanketing the castle in its usual hush. By now, the routine should’ve felt familiar—parchment spread, runes gleaming faintly under your wandlight, dust motes dancing in the air like magic caught mid-breath.

But tonight, something felt different. He was late.

You told yourself you didn’t care. That it was better this way. You’d get more done without his incessant commentary or the way he leaned across the table like the rules of personal space didn’t apply to him. Without the too-easy grin that stayed with you long after he left.

You were halfway through restoring a page on transfigurative ethics when the door creaked open.

George stepped in quietly, his usual swagger softened at the edges. No paper bag. No dramatic entrance. Just… George. A little windblown, curls messy, and a smudge of ink already on his knuckle.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, and it sounded genuine.

You blinked. “You’re never sorry.”

He dropped into the chair across from you, pulling the next damaged book toward him. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

You hummed in disbelief but didn’t argue. Instead, you pushed a small cloth toward him. “Ink.”

He looked down at his hand. “Ah. War wound.”

You rolled your eyes. “Try not to lose a limb tonight.”

“No promises.”

For a while, you worked in near-silence.

You guided him through the first two spells again—slower this time, correcting his wrist movement once with a surprisingly gentle touch. He didn’t flinch, didn’t joke. Just watched you with those warm, amber-brown eyes that never seemed to miss anything.

He tried again. Still not perfect, but better. The edge of the page uncurled without blackening. Progress.

You nodded once. “Not bad.”

George beamed like you’d handed him an award.

“Don’t get cocky,” you added.

“Oh, I live in cocky,” he said, but the bite was missing. He was watching you again, like he was cataloguing something quieter than usual. “You’re different when it’s quiet.”

You didn’t look up. “So are you.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice softer now. “You don’t really hate me, do you?”

You paused, quill hovering above the parchment. Slowly, you met his eyes.

“No,” you admitted, your voice low. “But you make it very easy to consider.”

He grinned, but it was more thoughtful than smug. “I’ll take that.”

A few more minutes passed. The silence between you wasn’t awkward—it was measured, heavy with something unsaid. George flipped through another page, carefully testing the cleansing charm again. This time, it worked.

You raised an eyebrow. “That was… correct.”

He feigned a dramatic gasp. “Praise? From you?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, I already have it framed in my mind.”

You shook your head, hiding the smile that threatened to escape.

Then: “Why are you actually trying tonight?”

George didn’t answer right away. He toyed with the corner of the parchment, then looked up, all jokes stripped away.

“Because I figured… if I have to be here, I might as well earn it.”

You blinked. “Earn what?”

He didn’t smile this time.

“Your time.”

The air shifted.

Your heart stuttered—just once—and you looked back down at your notes too quickly.

“Well,” you said after a moment, voice quieter than you meant it to be, “you’ve still got a long way to go.”

George leaned back, arms folded behind his head, but his eyes never left yours.

“Good,” he said. “I’ve got time.”

——-

The corridors between classes were always chaos—fluttering robes, shouted goodbyes, hurried footsteps echoing off ancient stone. You moved through it all like a thread through a needle, slipping between groups with practiced ease, arms full of returned library books for Madam Pince.

You hadn’t seen George since Thursday night.

Not that you were looking for him, exactly. Just… aware. Hyper-aware, maybe, of the red hair that popped up in crowds, the easy laughter around corners, the faint smell of powdered sugar and mischief whenever he was near.

You turned a corner and—

Wham.

Books hit the floor. Your shoulder collided with something solid. You barely had time to yelp before warm hands caught your arms to steady you.

“Well, well,” said that unmistakable voice. “If I’d known you’d literally fall for me, I’d have planned this run-in sooner.”

You looked up, heartbeat doing a weird little flutter as you met George Weasley’s lopsided grin. He was flushed from walking fast—probably late for something, as usual—and his tie was askew like he’d only just remembered to wear it.

“Your ego is astounding,” you muttered, bending to gather your books.

George crouched down beside you. “And yet, you’re still not immune to it.”

You shot him a look, but your fingers brushed his as you both reached for the same book. Of Wands and Willpower. You pulled your hand back instinctively.

He didn’t say anything, just handed it to you with a faint smile. Less smirk, more soft.

“You weren’t in the library last night,” he said, almost too casually.

“I wasn’t scheduled,” you replied, straightening up. “And you were… what, disappointed?”

He tilted his head. “Maybe.”

Your heart did another one of those traitorous skips.

He stood, brushing dust off his trousers. “I had to repair a cursed poetry book without your terrifying supervision. Nearly got sonnets tattooed on my face.”

“Tragic,” you said, but your lips twitched.

He grinned wider, then took a small step closer. “So… will I see you tonight?”

You hesitated. You weren’t supposed to look forward to these nights. You weren’t supposed to notice the way he looked at you now—not like a prank waiting to happen, but like a secret worth keeping.

“If you don’t set anything on fire,” you said finally, “maybe.”

His eyes lit up.

Then, from behind him, someone called out—Angelina, you thought. George glanced over his shoulder, then back at you.

“Duty calls,” he said. “But I’ll try not to burn anything down.”

You lifted a brow. “Try harder.”

He laughed, already backing away. “You like me.”

You rolled your eyes and turned away before he could see the way your smile betrayed you.

——

It was supposed to be the last night. One final shift, one last round of “supervising” George Weasley before the punishment hours ran out and he could return to a life of setting things on fire without your interference.

