#harry potter fanfiction

[fear-less]

could you maybe do james potter x some one who is strange and wonderlandish (kinda like the one you wrote for sirius)

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 minorly stuck

paring: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, james is now understanding the term of love at first sight when he sees a not so normal looking girl wondering around the castle.

warnings: silly reader, fluff, james is in love, use of y/n, lowkey ended it on a cliffhanger bc I was running out of ideas

1.7K words 

It had been the same as any other day for James Potter—chaotic morning, disorganized afternoon, and who knew what the night would hold. The usual whirlwind of mischief, laughter, and the occasional near-miss with Filch had made their way through the first few hours of the day, but there was something different about today.

As James and the rest of the Marauders made their way to the Great Hall for lunch, they were stopped in their tracks by an unexpected sight. A girl stood just ahead, the very picture of contradiction and eccentricity. She was dressed in a riot of colors—patches of reds, yellows, greens, and blues—clashing wildly yet somehow coming together in a way that defied all logic. There were layers of mismatched fabrics, a plaid shirt with a striped skirt that seemed to swirl in a strange dance with every step, and shoes that looked as though they’d been chosen by a person who didn’t care to follow the rules of symmetry.

James, who was known for his casual but fashionable style, couldn’t help but be drawn to her outfit. He’d never considered himself a fashion expert, but even he knew better than to pair such audacious patterns. He’d never be caught dead wearing something so utterly mismatched, yet here she was—radiating an aura of confidence that made the idea of conformity seem utterly unimportant.

“Bloody hell, look at her,” Sirius muttered under his breath, though it wasn’t entirely in judgment. More like... fascination. “Who wears a plaid shirt with striped skirts?”

James grinned, watching the girl curiously. “She does, apparently.”

“You think she’s lost?” Remus asked, raising an eyebrow. He’d heard of eccentric students from the other houses, but this one was something else entirely.

Before anyone could offer another word, the girl turned towards them, her eyes gleaming with a strange, knowing look. She smiled, as if seeing them for the first time, but somehow, James had the oddest sensation that she had already been watching them for far longer.

“You must be the Marauders,” she said, her voice light and airy, like the sound of a bell ringing in the distance. It was both an observation and a statement, as if she knew their every move before they even made it. “You’re much easier to spot than you think.”

James blinked, his mouth slightly open in surprise. "And you are?" he asked, his voice a little more curious than he intended.

The girl tilted her head, her mismatched socks peeking out from beneath her skirt. “Oh, I’m just someone passing through your world. But, I think you’ll find my path crosses with yours more often than you realize.”

She gave them one last smile, a cryptic little twist of her lips, before turning away and walking off into the maze of Hogwarts corridors. Her steps were light, almost as though she were floating rather than walking, her mismatched clothes swishing around her like a kaleidoscope of color. Before long, she disappeared into the distance, leaving behind a lingering sense of wonder, or perhaps confusion, that none of them could quite shake.

While the Marauders continued toward the Great Hall, chatting among themselves as if nothing had happened, James found himself walking on autopilot, his mind elsewhere. His feet carried him forward, but his thoughts were still tangled in the strange girl they had just encountered. Who was she? Why did she seem so... out of place yet completely in tune with the madness of Hogwarts? He had no answers, but there was something about her that he couldn’t ignore. Her smile, the way she spoke, the sheer oddity of her presence—it was all so... mysterious.

"Oi, Potter, you all right?" Remus’ voice broke through his thoughts, and James blinked, momentarily shaken. He glanced at his friends, who had already started making their way toward the Great Hall, completely unaware of the strange moment that had just passed.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," James mumbled, his voice absent as he unconsciously followed them. “Just... thinking.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. "You're awfully quiet today. You were boasting about how you were going to charm some first-year by the end of the week, and now you're just... spaced out?"

James didn’t respond right away, his mind still far from where they were. He was still replaying the image of her in his head—her odd clothes, her cryptic words, that strange, otherworldly aura. It was like something from a dream, something out of place in the dull routine of Hogwarts. His heart thudded slightly faster with a sudden, inexplicable pull.

