#harry potter fanfiction

[avalon-of-babylon]

People know fandom history I care about

In all seriousness if someone out there knows the hidden tea as to what exactly happened in the pre-ao3 Harry Potter fanfic site Grifindor Tower that resulted in civil war and the site going down hit me up I do not care how long it is I've been curious since I heard about Ms.Scribe

Babygirl I know fandom history that you wouldn’t even care about

[unconventional-lawnchair]

hi loveee!! hope you’re doing well!

i was wondering if i could request no Voldemort AU, Wolfstar!daughter reader where her parents and harry’s parents have been making jokes about her and harry dating, and since then they have seen her slowly fade and eating less and kind of just drifting away for a few months, and when her parents, lily, and james talk to her about it she just tells them she likes girls and was really scared of telling them because she felt she was disappointing them.

if you don’t feel comfortable that’s totally fine!! love your work

An: Thank you and I'm sorry this took so long! I got a little carried away I am so sorry.

Expectations

Wolfstar!Daughter who is struggling to express her sexuality...

Summary: (See above) Reminiscing on some romantic encounters, you have come to the conclusion Harry Potter is not someone you'd ever date. HURT/COMFORT

WC: 7.1k

CW: The reader is so gay, she kissed Luna and Ginny, almost kissed Hermione, some intense negative self talk, mentions of not eating and guilty James and Sirius

The warm smell of toast and coffee wafted through the kitchen as you thundered down the stairs, your shoes slapping against the wood with unbothered energy. The kitchen was alive with the sound of the radio crackling softly in the corner, a cheerful tune mingling with the chatter of voices and the occasional clink of dishes.

Lily stood at the stove, flicking her wand to keep the eggs from burning. James leaned casually against the counter, chewing on a piece of toast and grinning at Sirius, who was regaling everyone with a clearly exaggerated story about his work as an Auror the day before. Remus sat at the table, reading the Daily Prophet with a steaming cup of tea in his hand.

You slipped past Lily with precision, she hardly glanced over her shoulder, smirking. “Late again, I see. I suppose your grand entrance was worth skipping breakfast?”

You gave her a cheeky grin, swiping the slice of toast right out of James’s hand as you breezed by. “Skipping? Please, I’m right on time,” You quipped, taking a dramatic bite and ignoring James’s exaggerated gasp of betrayal.

“Oi!” James protested, clutching his now-empty hand. “I was munching on that!”

“You snooze, you lose, Potter,” You shot back, already rounding the table to Sirius. He was mid-sentence in his story when your arms looped around his shoulders, pulling him into a quick hug. He stopped talking just long enough to lean into the affection, grinning like the proud dad he was.

“Morning, Cherry Bomb,” Sirius greeted, ruffling your hair as you pulled away.

“Morning, Dad,” You hummed breezily before turning to Remus. You leaned down to give him an exaggeratedly loud kiss on the cheek, making him chuckle and shake his head.

“You’re in a good mood,” Remus observed, a small smile tugging at his lips as he folded his newspaper.

“Am I not always?” You asked, snagging another slice of toast from the plate on the table and tossing him a wink.

Laughter and banter filled the room again as the chaos resumed. The radio switched to another upbeat tune, and Lily turned back to her cooking, muttering something about “pot-stirrers” under her breath. Sirius leaned back in his chair, smirking at James’s ongoing complaints about his stolen toast, and Remus sipped his tea, watching the scene unfold with fond amusement.

“Pops, can you-” You started, pointing toward the creamer sitting just out of reach on the table. Before you could even finish your sentence, Remus flicked his wand, and the creamer floated gracefully into your hand. 

“Thanks, Pops,” You sang with a grin, pouring a splash into your coffee. “You’re on top of it today.”

“I try,” Remus replied with a faint smirk, returning to his tea and paper without missing a beat.

Before you could reach for the sugar, a familiar hand slid it toward you from the corner of the table. Harry, his hair even messier than usual, had just shuffled into the kitchen, still looking half-asleep but apparently sharp enough to anticipate your needs.

“Here,” he mumbled, stifling a yawn as he pushed the sugar closer.

You gasped dramatically, holding your hand to your chest as though he’d just saved your life. “And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why you’re my favorite Potter.”

Harry blinked at you, clearly too tired to respond with his usual quick wit. “Not a high bar,” He muttered, sliding into the chair next to Remus and slumping forward.

James, who had been about to take a sip of coffee, froze mid-motion, eyes widening in mock offense. “Excuse me?! I am the original Potter- one might say the prototype- and therefore the best!”

“Don’t forget the loudest,” Sirius added with a grin, earning a glare from James.

Lily turned from the stove, wagging her spatula in your direction. “Careful, love, you’re going to give Harry a big head.”

You snorted, swirling your coffee as you leaned back against the counter. “Please, his head’s big enough already. I’m just giving credit where it’s due.”

Harry, now more awake, gave you a sideways glance, a hint of a smirk creeping onto his face. “You know, you’re really setting the bar low if all it takes is a sugar bowl to win you over.”

“Hey,” you shot back, pointing your spoon at him, “don’t underestimate the power of good timing and selflessness, Potter. You could learn a thing or two from your favorite person.”

Harry rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “If I’m your favorite, I dread to think how you treat your least favorite.”

“Easy,” You cheeked with a wicked grin, “I steal their toast.”

James groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Unbelievable! You two are ganging up on me. Is this what parenthood leads to? Betrayal at every turn?”

“Seems like it,” Sirius chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a wolfish grin. “Honestly, Prongs, they’d make a great couple- at least then someone would appreciate your genes.”

You nearly choked on your coffee, sputtering as you quickly set the mug down. “Oh, come on,” You shot at Sirius, your tone sharp but playful, though a prickle of discomfort crept into your chest. 

James was grinning now, clearly enjoying himself. “You know, he’s not wrong. Potter and Black- it’s destiny, really. Perfect balance of brains and chaos.”

“Merlin’s beard, not this again,” You groaned, running a hand down your face. “The only thing Harry and I are destined for is quidditch captain, and I’m winning.”

“But think of the headlines!” Sirius pressed on, clearly relishing the way you were squirming. “‘Auror Legacy Marries rebel Black 2.0.’ It’s got a ring to it.”

“Don’t,” Lily cut in sharply, waving her spatula like a weapon. “You’re embarrassing them.”

Remus huffed quietly, setting his tea down with a frown. “Honestly, can’t the two of you give it a rest? They’re kids, not a tabloid story.”

You seized the moment, folding your arms and aiming your most cutting glare at your dads. “Thank you, Pops. Finally, someone with some sense.”

Sirius, unbothered, leaned over to nudge James. “You notice how defensive she’s getting? Means we’re onto something.”

“That’s because you’re delusional,” You snapped, though your tone had lost its bite. “For the record, Harry and I would never work. He’s a disaster, I’m a disaster, and that’s just too much disaster for one relationship.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at you, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Speak for yourself. I’d carry this disaster just fine.”

“Oh, please,” You fired back, your grin tight but still intact. “You can’t even carry your Firebolt without tripping over your own feet.”

The room erupted in laughter, and you forced a chuckle, though the weight of their teasing lingered. You’d always been good at playing along, but this time, something about it felt different. The jokes stung in a way they hadn’t before, but you weren't ignorant to why.

The laughter in the kitchen echoed around you, but it began to feel muffled, as if someone had pressed a pillow over your ears. You stared at your coffee mug, your grin faltering slightly, though you were careful to hide it. The jokes about you and Harry- something you’d always brushed off with ease- felt heavier lately, the sting burrowing deeper into your chest. 

Your grip tightened around the coffee mug as the laughter in the kitchen grew distant, the sound blurring into background noise. Your mind wandered, pulling you back to a quieter moment, one you rarely let yourself dwell on.

The library was quiet save for the soft rustle of pages and the occasional whispered reprimand from Madam Pince. You’d been helping Hermione find a particularly elusive book for her research, one she was determined to get her hands on without incurring the wrath of the ever-watchful librarian.

“You’re sure it’s up there?” Hermione had whispered, standing on her tiptoes as she pointed toward the highest shelf.

“Positive,” you’d replied, smirking as you pulled your wand out and flicked it expertly. The book floated down, landing gently in her hands.

“Show-off,” she murmured, though her lips curved into a faint smile.

You’d grinned back, feeling uncharacteristically shy under her warm gaze. The moment lingered longer than it should have, her eyes searching yours as she clutched the book to her chest. There had been something there- something thrillingly unfamiliar. The space between you had felt electric, the quiet of the library amplifying every breath, every heartbeat.

You’d thought about leaning in, about what it might feel like to close the gap. But the creak of Madam Pince’s footsteps had shattered the moment, and you’d stepped back, laughing it off as Hermione tucked the book under her arm and muttered something about returning to the common room.

“Oi,” Sirius’s voice cut through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. You blinked, realizing the room had gone quieter. Sirius leaned back in his chair, his expression softening as he looked at you. “You alright, trouble?”

“Yeah,” You smiled quickly, plastering on your signature grin to mask the lingering thoughts. “Just tired, I guess.”

Sirius didn’t press, but his gaze lingered a moment longer before he turned back to James, who was recounting a story you’d already heard a dozen times.

“Well,” Sirius said, clapping his hands on the table as he stood. “Time to pack it up, everyone. Let’s head home before the house decides to redecorate itself again.”

Lily shot him a look, though there was a smile playing on her lips. “That house doesn’t need redecorating. It needs a miracle.”

Sirius smirked. “And I’m just the man for the job.”

You chuckled softly, slipping off your stool and stretching as the others began gathering their things. 

For now, you focused on the warmth of the kitchen, the familiar sound of Sirius and James bickering, and the way Remus always managed to keep everything running smoothly. It was enough, at least for the moment.

The goodbyes at the Potters’ were as warm and chaotic as the morning had been. Hugs were exchanged, and James couldn’t resist pulling you into an exaggerated bear hug, practically lifting you off your feet. 

“Take care of my heir, Cherry Bomb,” James teased, grinning ear to ear as he nodded toward Harry. “You two are a dream team, after all.”

“James,” Lily said warningly, her tone sharp but her smile betraying her amusement. 

“You’re delusional,” You shot back with a scoff, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed how much the teasing was starting to wear on you. You glanced at Harry, who offered you a small, sympathetic smile before pulling you into a quick side hug of his own.

“Don’t let them get to you,” Harry mumbled under his breath. “They’re impossible.”

“Right back at you,” You replied with a crooked grin, but your heart wasn’t entirely in it. 

As you stepped back, Sirius clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder and gave you a knowing smirk. “Don’t worry, Prongs, I’ll make sure they don’t elope without your blessing.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” You groaned, throwing your hands up as Remus gave Sirius a pointed look and muttered something about restraint. 

“Goodbye, Lily,” You said pointedly, ignoring the boys and turning to give her a warm hug. She gave you a small squeeze, whispering a quick “Be patient with them” in your ear before you stepped away.

Sirius finally ushered you toward the car, jingling the keys in his hand like a prize. “Alright, let’s hit the road before James gets any more brilliant ideas.”

Remus rolled his eyes as he slipped into the passenger seat. “Or before you make any, for that matter.”

You climbed into the backseat, slumping against the window as Sirius started the car with a triumphant flourish. He seemed to take a little too much pleasure in the sputtering growl of the engine, muttering something under his breath about “showing Walburga what she’s talking about.”

The car pulled away from the Potters’ house, and the chatter in the front seat quickly turned into playful bickering between your dads. Sirius insisted he didn’t need a map, while Remus quietly pointed out every turn they were about to miss. 

But you barely registered their voices. Instead, you stared out the window, your mind wandering again. The familiar streets blurred together as you replayed the events of the morning, the teasing, the lingering stares, and the way Harry’s half-smile seemed to carry a shared understanding.

But still, you were elsewhere.

You and Ginny had been wandering aimlessly, avoiding curfews and teachers, giggling over whatever nonsense had entertained you that day.

She had shoved you playfully against the wall in a narrow corridor, her fiery red hair catching the dim light as she grinned up at you. You’d retaliated immediately, pushing her back with a mock growl, but she was quicker, spinning and pinning you to the stone wall with a strength that belied her smaller frame. 

“You’ve got to stop underestimating me,” She teased, her freckled nose scrunching as she smirked. “One day, I’ll wipe that cocky grin off your face.”

“Big words for a Weasley,” You quipped, grinning. “Want to back them up?”

Ginny paused then, her smile faltering just enough for you to notice. Her hands lingered on your shoulders, her grip light but steady. Her brown eyes softened, and something thick hung in the air between you, heavy and electric. 

Her voice dropped, quiet and teasing, but there was a nervous edge beneath her bravado. 

“Have you ever kissed a girl before?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at her, the confident grin slipping from your face. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say a word, Ginny leaned in.

Her lips brushed yours, soft and tentative, the kiss lasting only a heartbeat. It was over almost as soon as it began, but the feeling lingered- a spark, warm and thrilling, like the crackle of fire catching on dry wood. 

You barely had time to process it before Ginny leaned back, her cheeks flushed as she studied your face. “Well?” She asked, her tone light but her eyes searching. “How was that?”

You swallowed, your voice coming out a little breathless despite your best efforts to play it cool. “Not bad, Weasley. Not bad at all.”

Ginny’s grin returned, bright and cheeky. “Told you I’d shut you up one day.”

Before you could respond, Ron’s voice rang out from the far end of the corridor, calling for Ginny. The two of you jumped apart as if burned, your heart racing as her brother’s footsteps approached.

“Guess I'm caught.” Ginny muttered, casting you a quick glance. Her expression was a mix of amusement and something deeper- something you were familiar with. She turned on her heel, jogging down the corridor to meet Ron as if nothing had happened. 

You stood frozen for a moment, your fingertips brushing your lips as you replayed the moment over and over in your mind.

“Oi, trouble,” Sirius’s voice yanked you back to the present, his tone amused but curious. “You’ve been awfully quiet back there. What’s on your mind?”

You blinked, realizing you were still in the car, the hum of the engine grounding you as the memory faded. You plastered on a grin, shaking your head as you leaned back in your seat. 

“Just tired, dad,” you replied, your voice light and teasing. “Long morning.”

Sirius glanced at you in the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion, but he didn’t press. “Well, don’t fall asleep back there. I’m not carrying you up the stairs again.”

Remus chuckled softly, turning in his seat to look at you with a knowing smile. “He says that, but we both know he would.”

You laughed, grateful for the distraction they didn't know they provided. 

The car pulled to a stop in front of Grimmauld Place, and you were out of the backseat before Sirius could even turn off the engine. The heavy door creaked open under your hand, and the familiar musty air of the house greeted you. You were halfway up the stairs when Walburga Black’s shrill voice began to echo from her portrait in the hallway.

“Filthy half-bloods! Defilers of the noble house of Black!”

Without missing a beat, you stopped at the landing and turned to face her, smirking as her painted eyes glared daggers at you.

“Oh, shut it, you old hag,” You snapped, your voice dripping with mockery. “If this house had any standards left, your frame would be collecting dust in the attic.”

Walburga’s wails grew louder, incoherent insults tumbling from her mouth. Behind you, Sirius strode in, shaking snow from his jacket as he glanced up at the commotion.

“Oi, pup, what’s all this noise about?” He called, grinning when he spotted you leaning casually against the banister.

“Just giving dear old Gran her daily reminder that she’s irrelevant,” You shrugged, crossing your arms. “Thought she might appreciate the consistency.”

Sirius barked out a laugh, dropping his keys onto the hall table. “Ah, you’re a good kid. Keeping family tradition alive.”

He turned to Walburga’s portrait with an exaggerated bow. “Lovely as always, Mother. But if you don’t pipe down, I’ll have to introduce you to my new Muggle rock records.”

Her screeches hit a new pitch, and Sirius winked at you before turning to Remus, who was rolling his eyes and carrying the bags into the livingroom.

“Don’t encourage her,” Remus muttered, though his lips twitched with a faint smile.

Sirius waved him off, clearly pleased with himself. You snickered and started back up the stairs, shouting one last retort over your shoulder at Walburga.

“Hope you have a terrible night, you miserable cow.”

Her howls followed you all the way to your bedroom door, but you ignored them, shutting yourself inside with a satisfying click. 

You flopped onto your bed with a dramatic sigh, your body sinking into the mattress. The familiar creak of the springs beneath you was oddly comforting, even as your mind wandered. Staring at the cracked ceiling, you let the faint noises of the house fade into the background: the distant hum of conversation downstairs, the occasional groan of the pipes, the muffled screeches of Walburga’s indignation.

The memories came rushing back unbidden, weaving themselves into the present.

It was well past midnight. Grimmauld Place was silent except for the occasional creak of the old house settling, its usual cacophony of voices replaced by the muffled hum of distant dreams. The kitchen was dimly lit by a single candle, its flickering flame casting dancing shadows on the aged stone walls. You and Luna had crept downstairs, stifling giggles like two schoolchildren sneaking past a strict headmaster.

Luna sat on the counter, her legs swinging idly, her pale blonde hair catching the soft glow of the candlelight. She watched you rummage through the pantry with the serene curiosity she always seemed to carry, her gaze steady and unbothered even when you nearly dropped a jar of biscuits.

Her soft laughter bubbled up, the sound light and airy, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. “Careful,” she teased, her voice barely above a whisper. “We wouldn’t want to wake the ghosts.”

You turned to her, holding up the jar triumphantly. “Ghosts don’t care about biscuits, Luna,” you quipped, though your tone lacked its usual edge. Something about her presence always softened you.

Luna tilted her head, a dreamy smile playing on her lips. “Maybe not. But I imagine they’d enjoy the company.”

Her words hung in the air between you, her gaze steady and unwavering. The intimacy of the moment- the stillness of the house, the shared laughter, the closeness- felt overwhelming. You set the jar down on the counter, your movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid to shatter the fragile quiet.

“What?” You asked softly, your voice low as you stepped closer. The question wasn’t accusatory, just curious, as though you could feel the weight of her thoughts pressing against you.

Luna didn’t respond with words. Instead, she leaned down, her movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you the chance to step away. When you didn’t, her lips brushed yours, soft and tentative. The kiss started slow, hesitant, like the first notes of a melody yet to find its rhythm.

But then it deepened, a quiet fervor building as her hands found your shirt, tangling in the fabric and pulling you closer. Your hands instinctively rested on her hips, grounding yourself in the warmth of her presence. The candle flickered wildly, like its flame was threatening to extinguish under the intensity of the moment, but neither of you paid it any mind.

When you finally pulled back, the world felt different, quieter, as if the house itself was holding its breath. Luna’s gaze held yours, her cheeks flushed but her expression calm, steady.

“Was that alright?” She asked, her voice barely audible in the stillness.

You nodded, your heart pounding as you offered her a small, shy smile. “Yeah,” You murmured, your voice thick with something you couldn’t quite name. “It was more than alright.”

Luna’s smile widened, and for a moment, the weight of everything else fell away. In that kitchen, under the flicker of candlelight, it was just the two of you, wrapped in a moment that felt like it had been waiting for you all along.

The memory lingered like a soft melody, playing on repeat in your mind. Luna’s serene gaze, her touch, the flicker of candlelight that had seemed to mirror the spark between you- everything about it had felt right. Safe. But as you tried to focus on her eyes, your heart sank.

Like some cruel trick, the silvery blue of her irises shifted, darkening until they glowed an all-too-familiar shade of green. The serene warmth of Luna’s face dissolved, replaced by Harry’s steady, piercing gaze.  

A shock ran through your body, sharp and unforgiving, jolting you out of the blissful memory like a bucket of ice water. Your chest tightened, the sudden dissonance between memory and reality leaving you breathless.

“No,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head as though you could physically dislodge the image. “No, no, no.”

Your hands clenched into fists, and a frustrated growl tore from your throat. You grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it across the room with all the force you could muster. The satisfying whomp of impact was immediately followed by a loud crash as the pillow toppled your bedside lamp, sending it to the floor in a spray of shattered glass.