You told yourself that was a good thing.

The library was nearly empty, the candles burning low, casting long shadows across the tables. You were already halfway through repairing the index of a torn spellbook when you heard the door creak open.

You didn’t look up.

“You’re on time,” you said instead.

George’s voice came quieter than usual. “Didn’t want to miss the finale.”

You glanced up then. He wasn’t smirking. No jokes, no paper bag of contraband snacks. Just George—serious, unreadable, eyes watching you like he was memorizing something he wasn’t sure he’d get to keep.

He moved to the table, dragging the chair out slower than usual. Sat across from you. Quietly. Carefully. Like he didn’t want to break the air between you.

You passed him the final book, the one with the ink-bleeding hex that had never been properly reversed. “Don’t overdo the charm. Less pressure than last time.”

He nodded.

For the first time, he didn’t speak unless he had to. You worked in tandem, silent except for the gentle flick of pages and the occasional hum of a spell settling over parchment. It should’ve been peaceful.

But the silence felt taut. Fragile. Electric.

You could feel him watching you when you weren’t looking. And when you were looking, his gaze never quite left your hands.

The last book closed with a soft thud.

“That’s it,” you said quietly. “We’re done.”

George looked at the book like it had personally offended him.

“Huh.”

You waited.

He didn’t move.

After a moment, he leaned back in his chair and said, “So this is where you say you’ll be relieved to never see me here again.”

You opened your mouth. Then closed it.

That wasn’t what you wanted to say at all.

Instead, you said, “I don’t think you’re as much of a menace as you pretend to be.”

George raised an eyebrow. “No? That’s a dangerous thought.”

You looked at him. Really looked at him. The soft curve of his smile, the shadows under his eyes from too many sleepless nights, the little freckle just beneath his jaw. He looked back like he was waiting for something.

You stood slowly and crossed to his side of the table, gathering the stack of restored books into your arms.

He didn’t move. Just watched you, brows lifted slightly in question. “You’re standing very close.”

“I’m stacking the books,” you said, but your voice was too soft. Too breathless.

He tilted his head. “You’re shaking.”

You looked down at your hands. You were.

The air between you was molten now, heavy with every almost and every silence that had hung too long. You didn’t even realize how close you’d gotten until your elbow brushed his, until your breath caught and he didn’t move away.

“You’ve been driving me mad,” you whispered.

George’s smile curled into something softer. “I was starting to think you’d never admit it.”

His hand found the edge of the table beside yours. He didn’t touch you, not quite—but his pinky was so close it made your skin burn. And then, finally, finally, he leaned forward just enough that your foreheads almost touched.

You weren’t sure who leaned in first.

The moment held—delicate and razor-sharp—just inches apart. His breath ghosted against your lips.

But the door creaked open.

You both froze. A soft cough echoed from behind a nearby shelf. A student. Late return.

George didn’t look away from you. Not yet.

But he smiled, low and knowing. “Saved by the bell, yeah?”

You swallowed. “Maybe next time.”

He leaned back, slow and reluctant. “You keep saying that.”

You stared after him as he left. His hand brushed yours—just once, deliberately—before he turned the corner and disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.

You were still standing there when the candle beside you finally flickered out.

[daemontargaryenwhore]

Im a snape hater till i die but james was definitely a big part of why he turned out the way he did.They were both awful, but people only ever see one side or another.

[pumkinzee]

DATING HARRY POTTER

pairing: Harry Potter x gn!reader

⌑ - English isn't my first language so I'm using a translator and my basic knowledge of the language!

𝐑equest 𝐨pens! + 𝐫ules!

Controversial opinion: he is very cloying

You are his safe place. After a bad day, a bad class, a bad dream, whatever, find comfort in your arms. He could spend hours being petted and hummed until you fell asleep.

(He secretly likes being the little spoon)

He doesn't like being called cheater. He once heard Hermione deny a rumor that he was cheating on you, but he still felt bad. The next day he spoiled you like never before, you had no idea why.

Sometimes he forgets that he is rich, he buys you expensive things for no reason just because they looked pretty to him.

He is VERY gentlemanly. He opens the doors for you, enters after you, gives you his coat, carries your backpack, gives you the best side of the bench when you share classes. He once tried to surprise you by doing your homework but ended up turning to Hermione.

It has nothing to do with it, but I feel like he has dyslexia.

He likes to hold his hands together, run his thumb across your palm, or squeeze your hand when he wants to get your attention.

I have a feeling he likes to bite. That is, you are normal, doing homework, and suddenly you feel a bite on your shoulder. Oh, it's just Harry.

His eyes light up when he sees you attending his Quidditch matches, whether you're from his house or not. He is convinced that you are his lucky charm

If you also play Quidditch and play against him, he will become competitive and mocking, he is convinced he can beat you. He probably throws unnecessary flirtations at you to distract you, but he forgets that he is playing when you return them.

If by chance you are from the same team he would be very overprotective, as if he didn't want them to do something to you or throw you off your broom. He forgets what his position is because he doesn't want you to fall or get hit.