Then, without warning, the words slipped out of him. “I think I found my soulmate.”

Sirius, who had been walking beside James, nearly tripped over his own feet in surprise. Remus and Peter looked at him with equal disbelief.

“Say what now?” Sirius laughed, the grin on his face widening. “What are you talking about, mate?”

James’ cheeks flushed slightly at the attention, but he didn’t care. He was too caught up in the idea that had just dawned on him. “I don’t know her name, but I swear… I’ve never met anyone like her.”

The three boys stared at him, dumbfounded. James had always been the first to boast about his latest romantic conquests, but this… this was different. It wasn’t like the usual flirty comments or half-hearted crushes.

“Well, who is she, then?” Sirius prodded, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Where’d you find her, and why hasn’t anyone else noticed?”

James shook his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. “I don’t know yet. But I will. And I’m going to find her again. No one else can see it, but I can. I’m going to figure it out.”

He paused, as if gathering his thoughts, before turning to his friends. “Actually… forget about the Great Hall. I’ll catch up with you guys later. I need to find her. I'll see you in a bit."

Without waiting for a response, James turned on his heel, his eyes scanning the crowd of students moving in the opposite direction, searching for the mysterious girl who had already captured his full attention. He didn’t know what it was about her—her quirky, untamed nature or the strange sense of destiny he felt—but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t about to let this feeling slip away.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

As James was walking through the corridor, deep in thought about the strange girl, something caught his eye—a flash of color. It was a brief glimpse, but enough to stop him in his tracks. The bright, mismatched clothes reminded him immediately of her, the girl who had wandered into his life only hours before, leaving behind a trail of questions. Without thinking, his feet carried him toward the left, where the corridor opened up to the outside grounds.

He hesitated for a moment, a small voice in his head telling him to turn back, but his curiosity won out. This could be his chance to figure out more about her. With a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, he decided to follow.

His heart raced as he moved closer, and soon enough, there she was. She walked with a carefree stride, her arms holding something—James couldn’t quite make out what it was. It looked like a bundle of books or perhaps a strange collection of trinkets, but it was hard to tell from the distance. Whatever it was, it only added to the air of mystery surrounding her. James made a mental note to ask her about it later, curious to see what she might be carrying.

He took a breath and straightened up, trying to approach nonchalantly, like he wasn’t following her at all. He even threw in a casual little flick of his hair, trying his best to act as if he just happened to be walking in the same direction. But before he could get any closer, she turned—suddenly, almost as if she’d sensed him.

Her eyes met his immediately, that mischievous glint flashing in them once more. The smile she gave him was a curious one, not quite a greeting, but something else entirely. It was as if she already knew exactly why he was there, even though he hadn’t said a word.

James froze for a split second, caught completely off guard. He had expected to catch up to her, perhaps even start a casual conversation. But now that she had turned to face him, there was an intensity in her gaze that made his confidence falter, just for a moment.

"Following me, are you?" Her voice was light, almost teasing, like she had been waiting for him all along.

James opened his mouth to reply, but the words got stuck somewhere in his throat. He wasn’t sure how to explain that he’d been thinking about her, or that something about her was completely captivating. Instead, he just flashed her a grin, hoping to play it cool.

“Maybe,” he said with a wink, finally finding his voice. “But I’m just hoping I can learn more about... you.”

"Hmm, well then, James, I am Y/N," she said, her smile widening, a glimmer of mischief dancing in her eyes.

James blinked, momentarily struck by the sound of her voice, soft yet full of mystery, like a melody he couldn’t quite place. “Y/N…” he repeated under his breath, testing the name on his tongue. It was simple, yet somehow, it felt like it held an entire world of secrets.

What a lovely name, he thought, a strange warmth blooming in his chest. He couldn’t quite explain why, but it seemed to suit her—unusual, elegant, and more than a little out of place in the best way possible. There was something about it that made her feel even more enigmatic, as if she were meant to be a riddle he’d have to solve.