The sound made you wince, your frustration replaced by a pang of guilt. You sat up, running a hand through your hair as you surveyed the mess on the floor. The dim light of the room cast eerie reflections off the broken shards, and for a moment, you felt as fragmented as the lamp lying before you.

“Oi! Everything alright up there?” Remus’s voice carried up the stairs, calm yet laced with concern.

You winced, glancing down at the shattered remains of the lamp, your heart sinking. “Uh… yeah!” You called back, scrambling for an excuse. “Just… taking out some aggression on a pillow!”

There was a pause before Remus replied, his voice tinged with amusement. “And did the pillow learn its lesson?”

You hesitated, looking at the broken lamp before sighing. “Uhm… it seems my lamp learned it for him!”

A loud bark of laughter echoed from downstairs, followed closely by Sirius’s booming voice. “Don’t touch it! I’m coming up!”

Your stomach twisted as the familiar sound of Sirius’s boots on the stairs grew louder. You quickly crouched by the broken lamp, trying to sweep the shards into a neat pile with your hands, only to nick your finger on one of the sharper edges.

“Bloody hell,” You hissed, sticking the wounded finger in your mouth as Sirius’s voice reached the landing outside your door.

“Oi, trouble,” He called, knocking once before pushing the door open without waiting for an answer. He took one look at the broken lamp, the glass scattered across the floor, and your sheepish expression before crossing his arms and leaning casually against the doorframe.

“What happened?” He prodded, though his tone was more curious than accusatory.

You stood, brushing your hands on your trousers and avoiding his gaze. “The pillow was out of line, so I threw it,” You admitted, gesturing toward the offending pillow lying innocently on the floor. “Didn’t realize it had a vendetta against my lamp- unfortunately he took her down with him.”

Sirius’s lips twitched as he tried to hold back a grin. “Sounds like the lamp got the short end of the stick,” He mused, stepping further into the room to inspect the damage. “What’s really going on?”

You hesitated, unsure how much you wanted to share. Sirius had a knack for prying the truth out of you, but sometimes you weren’t ready to give it up.

“Just… had a lot on my mind,” Your voice muttered quietly. “Needed to let it out.”

Sirius tilted his head, studying you for a moment. Then, without a word, he pulled his wand from his back pocket and pointed it at the shattered lamp. “Reparo!”

The broken shards flew back together with a soft clink, reforming into the lamp as if nothing had happened. Sirius smirked, giving the now-intact lamp a light tap with his wand for good measure. 

You stared at it, your cheeks heating with embarrassment. “Of course,” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Sirius grinned, tucking his wand away. “Because you’re dramatic, Cherry Bomb. Always have to make a scene.” He leaned back against the doorframe, crossing his arms with a knowing look. “What’s the fun in fixing things when you can wallow in the chaos a little longer, eh?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, alright. You’ve had your moment. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late, just lets me know you still need me.” Sirius replied, flashing a cocky grin. Then his expression softened, his gaze flickering to you with something closer to concern. “But seriously, kid, you good?”

You hesitated, the weight of his question pressing down on you. Sirius might joke around, but his ability to see through you had always been unnerving. 

“I’m fine,” you finally said, though it sounded unconvincing even to your own ears. You tried to smile, hoping it would sell the lie. “Just a long day, you know?”

Sirius didn’t look convinced, but he let it go- for now. “Alright, if you say so. But if you ever need to talk… well, you know where I am.”

You nodded, feeling a flicker of gratitude for his understanding. “Thanks, Dad.”

Sirius smirked at the title, ruffling your hair as he passed by you toward the door. “Get some rest, pup. And maybe lay off the pillow abuse next time, yeah?”

“Only if it's learned its lesson.”

He gave you a playful glare. You laughed softly as he left, shutting the door behind him. The room fell silent once more, save for the faint hum of the house around you. You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the repaired lamp and letting out a long, steadying breath.

"Dramatic," you muttered to yourself, shaking your head. But the small smile faltered, slipping away as something cold and heavy began to settle in your chest. A creeping dread gnawed at the edges of your mind, setting your breaths into an unsteady rhythm.

Dramatic.

You could almost hear Sirius’s teasing tone, James’s bark of laughter. The word echoed, sharp and cutting in the stillness of the room. 

“They’re just joking.”  

“Don’t take it to heart.”  

“They don’t mean it.”  

You’d told yourself these things countless times before. But their voices played on a loop in your head, louder and louder, until you could hardly think of anything else.

“If you get married, we’ll finally be a big pack!”  

“You two would be perfect together!”  

“You’d work so well- balance each other out!”  

James and Sirius’s teasing words replayed with such vivid clarity, the echo of their laughter twisting in your chest like a knife. Even Lily’s and Remus’s softer reassurances slipped in, well-meaning but hollow now, reminders that they’d never taken it as seriously as you did.  

Because all jokes have a bit of truth to them, don’t they? That dark, nagging voice in the back of your mind whispered its usual poison. What if they mean every word? What if they’ve always meant it?

The years of good-natured teasing, the remarks, the suggestions- they stretched out in your memory, suddenly too heavy to ignore. And for the first time, you wondered if that was all you were to them. If you were just a puzzle piece waiting to fit into their perfect picture. 

The thought made you feel small, insignificant. Like your only worth to them was tied to something you didn’t even want. It wasn’t a new fear- not really- but it had always been something you could push aside. Something you could shake off with a roll of your eyes and a forced laugh.

But not today.  

Today, it was eating you alive.

The weeks that followed were quiet. Too quiet. The lively energy you usually brought to Grimmauld Place seemed to dim, like a fire struggling to stay lit. The teasing banter that once felt like second nature now felt heavy, stifling. You found yourself retreating into your room more often, your appetite waning as the days blurred together.  

At first, they didn’t notice- not fully. James and Sirius chalked it up to stress, maybe a rough patch. “She’ll bounce back,” Sirius had said confidently, leaning back in his chair like it was a guarantee.  

But then you started skipping meals. Not just breakfast, but dinner too. You’d pick at your plate, offering vague excuses before excusing yourself early. The chatter at the table would falter each time you slipped away, the tension thickening like storm clouds.  

You avoided Harry most of all. The warm sibling bond you’d always shared felt unbearable now, every interaction laced with an invisible wall you couldn’t bring yourself to break. He’d tried to confront you once, standing awkwardly in the doorway to your room.  

“Hey,” he had said, his voice uncertain but soft. “You’ve been… quiet lately. Everything alright?”  

You had plastered on a smile, too tight to be convincing. “I’m fine, Harry. Just tired.”  

He’d hesitated, his hand gripping the doorframe like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or leave. “You can talk to me, you know. About anything.”  

The lump in your throat had felt insurmountable, and you’d turned away under the guise of searching for something on your desk. “I know. Thanks.”  

He hadn’t pushed further, but you’d felt his lingering gaze before he left, the door clicking softly behind him.  

Sirius, of course, noticed the cracks in your armor. He’d tried to coax you back to your usual self with his over-the-top antics, but your forced chuckles only seemed to worry him more. Remus had asked if you were feeling ill, his sharp eyes scanning your face with parental concern, but you waved him off with a quiet reassurance that everything was fine.  

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, casting Grimmauld Place in a muted twilight. The kitchen was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the radio in the background and the occasional clatter of dishes as Lily cleaned up after dinner. You sat at the table, idly tracing patterns on the wood with your fingernail, your untouched tea growing cold in front of you. 

“Alright, love,” Lily said softly, breaking the silence. She pulled out a chair and sat across from you, her eyes kind but steady. “I’m not one to pry, but something’s been eating at you for weeks, and we’re all worried.”

You froze, your fingers stilling on the table. “I’m fine,” you muttered, the words automatic, rehearsed. 

Lily tilted her head, her fiery hair catching the faint light. “You’re not fine. And that’s okay. But shutting us out isn’t going to help.” 

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“It’s not nothing,” Lily pressed gently. “You’ve been pulling away from everyone-especially Harry. You barely eat, you hardly talk, and you don’t even sass Walburga anymore. That’s not like you.”

The mention of Harry made your chest tighten. You clenched your jaw, your hands curling into fists on the table. “It’s nothing he did,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Lily’s brows lifted slightly, her gaze sharpening. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated, the storm of emotions that had been building for weeks threatening to spill over. The kitchen felt too small, too stifling, and Lily’s unwavering gaze made it impossible to retreat. 

“I just…” You started, your voice trembling. You shook your head, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “I’m tired of the jokes. The teasing. All of it.”

Lily frowned, leaning forward slightly. “What jokes?”

“The ones about me and Harry,” you snapped, your voice louder than you intended. “About how we’re perfect for each other. About how it’s destiny. It’s like that’s all anyone sees when they look at us.”

Lily’s expression softened, but she didn’t interrupt. She waited, giving you the space to continue.

“I’m not…” You took a deep breath, the words sticking in your throat. “I’m not in love with him. I never have been. And I never will be.”

Your voice broke on the last word, and you buried your face in your hands, your shoulders trembling. Lily reached under the table, her hand resting gently on your knee. “It’s alright, love,” she said softly. “Keep going.”

“I hate it,” you admitted, your voice muffled. “I hate how they act like it’s inevitable. Like my only purpose is to… to marry Harry and make everyone happy.”

Lily’s hand squeezed your knee, her touch grounding you. “No one expects that from you,” she said gently. “Not really.”

“They do,” you insisted, lifting your head to meet her gaze. Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t care. “Even if they don’t say it outright, they mean it. And I’m just supposed to go along with it because it’s what they want.”

“Do you want to date Harry?” Lily asked, her voice careful, measured.

You shook your head vehemently, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “No. I don’t. I’ve never wanted that. I don’t… I’m not even attracted to men.” 

The confession hung heavy in the air, the weight of it both terrifying and freeing. Lily’s eyes widened briefly, but she quickly masked her surprise with a soft, understanding smile. 

“That’s what’s been eating at you,” she said quietly, more to herself than to you. “You’ve been carrying this alone.”

You nodded, your throat tight. “I just… I didn’t know how to say it. And I didn’t think anyone would take me seriously.”

“I take you seriously,” Lily said firmly, her hand never leaving yours. “And I’m so proud of you for telling me.”

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway. The door creaked open, and you looked up to see James, Sirius, and Remus standing there, their expressions a mixture of concern and uncertainty.

Lily turned her head toward them, her gaze sharp. “Don’t you dare say a word.”

“We weren’t eavesdropping,” James said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “We just… heard voices.”

You flushed, your chest tightening as their presence threatened to overwhelm you. But Lily’s hand squeezed your knee again, her steady presence grounding you.

“It’s alright,” She murmured, her voice low. “If you’re ready.”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering between the three men. James looked as though he was holding his breath, Sirius’s expression was unreadable, and Remus’s eyes were filled with quiet understanding.

Finally, you exhaled, your shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’m not in love with Harry,” you said, your voice steadier now. “And I’m not interested in men. At all. And I- hate that you guys assume. Assume I-” Your voice cracked and there was a long moment of silence.

Sirius moved first, his usual bravado stripped away as he slowly approached you. His grey eyes were soft, filled with something that looked painfully close to regret. He crouched down beside your chair, resting one hand on the table and the other gently on your arm. 

"Kid," he started, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to... I didn’t realize we were pushing you like this."

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. Sirius squeezed your arm lightly, his expression heartbreakingly tender. 

"You’re my little girl," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "The last thing I’d ever want is to make you feel like you’re anything less than exactly who you’re supposed to be. And if we made you feel that way... I’ll never forgive myself."

That did it. The tears you’d been holding back slipped free, and you let out a shaky breath. Sirius reached up to gently wipe one away, his touch careful and loving. "You don’t owe anyone an explanation. You don’t have to be what anyone expects, not even us."

Behind him, Remus was watching with a guarded expression, his gaze flickering between you and James. The latter stood frozen in the doorway, his face pale and his hands trembling at his sides. He looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

"I..." James started, his voice cracking slightly. He swallowed hard, his hazel eyes glistening as he took a shaky step forward. "I didn’t know. I didn’t- Merlin, I’m so sorry." 

You looked up at him, your tears blurring his figure. His voice broke again as he continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I thought we were just joking around, just... having a laugh. I didn’t realize we were hurting you. I would never-" He cut himself off, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "I never wanted you hurting."

Sirius’s hand remained steady on your arm as he glanced back at James, his expression unreadable. But the slight twitch of his jaw and the flicker of his gaze told you he was holding back words of his own.

Remus finally stepped in, his calm, measured tone breaking the tension. "It’s not about what any of us wanted," he said softly, addressing James but keeping his focus on you. "It’s about what she needed- and didn’t get- from the people who were supposed to protect her."

James visibly flinched, his shoulders slumping as he looked at you again. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "For every stupid joke, for every time I didn’t think- just, all of it. I’m so, so sorry."

For the first time in weeks, you felt the weight in your chest lighten, just a little. You nodded slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just want to be seen for who I am. Not... not who you all want me to be."

James nodded, his eyes glassy but determined. "You’re right. And from now on, we’ll do better. I’ll do better."

Sirius tightened his grip on your arm briefly before letting go, his hand coming up to cup your face. "We’ll figure this out, pup. You’ve got us. Always." 

"And for what it’s worth," Remus added, his soft smile offering a flicker of comfort, "we’re proud of you. For being honest, even when it’s hard."

Before silence could over take the room; Harry entered the kitchen with his usual messy hair and an expression of mild concern, but the moment he saw your tear-streaked face, his demeanor changed entirely. His eyes darted between you, Sirius, and James, his body tensing like he was ready to jump to your defense.

“What’s going on?” He asked, his voice sharp with alarm. He pointed an accusatory finger at James. “Dad, what did you say? Did you-”

“Harry,” You interrupted quickly, your voice wavering but firm. You stood from your chair and took a step toward him, guilt tugging at your chest. “It’s not him. It’s not anyone’s fault. I just… I should’ve talked to you sooner.”

Harry blinked, his brow furrowing as he looked down at you. “Talked to me about what? Are you okay?”

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “I’ve been ignoring you, and that wasn’t fair. I’m sorry, Harry.”

He shook his head, his concern not easing. “Don’t worry about that. I just want to know what’s wrong.”

The words caught in your throat for a moment, but then you found the courage to say them. “I like girls.”

Harry stared at you for a second, his expression unreadable. “Yeah,” he said slowly, his tone filled with cautious confusion, “Me too.”

For a brief, horrifying moment, you thought you’d miscalculated everything. But then he raised an eyebrow, smirking as he added, “You kinda snogged my girlfriend, though.”

You blinked, startled by the unexpected quip. Then the absurdity of it hit you, and a laugh bubbled out of your chest, light and free. Harry grinned at your reaction, pulling you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you like a protective barrier, and for the first time in weeks, you had your best friend back.

“I was so worried,” He mumbled into your shoulder, his voice softer now. “You’ve been so distant, and I didn’t know what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything,” You assured him, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s just been… a lot. But I’m okay now. Or I will be.”

Harry pulled back just enough to look at you, his green eyes searching yours. “You could’ve told me, I’m always on your side, you know that, right?”

You nodded, tears pricking your eyes again, but this time they were accompanied by a warm smile. “I know. Thanks, Harry.”

He ruffled your hair affectionately, his grin mischievous now. “And, for the record, you owe me for Ginny. That was cheeky.”

“I’ll buy her flowers,” Your smirked with a chuckle, feeling lighter than you had in weeks.

“I said you owe me. Stop trying to take her from me.” He chuckled, shoving you softly.

The room, once so heavy with tension, now felt warm again. Sirius, James, and Remus watched from the sidelines, their expressions a mixture of relief and quiet pride. Harry kept his arm around your shoulders as he turned to his dad and the others.

“Well,” he said brightly, “looks like we’re all good here. Is the kitchen open again? I feel like I'm owed desert- you made my cousin cry.”

The group erupted into laughter, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could laugh with them- truly laugh, without the weight of expectation holding you down.

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 what letter? sirius, what letter? 

pairing: james potter x f!reader

series summary ➥ In which, james has had longing feelings for you—christmas holidays are nearing and james confesses his love towards you in the letter, expect you never read the letter, didn’t know it existed.

Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever), James is complicated...ofc, nothing else

#1 she ignored my letter!

➥ In which, James writes you a love letter and hides it into your luggage carrying your clothes, not knowing he put it in a pocket you never open.

#2 she can date whoever she wants to, i don't care.

➥ In which, James and you still aren't on talking terms, he avoids you, never gets too close to you, yet complains to everyone when he sees you get close to your new charms partner.

#3 this is awkward..

➥ In which, you were fed up with James, deciding to put aside your pettiness you drag him away from the gryffindor party to talk to him.

#4 what letter? sirius, what letter?

➥ In which, you never planned on talking to james ever again, not after your last encounter with him. Luckily Sirius saves the day.

-- lmk if u wanna be tagged for any of these!!

[mssorceressupreme]

You Belong With Me | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: it almost felt like unrequited love to you, until you agreed to go to the Yule ball with George, causing his twin brother to get jealous.

Warnings/tags: jealousy, arguing, dancing in the rain, kissing in the rain (when's it gonna be my turn), mutual pining, fred longs for you <3, ending is soo fluffy

———

The cool autumn breeze swept across the courtyard as you and Hermione lounged on a stone bench, basking in a rare moment of calm amidst the Yule Ball frenzy that had overtaken the castle. The two of you were deep in conversation, discussing something far removed from the glittering event.

Hermione was talking about her fascination with ancient runes, her voice animated.

“I just think it’s incredible,” she said, her fingers tracing an invisible symbol in the air. “Languages so old they’ve shaped magic itself. Imagine being able to read something no one else in the room understands.”

You smiled, leaning back against the bench. “I’ll stick to words I can actually pronounce, thanks. Besides, isn’t it enough that half the textbooks at this school might as well be in a foreign language?”

Hermione laughed softly. “Fair point. But honestly, there’s something thrilling about deciphering mysteries.”

You were about to respond when Cho Chang appeared, her face lit up like a thousand fairy lights. “Guess what?” she exclaimed, plopping down beside Hermione, who immediately brightened at her arrival.

“What?” Hermione asked, leaning forward with curiosity.

“Cedric asked me to the ball!” Cho squealed, clutching her hands together.

Your grin mirrored hers. “That’s amazing, Cho! He’s one of the most sought-after guys in school. Everyone’s going to be jealous.”

Cho flushed with delight, her excitement infectious. “I still can’t believe it. He just came up to me after Charms and asked. Like it was nothing!”

The three of you giggled, and soon the conversation shifted to the ball itself—who would ask whom, what dresses to wear, and how the hall might be decorated.

“Have you two thought about who you might ask?” Cho asked, leaning forward with a curious glint in her eyes.

Hermione glanced away, suddenly absorbed in adjusting the clasp of her cloak. “I—I don’t really know yet,” she mumbled.

Your stomach twisted slightly at the question, though you kept your face neutral. “No one in mind,” you said lightly, though your heart was screaming a different answer: Fred.

The thought of him filled your mind, as it often did lately. His quick wit, the sparkle in his eyes when he was planning a prank, the way his laughter could light up the darkest of days. You could barely imagine him asking you, but the hope lingered all the same.

Cho giggled, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “Well, whoever you pick, you’ll have to tell me everything! It’s all anyone’s talking about in Ravenclaw Tower.”

The conversation drifted to Potions, which happened to be our next class, but your mind remained on Fred. Would he ask someone else?

___

The next afternoon, the library was quieter than usual, save for the occasional scratch of quills on parchment. You were deeply engrossed in your Potions notes when George slid into the seat beside you.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said with a grin, tossing a book onto the table.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Shouldn’t you be off plotting your next big prank with Fred?”

He clutched his chest with a dramatic gasp. “Ouch. I’m perfectly capable of studying, thank you very much.”

You chuckled, turning back to your notes as he whipped out his textbook.

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm of studying, punctuated by George’s occasional quips and your amused replies. It was comfortable, even fun. Halfway through, he leaned closer, his tone suddenly earnest.

“So, the Yule Ball,” he started, tapping his quill against the table.

You looked up, curious. “What about it?”

He grinned, though there was something tentative about it. “Well, I was wondering if you’d go with me.”