He doesn't like people wearing his glasses, saying things like “wow, you're so blind!” Because of the magnification he uses, you are the only person, along with Ron and Hermione, who is allowed to take them off. The difference between you and Ron and Hermione is that he tells them that they are idiots and he tells you that you are beautiful

(he can't even see, but he knows)

He likes it when you spend time with him in his common room. You don't always have to be kissing, the simple idea of ​​your presence makes him happy

If you are from another house and you have to leave, he becomes whiny and tantrum, but not in front of you, in front of his friends.

“why did they have to leave!”

“bro, it's like eleven at night, let them sleep”

His nicknames to you are: angel, honey, dear

He has the money to pay for dates at expensive restaurants, but they are not his. Walks through Hogsmeade, buying candy, talking about life, board games sitting on his bed. Basically, quality time

His favorite part of your body is your hands. He likes to hold them, when you cup his face, to hold your wrist, to play with your fingers, to scratch your hands.

Did I mention it was sticky?

Honestly, I don't think he's the type to grab your waist when you're walking together, I feel like it's something more discreet and comfortable, like putting his hand on your lower back.

Secretly likes rom-coms

He likes to sit you on his lap. Not because of morbidity or any sexual tension, he likes to have you there, to know that you are with him, to kiss you on the back of the neck tenderly and to put his arms around your waist. He leans his forehead against your shoulder, closing his eyes as you talk to his friends casually, because for him it's already casual.

You have shared bracelets and he has a necklace with your initials, end of story

When you sleep together he says “would you love me if I were a worm?” because he simply has a very bad dream

Sometimes you call him James. Only you are allowed to call it that

He doesn't like doing homework, it's canon, but he stays up (or at least tries to) to keep you company. In the end he fails miserably because he always falls asleep in the worst positions, like sleeping on top of a stack of books. The next day he had neck pain

He's still a joker. If you walk in front of him he will put his foot into you so that you fall, he taps your left shoulder and appears on the right side, he steals some potatoes from your plate at mealtime, he steals some pens or blank parchments from you.

One day you couldn't find your Potions homework and it turns out that he had it because he had stolen it from your backpack and now he was copying you

His body temperature is cold, he wears a lot of sweaters when it's cold and yet he never warms up. They spend winter Sundays huddled under blankets in front of the fire in their common room.

Mrs. Weasley once made you a sweater for no apparent reason and his heart melted.

He wants to marry you, without a doubt. Every time you pass by a ring store he inevitably look at them before you realize it. 

©pumpkinzee

[mallowsweetmiri]

Hogwarts in Spring 🌷✨🌱📚

[dancerswhirl]

Tonks is a very tactile person (which sometimes ends badly when you factor in how clumsy she is). Every time she goes to Grimmauld place she yells “COUSIN!” and jumps on Sirius, even when he’s holding something or in conversation with someone else. She sprawls herself over Remus’s lap like a cat. She loves greeting the other Order members with hugs, even the ones she isn’t close to (not Moody though, he’s definitely not a hugger and she still respects boundaries). She uses her knuckles to ruffle the kids’ hair. She loves petting Buckbeak.

[rainydayathogwarts]

Concussions and interruptions - Harry Potter

summary: You aren't expecting to meet Harry's parents for the first time while you share an intimate moment in the hospital wing after he sustains another quidditch injury. obviously jily is alive and well.. slytherin!reader wc: 1.1k

You looked up at Harry lovingly, pulling your legs up on the bed as you rested your head on his shoulder, reaching up to brush long strands of hair out of his face. Harry scrunched his face up, smiling with his eyes closed as your fingers grazed his skin, before opening them again and returning your gaze. The hospital wing was oddly quiet, especially after such an intense Quidditch game. The day had been long enough, having to endure classes while the entire school hyped itself up for the big match, and Harry inevitably ended up making his day longer thanks to the addition of his new concussion. 

You’d waited until Harry’s teammates and friends had all left the hospital wing before taking your place next to him, hand resting atop his. He smelled clean, having showered and changed into a clean t-shirt and sweatpants “It’s a phenomenon how you’re so often the only person injured after a game.” Harry chuckled, squeezing your hand softly “Yeah well your house mates really have it out for me.” You cocked your head to the side, biting your lip. Well, you couldn’t argue with that. “Hey, if you’d been a Slytherin, that wouldn’t be the case.” Harry scoffed at your words, but you continued speaking nonetheless, a grin forming on your face, clueless to the wooden doors of the hospital wing creaking open and the two figures approaching you. “Besides, you look way better in green than red.” Harry raised his eyebrows challengingly, the movement in unison with his father’s just behind you. “Yeah well you look better in red than green.” 

You shook your head in disagreement, straightening up on the bed. Harry’s eyes were so focused on you that he hadn’t realised his parents coming to a stop behind you, waiting for their son to notice their obstructed presence. Harry stared at you with adoration, watching closely as you mercilessly tugged at your green tie until it became loose enough to fit around your head. You took Harry’s glasses of with care, putting them in the breast pocket of your shirt while carefully pulling your tie around your boyfriend’s neck. “I’m being serious, look.” Tightening the tie around Harry’s neck, you leaned across him to grab the mirror on his side table, unblocking the two adults behind you from his view. Harry squinted, struggling from the lack of visual aid, but the bright red hair of his mum and strong figure of his dad spoiled the surprise. 