He met her gaze again, trying not to let his smile slip too widely. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he said, his voice a bit lighter than he’d intended, like he was speaking a line from some grand tale. And, in a way, he felt like he was.

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

A fathers love

Summary- The story between one Dark lord and his only son, Mattheo Riddle. And the first time Mattheo calls for his father when he's in trouble.

An idea inspired by a batfam fic and @anawritez-posts :3 is mostly a fic about Voldy and the relationship between him and his first born son Mattheo.

minor Tom/young Voldy x Reader, mostly just in the background-you can make up your own story for them and if they're romantic or not.

warning; Tom Riddle/Voldemort, heart aching fluff and angst, blood, injury.

=

Voldemort, Tom Marvolo Riddle, had never exactly expected to be a father, not once as he grew up without one, or when he murdered his father, or even when the world began to know what the name Voldemort meant-and began to fear it.

But a ruler needed an heir, so he convinced an old cohort of his, (y/n) (l/n), to be the mother of his heir. It gave her plenty of benefits, being under his protection, being the mother of his child, and being known as his dark lady because with her becoming the mother of his heir-came certain pureblood expectations, so of course he married her.

After marrying her, came his first-born son Mattheo, who he allowed his last name because Voldemort had never exactly thought of a proper wizarding last name so Riddle would have to do for now.

Birth was…stressful, not just for his wife, but for Voldemort as well-who hadn’t exactly realized that the death of his mother had affected him so badly that he was…scared that (y/n) would die giving birth to Mattheo. But she was fine, and Mattheo was a little red wriggly potato of a newborn.

“Healthy lungs,” (y/n) commented, exhausted and happy, looking down at his firstborn in her arms that was crying as hard as he could with his new functioning lungs. Voldemort nearly cringed if he wasn’t staring in near awe.

He made that, they made that, they made a tiny little human. (y/n) looked up at him, examining the impossibly surprised and soft expression the dark lord was making, he was knelt beside the bed, staring at Mattheo who was cradled in (y/n)’s arms. “Would you like to hold him?” (y/n) asked and Voldemort swallowed, for the first time, scared of hurting somebody.

“Should I?” Voldemort asked, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable and (y/n) nodded, sitting up to place Mattheo in Voldemort's arms, who took him so gently it was almost comical. “Support his head, just like that.” (y/n) murmured, Voldemort slowly leaning back on his heels as he looked down at the tiny being in his arms-who had quieted as soon as Voldemort had taken him.

“He’s so small,” Voldemort murmured, his brown-red eyes staring down at the baby boy in his arms, warmth he never thought could’ve existed blossoming in his chest. The love of being a father.

-

Except, Voldemort isnt very good at showing love, considering he had never been shown it all his life. He had very few examples of a fatherly figure, he had Slughorn, he supposed, but he didn’t count Slughorn as a good example-considering how he hated Slughorn's coddling of him, though he did enjoy the praise.

So, Mattheo grew up going to his mother for all of his needs, which Voldemort was fine with, he didn’t know how to communicate with the boy, who was quite emotional-his heart on his sleeve unlike Voldemort, who had been emotional when he was young-but he was mean spirited, Mattheo was soft, like his mother.

Voldemort didn’t exactly try to stop the softness that Mattheo had in his heart, because while Mattheo didn’t know it, even the dark lord was weak to Mattheo’s doe eyes he gave when he wanted something from his mother.

Mattheo, however, grew up thinking his father didn’t exactly, care about him. The dark lord was distant and quiet, never showing affection even to his wife, Mattheo’s mom. This made Mattheo believe that he was only an heir to Voldemort, a means to an end, because his friends-or his future followers as the dark lord deemed them-all had relationships with their fathers, while they were stern and maybe a bit mean sometimes, they were still fathers, caring and loving, and when he was young, very very protective.

One time he saw Lucius call out for his dad when he scraped his knee and Abraxas had been next to him quicker than anyone could even say expelliarmus. It had only been a scrape too, and yet Abraxas had scooped up the 7-year-old and carried him into Malfoy manor, away from where he and Mattheo had been playing quidditch.