Your heart stuttered. For a split second, you pictured Fred’s face instead of George’s, and disappointment flooded your chest.

But then you saw the hope in George’s eyes and felt a sense of guilt. He was lovely in his own right, and you couldn’t imagine saying no to someone so kind.

“Sure,” you said after a moment, offering a small smile. “I’d love to Georgie.”

He was one of your closest friends after all, how could you say no to George? Besides, at least you wouldn't be attending the ball alone. ___

Later that day, you found yourself in the Great Hall during study period. The long tables were packed with students working on essays and assignments, and the low hum of conversation filled the space. You sat with Hermione, Harry, and Ron, your quill scratching against the parchment as you tried to focus.

The doors swung open, and your heart skipped a beat as Fred entered, his presence commanding the room without even trying. His tie was slightly askew, his hair tousled in that effortlessly handsome way of his.

You quickly looked down at your parchment, forcing yourself to concentrate. But then Fred sat across from you, and ignoring him became impossible.

“Looking forward to the ball?” he asked casually, his eyes meeting yours.

You managed a nod. “Yeah, should be fun.” If you went with me.

George, seated beside you, grinned and announced loudly, “Right?We’re going together!”

The group erupted in congratulations. “So, you two, huh?” Ron teased, his eyebrows waggling.

You forced a smile as the attention turned to you and George. Across the table, Fred’s expression fell, though he quickly masked it with a laugh.

"You two? That'll be entertaining. Best put extra protection over your toes Y/N, George isn't exactly the best dancer."

The laughter around the table grew louder, students chiming in with their own quips and jokes about the Yule Ball. You tried to join in, but your focus kept slipping back to Fred.

Every time George leaned closer to you or made you laugh, Fred’s jaw tightened, his fingers drumming against the table in a steady, agitated rhythm.

George, oblivious to his twin’s mood, grinned and nudged you with his elbow. “You’ll see, Y/N. Fred might think he’s the charming one, but wait until you’re spinning across the dance floor with me. I’ll have you thinking I invented the waltz.”

Fred scoffed audibly, folding his arms. “Yeah, right. And she’ll probably need a Healer for her toes by the end of the night. Smooth moves, George.”

George chuckled, brushing off the jab. “Jealous much, Freddie?”

That struck a nerve. Fred’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward. “Jealous? Of you? You’re dreaming, mate.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t act like it’s a crime for her to have a decent time at the ball.”

“Decent time? That’s rich, coming from the guy who can’t even sit still during dinner without knocking something over.”

George’s grin faltered, his tone sharpening. “What’s your problem? You’ve been acting like this since I asked her.” He asked, loud enough for only him and Fred to hear. But George, knew exactly what was up.

“Maybe my problem is you jumping in when you knew—” Fred stopped abruptly, clenching his jaw as if he’d said too much.

The table grew quieter as Snape walked by, making sure students were doing work without chatting away, a few heads turning toward the brewing tension. Your heart raced as you glanced between them, unsure whether to step in.

“Knew what, Fred?” George pressed, his own temper starting to rise.

Fred opened his book, a little too harshly, his voice low but laced with frustration. “Forget it. Enjoy your ‘decent time,’ George.”

Not long after, you all found yourselves immersed in studying.

Moments later, Fred tossed a note to Ron, saying “Get a move on, or all the good ones will have gone.”

Ron groaned. “Who are you going with, then?”

Fred didn’t reply. Instead, he rolled another paper ball and lobbed it at Angelina, who turned to Fred, mouthing "What?"

He asked her to the ball. He asked her to the ball. When she nodded in response, your chest tightened painfully.

You felt your chest constrict as you watched the exchange. He asked Angelina. The words echoed in your mind, drowning out the noise around you.

You buried your face in your parchment, pretending to be absorbed in your work, but Hermione’s hand on your arm told you she saw right through you.

Fred glanced at you briefly, his gaze almost apologetic, but you refused to meet his eyes. Instead, you leaned closer to Hermione, trying to block him out.

Whatever, you were going with George anyway, why did Fred matter.

___

The night of the ball arrived, and you met George at the entrance. He was charming as ever, complimenting your dress with a sincere warmth that made you feel beautiful.

“You look stunning,” George said as he approached, his grin warm and genuine.

“Thanks, and you look very handsome” you replied, offering a small smile as he led you inside.

The Hall was breathtaking, transformed into a winter wonderland. But as your eyes scanned the room, they immediately found Fred, your heart faltered at the sight of him with Angelina. He looked devastatingly handsome in his dress robes, his hair neatly combed, though still with that familiar unruly edge.

Fred caught your eye for a fleeting moment, his lips curving into a faint smile, but he quickly turned away. You forced yourself to smile and focused on George, determined not to let your emotions show.

“Let’s say hi,” George suggested, steering you toward his twin.

Fred’s eyes met yours as you approached, and for a moment, everything else faded away. But then he turned to Angelina, jealousy flashing in his gaze before he quickly hid it.

The night went on, the music swelling and laughter filling the air. You danced with George, smiled for the photos, and laughed with friends, but your heart wasn’t in it. Fred was never far from your thoughts, and you couldn’t stop glancing his way.

You sat at the table with George, Lee and Oliver, having some punch to hydrate yourselves after all that dancing.

Across the room, Fred’s gaze kept finding you, a flicker of longing evident in his eyes, though you never noticed.

When he wasn't looking, your eyes found him, and when you glanced away, his gaze found you.

You watched as he laughed with Angelina, something stirred inside you, wishing that was you. Around the room, couples were dancing happily, laughter echoing throughout the room which you drowned out.

You always knew you liked Fred, but this was the first time your emotions felt stronger than ever. You'd never dare admit it, but your heart ached for him, and tonight was the tipping point.

Turning to George, you excused yourself for some air, slipping out into the courtyard as tears welled up.

The first raindrops began to fall as you sat on a bench, cold air biting against your skin as your tears slowly spilled over despite your efforts to hold them back.

You didn't care about the rain; you just sat there.

___

Back inside, Fred’s eyes followed you as you left, a slight frown played upon his lips as he watched you scurry out.

“Go,” Angelina said softly, nudging him.

“What?” Fred asked, startled.

“She likes you, Fred. And it’s obvious you like her too, I see the way you look at her. Stop being an idiot and do something about it.” She chuckled.

Realisation dawned on his face, and without another word, he ran after you.

The rain was pouring by the time he found you. Without thinking, he took off his blazer and held it over your head as he approached. You looked up seeing a tall figure tower over you, holding a blazer over you.

He got soaked, but didn't mind one bit, as long as it kept you dry.

“Mind some company?” he asked, sitting beside you, now extending the blazer over his head too, leaving the two of you huddled under his blazer together.

“Fred, just go,” you said, not looking at him.

“Not a chance,” he replied, his voice soft. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. Crying, no less.”

You turned to him, your heart breaking all over again. “Shouldn’t you be with Angelina?”

Fred shook his head. “There’s nothing between us." He continued, "You do know that she has a thing George, right?”

“Then why didn’t you—” You stopped yourself, unable to finish the thought.

“Because I was too much of a coward to ask you,” Fred admitted, his voice raw. “George knew that, so he stepped in, he just needed to push my buttons that git. But it’s always been you. Only you.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, the world stood still.

“Fred...”

“I mean it,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “You’re the one I’ve wanted all along.”

Tears welled up again, but this time they were different. You laughed softly, shaking your head. “How did the wrong twin ask the wrong date to the ball?”

Fred chuckled, his hand reaching to tuck a strand of wet hair behind your ear. “Guess we’re both idiots.”

You leaned closer, and Fred closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that made everything else fade away.

The kiss was as sweet as his words were, you tasted a linger of punch he drank from earlier, "Mhm, sweet." You giggled. He smiled into the kiss, before leaning back in for another kiss, removing the blazer from above so he could hold you closer to him.

Fred pulled you closer by the waist, holding you like he was going to lost you. "Merlin, you're the most beautiful girl to ever exist." He complimented sincerely.

You blushed, looking down, "Stop it..." you scoff but bit back a smile.

His inspected your face, eyes darting from your eyes to your lips, smiling as he did so. The look of love. And you into his, those warm hazel eyes you always dreamed of, finally looking at you in this light.

The soft hum of music floated through the night air, carried from the Great Hall to the quiet courtyard. The sound of a slow, enchanting melody was muffled by the rain but still audible enough to make your heartpace increase.

“They’re playing a slow one now,” he said, his gaze fixed on you.

His hazel eyes warmer than the rain, a playful yet nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Dance with me.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“Dance with me,” he repeated, standing up and holding a hand out to you. Raindrops clung to his hair, the dim light from the castle casting a faint glow around him. “It’d be a shame to let a good song go to waste.”

You stared at his hand, your heart fluttering as you hesitated. “Fred, it’s raining.”

“All the better.” He grinned, his usual confidence creeping back into his voice. “Come on, Y/N. You’re already soaked, and we’re already out here. What’ve we got to lose?”

Despite yourself, you laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re absurd.”

“And yet, here you are, sitting next to me.” He wiggled his fingers, his hand still extended. “Now, are you going to make me stand here looking like a git, or are you going to dance with me?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the smile spreading across your face. With a sigh of surrender, you placed your hand in his, letting him pull you to your feet.

The rain was cool against your skin as Fred tugged you closer, one hand resting lightly on your waist, the other still holding your hand.

You hesitated, unsure of where to place your free hand, and he chuckled, guiding it to his shoulder.

“There,” he said softly. “Not so hard, is it?”

The music from the hall swirled around you both as he began to sway, leading you gently. You stumbled at first, unprepared for the sudden closeness, but Fred’s grip was steady, his steps smooth and sure.

“You’re not bad at this,” you teased, looking up at him.

He smirked. “Told you. Miles better than Georgie.”

That made you laugh, and the sound seemed to light up his whole face. The tension from earlier melted away, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the music or the rain.

The world around you blurred, the rain and the music creating a cocoon of quiet intimacy. Fred twirled you unexpectedly, making you gasp before pulling you back against him, his grin wide and mischievous.

“Show-off,” you said breathlessly.

“Only for you,” he replied, his voice softer now, his teasing tone giving way to something more sincere.

You looked up at him, rainwater dripping from your hair, and for a moment, you forgot about the ball, about Angelina, about anything else. It was just Fred—Fred with his warm eyes, his heartfelt grin, and his hands that held you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Fred…” you started, unsure of what you wanted to say.

But he stopped swaying, his hand gently brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured. “It’s always been you, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched, his words sinking in like the rain soaking through your clothes. “Fred, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupted, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I just…I needed you to know.”

For a moment, you stood there, staring at him, the music from the hall swelling in the background. Then, without thinking, you leaned up on your toes, closing the space between you.

The kiss was soft and slow, rain falling around you as if the world had stopped for just the two of you. Fred’s hand cupped your face gently, the other still resting on your waist, pulling you closer. When you finally pulled back, he was grinning, his forehead resting against yours.

“So, how’s this for a Yule Ball memory?” he asked, his voice warm and teasing.

You laughed, your cheeks flushing despite the cold. “It’s perfect.”

“Good,” he said, spinning you one last time before pulling you back into his arms. “Because I don’t think I’m letting you go anytime soon.”

And as the rain continued to fall and the music from the Great Hall drifted through the night, you realised that, for once, you didn’t mind getting soaked.

[clesired]

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 | 𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 !

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ! “can i request a george weasley x reader where she’s harry’s sister? set in the goblet of fire?” thank you to the lovely anon who requested this <3

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ! fun fact: no one loves harder than a weasley!

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! no warnings, fluff, comfort ( reader big sister-ing harry ), gryffindor potter fem!reader, established relationship, second person pov, 1.7k words!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You watch as your little brother storms through the doors of the Great Hall, Hermione hot on his heels.

You want to move—but you’re torn between chasing after Harry and his angel of a best friend, or turning around and hexing his dimwitted doorknob of another.

Ever since Harry’s name was pulled out of the Goblet of Fire, it’s like the whole school has turned on him. And no one worse than his very own best mate, Ron Weasley.

And of course when Ron is upset, everyone else has to be too.

He’d started a row with Harry in the middle of breakfast, and when he’d lost it on Hermione for stepping in and defending your brother—Harry had reached his limit and walked away. No doubt because he’d been seconds away from socking Ron a good one.

And you’re honestly not too far behind him, but your big sister instincts ultimately win out and you rush out of the hall in hopes of catching up to the younger Gryffindors before they’re out of sight.

Your head swivels from left to right as soon as you burst through the doors, but to no success. And with the amount of hidden passageways and corridors in this castle—you’re shite out of luck.

So caught up in looking for any clues as to which way they may have gone, you completely miss the arrival of another person.

“C’mon, sweetheart—there’s no use looking for them now.” George’s voice rings out gently as he steps in front of you. His large hand falls to your shoulder and squeezes, a familiar feeling that calms you.

You lean into his touch—seeking his comfort, but shake your head in denial. “I have to try, Georgie. He’s my brother.”

“He’ll be alright, sweetheart. Hermione’s got him.” He murmurs against your hairline as he places a gentle kiss on your forehead, his hand rubbing up and down your arm soothingly.

“You hardly even touched your plate before mini Potter was storming off. Come back and eat. Give him some time to cool off, yeah?” He coaxes gently and you let out a soft sigh.

“If I go back in there now, I’m afraid you’ll be walking out with one less brother.” You murmur quietly as you look up at him, earning a soft chuckle from your boyfriend.

“That’s okay, still got four of ‘em left.” He jokes quietly, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Ginny’s beat you to it, darling.”

That makes you smile, and you pull away from him to peer at the doors—as if trying to see through them.

“She throw a Bat-Bogey yet?” You ask curiously, the smile on your face a testament to how upset you are with Ron right now.

Normally, you’re like two peas in a pod—mainly because Ron knows if he’s on your good side, George won’t prank him.

You know that’s the real reason he talks to you, but you don’t really care.

Ron can be particularly nasty if he’s on bad terms with a person—proven by this morning’s lovely show, and you’d rather not deal with that sort of nuisance; so you entertain him.

But all of that is out the window now. Ron has gone too far this time—accusing Harry of deliberately putting his name in the Goblet of Fire and cheating. As if he needs another threat to his life after all that he’s already been through. Ridiculous.

“Not yet, but her hand was looking pretty twitchy before I ran out.” George’s voice is laced in amusement now, as he comes up behind you and gently steers you toward the Great Hall.

You smile softly. “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

George chuckles. “Comes with the job of being your boyfriend, sweetheart. One promise of Weasley-on-Weasley violence, check.”

“Well now that makes me feel bad.” You frown softly as you walk through the doors.

“Don’t. He had it coming.” He squeezes you gently before smirking. “And plus—Fred and I have been waiting for an excuse to prank ickle Ronniekins without making you mad.”

As the Gryffindor table comes back into view and you find that Ginny has in fact casted an absolute wicked Bat-Bogey Hex while you were gone, you smile.

George’s words ring in your ear as a thought occurs and you turn to look at him—momentarily ignoring the chaos the flying bats are causing among the students and staff.

“You know what? Consider him out of my protection. You and Fred can prank him as much as you want from now on.” You declare.

This will be your get back at Ron for being a little shite to Harry. Only you are allowed to be mean to your little brother and get away with it.

George positively beams down at you as he places a fat kiss against your forehead and then looks over to his twin.

“Hear that, Freddie!? My witch gave us the go ahead on ickle Ronniekins!” He shouts, and you can’t help but laugh as you watch Fred pump his fists in triumph.

As you settle down at the table beside George and watch the Professors struggle to help Ron fight off the bats, you scan the table until you find Colin Creevey.

“Colin!” You call out, gaining his attention. “Do me a favour and take a picture of this, yeah? I’m sure Harry’s gonna love it.”

The amused smile on your little brother’s face when he looks at the picture later that day in the common room proves you correct.

“Figured since you couldn’t be there to see it in all its glory, I could get you the next best thing.” You shrug casually, before smirking.

“Oh, and the twins are working on a few ideas to make Ron’s life a bit more…entertaining for the next few weeks.” You say lightly.

Harry looks up to where Fred and George are sitting at a table, quietly discussing as they both pour over a parchment.

After a moment, he turns to smile at you, all traces of anger due to Ron’s awful behaviour absent from his expression—at least for the time being, until Ron inevitably opens his mouth again.

“You’re a great big sister, you know that?” Harry says quietly, and you chuckle.

“Obviously. We Potters never do anything by halves.” You smirk.

“Except for boyfriends!” George suddenly calls out as he looks up from the table and winks at you. “Get it, sweetheart? Because you’re dating a twin?”

You shake your head in fond amusement as you look at your boyfriend. “I got it, Georgie.” You smile, holding back a laugh.

He blows you an air kiss and you catch it before blowing one back in return. He smirks, before you both refocus on your respective brothers.

Harry is already looking at you by the time your head turns, and his smile is smaller now—but also softer.

“George is good for you. I’m glad you have him.” He says quietly, and you feel your heart warm.

By the time your little brother had entered Hogwarts, you and George had already been dating—and with all the crazy shenanigans that’s been going on ever since Harry’s first year…you two never really had a conversation about how he felt about it.

You know he never had a problem with your relationship—he would’ve said something if he had; but to actually hear him verbally approve you and George fills you with a particular joy you only ever feel when it involves your boyfriend.

“I’m glad I have him too.” You murmur softly as you glance back at the aforementioned wizard.

“No one loves harder than a Weasley, you know.” You add on as you look back at your brother.

“No one hates harder than one too, apparently.” He grumbles, and just like that—his face is darkening all over again as he thinks of Ron.

You sigh softly and wrap your arm around his shoulder, smiling when he lets you. The Dursleys did their number on the both of you, but it was worse for Harry—with physical touch being one of the things he sometimes gets a little finicky about.

Both you and Hermione have been working overtime throughout the years to get him used to it, and you’re proud to say that the progress is there.

Harry’s first instinct is to usually shy away from touch when he’s angry, but rather than pull away this time—he leans into your warmth.

“Ron is…Ron, and I have no doubt that Hermione can and probably already has given you a more in depth explanation on why he’s being a prat—so I won’t even bother trying.” You smile gently, before continuing.

“But what I will tell you is that sometimes friends fight. And it’s messy and it sucks, but it also strengthens the bond between you.” You pat him consolingly.

“I’m not saying you two are gonna make up tomorrow—even I know Ron’s too much of a git for that. But you will eventually.”

“How can you know that, though?” Harry asks quietly.

You shrug gently. “Call it big sister instinct, or the fact that you two have been through more things together in the past three years than most people go through in a lifetime. Whatever it is, you two are going to be just fine.”

Harry relaxes at that, and as the twins join you on the couch—George pulling you into his lap, and Hermione comes bursting through the common room rambling about what she read in the library about the Triwizard Tournament rules—you look back at your brother.

He’s watching the twins—who are now rattling off ideas to Hermione about how to get him out of the tournament, and you can tell that he’s touched by their efforts.

You lean into Harry to give him one last word of big sister advice. “Ron’s poor behaviour is more than upsetting, but he’ll come around eventually. In the meantime—you’ve got a pretty solid group of friends right here.”

You gesture to Hermione and the twins, and hold up the picture of Ginny casting a Bat-Bogey at Ron.

It’s not lost on either of you that three of the four people you pointed out are Weasleys, and Harry smirks.

“No one loves harder than a Weasley, indeed.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! its actually criminal that i dont have my own george, smh. i hope you lovelies enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

©clesired - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

xoxo,

mila! *: ･🐚༄🫧*ੈ✩

[rottenherbs]

Saint Like // G.W x reader

Request: Would you write a George x reader where Molly doesn't like George's girlfriend and she's kind of mean towards her but when she sees reader take care of George after he loses his ear she starts to slowly accept her?

Word count: 2.2k

Authors note: finally back to writing! Yippie!! That sickness actually was the worst ive had in years.

[masterlist]

Much love, Saige

———

It hurts to be dismissed by your boyfriend's mother. Year after year you arrive at his home, welcomed by others in his family, banter with his father, and simultaneously given the stark cold shoulder by the woman who gave him life.