“Here.” You huffed, handing the boy the mirror, but only then did you realise his distracted gaze. Turning around on the bed, your jaw dropped, immediately recognising both your boyfriend’s parents, neither of which you’d ever met before. Lily and James stood with locked arms and matching smiles on their faces, looks of fondness on their faces. You felt heat shoot up your neck at the recognition that they’d witnessed your intimate moment, and ducked your head away, distracting yourself by returning Harry’s glasses. Standing up suddenly, you freed space for Harry's parents on the bed. Lily ducked, pressing a kiss to Harry's forehead before sitting next to him, while James stood, watching you closely until he averted his watch to his son, stating "Got a call someone got a concussion." James grinned at Harry, who returned the smile, running a hand through his hair.

Glancing at your feet, you debated on leaving the hospital wing to allow the family some time alone. Your thoughts, however, were interrupted by a hand clasping around your shoulder. Looking up suddenly, you were taking aback by Harry's father, and more so how similar he looked to your boyfriend. "You're right kid, he does look better in green. Now you wanna tell me which of your friends knocked my kid off his broom?" You opened your mouth, turning to Harry in search for an answer, but only finding the kind yet intimidating eyes of his mother, turned back to James. "It was Malfoy." You said quietly, eyes wide in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I can leave you guys alone." You muttered again, gesturing towards the tall doors.

"Nonsense!" Lily stood from the bed, approaching you while throwing her husband a scolding look. "James you're scaring her!" She whispered, though you're sure it was loud enough for even Harry to hear. "Honestly you're both scaring me." You spoke truthfully, and James barked out a laugh, pointing accusingly at his wife. "No sweetheart," Lily started, placing her hands on your shoulders and guiding you back to Harry's bed. "That's ridiculous, we've heard so many great things about you." Your mouth fell agape as you took your place next to your boyfriend once more, eyes going wide. Your strict pureblooded parents didn't even know about your relationship with Harry. You thought the same went with him. "Oh."

Harry placed his hand over yours, squeezing it tightly. His parents shot each other a confused and somewhat worrisome look. "Y/n's parents wouldn't approve of someone who isn't a slytherin or a pureblood, so they don't know." Lily and James both nodded in understanding, but now they were worried for you. It wasn't as bad as Sirius's parents had been, was it? An awkward silence fell amongst you, and you felt the need to fill it, mumbling "Let me take my tie back." Harry shut his eyes, letting you unfasten your tie from his neck and tying it around yours, occupying yourself with the quick movements which you deliberately slowed down to ponder over the situation.

"I'll give you guys some time alone." You spoke again, leaning down to pick up your bag from its spot on the floor and placing it on your lap. You glanced at Harry, smiling at him, before his hand was wrapping around your tie and pulling you closer to him. You gasped when his lips briefly met yours, feeling the heat creep up to your face, and abruptly stood, strictly avoiding eye contact with either of his parents. "It was nice to meet you!" You squeaked, trotting over to the doors in a rush, clutching the bag on your shoulder tightly.

Harry grinned, eyes glued to the spot where you disappeared between the two doors, before he was brought out of his chance by his mother. "Harry Potter, you are evil." She half-scolded, a smile on her face nonetheless. James took your spot next to Harry on the hospital bed, a wide grin on his face as he said "The girl was already nervous enough to meet us, now I don't think she'll ever be able to face us ever again."

"Yeah she will," Replied Harry, pushing his glasses higher up his nose "Give her a year or two."

[rijsamurai]

Ronald Weasley's bedroom

"It was like walking into a furnace: Nearly everything in Ron's room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Then Harry realised that Ron had covered nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks, and waving energetically."

There was so much orange color, I had to balance it with blue 😅

I really love the sunshine here ✨

High quality: artstation or deviantart

[ghostscarface]

Severus Snape secretly feeds the hogwarts cats and gives them little nicknames when they're alone with him.

Mrs. Norris : Little Spy

White fluffy Cat: Meowfoy

Tall ginger cat: Gryffin

[siriusblacksleatherjacket]

Sirius absolutely broke so many bones when he was younger, maybe even some at hogwarts. He’s a real clumsy fucker

Regulus has never broken a bone. He teases Sirius about this mercilessly

[missmochalover07]

George is the type of boyfriend who will reach his hand out to you while you follow behind him as you navigate a crowd. He doesn’t turn to face you, he simply waits to feel your hand in his. When he does, he’ll softly squeeze your hand, giving you comfort and reassurance that no one else could.

[skyrigel]

Break-up

Characters : Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Tom Riddle, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini. Pancy Parkinson ( background )

How Slytherin boys will react when you ask them for break up.

Warning : might be toxic, alcoholism, possesive and obsessive behaviour, Reader feels they are too much ( in Blaise Zabini hc, you can skip that )

Mattheo Riddle

He's not going to listen a word so don't even bother.

He will shut you up real quick in more than one way, speaking too loud, cutting you mid, changing topics and rushing to classes that don't even exist and his most favourite, kissing you.

He would kiss you so hard that every thought inside your head would evaporate in fuzzy vapour, the bubbles in your head popping with each moan that would escape your throat.

“You were saying something?” He would ask so wickedly, amused with the dumb look you have plastered on your face and relishing while your fumble within words.

“ I don't think it's important." He would take your hand, kissing the inside of your palm, his sweet words vibrating through your skin.

“ yeah, not important.”

Draco Malfoy

Ofcourse he would be a nonchalant bastard about it, despite the brimming tears at the inside of his eyes.