Mattheo always wondered what would happen if he called out for his father? If he started crying and called out for ‘dad’?

Mattheo, for the longest time, thought he’d never respond, that he had better luck calling for death itself to save him, because Voldemort would never care about anyone that much.

Right?

-

Mattheo hit the floor with a crack, groaning as his shoulder flared with pain. He could taste blood in his mouth, dripping off his lip and down his chin. He’d been assigned to a mission, either by his father or some other higher-up death eater, like Lestrange or something, but it was a stupidly dangerous mission, trying to convince the trolls of the western mountains to join his father's cause.

They hadn��t exactly reacted well to Mattheo’s offer, be it strained since he hadn’t exactly wanted to be there, so here he was, being thrown like a doll by mountain trolls.

He rolled onto his back, his vision blurry as he looked up at the trolls just a few feet away, one stomping up to him-raising its club high. Mattheo’s wand wasn’t in reach-blending in with the sticks and leaves on the forest floor, his heart seized in his chest.

Was he going to die here? Would he never get to see his mom again?

Would he never finish his Hogwarts education?

Panic bubbled in his throat and tears burned in his eyes-breathing heavily and quickly as he tried to scramble back. It came out by accident, the breathless cry of a scared 15-year-old who needed to be saved.

“D-Daaa-ad!!” The word was interrupted by blood in his throat, choking on it, making his voice quiet and almost pitiful.

The troll close to him didn’t even get the chance to arch down the club-because a swirl of strong black smoke and a blast of green lightning interrupted it. “AVADA KADAVRA!” a familiar voice bellowed, killing another troll-the shock wave from the two mountain trolls hitting the ground blowing Mattheo’s hair back as he sobbed on the ground, his shoulder in flaring pain and his chest hurting as he took shallow breaths between sobs.

He opened his eyes-seeing Voldemort-face twisted in rage-turn away from the mountain trolls that were fleeing. His father’s face went pale-paler than usual-and he rushed towards Mattheo, dropping his wand as he dropped to his knees beside his only son, carefully scooping the young boy into his arms, his head cradled in his elbow.

“Mattheo,” Voldemort breathed out, his eyes wide with worry, his jaw clenched as he looked over Mattheo for any injuries-finding many.

“Dad-“ Mattheo choked out, his hand tight against his father's sleeve-he doesn’t even remember the last time his father held him like this but right now he cant bring himself to try to remember-right now, he’s scared, he’s hurt, he needs his dad.

And his dad is right here, holding him, killed for him, protected him.

Mattheo doesn’t even know where he came from, how he knew Mattheo called for him, how he knew where Mattheo was. Perhaps Voldemort had followed him, perhaps it was fatherly instincts, perhaps magic.

It could’ve been anything, and Mattheo didn’t care, because his dad had come to save him-just like he always wanted.

“i-I’m-sorry,” Mattheo blubbered out as Voldemort found his wand and began enchanting healing spells under his breath, trying to reverse the worst of the damage.

“What?” Voldemort asked, his brow furrowed as he looked at Mattheo’s face. “Mattheo-no-“

“I shouldn’t be crying-I’m not a baby-I should’ve-been able to handle it,” Mattheo stutters out-fat tears rolling down his face-he hadn’t cried in front of his father in many many years.

Voldemort shushes him, it’s awkward and new, a copy of what his mother did when Mattheo got upset, but it’s still there-a gentle coo and a warm hand that brushed away blood and tears on Mattheo’s face. “Do not apologize, never apologize, you’re my child. You weren’t supposed to be on this mission in the first place,” Voldemort murmured, scooping his son completely into his arms, Mattheo clinging to his father’s robes.

Mattheo furrows his brows at his father’s words. He wasn’t meant to be on this mission? “I meant for this to be for Mulciber, who even told you to do this?” Voldemort said, it was a rhetorical question, but Mattheo answered anyway and Voldemort’s jaw clicked in anger. “I shall deal with him later, where is your wand?”