It confused you to no end. She never supported the twins' endeavors; she consistently dismissed and shrouded any thought of their joke shop, practically banning any conversation of the idea in the burrow indefinitely. In her own world, Fred and George would magically wake up one day and decide that they wanted to pursue a career that was more lucrative. Her own fear of poverty inflamed her distaste in their aspirations — purely because it had the possibility of their own financial demise. She wanted better for her boys, and unfortunately you were the easy scapegoat to place blame.

It poked and prodded every nerve on you. You wanted nothing but success and love for George and his family, but you were seen as a threat to the possibilities that they might turn out… normal.

—

The climate of the wizarding world was beyond bleak. Everyday you rose to the sun, beyond blessed to be living another day, but filled with anxieties that it truly may be your last.

Your addition to the order was practically mandatory. With no ties to your parents it was easy for you to sign away your life for the greater good. Your heart lied with Goerge and your friends and fighting next to them would be an honor.

As it came up on Harry’s seventeenth birthday, figuring out how to transport the boy became more trivial. The magical protection given to him by his mothers sacrifice would wear off and he would be more vulnerable to Voldemort than ever. Every movement or spell he made was under the view of the ministry and it had to be done with extreme caution.

The burrow was the next safest place for him, but getting him there bred confusion and limited options.

“What if we just had him apparate out?” Ron asked. The order sat around the kitchen table at the Burrow, just days before operation Free Potter.

”He is still underage Ron, it’ll be flagged immediately.” Hermione replied, rolling her eyes slightly. Ron shook his head.

”We’re already breaking the law, why not one more!” He chuffed, disappointed how easily his idea was shut down.

“Pius Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a big problem.” Moody interrupted “He’s made it an imprisonable offence to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here or Apparate in or out.”

The table silenced at his arrival, everyone soaking in the new information and the loss of yet another helper on the inside.

“That’s pointless, he is protected anyway -“ You started. You were honestly just thinking out loud, soon realizing everyone’s eyes on you.

“All that’s done is stop Harry from leaving safely.” You coughed, attempting to find your voice again. Moody shook his head in agreement, those in the order all now speaking among themselves. George arrived at the kitchen taking a spot next to you. He nudged you quietly, smirking down at you.

“Anything juicy?” He whispered, leaning down. You smiled and shook your head no, leaning over to reply.

“Just all hobgobble about how we will get Harry here. Even moody is stumped.” You whispered. George scoffed.

“Moody stumped? Give him like 4 minutes, we’ll be out of here in no time.” He chuffed. The feeling of his hot breath tickled your neck, causing you to shiver slightly. Giggling, you looked over the room, unfortunately making eye contact with Mrs Weasley. She pursed her lips and scowled.

“I think we ought not be distracted.” She stood, walking around the large table to the sink. She stood with her hands firmly on the ledge leaning away from the crowd. As much as you felt targeted by the statement she was right.

“Its risky but it’ll take cooperation… from all yous.” Moody thumped, his fake eye spiraling around the room. Thievery fell into a hush, waiting for what he had to reveal.

“Everyone will be a potter. As many heads as we can round up. They’ll be confused, won’t know who’s who.” He coughed, opening his flask and taking a swig.

“Polyjuice potion?” George asked. It was more of a rhetorical question of course, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Aye boy.” Moody nodded.

“They’ll just kill us all.” Molly shrieked, the idea of everyone now the face of the target became increasingly daunting.

“No they won’t Molly.” Remus coincided. “We ride on brooms, quietly through the night in groups eh” He raised his eyebrows, checking the feelings of the table. Most people nodded in agreement.

“It’s the order Molly. We’ve been in danger from the beginning. It’s not the time to become fearful.” Moody coughed, standing up from the table.

“One month from today. Stay vigilant.” Moody snapped from the room, leaving everyone in silence.

—

The month came and went in a flash. It felt as if the sky was grey every day since that meeting. No sign of summer or joy, only the steep consequences that were to come.

“Hi my love.” George purred from behind you. He wrapped his arms around your torso, resting his head on top of your.

“Hi.” You whispered, leaning back into his body. You both swung lightly in each other's arms enjoying the feeling of peace.

“They just got word of who’s flying.” He mumbled, keeping his head steady. You kept swaying, but your body stiffened slightly at his words.

“You’re going.” You sighed. You knew he would, and you kicked yourself daily for worrying about his demise. It wasn’t exactly a positive situation to be in, but your milling about danger wouldn’t help.

“I know you wish I could stay, but Fred and I fly well, and they need people who are confident in their brooms.” He murmured, rubbing your sides lovingly. He turned you around to face him, his cheeks warm with glow, beaming down at you.

“What am I doing?” You asked, holding his arms tightly. Part of you wished to be in the sky with him, as if your presence could protect.

“You, my beautiful bird-“ George leaned down, kissing your forehead after every word. “You are meant to stay here. Look for signs and send alerts back if anything happens.”

You didn’t respond, you just sighed and smiled.

“I know you wanted to go.” He whispered. “But it’ll be good. A good opportunity to help from the ground.” He smiled. You could tell he was trying to reassure you, his eyes darting between yours looking for any sign of disapproval.

“Okay.” You whispered, leaning up so your nose grazed his. “I’ll be waiting for you, and you better come back in one piece.”

—

The night finally arrived and you spent every waking moment with George. You hated to think it was your last time seeing him, but the reality was clear. Anything could happen tonight and you would be sure that it was spent with him.

After dinner, Moody arrived at the burrow rallying up those who were going.

“5 minutes and we must be out, got it?” He looked around the room, heads nodding in acceptance. He turned to you and Molly, softening his face.

“You two will be the first to know if anything happens. I will send a message once we have left the Dursleys, then we will be back here in approximately 30 minutes.” His eyes widened in question, looking for any look of approval between you two. You dare not look at Molly and keep eye contact with Moody.

“Yes sir.” You choked, the air in your chest seizing.

“Atta girl. Alrig’t move out.” Moody winked, turning on his heel and walking out of the room, numerous bodies following. George paused and jogged over to you, kissing your cheek and squeezing your hand before joining the fray.

Once everyone left the burrow became quiet. Molly soon looked for any way to busy her fingertips knowing she’d have to distract her mind or else she’d go mad. You stood by the window for a short period, looking at the sky and prairie out past the horizon looking for any sign of movement. Hearing a hefty sigh behind you, you turned to face the sound, already anticipating a lecture.

“Could you help me make supper? I bet they’ll be hungry when they get back.” Mrs.Weasley spoke softly, her back turned to you still maneuvering pots and pans in the kitchen. You nodded to yourself and took a deep breath in, walking over near her.

“Maybe start with the potato’s, rid the eyes and peel the skin for me.” She didn’t look at you, instead speaking into her hands, sniffling after ever few words. She wasn’t crying, but you could hear the trouble in her voice clear as day. Grabbing a peeler, you got to work, trying to pass the time as well.

“I hope you know I don’t .. loathe you like you may think.” She whispered, just loud enough so that you’d hear but quiet enough that the words don’t linger in the air.

You stood in silence, peeling the potatoes, confused entirely by her statement.

“I don’t think-“ you lied, thinking it was the right thing to counter, even deep down you felt that she thought you were better off dead most days.

“You have every right to think it.” She snuffed, pausing her work and biting her cheek. “I just….”

“I understand a mothers love.” You whispered, picking up another potato and holding it softly. “I understand wanting the best for your children, but ..” you choked. You didn’t know if you had the confidence to say yet another thing that would make her angry.

“But sometimes their best interest isn’t yours and it’s out of a mothers control what their adult children do.” You finished. You knew it was the truth, but on the heels of Percy abandoning the family it had to have stung just as hard.

Mrs Weasley didn’t respond. She didn’t move her head or acknowledge your statement but stood and pondered what you said. You couldn’t tell if she was boiling with rage or the words finally penetrated the field of deep affection that clouded her judgement so.

Just from the window, a owl rapped the glass, begging to be let in.

“That’s them.” She muttered, wiping her hands on her apron and rushing over to let the owl in.

“Thirty minutes.” She sighed

“Thirty minutes.” You repeated.

Time moved extremely fast after that. You both were taking turns by the window to cool down your nerves with the cold night air. The meal was brewing magically on the stone and didn’t need the tender touch of either of you to finish. Even though very little was said between you two, it felt as if you had become closer because of tonight. At least, we understood a little more about each other retroactively.

The sound of loud snapping wood alerted you both that people were apperating at the burrow. Running out of the burrow, you locked eyes with Harry, who was barreling off of Harris’s motorbike, stumbling towards the house.

“Death Eaters, loads of them — we were chased —" Harry coughed, falling into Mrs.Weaslys arms. Your mind raced, searching the sky for any one else who would arrive.

“Death eaters-“ You whispered, fear overtaking your body. You could taste the adrenaline in your mouth, a sour foul feeling overcoming your every sense. Luckily the pain of unknowing was only for a moment more, as Lupin and George followed suit.

“George!” You cried, running over to the boy. His hand held the side of his head, blood was dripping down his shoulder and across his cheek.

“I’m okay im okay.” He mumbled, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and hoisting himself upon your small frame. You tugged his body indoors, flopping him on the family couch in the living room.

“It’s just my ear darling.” He smiled weakly, his face was pale from the loss of blood but still held your hand tightly. Mrs.Weasley quickly began to tend to her son, allowing you to hold his hand and be with him through it all. Even though you were slightly inconvenient to her tendings, she dare not ask you to move. Both Fred and you had been tied together, your sobs uncontrollable.

“Honestly I think I’m way cuter without an ear. Don’t you think?” George tossed, rubbing your hand affectionately. Mrs Weasley had successfully stoped the bleeding and bandaged what she could, leaving you both alone in the room. Just in the kitchen, Lupin and the order continued to talk about their now sudden loss of Moody and who could be trusted.

“It definitely makes you stand out.” You laughed, finally feeling comfortable in his state. You both smiled at each other, the everlasting admiration you had for him only grew, how resilient and fateful even in the face of death he had been.

“I’ll always get the last laugh-“

[hjpslytherclaw]

heyy! idk if you’ve done this before but i was wondering if you could write about harry and reader (she/her, slytherin :) ) having a secret relationship bc their houses clash a lot. maybe one day ron finds them together and an argument ensues, but you comfort harry and ron eventually apologizes? i hope you have an awesome day. xx 🫶🏻

so the tiktok ban got me back here REAL QUICK anyways. . . I'm backkkkkk :)) This has been in my drafts for a LONG while now and I've finally finished it after like forever, given I do have more time now I will say I'm def gonna be more active on here!!!

now without further ado, may I FINALLY present . . .

UNRAVELED | Harry Potter

Harry Potter x fem!slytherin!reader

Summary! In which Harry Potter and Y/N L/N decided to keep their relations a secret given the deep rooted rivalry between their houses but it seems no matter how well they've hidden it, secrets always have a way of coming out, especially when a certain red head finds his way into it.

Warnings / Content! Harry is absolutely whipped it's crazy, an argument between our favorite besties, Ron being an ass ( still love him tho ), no real warnings tbh, fluffy ending.

It seems our secrets have come awry.

Within the stone walls of Hogwarts school for witchcraft and wizardry green and red were always at each others throats. Between quidditch matches, the race for house cup points, and the simple rivalry that had initially sparked back in Godrick Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin's days, there was always a clash between the two houses.

So when Harry James Potter, golden boy of the lion house himself, had found himself infatuated with Y/N M/N L/N, one of Salazar's most scared snakes, he figured it'd be best to keep their relations quietly hidden behind closed doors.

Y/N L/N was an ideal Slytherin. Cunning, prideful, even prefect. He didn't know what it was about her that made her so different to him. It might've been her strive for success, the way she may be self righteous at times but still was relentlessly selfless, or the fact that no matter how many times she had been given the chance, she was steadfastly fair. Harry soon decided he may never know what it was about her and truthfully it didn't matter, he was completely and undeniably in love with her, each and every part.

"There's no way I missed that!" Y/N exclaimed with a hearty laugh. Currently the two were hidden within a blocked off corridor, a halfway point between their two worlds. Late at night during a time where the two of them didn't have to worry of others.

"You must've, there's no way you can just miss Filch screaming down the halls, completely purple!" Harry chuckled, it only caused Y/N to laugh more, falling into his chest.

Her laugh brought him nothing but bliss, no matter how muffled it was, it echoed through his chest and rang like a symphony to his soul.

Once she had finally composed herself she spoke again, "One day, in the far future, I will give my highest of regards to the Weasley twins for their antics."

"They wouldn't want it from you."

The new voice startled both of them. No one was supposed to be awake at this hour, the two snapped their heads and jolted away from each other.

Harry felt his heart drop, Ronald Weasley, his best friend since the first day he stepped onto the Hogwarts express, stood there before him. His expression, shocked and furious.

"I'd head back to the dungeons if I were you," Ron began, staring Y/N down. "Sure your cousins would notice the head snake left the den."

Harry could see her irritation form, "You are so lucky I don't have my wand on me Weasley-"

Harry stopped her and told her to head back, there didn't need to be a scene ringing throughout the castle. This was bad enough as is.

The argument that the two had once Y/N had been out of earshot was one that they had never had before. It wasn't some petty row or a small spat, it was a true argument with venomous words that pricked at Harry's heart like thorns.

"She's a snake Harry! Head snake at that!" Ron exclaimed after Harry shooed him into an empty classroom he then charmed to be silenced, in hopes no one would hear and come looking for what the sound was at this late of an hour.

"That shouldn't be an automatic rule that she's horrible!" Harry retorted, "She despises Malfoy more than us, Ron! She doesn't believe in any of-"

"You don't think that's true do you?" Ron remarked, his voice raised. "Harry she's fronting to get close to you-"

"She is not!" It was harsh, Harry meant for it to be.

"And you're just so sure of that?" There was an accusatory tone in Ron's words, "For all you know she's probably working with Malfoy to get in your head, find out your secrets-"

Harry wanted to drown his words out, you know Y/N, you know none of it is true, it became a mantra in his thoughts, repeated so loud he wondered if the outside world could become completely silent if he kept it going.

And if it could have, it didn't happen soon enough.

"It's not real Harry! She doesn't love yo-"

Harry was happy to know he'd never hear what Ron planned to finish his sentence with, because within seconds he was out the door and long gone on his way back to the Gryffindor tower.

At this point he didn't even bother to put the invisibility cloak he had brought with him back on, he didn't care who saw him anymore. He had never felt so angry, even more so with the boy he considered a brother. How could he say those things? He doesn't know her like I do. He doesn't know her at all.

Ron was supposed to be his best friend, he was supposed to have his back, Harry was supposed to count on him no matter what and now he didn't know what to think.

OVER a day had passed and Harry hadn't even looked at Ron. Harry could only hope Hermione was still in the dark and Ron hadn't spilled the beans to her or anyone else for that matter.

He fell back onto his other friends for the day and hoped no one picked up on the rift between them, only until later that night, at a quarter past midnight was he finally able to see to the one thing he knew he could count on.

Y/N.

"He doesn't know what he's talking about!" Harry expressed to Y/N after letting her know of the argument. (Of course without giving the explicit details that he knew would hurt)

Y/N watched as he paced back and forth.

"I don't blame him, It's a reasonable thought for a Gryffindor." Y/N tried, Harry shook his head quickly.

"It's not! He doesn't know you, he can't say those things! I just- I can't believe it!" Harry threw his hands up in exasperation. Y/N stood up and gently grabbed his hands, causing him to stop in his tracks and turn towards her.

It took not even a second for him to completely melt once his eyes met hers, it was a normalcy about her that he'd always love.

"Look I appreciate the sentiment but it makes sense, I'd think the same in his situation." Y/N said quite frankly, "Truthfully I would've said much worse about it to, me being me and all. I understand it."

Harry's heart hurt. "You shouldn't have to."

"And yet I do." Y/N squeezed Harry's hand slightly. "I am head snake after all. I get why you're mad and I get why he's mad. Though I don't know much of anything of Weasley and as you know most days I don't care to, I do know you. You and him have a bond, a very strong bond. I can only hope it doesn't end with us on opposite sides again but you two will make it through this. I swear that to you."

Harry knew deep in his heart she was right, no matter how furious he felt, she was the smartest Slytherin had. She was always right.

It would take many nights of arguments and cruel words, the unfortunate involvement of Hermione and many consoling nights in Y/N's arms, but it happened eventually. Though Ron isn't entirely for Y/N, he wasn't entirely against her and that was enough of a start for Harry.

And maybe one day, no matter how impossible it seems, he and everyone else would see her in a different light and just maybe, he'd let their secret finally come awry and he get to love her in the light.

[lumhos]

socmed au where tom runs a beauty/self help channel that advertises “anti-aging” manifestations and harry runs a commentary/call out channel that targets tom

then harry finds out about tom’s pyramid scheme/cult thing where he bathes in virgin blood or something

they kiss? (NOT CLICKBAIT)

Tom Riddle is literally just a really extreme anti-aging influencer

[kkreadsstuff]

how to recover/come down from a fic that u loved? why, get up under another one of course! while i get me final thoughts together about "meet your match," i'm going to read a pair of short fics, one dramione, one pansy/percy (which is funny because i have only read fics where percy is gay, so i'll have to get my brain switched into a different gear for that one lmfao).

first up is "one and done" by pacificrimbaud! i saw someone compliment it on the dramione subreddit, and it's short, so i thought, "why tf not?" it's 4 chapters, just over 34K words, and the rating is explicit. let's get cozy real quick!!!

here's the summary:

Hermione Granger has a career she loves, friends she can depend on, and a nice set of hand towels for her new flat. She's single and tired of tiresome men, but that doesn't stop her from wearing beautiful lingerie underneath her serious Ministry skirts. Or having pictures taken in naughty knickers. Just once. For herself. Draco Malfoy doesn't get upset at the sight of blood, which is good, because he sees a lot of it. What he doesn't see a lot of is Hermione Granger in her unmentionables. Usually. A series of meetings and mix-ups in which one cannot possibly mean done.

tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Dominance, Submission, Office Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Smut, Fluff and Angst, Smoking, Heavy Drinking, Possessive Behavior, Spanking, Jealousy, Praise Kink, Hair-pulling, Rope Bondage, Romantic Comedy, Happy Ending, Rolled sleeves

i am super into like........ all of these tags and i would just like to thank the Almighty right quick for all of the praise kink fics finding me! alhamdulillah 😭😂💖 i'm not really getting much from the summary besides that this is a kinky office romance but ykw, that's fine, i'm ready for it and excited to read this little fic! i've read two other little one shot sby pacificrimbaud and i REALLY enjoyed them, their writing was so immersive and kept me tuned tf in! so i'm excited for where this fic is gonna take me.

if u wanna see what i thought of the one shots i have read by pacificrimbaud, click here!

alright let's get going! 🐎💨💨💨

*this thread will contain spoilers for the story so turn back now if u don't wanna know what i know 👁👄👁*

[jacquitries]

Through the Threads of Fate | H.P.

You've always kept your ability to read the future a secret, but when Harry Potter starts suspecting you're involved with the dark side, everything becomes dangerous. His growing mistrust of you only fuels the tension, and as your hidden talent remains shrouded in mystery, you find yourself caught between protecting your secret and surviving the storm brewing around you.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The dungeons were your sanctuary. Cloaked in Slytherin green and silver, you moved through Hogwarts like a shadow—silent, unseen, always just one step ahead. The weight of knowledge settled on your shoulders, a burden and a gift intertwined. You saw the threads of fate twist and pull, shaping lives without mercy. But you knew better than to interfere too boldly. No one could ever understand what you saw. Least of all Harry Potter.

From the moment your eyes met his, there was an unspoken war—a silent reckoning. His emerald gaze flickered with suspicion, always following you, never trusting, as though you were the embodiment of the mysteries he couldn’t untangle. And yet, your path seemed to cross his at every turn. Every twist of fate, every dark secret, always brought you into his orbit. A slow-burning tension hung in the air, a game of cat and mouse. You, the elusive enigma. He, the determined hero.