“ oh, fancy potter now, don't you ? ” he would snarl, accusingly, his voice harsh and contempt choking him.

Draco would do everything wrong, say the wrong things, do even more.

He would start by parading Pancy around, so desperate that he would also accept Miss Greengrass's date invite.

But he would also cry, as soon as the facade will crumble, he would grip the sink till his knuckles went white, face wet and red with tears that wouldn't stop.

Then a word with his mother would do the miracle and the next thing you know would be a very drunk Draco howling and sobbing his undying love for you, refusing to leave and would make everyone listen how much he loves you, and how you belong with him.

“ Draco.” you winced at the grimness left behind after dries tears, softening.

“ Go back to your dorm.”

“ kiss me night and i'll go.” Draco slurred, you were pretty sure you smiled as soon as he said 'fight' instead of night.

“No.”

“ Yes!” He would lean down at you, pouting, and how much you loved this boy, all his tantrums, all his shenanigans. Your pretty, smart and silly boyfriend.

“Okay.” you breathed, pecking his cheek, tasting his tears and how much you hated it.

“ I'll be good...good for you.” he will be, you thought.

Tom Riddle

“ You decided that yourself ? ” Tom would whisper ever so dangerously, pressing closer, you could hear the pitch silence outside the tapestry.

“ It's not... It's not working Tom.” you knew he loved you but he was gone half the time, half the time with books that were too bold and dark, of magic that was malicious beyond your wits.

“ yeah ? ” He would smear his thumb across your face, kneading your cheek and you tried your best to stay quiet but the arousal that lurched inside you, just by his mere touch, sometimes just the way he looked at you, like he was part of your soul.

Tom would smirk, delighted when you moaned for him like that, he wasn't accepting at first how you drived his crazy just by existing. He wouldn't let you go, never ever.

“ I want to bury my soul into you.” His nose mapping your neck, taking your scent.

“ oh.” you trembled when his hands worked their way inside your shirt, cold rings blazing in your warm flesh.

“ But it will take time my darling.” his disappointment flushed when he looked up at you, breathless and hot under him.

“ so for now...” his mouth twitched, Head boy Tom Riddle, sinking to his knees, eyes glinting so bright. Oh how much he wishes to mingle your souls together, how much.

Theodore Nott

He's going to sensible, furrowing hard but listen when you tell him all the reasons how it could'nt work , he's considerate enough to pat your back, soothing you, when you break down in between.

“ If you need time baby, then I'll be patient.” he would say, kissing your forehead.

He wouldn't sit next to you in classes despite his soul wanting to crawl out of his body and embrace you.

Theo only sometimes snuggled next to you in armchair, you couldn't even blame him for it was too cold

He was on his best behaviour ignoring the totally 'accidental' beat ups of guys who were going to ask you or almost did, but in either way they never showed up.

“ I see you aren't dating anyone.” He would make no attempt to get up from your lap, discarding your homework with a swish of his wand.

“ shut up, or i will pour this ink pot on you.” you would bristle like a cat, it was inevitable not to card your fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp, he relaxed into your touch, chuckling.

“ It wasn't me.”

You sighed, looking at the bruised knuckles because your baby wasn't even trying to be subtle. He could have used his wand, phew.

“ c'mon, now can we please date again ? ” He would look up with puppy eyes, sticking out his lower lip to look extra cute. Shit, you shouldn't have told him that.

“ You guys stopped dating ? ” Draco asked, brow raised in question.

“ hey.” His fingers reached to trace your jaw, arching a little as you gaped a soft, ‘Theo’

“ Please, please, please.” He pleaded, his chin raised, as if he could claim your lips just like that.

“ Get yourself a room ! ” Pancy snapped, Theo only sneered while you looked away flushed pink.

“ Theo, stop.” you whined, when he got up, hawling you up in his arms as you wacked him repeatedly.

“ I've been a good boy.” he would mouth, smiling when you would hide your blush in the crook of his neck.

“ The only thing I am interested in breaking with you,” a pause, “ is my bed.”

Blaise Zabini

“ What did I do wrong ? ” that's his first question and you're already guilty.

“ It's just everything is so messy Zab, it's too much for me.”

He couldn't say anything more, the lump in his throat strangling each sound that passed between his cartilage.

“ Blaise...” you whispered when his whole face, that shined brighter than the whole sky withered away.

“ Hey...” you cooed and nudged him lightly and it was enough to break free the sob that grasped his chest, his whole heart. He hiccuped before large tears streamed down his coppery skin, gleaming in the basking glow of midnight.

“ Don't... please..d.. don't ” he sobbed harder, his whole body shaking.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer till your heart were crossed.

“ I am too much Blaise... Like a black hole.” you could never take away his glisten, never.

“ I love you.” he said, wrapping himself around you, closing his eyes as tear escaped and brushed against your clothes, love lorned and love sick.

“ I love you too.” because how could you not say it back ? When he loved you like you were the most precious one to him.

You will try, try your best and let him shine, protect him from your drakness, you have to try your best.

New Mattheo fic - Don't blame me

Navigation

[bloopy-writes]

Weasley family headcanons cuz why not

Percy was the first person to find out Fred and George were serious about opening a joke shop because he saw them struggling to understand legal documents the common room. He never told their parents but he did sit with them and explain what they would need and they always took his advice even when they stopped talking to him

Charlie’s favorite little sibling is Ron and Ron sends the most letters to Charlie

Mr Weasley used to reserve special days once a month to take Ginny out and do whatever she wanted for a day

Fred and George only play the most pranks on Percy because they know he doesn’t actually hate it. And late at night he comes by and gives them tips or fixes spells for them. He’s their favorite brother but no one can tell.