Mattheo sniffed and looked around, still in his father’s arms-which feels so odd-but finds his wand on the floor and his father grabs it, and in a moment he apparated them back to the manor-his mother already rushing down the stairs as Voldemort carried him through the threshold of the main foyer.

“I’ve got him,” Voldemort calmly said to his wife, who nodded, her fingers brushing through Mattheo’s hair as he leaned towards her-his eyes closed as he felt blood drying on his face.

 He’s set down in his room on his bed and his father personally sees to his medical needs, wiping up blood and fixing bones that were broken from when he’d been tossed to the ground by one of the mountain trolls.

It’s quiet, awkwardly quiet for a long time, Mattheo watching as his father, Voldemort, patched him up-his brown-red eyes intense as he waved his wand, charming the slice in Mattheo’s hand to heal up and close.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Mattheo admitted softly, too scared, too shy, to look at his father, who froze at Mattheo’s words. His brows furrowed, looking up at his son.

“Why not?” Voldemort asked, putting his wand away and sitting next to his son, their shoulders only a few inches apart.

“I didn’t know you cared,” Mattheo said softly, looking down at his hands. Voldemort swallowed, he knows he’s been a very distant parent, barely interacting with his son over the last 15 years-not since Mattheo was a toddler and needed his father much more than he did now.

Voldemort struggles with his words, but he has to let Mattheo know how much he really cares.

“I never expected to be a father,” Voldemort admits, wringing his hands between his knees. Mattheo looks at him, his eyes wide-realizing what was happening, his father was opening up to him. “But upon making myself the dark lord, a ruler of the wizarding world, I knew I would need an heir. I married your mother because an heir needs a mother-and she was the only one I was comfortable with, making an heir with. I…” Voldemort swallowed, rubbing his brow.

 “I never expected you. I watched you be born, I was terrified your mother would pass while giving birth to you, like my mother had, but she didn’t-and you had arrived. You were so small,” his voice becomes quiet, his gaze distant, fond. “I was terrified I would hurt you by holding you, but your mother insisted. Holding you for the first time-i…I never knew what it meant to be a father, I hardly know how to be one still but…when I held you for the first time, you were no longer my heir-you were my son. My very first love. I’m…I’m sorry I’ve failed to show it all these years.”

Mattheo can feel the lump in his throat, and he takes a small breath; he can't help but leaning forward-wrapping his arms around his father, and for the first time since he was a toddler, his father hugs him back.

Mattheo’s mother watches from the doorway, smiling softly before walking away, knowing her husband and son had finally connected once more.

-end-

[777heavengirl]

the one with the picture

sirius black x reader ! - 2,084 words masterlist bags masterlist A/N: IM BACK IM BACK IM BACK also sorry its so late at night hectic day xoxo i hope you enjoy!! don't forget to drop a little reblog or even just comment guys!! it is so very appreciated and it lets me know y'all want more!

“Ready to become uncles?” You asked, a yawn following your words. 

Remus smiled at you, soft and sleepy from the couch facing yours. His cane rested on the arm of the couch, abandoned for the comfort of the shitty hospital seat. Remus nodded wordlessly.

“I reckon I’ll be a terrible uncle,” Peter gruffed as he shook the box of candies into his mouth, emptying it “I have nothing to teach this bloody baby-”

“I don’t think anyone expects you to teach him anything Wormtail-” Sirius pipped up with a laugh from the corner where he paced in circles, head swiveling towards the room James and Lily were in as a nurse hurried out of it.

You ignored the bustling of nurses, you had long learned by now that unless you saw James, it probably didn’t mean anything.

“Why on Merlin’s green earth did they decide to give birth in a muggle hospital-” Peter groaned into his hands, the hours of waiting bearing down on him.

“Lily refused to do a home birth remember? St Mungo’s doesn't exactly do the whole birth thing- ” Remus muttered from the small beige sofa he had curled up in, long legs spilling from the edge of the cushions. You wondered if he was comfortable, but his eyes were closed and he had barely moved in the past two hours so you assumed on some level he probably was. Well, between his cardigan and long pants, he was at least doing better than you. You could feel your skin start erupting in goosebumps from the cold.