The castle had its secrets, and it whispered them to you. The ancient stones hummed with echoes of both the past and the future. You listened, weaving yourself into the delicate strands of time. You saw the shadows of the Forbidden Forest, felt the cold wind atop the Astronomy Tower, and watched the Black Lake shimmer with memories only you could comprehend. You didn’t want this power. It was a curse more than a gift, revealing fractured glimpses of what was to come, yet leaving you powerless to change it.

Every warning, every quiet intervention, every seemingly innocent suggestion was a part of a greater plan. But none of them could prepare you for the choices you’d soon have to make.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

You’d always known about the Philosopher’s Stone, long before Harry stumbled across the truth. When the troll rampaged through the dungeons, you stood calm, your voice steady as you guided a pair of terrified first-years to safety. When the whispers of Nicholas Flamel reached you, you carefully placed books open on the library tables, knowing Hermione would find them. And when the final confrontation loomed, you were far away, ensuring the corridors were clear for Harry, unknowingly steering him toward his destiny.

But it was the Chamber of Secrets that truly tested you. The mystery unfolded around you in subtle pieces, fear creeping through the walls like an invisible fog. You never spoke of what you’d heard or seen, not even when Mrs. Norris lay petrified in the hall. The whispers came to you, but you stayed silent, only nudging others in the right direction. When Ginny was taken, you held your breath, knowing Harry would be the one to find her. But as the events unraveled, Harry began to grow suspicious. He had seen you talking to Ginny not long before she disappeared, and his mind began to connect the dots. Though you kept your role hidden, a part of you braced for the moment he would confront you. You had done your part, quietly ensuring the balance tipped in the right direction, but now you would have to face the consequences of your actions—especially when Harry, driven by his suspicions, began watching you more closely.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Harry couldn’t escape you, no matter how hard he tried. You appeared everywhere—always just beyond his reach. In the library, your eyes lost in ancient tomes. In the corridors, slipping away just as chaos erupted. By the Great Hall, your gaze lingering on the enchanted ceiling, as if you could see beyond the stars themselves.

It infuriated him.

"She knows something," Harry muttered one evening, pacing in the Gryffindor common room, frustration evident in his voice. "She’s always there, slipping away before I can ask anything. There’s more to her, I’m sure of it."

"Maybe she’s just… clever?" Ron offered, though even he wasn’t convinced.

Harry’s gaze darkened. "No. There’s something else, something she’s hiding."

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Your path and Harry’s truly collided during the Triwizard Tournament. You had seen it all—the chaos, the danger, the unexpected twists. You watched from the shadows as Harry’s name was drawn from the Goblet of Fire, his shock palpable in the air. You remained distant, a constant, enigmatic presence, your calm unshaken as he faced the dragons, the maze, and the deadly trials.

It was the dragons that first set everything in motion. You whispered to Neville about gillyweed—just a casual remark, but one that changed everything. And when Cedric Diggory died, when the tournament turned from a test of courage into a nightmare, your heart twisted. You had seen it all—had tried in your own way to adjust the timeline, to alter fate just enough to give Harry a fighting chance. But the outcome was inevitable. Fate, in its cruel simplicity, would not be swayed.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The darkness deepened in your seventh year, and the weight of fate pressed against your chest like a looming storm. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor, you were already there, a silent force, woven into the very fabric of danger. Your presence was like a shadow, unseen but ever-present, watching as the threads of destiny pulled tight around your friends.

Bellatrix’s shrill voice pierced the air, a maddened cackle as she tortured Hermione, her wand poised like a dagger aimed at the heart of your very soul. You stood in the shadows, every muscle tense, your heart a drumbeat in your chest, yet your face was a mask of icy indifference. The visions you had seen, the threads of fate you had tried to piece together, were unfolding in front of you—but this moment, this confrontation, had always been unclear, a haze of pain and suffering that left you uncertain of where to stand.

And then, when the Snatchers dragged Harry before the Malfoys, your eyes met his—briefly, almost imperceptibly. The shock that flooded his expression was unmistakable, his disbelief evident as he saw you standing there, a ghost in the midst of the chaos. But you gave nothing away. Your gaze was sharp, unreadable, a carefully constructed wall that no one could breach. Not even him. You had to keep the illusion intact, no matter how much it tore at you to see him like this.

As the room erupted into chaos, time seemed to stretch, every moment suffocating with tension. You moved like a phantom, a blur in the dark, slipping through the chaos with the precision of someone who had already seen it all. Each step was deliberate, calculated, as if the very air around you bent to your will. Your wand flicked silently, and a whispered incantation loosened the bonds on Harry’s wrists, the ropes falling away like brittle threads. Without hesitation, you sent another silent spell, deflecting a curse meant for Ron, your magic swift and lethal.

You lingered just long enough to ensure their escape, your pulse thundering in your ears as the last of the danger dissolved into the air. The room seemed to hold its breath as you turned on your heel, vanishing into the shadows like smoke. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione dared to glance back, you were already gone—nothing more than a fleeting whisper in the night.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The final battle came, and with it, the revelation that had been a long time in the making. The skies were suffocating with smoke, the ground shaking as the forces of darkness and the defenders of Hogwarts clashed with a fury that could not be contained. Through it all, you moved like a shadow—graceful, lethal, and precise. The chaos around you was a dance you knew well, every step and strike calculated with a cool precision that only someone who had seen this moment unfold could master.

Harry caught glimpses of you throughout the battle. At first, it was just a fleeting shadow, a figure who seemed too composed for the madness swirling around him. But then, his eyes started to linger longer. The way you moved, the way your magic flowed, it all clicked for him. You weren’t just another face in the fight. You knew this battle—the exact moments when to strike, when to fall back, how to make every move count. His suspicions grew, the pieces falling into place, but a part of him refused to fully accept it. Could he trust you? Could he even trust himself?

Then, it happened. In the thick of the battle, when the world was reduced to chaos, a Death Eater lunged at Harry. He barely had time to react, his own wand raised, but before he could defend himself, you were there. A flash of movement, a wordless spell, and the Death Eater was thrown back, crashing to the ground with a force that rattled the air itself. Harry froze, watching as you didn’t just save him—you fought with a fury and skill that was terrifying in its intensity. The shock flooded him. This was no longer just the girl he'd suspected; this was something else. You weren’t just playing a part in this war. You were at its heart, shaping its outcome.

He barely had time to process. The fight raged on, louder, fiercer, but through it all, his mind kept returning to you. Every spell you cast, every life you saved, seemed to carry a weight he couldn’t ignore. He tried to focus on the battle, to finish what he had started, but it was too late. The doubt had already taken root. What did this mean? What had he gotten wrong?

When Voldemort finally fell, the world seemed to inhale a collective breath, but the Great Hall was left in ruins. The echoes of battle lingered in the air like an aftershock. Harry stumbled through the debris, searching for something, someone—when his eyes found you.

There you stood, amidst the wreckage, the first light of dawn breaking through the shattered windows to cast a pale glow on your face. You were silent, watching the aftermath with an expression that betrayed no joy, no satisfaction. Only the heavy weight of everything that had passed. There was no triumph in your gaze, just a deep, quiet burden that only someone who had seen the future—and fought to change it—could understand.

Harry approached cautiously, the tension of the battle still thick in his voice. “You were never against us,” he said, more to himself than to you, the words spilling from him like the release of a long-held breath. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement—a truth he had been blind to for far too long.

But you didn’t offer him the comfort of an easy answer. You simply met his gaze, your eyes cold but not cruel, a subtle edge of something deeper, something far more complex. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

Harry flinched, the sharp sting of guilt cutting through him. The weight of all his mistakes pressed down on him, heavier than anything the battle had left behind. He had accused you, doubted you, turned his back on someone who had been fighting for the same cause all along.

“I… I’m sorry,” Harry said, the words thick with emotion, every ounce of regret spilling out. “For everything. For doubting you.”

You didn’t move, your gaze unwavering. You studied him for a long moment, the years of suspicion, of distance, crashing together into the silence between you. “Apologies won’t change the past, Potter,” you said quietly, the words biting with the weight of everything that had been left unspoken. “But they’re a start.”

The air was charged with the unspoken tension of everything unsaid. Harry stepped forward, searching your eyes as though he could finally understand the woman behind the mask. “You saved so many lives. All this time, I thought you were working against us.” His voice cracked, regret lacing every syllable. “I was wrong.”

You didn’t answer with words. There was no need to. His regret was all over his face, written in the lines of guilt that creased his brow. You had always known he’d get there eventually, but it didn’t make the journey any easier. You didn’t expect forgiveness. You never had.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips, a fleeting thing, barely there. “And now?”

Harry’s voice softened, raw with sincerity. “Now I see how wrong I was.” He took another step, his presence steady, unwavering. “You… you’re incredible.”

For a moment, your eyes softened—just a fraction. You tilted your head, acknowledging the truth of his words, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of an easy answer. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

“It’s not flattery,” Harry insisted, his voice steady but full of something deeper. “It’s the truth.”

A silence stretched between you both, thick and heavy with everything that had been left unsaid. But for the first time, you truly saw him—not as the reckless boy who had thrown himself into danger at every turn, but as the man who had borne the weight of a war, who had fought through the impossible, even when it meant facing his own demons.

“Maybe you’re not as hopeless as I thought,” you said softly, your voice carrying a weight neither of you had expected.

Harry smiled—a faint, almost apologetic curve of his lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

But the battle hadn’t ended yet. You both knew that. There was more to be done, more healing to be had. Harry still had much to learn, much to undo. In the days that followed, as the Wizarding World began its slow process of rebuilding, Harry came to you, again and again, seeking your trust. He wanted to know you—not just the seer who had saved him, but the person you had kept hidden for so long. Slowly, carefully, you allowed him in, but it was never easy. You had learned to guard your heart—especially from someone who had been so quick to judge.

One evening, after an unspoken stretch of silence, you both stood at the edge of the Black Lake. The moonlight glinted off the water, casting the world in a soft, otherworldly glow. Harry turned to you, determination clear in his expression. “Let me make it up to you,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of all the doubts, the accusations, the distance that had passed between you. “For all the times I doubted you, for everything I got wrong.”

You turned to him, the cool night air brushing your face. You didn’t respond right away. The past wasn’t something you could simply forget, but as you looked at him, something in your chest shifted—something neither of you had anticipated.

With a faint nod, you said, “You’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Harry smiled, the sincerity in his eyes breaking through the years of tension and regret. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

For the first time, you believed him. You believed in the possibility of trust, of something more.

And with that, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe—just maybe—you could trust him, too.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Years later, your name would be etched into the halls of history as one of the greatest seers the Wizarding World had ever known. You became a legend, revered for your foresight and for shaping the very course of events, all while remaining a mystery to those around you. By your side, always, was Harry Potter—your equal, your ally, the man who had finally understood you.

One quiet evening, as you sat together beneath the stars, Harry asked with a teasing smirk, “Still think I’m hopeless?”

You glanced at him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, your eyes soft with the weight of all that had passed between you. “Always.”

But deep in your heart, you knew—you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[riverxsong-ao3]

Not me writing Tom, now permanently inhabiting Ginny’s body after she died in the Chamber and her soul departed, noticing that Draco looks and acts an aaaawful lot like his grandfather, the one with whom Tom had a long-standing fling during their years at Hogwarts and considering that, if their plans to woo Harry don’t work out, Draco Malfoy is rather pretty and extremely fuckable. Drinny, but make it Taco.

[lumhos]

tomarry x beauty and the beast

in which the “serpent” is a touch more monstrous, “belle” has a thirst for vengence, the servants are more manic, and the town is slightly relieved.

a man cursed to look like a serpent lives at the edge of the woods in a lavish manor. the once blooming gardens are overgrown with weeds and thorns. the shiny fountain is replaced with a rusty hunk of metal. the busy ballroom now echoes with the loud sounds of silence.

he angered a wandering fairy, who cursed him and his men (and bellatrix) to have different forms. they became (in)animate but he? a walking serpent like creature. furious and embarrassed, he stays locked up in his mansion, searching for a cure to kill that blasted fairy.

harry is a young man who lives in his peaceful little town with his godfather. he never fit in with the other boys, being shorter and leaner. despite that, he matched the others with his pride and hunger to prove himself. everyday, sirius had to patch harry’s wounds back up when he came home from another brawl.

“you should see the other guys!” he’d say with a smile.

scrawny enough to evade most attacks, witty enough to get out of rough situations, and equipped with a sharp tongue that got him into most rough situations, it was no wonder that he would garner the attention of the most eligible bachelor in town.

it was a shame that harry despised draco malfoy.

fortunately, harry wouldn’t have to deal with that because he had to go rescue his kidnapped godfather!

unfortunately, harry had to go rescue his kidnapped godfather.

swapping places with sirius meant that harry was locked away in a cold, leaky cell. only having the sound of dripping rainwater to keep him company. this was better than listening to malfoy drone on about his achievements, sure, but everyday harry could feel his sanity start to thin.

the moment that he escaped this cell, he would be killing that snake and skinning him for his hide.

(if anyone likes this enough i’ll make a pt 2..)

[unconventional-lawnchair]

dark!barty has been on my mind so much lately!! need jealous, possessive, obsessive, barty!

AN: HECK YEAH THIRD POST OF THE NIGHT BABIEEE- Almost all my drafts are done

Trust and Obedience

Dark!Obsessive!Barty Crouch Jr. x Reader

Summary: Small snippets of moments between you and Barty, where you really should have picked up on his spiral.

WC: 11.2k... someone teach me how to write normally-

CW: Chocking, reader is referred to as 'belonging' to Barty, Barty is controlling and (at times) read as condescending, sniffing, reader trusts him way too much, slightly oblivious and innocent reader, the ends gets very ~spicy~ but cuts before anything actually happens- skip the last scene if you aren't interested in that.

It was late- far later than any of self respecting 5th year should have been awake- but no one seemed eager to call it a night. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls of the dormitory. The room was cozy, its deep green and silver tones softened by the golden glow of the flames.

Pandora was sprawled on Regulus’s bed, flipping idly through a magazine, her long hair hanging over the edge as she hummed softly to herself. Regulus sat by the window, seemingly uninterested in the conversation, gazing out into the dark grounds below. Meanwhile, Evan sat cross-legged on the floor, his wand in hand as he absentmindedly practiced non-verbal spells on the edge of a quill, making it levitate an inch off the ground before it wobbled and fell.

And you- you were seated on the floor, leaning back against Evan’s bed where Barty lounged behind you, your knees drawn up as you flipped through a book. You were engrossed in whatever you were reading, your brow furrowed slightly in concentration. Every now and then, you’d let out a soft sigh of frustration, your lips pursing as you tried to make sense of the passage in front of you.

Barty wasn’t paying attention to his own book. He hadn’t been for a while. Instead, his eyes lingered on you, taking in the way the firelight danced across your features, the way you absentmindedly chewed on your lower lip when you were deep in thought. He liked watching you like this, when you were unaware of the intensity of his gaze.

Evan, clearly annoyed by the quiet tension in the room, flicked his wand and muttered something under his breath. Your book snapped shut on its own, making you jump slightly.

“Evan!” You gasped, glaring at him.

“What?” Evan drawled, smirking. “You’ve been staring at that thing for ages. Thought I’d do you a favor.”

“You’re such a git,” You muttered, reopening the book.

Pandora giggled from her spot on the bed. “Oh, leave her alone, Evan. You’re just grumpy because you lost to Regulus in Gobstones earlier.”

Regulus didn’t react, still gazing out the window as though he hadn’t heard a word.

Barty leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he watched you with quiet amusement. You sighed again, leaning your head back against his legs, frustrated with how the numbers and letters on the page kept dancing between each other. Without thinking, his hand moved on its own, brushing through your hair in a slow, deliberate motion.

You didn’t pull away. You never did.

His fingers trailed down, grazing the nape of your neck, where they lingered just a second too long. He felt you shiver slightly under his touch, a small reaction you probably didn’t even notice yourself, but it made something twist deep in his chest.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low, almost soothing. “You’re too tense.”

You smiled, tilting your head slightly to look up at him, completely oblivious to the way his eyes darkened, to the way his fingers curled slightly as if resisting the urge to hold you there, to press against the pulse point beneath his touch. He imagined wrapping his hand around your throat- not to hurt you, never that- but to feel the proof of your life beneath his fingers. To remind you that you were his, even if you didn’t realize it yet.

“You’re always like this,” Evan muttered, clearly irritated. “Touching each other.”

Pandora propped herself up on her elbows, grinning. “I think it’s sweet,” she said, her tone dreamy. “They’re comfortable with each other. You wouldn’t understand, Evan.”

Barty didn’t respond, his hand still resting lightly on your neck. He liked the way it felt, the way you trusted him so blindly. It unraveled something in him, made the ever-present hunger beneath his skin burn hotter.

You laughed softly, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. “We are just friends,” you said lightly, not noticing the way Barty’s fingers twitched slightly at your words. “Right, Barty?”

His grip tightened ever so slightly- just for a moment, just enough for him to feel your pulse quicken beneath his touch- before he forced himself to relax. He didn’t like hearing you say it, didn’t like the way it sounded coming from your lips. Just friends. But it was enough for him, for now.

He played along, as he always did.

“Sure,” He chuckled, his voice steady, though there was a hint of something darker beneath it. “Just friends.”

Evan scoffed, clearly unimpressed, while Pandora gave a soft, knowing hum, her gaze flicking between the two of you with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Friends don’t touch each other like that,” Evan muttered under his breath, flicking his wand again to make the quill hover once more.

Pandora ignored him, turning her attention back to her magazine, and Regulus remained silent, as always, seemingly uninterested in the whole exchange.

“We do.” Barty challenged listlessly- only for a small smirk to over take Evans face.

Evan’s smirk widened, the mischievous glint in his eyes sharpening as he caught sight of Barty’s fingers resting lightly on your neck. The tension radiating from Barty was palpable, his normally chaotic demeanor stretched thin, but Evan didn’t seem to care.

“Well, if you’re just friends,” Evan said, dragging out the words in a tone that bordered on taunting, “then she won’t mind if I-”

He took a step forward, reaching toward your shoulder, but he didn’t get far.

Barty’s hand moved faster than anyone expected, tightening on your neck- not enough to hurt, but enough for you to notice. His other hand shot out, palm flat against Evan’s chest, stopping him mid-step with a force that was anything but playful. His eyes locked on Evan’s, cold and unyielding.

“Don’t. Touch.” Barty practically growled, his voice dangerously low. There was no trace of humor left, only a thinly veiled threat simmering beneath the surface. His entire posture was tense, like a guard dog poised to attack at the first sign of danger.

Pandora sat up fully, wide-eyed but clearly entertained than alarmed. “Oh dear,” She mused softly, a smile playing on her lips. “You’ve done it now, Evan.”

You, oblivious to the darker undercurrents in Barty’s reaction, reached up to touch his wrist lightly, as if to reassure him. “It’s fine, Barty. He’s just being annoying.”

But Barty didn’t relax. His gaze didn’t waver from Evan, who raised his hands in mock surrender, though the smirk never left his face.

“Merlin, calm down,” Evan muttered, backing up a step. “It was just a joke.”

Barty didn’t move, didn’t speak. He watched Evan retreat like a hawk, as though daring him to try again. Only when Evan dropped back onto the floor, still smirking but clearly deciding not to push further, did Barty loosen his grip on your neck. His fingers lingered for a moment longer before falling away entirely, though the tension in his shoulders remained.

Pandora giggled softly. “You’re so protective, Barty. It’s sweet, really.”

You gave Barty a puzzled look, still unaware of the possessive storm swirling behind his eyes. “You didn’t have to react like that,” you said lightly. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Barty didn’t answer immediately, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to remain calm. It was a big deal- to him. The idea of anyone else laying a hand on you, even in jest, made something dark and primal rise to the surface. But he couldn’t say that to you- you'd think he'd gone mad. Or worse- you'd worry about him.

“He shouldn’t touch you,” he muttered instead, his voice quiet but firm, as though that explained everything. “You don't know where he's hands have been.”