Ron and Ginny tried baking once to surprise Mrs Weasley but almost made the oven explode

Ginny accidentally turned bill bald when she was a toddler and he told her to go to bed. He still holds a grudge over that.

Bill and Charlie and Percy meet up once a month as adults to keep each other updated about life.

Mr and Mrs Weasley are both amazing at dancing and unfortunately all their kids suck at it

One time in his first year Fred broke his ankle racing George to the dining hall. Percy gave him a piggyback ride to the hospital wing. Years later Fred returned the favor when Percy collapsed from exhaustion studying for his newts.

Ron can tell the twins apart he just pretends not to so that he can annoy them

Mrs Weasley and bill are the best chefs of the family but George is the best baker.

[junezsq]

nice to meet ya

harry james potter x fem!reader

summary: your first day after transferring to hogwarts is up to a good start when a certain black haired boy can't stop staring at you

warnings: none really? maybe first day nerves, does this count? lol

word count: 1.3k

a/n: maturing means realising harry is underrated in his own series. i was genuinely shocked by how few harry fics there are so decided to take matters into my own hands. here's the beginning to a whirlwind of a love story, enjoy! x

── ᵎᵎ ✦

before daring to enter the great hall of hogwarts for the first time you took a moment to observe the scene playing out in front of you. the grandeur of it all was slightly overwhelming — the enchanted ceiling stretching above like a sky full of clouds, the long tables brimming with students, and the shimmering candles floating in mid-air. a weird mix of excitement and nervousness started swirling around in your stomach.

starting as a third-year transfer, you were aware that the curious glances from some students, the quiet whispers of “new girl,” and the subtle judgment that often accompanies a fresh face were bound to follow you for the upcoming days — maybe even weeks. despite this, the warmth of the hall was undeniable. the voices of fellow students, the laughter, and clinking of cutlery, almost made it feel like home — even if it was a place you'd only just arrived at.

there was something magical about the space, something comforting, like a promise that this would soon be your place, too. the smells of the breakfast feast filled your senses, making your stomach growl.

you glanced down at the crimson and gold fabric of your tie, signifying the house you were sorted in only a moment earlier. your fingers brushed over the edges of the tie as you took a deep breath, feeling uncertainty rise, but you knew that if you'd linger too long, you would only feel more out of place.

with a quiet sigh, you tucked your hair behind your ears. you glanced at the gryffindor table, and after a brief hesitation you took the first step towards your future.

seated somewhere in the middle of the gryffindor table, harry, hermione, and ron were in the midst of their breakfast; the table was littered with plates of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon.

ron, toast in hand, glanced up from his plate, it was then that he noticed you walking through the massive doors leading to the great hall. "isn't that the new girl?" he asked through a mouthful of food, "i heard she just arrived this morning."

hermione, who was sat across the red haired, looked up in curiosity. “she’s a transfer, i think." she murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "i believe she used to go to beauxbatons."

ron tilted his head, watching you intently as you adjusted your tie. “do you think she’s... i dunno, nervous?” he asked. “this place is massive. i’d be proper lost if i was new here.” he glanced at harry, "i mean, we actually did get lost, remember, first year?"

harry, who was sat next to hermione and had been quietly eating, glanced at you as well. his eyes followed your movement as you slowly walked along the gryffindor table — obviously trying to find an empty spot — and his empathy kicked in with a brief tug of understanding. “it’s probably hard, starting a new school in the middle of the year,” he said quietly. “i wouldn’t want to be in her shoes.”

ron sighed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “i know i wouldn’t. wonder if she’s looking for somewhere to sit... we could—”

“ron, don’t be daft,” hermione cut in gently, though there was a kind smile on her face. “she’ll find her way. besides, she might not want to sit with us just yet.”

the red haired grumbled but nodded in agreement, and while he returned to their breakfast, harry couldn’t help but keep a sidelong glance on you, curious about what your story was.

as you made your way along the great hall, you felt the weight of a pair of eyes on you. when you looked around, trying to find who they belonged to, your own eventually fell on the boy with messy jet-black hair. you could sense the quiet curiosity in his look, the way his eyes lingered just a moment too long before flicking away.

your heart beat a little faster, and with a deep breath, you made a decision. instead of shying away, you slightly fastened your pace towards where they were sat.

meanwhile, across the hall, ron’s voice rang out loud enough for hermione and harry to hear, not having noticed you were now heading in their direction. “so, what d’you reckon happened with her sorting? she's in gryffindor judging by her tie.” he asked, taking a dramatic bite of a sausage.

hermione shot him a slightly exasperated look. “ron, you’re not still on about that, are you?”

ron, however, was already getting into his own theories, grinning widely. “what, i’m just saying! i bet the hat had a real hard time deciding where to put her. probably because she's already got a few years of school experience. it’s got to be tough.”

harry, still a little distracted by you, especially since you were now making your way toward them, gave his friend an absent minded nod.

ron continued, oblivious to harry’s distracted expression. “maybe it was, like, really close between gryffindor and slytherin. could you imagine? the sorting hat probably tried to put her in slytherin first, but she was like, ‘no way! no way am i going there.’ which i completely understand, by the way.”