It had been a blur really, the furious knocking at your door at the hands of Peter, and haphazardly putting on the first thing you found after basically clawing off the stuffy funeral dress. You didn’t even have enough time to grab a jacket, barely putting on shoes as Remus and Peter swept you off to the muggle hospital. A shiver ran down your spine as you cursed the pajama shorts and stupid t-shirt you had thrown on. 

You could feel Sirius’s grey eyes on you, staring straight into the side of your head. But you refused to look, instead burying your face further into your hands. You didn’t notice he had moved until he was right next to you- 

“Take it-” Sirius handed you his suit’s jacket, basically shoving it into your arms so you couldn't say no. “You’re going to get sick,” You stared at it, fingers softly squeezing the soft material. He sat next to you. 

The small, beige couch you had chosen to sit on was much like the one you had when you were freshly moved in. It lived in your home for a measly two weeks before Euphemia decreed that no child of hers would have such a stiff abomination in her watch. It was hard and restricting. The two of you might as well have been sitting on a wooden bench. But neither of you dared to move, so you sat, silently, both wishing Euphemia could save you from the clutches of the rigid couch.

Sirius thought of the sofa. And when you first moved in. Together and bright-eyed, he had been so in love with you then. He reckons he still was. But now he knew there was no hope of you loving him back.

He cursed the couch silently.

“Put it on,” he sighed as he leaned back, his white button-up shifting as he threw his arm over the backrest. “Don’t be stubborn-”

You huffed as you put it on, “thanks…”

“Don’t mention it,” you leaned back too, the back of your neck close to his arm, almost touching but quite. “Did you bring my camera?” you nodded, but he didn't answer back. 

You couldn’t stand the distance between you, a thick jelly of silence that was anything but peaceful. You dreaded going home, you dreaded having to face that your best friend, the boy you so dearly loved was upset with you.

Especially over something so petty. What did he care that you had a job? Your own life? Something to do that wasn’t shared with him? It was rather selfish of him, wasn’t it? You could almost hear your father spew that sentence from the darkest pits of your mind. 

You stared at the small bag in Sirius’s hand. You didn’t know why you hadn’t taken notice of it before. He clutched the small velvet bag tightly. Did it have an extension charm? You wondered if it was his things then, had he carried that to the funeral? You thought you would’ve noticed. Had he been planning on staying at James’s? Had he cleared his things at some point without you noticing? 

You rubbed circles into the palm of your hand and chewed at your lip worryingly. 

If your father knew he’d call you stupid. Stupid for not looking for an apartment to move out, stupid for not being the first to leave, irresponsible, too trusting, so stupid.

You decided you maybe didn’t want to know if he was indeed planning to leave. 

“Hey-” he shifted uncomfortably “do you think we can talk about... you know, everything”

“Sirius I don’t know if it's the time-” You refused to even take a peek at him, even though you knew he was staring right at you now. 

“Well, Merlin knows how much longer we’re going to be here-” he was right, you had all been here for ages waiting for the baby to come “so yeah it might be the time,” 

You sighed, finally turning to look at him. His stupid shiny grey eyes, and his stupid porcelain skin. His stupid stupid frowning lip. He’d deny he was sporting one if you called him out on it. 

He had always been a pouty one.

You were mad. At least you wanted to be, but when you looked at him, in all his disheveled glory, the hair he had run his hand through a thousand times, the white button-up with the top buttons undone and that had been unconsciously untucked from his slacks. You just couldn’t be genuinely mad.

So you softened, finally moving to face him. Your knee knocked against his, his warmth transferring from his leg onto your skin.

“I’m sorry, for being so petty earlier- it was unfair and-” Sirius sighed, staring at your hand on your lap. His fingers twitched with the need to hold yours, to feel your no doubt freezing fingers between his warm ones.

He thought of your first week of living together again.

He grabbed your hand. You stared at the bag in his other hand again.