Evan scoffed from his spot on the floor, leaning back on his elbows. “You’re ridiculous,” He bemoaned, clearly amused by Barty’s reaction. “It’s not like she’s-”

“Careful, Rosier.” Regulus said suddenly, his voice calm and detached as he continued to gaze out the window. He slowly turned to look ag you guys, smirking as his eyes locked with Barty’s. “That's Barty’s girl. Everyone knows that.”

Evan fell silent, his smirk fading slightly as he glancegavs a dramatic groan and leaned back against the couch, smirking at you as Barty chuckled.

“Exactly right, Reg.” Barty smirked and flattened his palm against your neck, but again, you gave no reaction. 

Evan gave another dramatic groan, leaning back further against the couch. He shot you a playful glare, though his smirk betrayed any real annoyance. “Unbelievable. You just let him do that?” He gestured toward Barty’s hand, still resting possessively on your neck. “Merlin, you’re both hopeless.”

Pandora grinned from her spot on the bed, clearly enjoying the scene. “Hopelessly sweet,” she teased, propping herself up on her elbows. “Honestly, it’s like watching a couple who refuse to admit they’re together.”

You let out a soft laugh, rolling your eyes as you stretched your legs out, nudging Evan’s ankle with your foot. “Oh, stop it. You’re all making it a bigger deal than it is.”

Barty didn’t say anything, but his smirk grew, fingers flexing ever so slightly against the curve of your neck. You didn’t even notice, too busy teasing Evan by nudging his foot again in a childish game of footsie.

“You’re asking for it now,” Evan warned, leaning forward slightly, clearly ready to retaliate. He grinned wickedly, flicking his wand toward your leg to tickle your ankle with a harmless jinx.

You squealed, jerking your leg away as you laughed. “Evan, you prat!”

The sound of your laughter filled the room, light and carefree, and Barty’s gaze softened, though the possessiveness never fully left his expression. He liked seeing you like this- happy, playful, surrounded by people you trusted.

But still… his hand remained on your neck, a silent claim no one else seemed to question anymore.

Regulus returned his attention to the window, his smirk fading into the same detached calm he always carried. Pandora giggled quietly to herself, watching Evan and you bicker as if it were her favorite form of entertainment.

Meanwhile, Barty leaned back against the bed once more, his fingers trailing down your neck in a slow, deliberate motion before falling away entirely. He didn’t need to say anything. He didn’t need to react further.

Everyone here knew it. You were his. Even if you didn’t realize it yet. 

He could wait. He always had.

~~~

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon, and most of the house is either outside enjoying the crisp autumn air or scattered around the common room. You’ve just come back from Hogsmeade, a small bag in hand filled with little trinkets and things you’d picked up during your trip. Among them is a new perfume you’d been curious about, a light floral scent with hints of vanilla and something warmer, richer.  

You dab a little on your wrists and neck, the scent quickly enveloping you in its delicate sweetness. You smile, pleased with your purchase, and- after thanking a fellow sixth year who held the door for you- stand behind the couch, tossing Evan a sweet he had begged you to grab for him.

Barty, seated across the room with Pandora and Regulus, had barely been paying attention to the conversation- until now. The moment the scent reaches him, something shifts. His gaze sharpens, zeroing in on you as if drawn by an invisible thread. He gets up, crossing the room with a casualness that doesn’t quite hide the intent behind his movements.

“You smell different,” He murmurs as he comes to stand behind you, his voice low, almost reverent. Before you can respond, he leans down slightly, his hands settling lightly on your shoulders as he inhales the scent lingering around your neck. “What is that?”

You laugh softly, turning your head slightly to glance at him over your shoulder. “It’s just a new perfume I bought today. Do you like it?”

“Like it?” He repeats, his hands sliding down your arms, his grip warm and grounding. “It’s you.” His voice is softer now, almost dazed, as if the scent alone has enchanted him. He leans closer again, this time pressing his face against your hair, taking in more of the scent. “You smell… amazing.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but the blush rising to your cheeks betrays your flustered reaction. “Alright, alright, you’re acting like I invented the stuff.”

Barty chuckles, wrapping his arms loosely around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Can’t help it,” he says, his voice lower, more intimate. “You smell too good.” His hands tighten slightly, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as he murmurs, “You should wear this more often.”

The whole scene feels strangely domestic- like something a lovesick boyfriend would do. But to you, it’s just Barty being overly affectionate, as always.

But Evan? Evan isn’t having it.

He throws up his hands dramatically, gesturing wildly at the two of you. “Oh, come on! You two have to be taking the piss at this point!” He points an accusatory finger between you and Barty. “You two must to be shagging!”

Pandora giggles from her spot by the fire, clearly delighted by the chaos. Regulus, as always, remains stoic, but there’s a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“We’re not,” You say quickly, laughing as you try to wriggle out of Barty’s grip. But he doesn’t let go, holding you firmly in place, his smirk growing as he glances at Evan.

“Jealous, Rosier?” Barty drawls, his tone lazy but his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I can’t help it if I appreciate good company.”

“Good company?” Evan repeats incredulously. “You’re practically glued to her! Friends don’t do that! Friends don’t-” He gestures wildly again, flustered. “-sniff each other!”

Pandora bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over as she watches Evan struggle to find the right words. “Oh, Evan, leave them alone..”

Barty doesn’t move, still holding you loosely in his arms, his fingers idly tracing patterns against your wrist. You’re flustered but laughing, brushing it off as nothing more than playful teasing.

But to Barty, this is something else entirely. The scent, your warmth, the way you relax so easily in his hold- it’s driving him mad in the best way possible. He knows Evan’s teasing is harmless, but part of him bristles at the idea of anyone thinking they could have what he already considers his.

“We’re just friends,” You say again, more for Evan’s benefit than anything else. “Barty’s always like this.”

Evan stares at you, utterly exasperated. “Always like this? You’re telling me he always holds you like you’re the love of his life and sniffs you like you’re bloody Amortentia?”

Your cheeks flushed a passionate rosey shade. “I- well- the sniffing is new!”

Pandora chokes on another laugh, clutching her stomach as Regulus finally speaks, his voice calm but dry. “You might as well give up, Evan. They’ve been saying the same thing for years.”

Barty doesn’t respond to any of them. He doesn’t care what Evan thinks, or even what Pandora finds amusing. All that matters is you- your scent, your warmth, the way you let him hold you without question.

He presses his lips briefly to your hair, a gesture so soft and quick that it goes unnoticed by everyone but you. “You smell perfect,” he murmurs again, just for you.

And though you laugh it off, brushing away the warmth spreading across your cheeks, something about the way he holds you lingers in your mind far longer than it should. 

To you, it’s just Barty being affectionate.

To Barty? It’s you unknowingly giving him another reason to be completely, utterly obsessed.

~~~

Your head girl dorm was warm and inviting, filled with the blue haze from the lake just a few yards below. Pandora, Evan, and Regulus were already there, lounging comfortably- Pandora on your bed, Regulus perched in one of the armchairs, and Evan sprawled on the floor, fiddling with his wand as he always did.  

Their conversation had been light and easy until the door swung open, revealing you storming in, frustration written all over your face. Barty followed closely behind, his expression unreadable, calm in a way that only made your irritation grow.

Pandora’s brows raised as she exchanged a glance with Evan, who straightened slightly, clearly intrigued by the tension crackling between you and Barty. Regulus didn’t react outwardly, but his gaze flicked toward the two of you, quietly observing.

“I can’t believe you did that!” you snapped, spinning on your heel to face Barty as you threw your bag onto the bed. In all the years they’d known you, none of them- not Pandora, Evan, or even Regulus- had ever heard you truly raise your voice at him. Sure, you’d been upset with Barty before; you’d sighed, pouted, and even shot him the occasional glare. But shouting? Walking away from him? That was unheard of.  

“You had no right,” you continued, your voice sharp, crackling with a frustration that felt foreign even to you.

The door clicked softly shut behind him as Barty stepped inside. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his posture maddeningly relaxed, yet there was a tension about him, an unspoken electricity in the way his eyes locked onto yours. His calm wasn’t comforting- it was unnerving, especially when paired with the fiery crackle of your anger. 

It was impossible to tell what unsettled the others more: the rare sight of your hostility or the uncharacteristic stillness in Barty’s demeanor. For once, the boy who thrived on chaos and disruption seemed like the eye of the storm- calm, deliberate, and entirely unbothered. 

Pandora exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Evan, who raised his brows in silent surprise. Even Regulus, who rarely looked interested in anything, shifted slightly in his chair, his gaze sharpening as he observed the brewing tension between you and Barty.

Barty didn’t respond immediately. He stood there, leaning casually against the closed door, as if he were giving you a moment to let your words hang in the air. His eyes, however, remained fixed on you, dark and unwavering, his calm exterior betraying the intensity simmering just beneath the surface.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Barty muttered evenly, his voice low and composed. “I told him what he needed to hear.”

“What he needed to hear?” You repeated incredulously, your voice rising, practically echoing off the stone walls of your dorm. “He asked me on a date, Barty. Me. Not you.” 

Pandora leaned forward slightly, clearly invested in the unfolding argument, while Evan smirked, obviously enjoying the drama. Regulus remained quiet, his gaze steady, but his lips twitched ever so slightly in amusement.

The tension crackled in the room like a live wire, yet Barty remained infuriatingly calm, his hands still tucked into his pockets, his head tilted ever so slightly as he watched you pace back and forth. Your frustration was evident, radiating from you in waves, and yet he didn’t seem the least bit concerned. If anything, he looked amused.

“You didn’t have to do that, Barty,” you huffed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “You always do this- stepping in, making decisions like I can’t handle myself.”

Barty leaned back against the closed door, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he spoke, his voice low and even. “You say that like I did something wrong.”

“Because you did!” You spun on your heel to glare at him, your cheeks flushed from a mix of anger and embarrassment. “He was just asking me on a date. That’s all. I could’ve handled it.”

“He didn’t deserve to ask you anything,” Barty replied smoothly, his tone infuriatingly casual as his dark eyes stayed locked on yours. “I did him a favor, really. Saved him from wasting both our time.”

You groaned, your fists clenching at your sides as you stopped in front of him, your head tilted back to meet his gaze. “It’s not your job to decide that.”

Barty finally moved, leaning forward slightly, the space between you shrinking as his smirk softened into something more dangerous. “It is when it involves you,” he said simply, his voice softer now, almost tender. “You’re my best friend.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, your resolve wavered. You hated how easily he could disarm you, how the sharp edge of your anger dulled the moment his tone softened, the way he tilted his head like he was waiting for you to see things his way.

Pandora, perched on your bed with her legs crossed, was watching the scene unfold with wide, curious eyes. Evan, sprawled on the floor, had long since given up pretending to be interested in his wandwork, his smirk growing wider with every passing second. Even Regulus, who rarely seemed to care about anything, was watching now, his sharp gaze flicking between you and Barty with quiet interest.

You took a step back, shaking your head as if to clear it. “I’m not a child, Barty. I can make my own decisions.”

His expression didn’t change, but his hand moved, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture so soft, so intimate, that it made your breath hitch. “I know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t look out for you.”

You hated how easily he got under your skin, how his touch unraveled you no matter how much you tried to hold yourself together. “You don’t always have to protect me, Barty,” you muttered, though your voice lacked the bite it had earlier. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” he said again, his hand lingering at the side of your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheekbone. “But I’m still going to.”

You huffed, crossing your arms as you tried to look anywhere but at him, though his gaze was like a tether pulling you back. His hand didn’t move from where it lingered near your face, warm and steady, and you hated how your resolve was crumbling under the weight of it.

“You’re pouting,” Barty said, his tone calm but laced with amusement, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“I am not,” you shot back quickly, though the heat rushing to your cheeks betrayed you.

“You are,” he said simply, leaning in just a fraction closer. His smirk softened into something almost affectionate as he added, “It’s cute, though. You can keep doing it.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you stumbled over your words, caught completely off guard by the casual compliment. “I- I’m not pouting,” You insisted, though your voice wavered, and the corners of your lips twitched as if you were fighting the urge to smile.

Barty chuckled, his thumb brushing ever so lightly against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. “Sure, you’re not,” he teased, his voice dropping lower, softer. “But I don’t mind if you do.”

Pandora let out a small squeal of delight from her perch on your bed, clearly enjoying the interaction far too much. “Oh, this is precious,” she giggled, kicking her legs in the air. “You’re so hopelessly sweet, the both of you.”

Evan groaned dramatically from his spot on the floor, throwing his head back against the carpet. “Merlin, you’re both insufferable. Just snog and put us all out of our misery.”

Your eyes widened, and you whipped around to glare at him. “We are not-” but your voice trailed off when Barty’s hand slid to your shoulder, grounding you.

“Calm down, Evan,” Barty drawled, his smirk growing wider as he glanced over at the other boy. “You’re just jealous she likes me better.”

Evan scoffed, rolling his eyes. “As if. I just want to live in peace without the two of you staring at each other like a pair of lovesick Puffskeins.”

You felt your cheeks flush even hotter, but before you could protest again, Barty gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, drawing your attention back to him. His expression had softened now, his eyes searching yours.

“You can keep pretending to be mad at me if you want,” he murmured, his voice quiet enough that only you could hear. “But I know you’re not.”

You let out a loud, dramatic huff, throwing your hands in the air as you turned away from him. Without another word, you stomped over to your bed and flopped onto it with a groan of pure frustration, your legs dangling over the edge. The sound was almost comically displeased, and you kicked your feet against the mattress in a childish show of annoyance.

Behind you, Pandora stifled a giggle, and even Regulus quirked an amused brow, though he said nothing. Evan, on the other hand, looked entirely too pleased with the chaos unfolding before him.

Barty, unbothered by your theatrics, followed you over with that maddeningly calm expression still plastered on his face. He knelt at the foot of the bed without a word, slipping your shoes off one by one with deliberate care. You made a point to keep your arms crossed and your lips pressed into a pout, but the edges of your resolve wavered ever so slightly as his fingers brushed your ankles.

When he was done, he rested one elbow on the bedframe and leaned in close, his other hand resting against the mattress near your hip. His gaze was heavy, and it pinned you in place despite your best efforts to avoid looking at him.

Finally, you peeked up at him through your lashes, still pouting as you muttered, “You’re terrible at this friend thing, Barty.”

He let out a low sound- half groan, half sigh- as his head tilted slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “I know,” he said softly, his voice carrying that same infuriating calm that made your chest tighten. “I’m bloody awful at it.”

You huffed again, though it came out weaker this time, and you buried your face in your hands for a moment before peeking out at him once more. “You’re not even trying to be better.”

“I’m not,” he agreed shamelessly, leaning in closer, his face only inches from yours now. His smirk softened, and for a moment, his expression bordered on something more vulnerable. “But I’m not sure I want to be better.”

That caught you off guard, and for a second, you forgot to be annoyed as you stared at him, your heart skipping a beat. You weren’t sure what he meant, not entirely, but the way his gaze lingered on yours made your chest feel uncomfortably warm.

“Hopeless,” Evan muttered from across the room, breaking the moment as he rolled onto his side with a dramatic groan. “The both of you.”

Pandora just grinned, resting her chin in her hands as she watched the scene unfold with unabashed delight. “Don’t mind him,” she said, her voice sing-song. “I think it’s sweet.”

You let out another huff, though this time it was more embarrassed than angry, and you shoved at Barty’s chest lightly. “I can't stand you,” you muttered, your cheeks flushing as you turned your face away.

Barty chuckled softly at your reaction, his smirk growing as he caught your chin with his fingers, gently tilting your face back toward him. “You say that,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with something that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to admit, “but you don’t really mean it.”

You swatted at his hand half-heartedly, but he didn’t let go, his thumb brushing along your jaw in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “I do mean it,” you insisted, though your voice wavered, and you hated how easily he could unravel you.

Pandora giggled from her spot on the bed, clearly delighted by the dynamic. “Oh, come on,” she teased, propping herself up on her elbows. “Just admit he’s your favorite, and we can all move on.”

Evan groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “If she says it, I’m leaving. I can’t bear to hear her feed his ego.”

Barty’s smirk turned almost predatory, and he leaned in just a fraction closer, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “Go on,” he urged, his voice soft and teasing. “Tell them I’m your favorite.”

You glared at him, though it was half-hearted at best. “You’re impossible,” you muttered again, but there was no real heat behind your words.

Barty’s grin widened, and he finally let go of your chin, leaning back slightly as he rested his forearms on the edge of the bed. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said smugly, clearly pleased with himself.

Pandora clapped her hands together, her grin as wide as his. “I knew it!” she exclaimed. “You’re both hopelessly sweet. It’s adorable, really.”

Regulus, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke, his voice calm and dry. “Can we move on now? Or are we just going to sit here while they flirt all night?”

Your face flushed even hotter, and you buried it in your hands, groaning. “We’re not flirting!” You insisted, though even you didn’t believe it.

Barty laughed, the sound warm and rich as he reached out to ruffle your hair. “Sure we’re not,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “Whatever you say.”