hermione raised an eyebrow. “really, ron?”

ron leaned in slightly closer, “or maybe,” he said dramatically, “the sorting hat was just so impressed with her bravery that it just had to put her in gryffindor. It could’ve been like, ‘you’ve got the guts to stand up for yourself — gryffindor it is!’” he looked up at hermione, beaming as though he’d cracked the case.

at that moment, you had reached their table. ron looked up, finding hermione with her lips pressed together — as if she was trying to hold in her laughter — and harry whose focus had shifted to somewhere behind him. with his mouth still half full of food, ron's eyes widened in realization. “oh — she’s behind me isn't she?” he muttered to the others, a little stunned by how quickly the conversation had shifted from theory to reality.

"surprise." you gave a small, somewhat shy smile. “this is the gryffindor table, right?” you asked, your voice quiet but clear.

ron, still a little flustered, blinked at you, momentarily forgetting his elaborate sorting tale. “oh, yeah! yeah, it is. you’re the new girl, right?”

hermione gave ron a harsh glance before looking up at you, her expression suddenly kind, “you can sit with us,” she said warmly. “we’re all in gryffindor. i’m hermione, by the way.”

you were slightly taken aback at her kindness, but sat down next to ron either way. hermione motioned to her two friends, "this is harry, and ron."

"nice to meet you." you spoke softly, glancing at ron before letting your eyes fall on harry. the pair of eyes that had followed you earlier still had a sense of curiosity to them, and you couldn't help but stare at him as a small smile formed on his lips, "nice to meet you, too."

ron spoke with a grin, causing you to snap your attention away from the boy in front of you, “don’t mind my stories about the sorting hat. i tend to make them up as i go along.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at that, "you weren't too wrong, it told me it could sense my bravery the moment i stepped into dumbledore's office." you shrugged, grabbing a strawberry, "whatever that's supposed to mean?"

a mischievous grin crept upon your lips as ron looked at you with wide eyes. the tension in your shoulders seemed to ease just a little. maybe hogwarts wasn’t going to be so intimidating after all.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

SOUNDTRACK // nice to meet ya, niall horan

[mssorceressupreme]

Let Me Help | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: After losing a quidditch match, Fred is frustrated and you help him by giving him a post-match massage, which leads into something more, or well something sweet.

Warnings: massaging, making out, hickeys, moaning ig, praising (ish), slightly steamy but mostly fluffy, fluffy!fred, nap-time together, cuddling, littlespoon!reader, bigspoon!fred, pls i want to have nap-time in fred's arms

———

The roar of the crowd had dwindled into murmurs as you, Hermione, and Luna sat on the bleachers, watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team gather on the pitch below. The match against Hufflepuff had ended moments ago, and to everyone’s surprise, Gryffindor had lost after a season of winning.

It wasn’t just a loss—it was a hard-fought game, filled with moments of near victory that had slipped through their fingers.

Fred and George, always the heart of the team, looked particularly worn down. Fred’s usual buoyant demeanour was dimmed, his lips were pressed in a firm line, nodding as Oliver clearly scolded him about something. He wasn’t one to take criticism lightly, especially not when he was already down.

“I think Wood's giving Fred a hard time,” Hermione murmured, squinting at the scene below.

“Fred looks sad,” Luna observed, tilting her head dreamily. “Maybe he’s just feeling the weight of the nargles today.”

You tried waving to Fred, catching his eye. "It's okay Freddie..." you mouthed, attempting to comfort him slightly from the bleachers.

He looked up and, instead of the cheeky grin and exaggerated gestures you were used to, he blew you a small, almost apologetic kiss.

It wasn’t the playful, confident one that usually made you laugh; it was soft, almost sad, and it made your heart ache.

“He’ll be okay,” Hermione reassured you as you all made your way down from the stands.

The walk back to Hogwarts was subdued. The team split off to the showers while you, Hermione, and Luna headed toward the common room. Your mind was on Fred the whole time, wondering how you could cheer him up.

When the players eventually returned, freshly showered but still visibly tired, you led the cheers in the common room to boost their spirits. George gave a half-hearted grin, Angelina and Katie exchanged appreciative smiles, but Fred hung back, his smile never quite reaching his eyes.

Determined to help him, you waited for the crowd to thin out before slipping away and making your way to the boys’ dormitory. Knocking softly, you peeked inside. Fred was sitting on his bed, his head resting in his hands, and the sight made your chest ache.

There was no sight of his dorm mates, they were likely out and about, lurking around campus somewhere.

He looked up when you entered, and his face softened immediately, though the exhaustion in his eyes noticeable.

“Hey,” you said gently, closing the door behind you.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice low. He patted the spot next to him, and you sat down, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, though you already had a good idea.

Fred sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “Oliver. He’s... he’s been on my case. Said I was distracted during the match, that I wasn’t focused enough. Maybe he’s right.”

You frowned. “That’s not fair. I watched the whole match, Fred. You were brilliant out there.”

He shook his head, a humourless laugh escaping him. “Doesn’t feel like it. We lost. And Oliver... he’s just so stressed about this season. Guess I was an easy target today.”

Reaching out, you placed a hand on his arm, stroking gently. “Ignore him. He’s just upset because he cares too much about the team. But that doesn’t mean he’s right about you. You gave it your all, Fred. I could see it. And I’m so proud of you.”