Like if you stared at it hard enough it would tell you its contents. But your thoughts drifted as your soft fingers were enveloped in his. Yet, you didn’t say anything, you didn’t dare. You squeezed his hand and he finally looked up, back from whatever thought he had briefly gotten lost in. 

“I’m really sorry about the past few weeks-”

“I’m sorry too,”

“I just wish you could trust me enough to let me take care of you- there’s no one else in the world I’d rather spend my days with…” You swallowed thickly as he spoke “I love you-”

“My baby’s here!” James burst through a door down the hallway, cheering at the top of his lungs without caring about the nurse shushing him. “He’s here and he’s beautiful come on you lot- come on!”

Sirius quickly scrambled to his feet, the other two boys following in the chaos of unsticking themselves from their respective sofas. You tried to ignore it, the sting in your heart. You loved him too of course. But did he love you the way you loved him? 

There simply wasn't any time for that right now.

Sirius didn’t let go of your hand; he simply pulled, pulled until you came up with him. His hand grabbed tightly onto yours and as you ran down the hall, straight for the door to Lily’s room. 

He never once let go of you.

The room was lowly lit, and Lily looked exhausted, but a smile graced her features nonetheless. Sirius tossed the small velvet bag to James with his free hand. The worry of it left your head as quickly as it had come.

Sirius dragged you by your hand all the way up to the bed, his face turning in wonder as he looked at the small baby in Lily’s arms. 

“He’s so small” Peter called out from the foot of the bed,

“He’s so bloody pink-” Sirius glanced at James’s darker skin, a beaming smile nevertheless decorating his face. “Do you reckon he’ll stay like that? Or did he get the redhead’s genes?”

“Oi is that the first thing you have to say about your godson?” James couldn't help but laugh

“My godson?” Sirius stared blankly at James, briefly flickering between Lily’s equally beaming smile and the baby’s little pink face.

“I meant to ask but-” James smiled sheepishly as Lily glared, 

“Merlin he’s my godson”

“Do you want to hold him?” Lily whispered as Sirius’s face broke into a smile as well, 

“Of course, I want to hold my bloody godson Evans- he’s my godson”

Remus chuckled as he patted James on the back. You couldn’t help but wrap your hand around the camera that hung from your wrist.

 You snapped a picture. 

You knew what Sirius would write on the back of it later.

My godson. July 31, 1980

Just simple, and small, in his fancy, loopy cursive and black ink. But monumental in itself. He had done it. He had a family, he had always had one but now he was properly part of it. He was not just a stray taken in, but he now had a part in it. He’d love that baby until his body gave out. 

He knew it, you knew it, James and Lily knew it. From the second he was born, this baby would be the most loved baby on the planet. 

“I can’t believe he’s mine-”

“You don’t get to take him home mate”

“Hush Prongs- I’m going to be his favorite I know it” Sirius smiled, a playful smirk exchanged between friends. James couldn’t help but quip back

“Right after Uncle Moony-” 

“Ah that’s for sure,” Remus laughed 

“I meant his favorite parent but I reckon Wormtail will be the preferred uncle, with all the candy pouring from his pockets the kid is gonna love him no doubt-” You all couldn’t help but laugh-

“Do you want to hold him too?” Lily asked, her gaze shifting onto your face. “I reckon the godmother also deserves to hold baby Harry-”

“Are you serious? 

“Obviously-” 

“Lily are you being serious-”

“Yes! Black hand her the baby- god-” Sirius chuckled as he passed the small bundle into your arms, placing the camera at the foot of the bed. He was heavier than you expected, and the tears gathered in your eyes as you looked at his little face. Harry was small and definitely pink. He was a quiet little thing, undisturbed by the exchange of hands he was going through. Sirius leaned his chin on top of your shoulder, his cheek borderline pressed against yours. 

“Isn’t he the ugliest most precious thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Oi!”

“He’s so ugly it's cute-” His words tickled your ear

“I don’t think babies are supposed to be all that cute straight after birth Sirius-”

“I know love,”

“Alright, picture time idiots-” Remus said, leaning on his cane as he grabbed the camera with his free hand. James sitting on the side of Lily’s bed as you and Sirius also approached, baby Harry still in your arms.