You swatted at his hand again, but this time, you couldn’t help the small, reluctant smile that tugged at your lips. No matter how frustrating he could be, he always had a way of making you forget why you were mad in the first place.

~~~

The common room was alive with celebration, the emerald and silver banners draped across the walls shimmering in the floating candlelight. Music pulsed softly in the background, mingling with the chatter and laughter of students sprawled across couches and cushions. The Ravenclaw-Slytherin match had been brutal, but the RavenClaw team had emerged victorious, and Barty- of course- had made himself the star of the night.

You were perched on the arm of a chair across the room, a cup of butterbeer in your hand, but your attention was focused on Barty, who was lounging on one of the larger couches near the hearth. A girl- a sixth-year Ravenclaw whose name you didn’t remember- was leaning far too close to him, her laugh too loud, her hand brushing his arm as she spoke.

Your stomach twisted, and you took a sip of your drink, trying to ignore the uncomfortable knot of jealousy that had taken root. But the sight of her leaning closer, her hand lingering on Barty’s shoulder, made your blood simmer.

Pandora was the first to notice your pout. She had been sitting cross-legged on the floor near the couch, her chin resting on her hand as she observed the lively room. Her sharp eyes caught the way your gaze kept darting toward Barty and the Ravenclaw girl, and the faint downturn of your lips sent her curiosity spiraling.

“Did you just… pout?” Pandora asked, her tone laced with amusement. She sat up straighter, nudging Regulus with her elbow to get his attention. “Reg, are you seeing this?”

Regulus, ever the picture of detached elegance, arched a brow and looked up from the book he was pretending to read. He followed Pandora’s gaze, his eyes landing on your furrowed brows and the way your fingers gripped your cup a bit too tightly. A smirk slowly curled at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, this is new,” he drawled, closing his book with deliberate care. “She looks… upset. Over a person, no less. That can’t be right.”

Pandora giggled, shifting closer to you with an eager grin. “What’s the matter, love?” she teased, her voice sing-song. “You’ve got that look like someone just stole your favorite quill. What did she do?”

Your head whipped toward them, cheeks flushing under their amused scrutiny. “I don’t like her,” you blurted out, the words leaving your lips before you could stop them.

Pandora’s jaw dropped, and she gasped dramatically, clutching at her chest like you’d just delivered the most scandalous confession of the century. “You don’t like her?” she repeated, her grin widening. “You? The girl who likes everyone?”

Regulus leaned back in his chair, resting his chin in his hand as he observed you with quiet amusement. “I didn’t think it was possible,” he said lightly, his smirk deepening. “The golden girl of our odd bunch doesn’t like someone. Are you feeling alright?”

You groaned, turning away from them in a futile attempt to hide the heat spreading across your cheeks. “It’s not a big deal,” You muttered, your fingers tightening around your cup. “She’s just… annoying.”

Pandora’s laughter bubbled out again, and she leaned forward, practically vibrating with excitement. “Annoying? How so? You’ve never called anyone annoying before.”

You bit your lip, casting a quick glance at Barty and the Ravenclaw girl. She was still leaning far too close, her laugh grating in your ears as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “She’s loud,” you mumbled, your voice tinged with irritation. “And she keeps laughing at everything he says like he’s Merlin reincarnated.”

“Oh, she’s loud, at a party” Pandora turned to look at Regulus in exaggerated aspiration, her tone dripping with mock seriousness. “How dare she.”

“And laughing?” Regulus added with a feigned gasp. “What an outrage.”

“She’s touching him.” You snapped, your voice a little louder than you intended. Both Pandora and Regulus froze for a moment, staring at you in stunned silence before breaking into twin peals of laughter.

“Touching him?” Pandora echoed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh, darling, Barty would be thrilled to hear you now.”

“Tragic,” Regulus murmured, shaking his head with mock pity. “Jealousy really doesn’t suit you.”

“I am not jealous,” you said sharply, your voice a touch too defensive. The way they both exchanged knowing looks made your stomach twist even more.

“Oh, sure,” Pandora said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “You’re not jealous. You just don’t like the girl because she’s breathing the same air as Barty.”

Regulus leaned forward, propping his elbow on his knee as he smirked knowingly. “Breathe a little louder, and she might vanish,” he teased, his tone smooth and laced with amusement. “You’re practically glaring a hole into the back of her head.”

You whipped your head toward him, cheeks burning hotter than the fireplace behind you. “I’m not glaring,” you snapped, though the defensive edge in your tone betrayed you.

Pandora was practically bouncing now, her grin threatening to split her face in two. “Oh, this is delicious,” she cooed. “You’re jealous. Admit it. Come on, it’s alright to say it.”

“I’m not jealous,” you insisted, though your voice cracked slightly on the last word. You took another sip of your butterbeer in a vain attempt to calm yourself, but the sight of the Ravenclaw girl leaning closer to Barty made your grip tighten on the glass.

Pandora leaned toward Regulus, cupping her hand around her mouth as if whispering a grand secret. “Do you think she realizes she’s been holding that butterbeer like she wants to hex it?”

Regulus tilted his head thoughtfully, his lips twitching. “I doubt it,” he murmured back, loud enough for you to hear. “She’s too busy deciding whether to hex the butterbeer or the girl.”

You let out a frustrated groan, setting your cup down with a louder-than-intended thud. “You’re both impossible.”

“And you’re completely transparent,” Regulus shot back smoothly. His silver eyes gleamed as he leaned closer, his voice dropping into a teasing lilt. “If you’re so bothered, go do something about it. Merlin knows Barty would fall over himself if you so much as batted your eyelashes.”

Pandora nodded fervently, her curls bouncing as she clapped her hands together. “Oh, yes! Just go over there and ruin her night. It’s what she deserves, really.”

You shook your head, determined to ignore them, but the Ravenclaw girl’s hand brushing Barty’s arm again made something snap inside you. Before you could stop yourself, you stood abruptly, drawing the attention of Pandora and Regulus.

“Finally,” Regulus muttered under his breath, a smug grin curling his lips.

“Go get him, love!” Pandora called after you, her voice sing-song and filled with glee.

Your stride across the common room was purposeful, your heart pounding as you ignored the heat of Regulus and Pandora's amused stares boring into your back. You weren’t even thinking; your legs seemed to be moving on their own, fueled by a mix of irritation and something deeper, something you weren’t ready to name.

Barty noticed you before you even reached him. His sharp eyes flicked up, his smirk softening into something unreadable as he leaned back against the couch, one arm slung lazily over the backrest. The Ravenclaw girl, oblivious to the shift in his expression, was still chattering on about something inconsequential, her fingers grazing his arm again.

You didn’t stop to acknowledge her. Without so much as a glance in her direction, you stepped into Barty’s space and, in one fluid motion, sat yourself down on his lap. 

The Ravenclaw girl froze mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open as her wide eyes darted between you and Barty. Pandora let out a loud, delighted gasp from across the room, and Regulus snorted, barely able to hide his amusement. Even Evan, who had been engrossed in a conversation with another group, glanced over with raised brows.

Barty, on the other hand, didn’t seem the least bit fazed. If anything, his smirk widened, and his hands came up instinctively, one settling on your waist while the other rested casually on your thigh, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

You didn’t say a word as you settled into Barty’s lap, your arms crossing loosely over your chest as you stared up at him. Your expression wasn’t sassy or confrontational- it was soft, expectant, and patient, the kind of look only you could manage, one that could coax a response out of anyone without so much as a word. 

Barty’s smirk twitched, his sharp eyes softening as they met yours. The quiet patience in your gaze was like a silent challenge, and it drew him in immediately. The Ravenclaw girl’s voice faltered into awkward silence as his attention shifted entirely to you. 

“Something I can help you with, love?” he asked lightly, his tone teasing but his hands steady as they rested on your waist. His fingers flexed slightly, grounding you both in the moment.

Still, you didn’t speak. You only tilted your head a fraction, looking up at him with those wide, trusting eyes that had always been his undoing. Your lips pressed into the faintest pout, and though it was subtle, Barty recognized it instantly. He couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound warm and rich as it rumbled in his chest.

Pandora, from her spot across the room, clutched at her heart dramatically. “Merlin, she’s too sweet! Look at her!” she whispered loudly, nudging Regulus, who arched a brow but remained otherwise composed.

Regulus’s silver eyes flicked to you and Barty, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “She’s not saying anything because she doesn’t have to,” he muttered, his voice dry but amused. “That look alone does all the work.”

Meanwhile, Barty was focused entirely on you, his smirk softening into something more tender as he leaned closer, his hand sliding up your back in a lazy, possessive motion. “Alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a quieter, more intimate tone. “What is it? You’ve got my attention.”

You tilted your head slightly, your pout deepening just enough to tug at his chest. “You were busy,” you said softly, your voice carrying no hint of accusation, only quiet disappointment. 

Barty’s expression flickered, the teasing edge of his smirk replaced with something almost apologetic. He shifted slightly, pulling you closer until your knees bumped against his. “I wasn’t too busy for you,” he said, his tone softer now, his eyes searching yours. “You know that.”

Pandora let out a delighted squeal, practically bouncing in her seat. “Oh, I love this,” she crowed. “She’s not even mad- just quietly disappointed. It’s perfect.”

Evan groaned from his place by the fireplace, throwing his hands up. “It’s maddening, is what it is. She doesn’t even have to try, and he’s practically falling over himself.”

You were trying to be nice. You really were.

But she was still right there.

You tilted your head slightly, your pout giving way to a small, mischievous smile. Slowly, you leaned closer to Barty, your fingers lightly brushing against his shoulder as you looked up at him, your voice soft and teasing. “You know,” you began, your tone low enough that only he could hear, “I might have something for you.”

Barty’s smirk widened as he leaned in, his hand sliding up your back to rest between your shoulder blades. His eyes searched yours, flickering with intrigue. “Oh? And what might that be?”

You let him lean in closer, his face just inches from yours now, the scent of your perfume enveloping him. He closed his eyes for the briefest moment, inhaling deeply as if trying to commit it to memory. When he opened them again, his gaze was darker, more focused, his lips quirking in an almost predatory grin.

“A reward,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear as you tilted your head slightly, letting him catch another wave of your perfume. His grip on your waist tightened instinctively, and you felt the faintest tremor run through him.

“For the win?” he asked, his voice dropping to match yours, the words laced with anticipation. His free hand slid down to rest lightly on your thigh, his fingers flexing against the fabric of your skirt.

“For the win,” you confirmed, your smile growing as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by something softer, something more vulnerable.

“And where,” he asked, his tone still teasing but with an edge of genuine curiosity, “might I find this reward?”

You leaned in again, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “In your dorm room.”

The words hung between you like a challenge, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to hold its breath. Barty’s eyes widened just slightly, the faintest flush creeping up his neck before his smirk returned, sharper than ever.

Pandora let out a gasp from across the room, clutching at Regulus’s arm as she whispered, “Did she just say what I think she said?”

Regulus didn’t answer immediately, his silver eyes fixed on the two of you with quiet amusement. “She did,” he murmured, his lips twitching in the faintest hint of a smirk. “And I think she means it.”

Evan groaned dramatically, covering his face with his hands. “Merlin, this is unbearable. Just go already and put the rest of us out of our misery.”

You ignored them all, your attention locked on Barty as his smirk softened into something almost affectionate. “Well then,” he murmured, his voice low and warm as he tightened his grip on your waist. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

You slid off his lap with a graceful motion, your fingers trailing down his arm as you stood. Barty followed without hesitation, his movements fluid and deliberate as he kept his hand on the small of your back, guiding you toward the staircase.

Behind you, Pandora’s laughter rang out, bright and full of delight. “Oh, this is brilliant,” she exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat. “I’ve never seen anything so perfectly dramatic in my life.”

Regulus chuckled softly, shaking his head as he returned to his book. “Let them have their moment,” he said simply, his tone tinged with amusement. “It’s been a long time coming.”

As the two of you disappeared up the staircase, the sound of your friends’ laughter faded into the background, leaving only the steady rhythm of your footsteps and the quiet hum of anticipation crackling between you and Barty. 

You glanced over your shoulder, your smile softening as you caught his gaze. “You really weren’t too busy for me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

“Never,” Barty replied without hesitation, his voice steady and sincere. “Not for you.” 

And in that moment, as the door to your dorm room swung shut behind you, you realized that you didn’t need to say anything else. Because she was still down there on that couch.

~~~

The night of your graduation had felt surreal, every moment tinged with a bittersweet haze. The castle, your friends, the life you had known for so many years- it was all slipping away into the past. But there was Barty, steady and constant, as if anchoring you to the present. His presence, sharp and magnetic, was the only thing keeping the melancholy at bay.

After the celebrations, the laughter, and the endless teasing from Pandora and Evan, Barty had pulled you aside. His hand, warm and firm, clasped yours as he whispered in your ear, “Come with me.”

The suggestion, laced with something that felt more like a command than a request, sent a thrill down your spine. 

The night air was crisp as Barty guided you along the dimly lit path, his grip firm but gentle. You had no idea where he was taking you, but his silence spoke volumes. There was a nervous energy to him, the kind of tension he couldn’t quite hide. It wasn’t often that Barty Crouch Jr. seemed unsure of himself, but tonight, there was a vulnerability in his every step.

When you arrived, you couldn’t help but blink in surprise. The small estate before you was a far cry from the grand manors both of you had grown up in. The house was simple, modest, with ivy creeping up the stone walls and a soft glow emanating from the windows. It looked warm, inviting, but entirely unlike the opulence you had expected.

“Barty…” you began, but he shook his head, pulling you toward the door.

“Just… let me show you,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. There was an edge of uncertainty to it, as though he wasn’t sure how you’d react.

He pushed open the door, revealing a small living room. The space was cozy, with a low ceiling and a worn but comfortable-looking sofa. A fireplace crackled softly in the corner, casting flickering shadows across the room. The furniture was simple, not at all like the ornate pieces that filled your childhood home, but it felt… lived-in. Real.

Barty glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, watching your reaction carefully. “It’s not much,” he admitted, his voice tinged with hesitation. “But I wanted it to feel like… like a home.”

You didn’t say anything at first, letting him guide you through the space. The kitchen was small, the kind of place where two people might bump elbows while cooking. The floors creaked softly under your feet, and the scent of wood smoke lingered in the air.

“It’s cozy,” you said finally, your voice soft. And you meant it. There was something about the simplicity of it all that felt refreshing, grounding. It wasn’t about grand gestures or flaunted wealth- it was real.

Barty seemed to relax slightly at your words, his shoulders dropping as he led you down a narrow hallway. “It’s nothing like what we’re used to,” he said, glancing at you again. “But I didn’t want this to be about… them.” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I bought this place with my own money. Not my father’s.”

That caught you off guard, and you turned to look at him fully. His expression was unreadable, but his hands fidgeted slightly at his sides- a rare sign of nerves. “Barty…” you started, but he cut you off.

“I wanted to give you something that was ours,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Something that wasn’t tied to the Crouch name or anything else. Just… us.”

Before you could respond, he opened the final door at the end of the hall, revealing a bedroom that stood in stark contrast to the rest of the house. The room was larger than you expected, with high ceilings and a grand four-poster bed draped in rich white and cream fabrics. The walls were lined with shelves, some filled with books, others empty, waiting to be filled. A plush rug covered the wooden floor, and the faint scent of fresh paint lingered in the air.

“This is the only room that’s finished,” Barty admitted, his voice softer now. “I spent most of my time on it because… well, I wanted you to have a space that felt special. Somewhere you could feel like you belonged.”

You stepped inside, running your fingers over the edge of the bedframe. The room was beautiful, but it was the thought behind it that left you speechless. Barty had always been brash, confident to the point of arrogance, but this… this was different. This was him laying his heart bare.

“Why?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why do all of this for me?”

He stepped closer, his hands finding yours as he looked down at you. “Because you’re everything to me,” he said simply, his voice steady and sincere. “And I wanted you to have a place where you could feel that. Where you could see how much you mean to me.”

Your chest tightened at his words, a warmth spreading through you that you couldn’t quite describe. You glanced around the room again, taking in the details- the care he had put into every corner, every choice. It was all for you.

“It’s perfect,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “Barty… it’s perfect.”

Barty stood there, watching your expression with a vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see. His hands, normally so assured, fidgeted slightly at his sides before he clenched them into fists, as if trying to ground himself. The sight of you standing in the room he’d poured his heart into was almost too much to bear. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest, a steady, insistent rhythm that only grew louder as the silence stretched between you.

You turned back to him, your eyes soft, full of emotions you hadn’t yet put into words. “Barty,” you murmured, stepping closer. “Why are you so nervous? This is… it’s beautiful.”

He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair in a rare display of uncertainty. “It’s not just the house,” he said, his voice low. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in. Barty had always been intense, magnetic, impossible to ignore, but this… this was different. There was a raw honesty in his gaze, a kind of vulnerability you weren’t used to seeing from him.

He took a step closer, his hands finding yours as he held them between you, his grip firm yet careful. “I’ve been trying to say this for years,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly despite his best efforts to stay calm. “But every time, I stopped myself. I thought- maybe you’d laugh, or maybe you wouldn’t take me seriously.”

“Barty,” you began softly, but he shook his head, his grip tightening ever so slightly as if afraid you’d slip away.

“No, let me finish,” he said, his voice firmer now, though still tinged with that same vulnerability. “From the moment I met you, you’ve been it for me. The only person who’s ever made me feel like there’s something worth fighting for, something worth… building a life for.”

Your chest tightened at his words, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you stared up at him, your heart pounding in your ears. He stepped closer still, his hands releasing yours only to cup your face, his thumbs brushing softly over your cheeks.

“This house,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s not just for me. It’s for us. Because I want you to have a place that’s ours. A place where you can feel safe, loved, cherished. A place where you know, without a doubt, that you mean everything to me.”

Tears spilled over now, and you couldn’t stop them, even if you wanted to. His words, his actions, the sheer intensity of his gaze- it was all too much, too overwhelming in the best possible way.

“Barty,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I-”

“Marry me,” he said suddenly, the words escaping him in a rush before he could stop them. He froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as if realizing what he’d just said. But then he doubled down, his grip on your face firm but gentle as he continued, his voice steady despite the emotion threatening to break through. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I don’t want to waste another second pretending I can be without you.”

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as you searched his eyes, desperate to find some hint of hesitation, some sign that this wasn’t real. But there was nothing- only pure, unyielding devotion staring back at you.

“Marry me,” he repeated, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Be mine. Always.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The air between you crackled with unspoken emotion, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the space you shared. And then, finally, you nodded, a watery laugh escaping you as you threw your arms around him.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice breaking as tears streamed down your face. “Yes, Barty. Always.”

His arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling you close as he buried his face in your hair. You could feel the tension leaving his body, replaced by a warmth that seemed to envelop you both, grounding you in a moment you knew you’d remember forever.

Barty's arms tightened around you, pulling you so close you could feel every beat of his racing heart. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply as though committing every part of you to memory. For a moment, the world around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you standing in the center of a life he'd carefully crafted for this exact moment.

When he pulled back, his hands didn’t leave you. They slid down, trailing over your arms and settling firmly on your waist. His touch lingered, warm and deliberate, and his thumbs brushed over the fabric of your dress in slow, deliberate circles. His gaze locked onto yours, intense and unwavering, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like he was trying to ground himself in your words.

You blinked, still caught in the whirlwind of his confession, your lips trembling as you whispered, “Yes, Barty. Always.”

A quiet, almost desperate sound escaped him- a mixture of relief and something deeper, something darker. His hands moved again, sliding up your sides and coming to rest just below your ribs. His touch was firm but not forceful, grounding you as his head dipped closer to yours.

The first kiss was tentative, almost shy, his lips brushing against yours with a softness that belied the intensity simmering beneath the surface. It was slow, unhurried, as though he was savoring every second. But then he sighed against your mouth, a deep, shaky sound that seemed to break the fragile barrier between you.

Barty’s hands tightened on your waist as the kiss deepened, becoming more consuming, more insistent. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak, and his fingers gripped you like he was afraid to let go. He muttered something against your lips- soft, almost inaudible- but you caught the words anyway.

“Mine.”

The word sent a spark through you, igniting something you hadn’t realized was waiting just below the surface. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips firmly as he pulled you closer, eliminating any remaining space between you. His lips left yours, trailing a heated path along your jaw and down your neck, and he whispered again, his voice rough and breathless.

“My girl.”

You gasped, your hands finding their way to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as he continued his assault on your senses. His lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped you.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. His hands roamed over your sides, one sliding up to cup the back of your neck while the other pressed firmly against the small of your back, keeping you anchored to him. “Say you’re mine.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his lips returned to yours, claiming them with a renewed intensity. The hand on your neck tilted your head back slightly, giving him better access as he kissed you with a fervor that bordered on desperate. Every touch, every kiss, was a silent declaration, a promise etched into your skin.

“Barty,” you breathed against his lips, your voice trembling but certain. “I’m yours.”

A growl rumbled in his chest, and his hands tightened their hold on you, pulling you even closer. “My fiancée,” he muttered, the words almost a growl as they left his lips. “You’re my fiancée now.”

You could barely think, barely breathe as his words washed over you, each one sinking into your skin and branding itself into your very being. His kisses turned more fervent, more insistent, and his hands roamed your body with a possessiveness that left no doubt in your mind: you were his, completely and utterly.

The atmosphere in the bedroom shifted, the air thick with tension as Barty backed you toward the bed. You stumbled slightly, caught off guard by the suddenness of his movements, but his hands were there to steady you- firm, commanding, and undeniably possessive. Before you could say a word, he pressed his body to yours, his touch leaving a trail of heat wherever his hands grazed. 

“Barty-” but the words barely left your lips before he lowered his head, capturing your mouth with a kiss that stole the air from your lungs. It was rougher this time, more insistent, as if he was claiming you with every movement. His hands slid down your sides, warm and steady, guiding you as he nudged you back onto the bed.

You let out a soft gasp as your back hit the mattress, but there was no time to process it before Barty climbed on top of you, settling himself firmly between your thighs. The weight of him against you was grounding, his presence overwhelming in the best way. His hand splayed across your side, his thumb brushing the curve of your hip in slow, deliberate circles that sent shivers coursing through your body.

He kissed you again, harder this time, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that left you breathless. His free hand slid up your body, his fingers trailing along the line of your ribs before settling just beneath your jaw. He tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss as his thumb brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck.

Your heart was racing now, thundering in your chest as his hand pressed more firmly against your throat. It wasn’t enough to hurt- never that- but just enough to make you hyper-aware of every beat of your pulse, every shallow breath that passed your lips. The sensation sent a dizzying rush through your veins, leaving you lightheaded and craving more.

“Look at me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough. When you hesitated, your gaze flickering away, he pressed his nose to your cheek, letting out a sound that was nothing short of devastated. It was a quiet, broken noise, like it physically hurt him that you weren’t looking at him.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice softer now, tinged with something vulnerable. “Don’t look away.”

Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed over your pulse point, his touch firm but careful. The weight of his gaze was almost too much, too intense, but you forced yourself to meet his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, the dark orbs filled with an unspoken need that made your chest ache.

“There you are,” he said softly, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss. His hand tightened slightly on your neck, just enough to make your head swim, and you felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a smirk. “That’s my girl.”

Your cheeks flushed, the words sinking into your skin like a brand. His hand on your side slid lower, his fingers grazing the edge of your skirt as he pressed his body more firmly against yours. The heat of him was intoxicating, his presence all-consuming, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped you as his lips found your neck.

“Barty,” you gasped, your voice trembling as he nipped at the sensitive skin just below your ear. His teeth grazed your pulse point, and you felt his smirk against your skin as his tongue soothed the sting.

“I can feel your heart racing,” he murmured, his voice low and full of satisfaction. His hand on your neck flexed slightly, the pressure just enough to send a wave of dizziness through you. “It’s like it’s beating just for me.”

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, desperate for something to ground yourself as his kisses trailed down your throat. Every touch, every movement, was deliberate, calculated to drive you to the brink. And yet, despite the overwhelming intensity of it all, there was a tenderness to him- a care that shone through even in his most possessive moments.

He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his gaze heavy with unspoken emotion. His hand slid up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he searched your face. “Tell me who you belong to,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Say it clearly.”

You swallowed hard, your lips parting as you tried to steady your breath. “B-Barty,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure. “You.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and his grip on you tightened, his lips crashing against yours once more. This kiss was different- hungrier, more desperate, like he was trying to pour every ounce of his devotion into it. Merlin, it almost hurt. His hands roamed your body, one sliding down to grip your thigh as he pressed himself closer.

Barty’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper as his fingers pressed into your thigh, his grip firm and unyielding. “No one else,” he murmured, his tone low and reverent, like a vow. “No one else will ever leave a mark on you. Only me. Only my hands.”

Your breath hitched as his words settled over you, each syllable searing into your skin. His eyes burned with something primal, his usual mischievous smirk replaced by a solemn intensity that made your pulse race. He wasn’t teasing anymore- this was raw, unfiltered, and entirely Barty.

His hand slid higher, pushing the hem of your skirt up with deliberate slowness. The cool air brushed against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his touch. His thumb pressed lightly into your thigh, and you couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped your lips. The sound made his smirk return, sharp and predatory.

“You feel that?” He murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as his hand traced a path upward. “That’s me. Just me. No one else gets to touch you like this.”

Your grip on his shoulders tightened,  your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as he shifted closer, his body pressing against yours. His other hand cradled your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone as his gaze locked onto yours. There was no escaping it, no looking away from the sheer possessiveness in his expression.

“You're so cute.” He chuckled, but his voice was firmer now, the words carrying a weight that left no room for argument. “So bloody trusting.”

“Not scared,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute. The admission felt like both a surrender and a victory, and the way his eyes darkened made your chest tighten. “It's you.”

Barty let out a soft, almost triumphant laugh, his hand tightening on your thigh just enough to make you gasp. “Good girl,” he murmured, this time, it was his teeth that trailed down your neck. Before giving you a rather punishing bite. Your skin burned, tinted, but he still didn't let up. 

You gasped when he only bit down harder. Your legs flinching against him, only one able to raise as the other was kept down by his harsh grip. You were sure the spot was bruised.

It drove him mad.

You never voice protest against his abuse.

He cooed at you, like a dog for good behavior, before he finally let up. He kissed your soft skin as a feeble apology. His kisses turned rougher, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. You felt the faint sting of his touch, a possessive claim that made your heart race. “No one else,” he muttered against your skin, his voice almost a growl. “No one else will ever get this close to you. Not while I’m breathing.”

The intensity of his words, his touch, his presence- it was overwhelming, consuming, and yet you didn’t want it to stop. Barty had always been a force of nature, wild and untamed, but in this moment, he was entirely focused on you.

“Barty,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper as his hand slipped higher, his touch igniting every nerve in your body. “Please…”

He paused for a moment, his lips hovering over yours as he searched your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch softer now, almost hesitant. “Please what?” he asked, his voice low and filled with unspoken promise. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

You swallowed hard, your cheeks flushed as you met his gaze. The weight of his attention, the sheer intensity in his eyes, made it impossible to think straight. “I want…” Your words faltered, and he tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he waited.

“Say it,” he urged, his voice like a caress. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he leaned closer. “I need to hear you say it.”

You took a shaky breath, your fingers curling into his shirt as you whispered, “I want you.”

Barty’s smirk softened, his expression melting into something almost tender. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he murmured, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that left you breathless.

You could hardly register what happened next. How his hand slid down your throat, slow and careful. The soft sound of his buckle latch clicking against the floor. 

When he broke the kiss you were too far gone to say another word to him. A small trail of saliva connecting you two- leaving Barty awestruck at the proof of your mindless obedience. 

His girl.

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 she ignored my letter!

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, James writes you a love letter and hides it into your luggage carrying your clothes, not knowing he put it in a pocket you never open.

Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever)

a/n: heyyy... i had sm fun writing this, can't wait to write the rest of this bc i literally LOVE anne with an e and this is inspired by it ofc!!!! anyways, im barely writing now..smh, its cause im reading manacled and its literally heart breaking... im also editing on ae and its so hard so im slowly learning😭 but i want to finish this mini series by next week!!

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

James had liked you for a while now. He wasn’t quite sure when it started—maybe it was the way you laughed at his jokes, always the loudest in the room. Or perhaps it was when he’d catch you staring at him, your gaze lingering just a bit too long, thinking he was too distracted to notice.

With the Christmas holidays fast approaching, James knew he had to make a move. He had to let you know how he felt. If you didn’t feel the same, maybe the time apart over the holiday would make it less awkward. But he couldn’t let another term slip by in silence.

Knowing your love for all things old-fashioned, James decided there was no better way to confess his feelings than through a handwritten letter. It felt personal, genuine—something you’d appreciate. But writing it turned out to be harder than he imagined.

He’d written and discarded at least a dozen drafts, each one crumpled and tossed aside in frustration. Finally, after half an hour of agonizing over the perfect words, he settled on this version. It was short, straightforward, and sincere:

Dear, (Y/N)

I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot. I’ve tried a hundred times, and every single attempt has been worse than the last. So here’s the truth—I’m hopelessly in love with you.

You’ve probably guessed I’m not great at being subtle. But what I’ve never been able to say outright is how much you mean to me. The way you laugh, the way your nose scrunches when you’re concentrating—Merlin, you make it impossible to focus on anything else. I want you to know that you’ve made me braver, happier, better. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay—I just needed to get this off my chest.

Yours, James

He sighed deeply, folding the letter carefully before slipping it into an envelope. Your name was written on the front in his slightly shaky handwriting. Taking a steadying breath, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his robes. He’d leave it somewhere you’d find it tomorrow, just before you both left for the holidays.

As he lay awake that night, James tried to figure out the best way to deliver the letter. Should he hand it to you directly? No, that was too nerve-wracking—he’d probably end up babbling like an idiot. Maybe he could slip it into your bag and avoid the risk of witnessing your reaction.

The morning was crisp, the kind of cold that painted your cheeks red and sent little clouds of breath swirling in the air. On the platform, the train sat waiting, puffing out plumes of steam that mingled with the frosty air. It was alive with the sound of students saying goodbye and dragging their luggage over the cobblestones.

James walked beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was doing his best to appear casual, though every step he took felt heavier with the weight of the letter in his robe.

“Let me take that for you,” he blurted suddenly, nodding toward your luggage.

You blinked, surprised by the offer, but your lips curved into a warm smile. “Oh, thanks, James. That’s really sweet of you.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but his ears turned a telltale shade of pink at your words. “What kind of bloke would I be if I didn’t help you out?” he mumbled, his voice tinged with nervous humor.

The two of you chatted as you strolled toward the train. You told him about your plans for the holidays—how you were excited to see your family, how your mum always made far too much food, and how you couldn’t wait to decorate the tree. James listened intently, nodding and laughing at all the right moments, even as his mind raced ahead to the task at hand.

Then, his opportunity came.

You turned away for a brief moment, waving at one of your friends across the platform. James acted quickly, pulling the envelope from his pocket and slipping it into the outermost compartment of your bag. His fingers brushed the fabric for only a second, but it felt like an eternity.

His heart was hammering so loudly he was certain it could be heard over the clamor of the platform. He straightened up just as you turned back to him, completely oblivious to what had just transpired.

“Thanks again for carrying that,” you said with a smile, your eyes meeting his.

James gave a small, lopsided grin and shifted your bag on his shoulder. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice steady despite the storm of nerves swirling inside him.

As the train’s whistle blew, signaling it was time to board, James knew there was no turning back now. All he could do was wait—and hope that when you found the letter, you’d read it and understand the words that had taken him so long to say.

It had been days since you’d left for the holidays, and James still hadn’t heard from you. Each passing day only worsened the sinking feeling in his chest.

Did you not feel the same? Did you hate him for ruining the friendship? Or worse, were you so disgusted by his confession that you couldn’t even bear to send him a letter saying so?

By Christmas morning, the knot of worry in James’s stomach had become unbearable. He’d stopped pacing and pretending not to care. He spent the early hours staring at the window, waiting for an owl that seemed as though it would never come.

But then, just as the first rays of sunlight streamed through his frosted window, he saw it—a familiar owl perched outside, clutching a small envelope in its talons. His heart leapt with a desperate flicker of hope. Maybe you’d only just found the letter. Maybe you’d taken your time because you wanted to write something perfect.

James hurried to open the window, shivering as the cold air rushed in. The owl extended its leg, allowing him to untie the letter. “Thanks, mate,” James murmured, absently offering the owl a treat before it flew off into the winter sky.

His fingers trembled as he opened the envelope, eager to see your handwriting. But his heart sank the moment he read the first line.

“Happy Christmas, James!”

No mention of his letter. No response to his confession. Just a short, cheerful note wishing him a wonderful holiday and apologizing for not writing sooner. You explained that things had been hectic at home and promised to catch up with him soon.

James felt his chest tighten, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The hope he’d been clinging to was slipping through his fingers.

You’d ignored his letter.

You’d chosen to act as though he’d never written it at all, as if he’d never poured his heart out on that piece of parchment.

James scoffed, his grip on the letter tightening. Fine, he thought bitterly. If you were going to pretend his confession didn’t exist, he could do the same.

He shoved the letter onto his desk, glaring at it as if it were the source of his frustration. Deep down, though, he knew the truth: he didn’t want to ignore you. He wanted to write back, to ask if you’d found the letter, to make sure you weren’t upset with him.

But pride was a stubborn thing, and James Potter wasn’t about to let his vulnerability show again—not now.

As the snow fell softly outside his window, James sat in silence, staring at the letter and wondering if he’d made a mistake by ever writing to you in the first place.

When it was time to return to Hogwarts, James made no effort to find you. Normally, he’d scan the platform, pretending it was a coincidence whenever his eyes landed on you. This time, he couldn’t bring himself to look.

He saw you anyway, just briefly—standing near your family, your face lit up with that familiar smile. His heart leaped in his chest, and his legs almost betrayed him, ready to stride over and say something, anything. But he stopped himself.

Instead, James turned sharply, mumbling a quick goodbye to his parents before heading onto the train. He didn’t want to see you—not now.

The walk through the train felt heavier than usual. He knew exactly where his friends would be—the same compartment they’d claimed since their first year—but it felt like an eternity to get there. When he finally slid open the door, the familiar faces of Sirius, Remus, and Peter greeted him.

“Oi, Prongs!” Sirius called cheerfully, but his grin faltered when James slumped onto the seat next to Peter with a loud huff.

James leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He could feel Sirius’s gaze on him, curious and probing.

“What’s got your wand in a knot?” Sirius asked, unable to resist.

“Don’t.” James’s voice was sharp, firm. It was rare for him to be in a foul mood, let alone snappish.

Sirius raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I won’t say a word.”

The tension in the compartment was palpable. The train rattled on, and the usual chatter of the four friends was noticeably absent. Sirius kept stealing glances at James, who sat brooding, arms crossed. Peter fidgeted nervously, while Remus flipped through a book, clearly uncomfortable with the silence.

Finally, about an hour into the ride, James broke.

“She ignored my letter.” His voice was low, bitter, but it shattered the quiet like a hex.

The others exchanged looks before Peter spoke hesitantly. “She really ignored it?”

“Yes, Peter,” James snapped, his tone sharp enough to make Peter flinch. Realizing what he’d done, James sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Peter mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“Maybe she didn’t see it,” Remus offered, his tone calm and rational. “What if it got lost in her luggage? Or someone else found it and hid it? Maybe you gave her another piece of parchment? There’s always a chance—”

“Moony, no.” James cut him off, his voice strained. “I double-checked. It was the right letter, in the right spot. And who doesn’t check their trunk full of clothes over the holiday?”

“Maybe she doesn’t,” Sirius said with a shrug, trying to lighten the mood. “You know, women can be unpredictable. Maybe she’s got a secret stash for random letters in her trunk.”

“No, she checks,” James said with certainty. “I’ve slipped plenty of things into her luggage before, and she’s always found them. She just doesn’t fancy me back.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, but he forced a small, bitter smile. “And it’s fine. I’ll get over it. I always do, right?”

The compartment fell silent again, the weight of James’s words sinking in.

Sirius leaned forward, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “It’s not fine, James. If she didn’t fancy you back, that’s one thing. But ignoring you? That’s—”

“Don’t,” James interrupted quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Don’t make it worse, Padfoot.”

Sirius bit back a retort and leaned back in his seat, muttering under his breath.

The rest of the ride passed more comfortably, but the shadow of James’s disappointment lingered. His friends cracked jokes and told stories, trying to lift his spirits, but even when he laughed, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Deep down, James wondered if he’d ever stop wishing that you’d read his letter and felt the same way.

Hours later, everyone had gathered in the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling reflected the dusky evening sky, and the buzz of students catching up after the holiday filled the room. Normally, James would sit with Sirius to his left, you to his right, and Remus and Peter across from him. It was a familiar arrangement, one you’d fallen into without question.

But tonight, James broke the routine.

He subtly nudged Peter into the spot on his right before sitting down, leaving the space where you’d usually sit conspicuously empty.

You walked in a moment later, scanning the Gryffindor table until you spotted your usual group. But when you approached, your steps faltered. Peter sat where you always did, looking apologetic but saying nothing.

Your eyes darted to James, silently questioning him, but he avoided your gaze, his attention fixed stubbornly on his plate.

Confused, you looked to Remus for an explanation. Out of all the Marauders, he was the one you trusted most to give you a straight answer. But Remus only shrugged, his expression carefully neutral, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth hinted at discomfort.

You scoffed, your chest tightening. First, James ignored you all through the holiday, and now he didn’t even want to sit near you? Fine. If he wanted to sulk like a child, you weren’t going to beg for his attention.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked further down the table, sliding into a seat beside your other group of friends. You forced yourself to laugh at their jokes and join in their chatter, but your mind kept wandering back to James.

At the Gryffindor table, James’s eyes flicked toward you more often than he’d admit. Every time he saw you laughing with your friends, his stomach twisted.

“Why is she acting like I’m the one in the wrong?” James muttered under his breath, jabbing at a piece of roast potato with his fork.

“Maybe because you’re acting like a prat?” Sirius replied, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned closer.

James shot him a glare.

“Look, Prongs,” Sirius continued, dropping the teasing. “She doesn’t know what’s going on. You didn’t even give her a chance to explain, and now you’re sulking like a first-year who lost his chocolate frog cards.”

“Explain what? She ignored my letter, Padfoot. What’s there to explain?” James hissed, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.

Remus sighed, setting down his goblet. “Did it ever cross your mind that maybe she doesn’t even know what letter you’re talking about?”

James froze, his fork hovering mid-air.

“Just talk to her, mate,” Sirius said, giving James a nudge. “Or don’t. But if you keep this up, you’re only making it worse—for both of you.”

James huffed, slumping back in his seat. The truth was, he didn’t know if he had it in him to face you just yet.

From across the hall, you caught the way James’s shoulders sagged, and for a brief moment, you considered walking over. But pride held you in place. If James wanted to act like this, fine. Two could play that game.

You and James hadn’t spoken in what felt like weeks. The once effortless connection you shared had been replaced with an awkward silence that weighed heavily on you. It wasn’t just James—it felt like the whole group of Marauders had grown distant, their usual antics and inside jokes missing their spark when you were around.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d done something to upset him. But what? You racked your brain for answers, replaying every interaction from the past few months. James had always been one of your closest friends—why was he acting so strange?

Charms class was the hardest part of it all. You always sat beside James, sharing notes, exchanging whispers, and stifling laughs when Professor Flitwick wasn’t looking. Now, you sat in the same spot, the chair next to you glaringly empty.

You tried to focus on the professor’s instructions, but your thoughts were louder than his voice. Scribbling aimlessly in your notebook, you hardly noticed when someone approached your desk.

“Are you alright?”

Startled, you looked up to see a boy with a blue-and-bronze tie standing beside you. His face was vaguely familiar—you’d seen him around in class but had never spoken to him.

“Yeah—yes, I’m fine,” you stammered, blinking in confusion. Why was he talking to you?

He gave a polite, slightly amused smile. “Well, can you move your stuff? I’m sitting here now. We’re partners for the project.”

“Oh!” Heat rose to your cheeks as you hurriedly shoved your books to one side. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize.”

“No worries,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. “I figured you weren’t paying attention—no offense. But I was, so I’ll explain what Professor Flitwick said.”

You managed a small smile, relieved by his casual tone. “Thanks. That’s… helpful.”

While he began outlining the project details, your focus wavered, glancing at James out of the corner of your eye. He was across the room, seated next to a loud and enthusiastic partner who seemed to be trying desperately to get his attention. But James wasn’t listening.

His gaze was fixed on you.

There was a flicker of something in his expression—jealousy, maybe? Regret? Whatever it was, it made your stomach twist.

You quickly turned your attention back to your new partner, nodding along to his explanation, even if you weren’t entirely listening. You felt James’s eyes on you the entire time, but you refused to look back.

Across the room, James’s jaw clenched. His partner waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his trance.

“Oi, Potter! Are you even listening?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure,” James muttered, though his eyes drifted back to you moments later.

He hated this—seeing someone else sitting beside you, making you smile when that used to be his seat, his job. But he didn’t know how to fix it. The letter. The silence. The way he’d avoided you. It all felt too big now, too messy to undo.

Still, James couldn’t stop watching you, his heart sinking further with every laugh you shared with your new partner.

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Harry Potter Masterlist 🤍

A/N: some of these fics contain smut so read at your own risk <3

———

Weasley Twins:

Moth to a Flame You’re two-timing the Weasley twins, and it all goes well. Until one day, they decide you need to be punished for this.

———

Fred Weasley:

Amortentia | F.W you, ever so studious and diligent, despised fred weasley, the total opposite of you. it came as a surprise to you when you smelt a certain someone when brewing amortentia. one day you get stuck in a closet with him, and let’s just say the situation between you changes.

Your Warmth | F.W gryffindor quidditch team throws a celebratory party at the lake after their win, and you decide to go though you were not one for parties. someone then pulls a prank on you (not fred), throwing you in the lake, not knowing you can’t swim.

Let Me Help | F.W 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.

Working Late Pt. 1 | F.W you got a new job at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and you’ve developed a strong attraction to one of your new bosses.

Working Late Pt. 2 | F.W Your boss does not take lightly to people flirting with his favourite employee, and wants you to know you're his and his only. You Belong With Me | F.W it almost felt like unrequited love to you, until you agreed to go to the Yule ball with George, causing his twin brother to get jealous.

The Way I loved You | F.W Dumbledore has asked for every house to put on a performance during the Yule Ball, the winner will earn 250 House Points. For this particular dance you’re partnered up with George though you wish it was Fred, however during the dance George is nowhere to be found. You’re left there on the dance floor right before your performance, stranded, alone & embarrassed, will anyone save you?