You hated seeing him like this, your Fred, who always had a joke or a cheeky grin, now looking so defeated.

Fred gave you a small, grateful smile, his gaze softening further, though the weight of the day still lingered in his expression. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“Someone has to be,” you teased, squeezing his hand. “You’re not half as annoying as you pretend to be Weasley.”

The corner of his lips curled up ever so slightly, and you decided you’d do anything to make it stick. An idea popped into your head, and you straightened up.

“Sit on the floor,” you said suddenly.

Fred blinked at you, confused. “What? Why? You’re not planning to hex me, are you?”

“No hexes,” you promised, laughing. “Just trust me.”

Still skeptical, Fred slid off the bed and sat cross-legged on the floor. “This better be good,” he muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

You knelt behind him, placing your hands on his broad shoulders. The moment you started massaging him, he tensed, clearly surprised.

“What are you—”

“Shh,” you interrupted, grinning. “Just relax.”

It didn’t take long for him to give in. A low groan escaped his lips as your fingers worked over the knots in his shoulders. “Merlin Y/N, that’s... bloody amazing,” he muttered, his head dipping forward.

“You’re all tense,” you said softly, your fingers kneading the muscles in his neck. “You’ve been carrying too much stress.”

Fred let out a deep sigh, his body slowly relaxing under your touch. “You’re going to put Madam Pomfrey out of a job,” he joked, his voice muffled. “This is—blimey—I could get used to this.”

You smiled, continuing to work your fingers along his shoulders and down his back. The earlier frustration and tension seemed to melt away, his breathing slowing as he leaned into your touch.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice lighter now, “if you ever decide to quit school, you’ve got a future in saving stressed Quidditch players.”

You laughed, continuing to massage him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As you leaned closer, you couldn’t resist planting a soft, lingering kiss on the side of his neck. Fred’s breath hitched slightly at the unexpected gesture. Smiling against his skin, you pressed another kiss just below his ear, then one more at the curve where his neck met his shoulder.

“Wha—” Fred started, his voice thick with surprise and something softer, “what are you doing?”

“Cheering you up,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his skin as you spoke.

He let out a low, content hum, tilting his head slightly to give you more access. “Well, I’d say it’s working,” he moaned softly, his grin evident even though you couldn’t see it. “Bloody hell, you’re good at this.”

You giggled, continuing to pepper his neck with light, affectionate kisses. “Good. You deserve a little TLC after today.”

Fred turned his head slightly, his voice a little breathless now. “A little? I deserve this every day.”

“You’d get spoiled,” you teased, kissing just below his jawline.

“Already am,” he admitted with a happy sigh. “And if you don't stop I might just take you here and now." He moaned again, as you left him a hickey, sucking sweetly on the side of his neck.

"You like that Weasley?..." You cooed, continued planting sweet kisses around his neck and he threw his head back, groaning softly.

"Mhm, feels so good love..." He hummed, eyes shut as his breathing grew heavier.

You chuckled, pulling back slightly to look at him. His eyes were closed, his lips curved in the most serene smile you’d seen all day. His usual cheeky confidence was still there, but it was softer now, tempered with gratitude and affection.

When you finally stopped, Fred turned around to face you, his brown eyes warm and filled with gratitude and adoration. “My girlfriend's incredible,” he said softly, reaching for your hand.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, smiling.

He got up and made his way onto the bed, hovering over you as he pushed you down gently, making you lie down with his hands beside your head, trapping you beneath him essentially.

He then bent down into a kiss, sweet and unhurried, his lips warm against yours. You giggled, as he continued, parting your mouth slightly as his tongue slipped inside.

His lips were soft, pillowy against your own. "Fred..." you moaned into his kiss softly as he sucked on your tongue. You could feel the soft tickle of his breath beneath your nose, your fingers running through his hair as you breathed each other in.

He too, had always managed to make you melt at his touch, to feel good, to feel loved, you were weak beneath him.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out a content sigh.

“You really know how to cheer a bloke up, don’t you?” he teased, his grin finally back.

“Someone’s got to keep you from sulking,” you quipped, poking his chest playfully.

Fred chuckled, moving to lay beside you on his bed. You curled up against his side, his arm wrapped securely around you.

For the first time that day, he looked completely at ease, the weight of the match’s loss forgotten.

As you lay there together, his fingers idly traced patterns on your arm. “You know,” he said after a while, his voice soft, “I don’t deserve you.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, frowning. “Don’t say that Freddie, you're amazing. You know, despite how much of a git you can be sometimes, you deserve all the happiness in the world.” You turn to face him, brushing some messy strands away from his face to see him, your Fred.

His grin returned, this time with a mischievous glint. “Well, if you insist... I suppose I’ll let you keep spoiling me.”

You laughed, swatting his arm lightly. “Don’t push it, Weasley.”

He laughed too, pulling you closer. “Too late.”

Fred pulled you into his arms, your bodies pressed against each other, your head rested below his, melting into his chest, one of the many perks being the little spoon.

The two of you laid there, tangled together, the world outside fading into nothing. His steady breathing lulled you into a peaceful nap.

When George returned later, he peeked in, grinning at the sight of you both asleep, Fred’s arms securely around you. He quietly closed the door, leaving you both to your well-deserved rest.