“I look like shit-” You huffed as you sat on the bed with Lily

“I do too”

“Yeah, but you have a reason to Lils” Lily laughed. Sirius’s hand never left your back. 

“Well- he won’t remember anyway-”

“The picture will-”

“Say godparents!” Sirius had basically wrapped himself to your side, his face pressed against yours, his arm around your waist as he leaned down for the picture.

The flash made your eyes sting, a wide smile on your face. 

It was fitting, the disheveled state of the lot of you, even in the picture the nurse would take for you all later. A family sewed together like a mismatched quilt. 

Sirius smiled all night.

“Seriously though why is he so pink? Is this some sort of condition? Bloody baby doesn’t look anything like Prongs-”

“-Yet” James beamed.

My family, July 31, 1980

taglist ; @thatlittlered @giuli-in-earth @notsolong-pause @niceonejames7 @caspiankingofnarnia @ilovejamespottersomuch @bmyva1entine @lanadelreykt @froggiedragon @stanzie

LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED U OR IF YOU WANNA BE ADDED (i was gone for like a month and some change so i may have not been able to properly keep up with the tag list but i did my best)

[just-some-random-blogger]

Sweets & Sweeties

You opened a bakeshop called Sweets & Sweeties which was just beside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and one day you accidentally lock yourself outside.

George Weasley x Reader (x Fred Weasley) | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, Murphy's law, fred lives stfu, fluff, rizzler!Georgie, typos, etc.

A/N: i have this fic called tormented spirit and its fucked me up cos of how sad it is HAHAHAH i need a break and thats coming from someone who LOVES angst. ALSO i was never super into Harry Potter so idk lore™ but I've been watching the phelps twins and their baking show related content and i'm just so endeared by them AHHHHHHHHH. please leave comments/reblogs because this feels a bit mid cos i havent written fluff in 100 years T_T | cross posted on ao3

@pendragora if i have to suffer, you have to suffer

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was always busy. Everyday, there were children and children-at-heart going up and down the block, eager to buy themselves trinket or treat to promptly cause mischief.

Because of the shop's success, your own shop also benefitted from it. Sweets & Sweeties was your dream come true. As a child, you loved sweet treats, and you would grow to learn you loved making them just as much.

You hadn't expected to sell out as often as you did, and you knew it was all thanks to the fact the establishment next door brought as many customers as they did, who then became your customers.

You were extremely grateful, and tried time and time again to show it through a simple gesture of a gift. It was rather hard to find the time to do so however, as the neighbor establishment was constantly packed. The first time you saw the owner of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he had introduced himself as: "George Weasley," he says, dusting off his hands before reaching one out for you.

You merely stare at him, your smile flattening slightly, only to grow wider as you chuckle. Both of your hands held a tray of cake, and it was quite a weighty cake at that, "I-"

"Right," he brushes his hands on his trousers, "right. Sorry, let me help you with that."

He takes the cake from you and ushers you deeper into the store. You gasp when a small child runs across him, unfortunately bumping into his side. Thankfully, George manages to lift the cake, evading the collision. The girl who bumped into him looks up, eyes wide, hands clutched, looking rather guilty, "s-sorry, Mr. Weasley."

The tall man's brows furrow as he looks down. He whines, "s'not Mr. Weasley, it's George."

The girl stares at him for a moment.

"Say it with me: George."

She clutches her chest and mutters, "Georgie?"

George purses his lips together in a soft smile and nods, "Georgie it is then."

Your hand comes to your mouth as you chuckle and follow after the red haired man. He leads you into the back office and you gasp yet again, this time, because of the photograph on the wall. It was a family portrait of a myriad of other red heads breaking into a wide grin.

"There's two of you!" you point.

George sets the cake down on his desk and crosses his arms once he's besides you, "nah. There's only one person in the family as good looking as me," he turns to the photograph, "that's my twin brother, Fred."

"Oh," you turn to him, taken off guard by how close he was, "is..." you casually take a step back, "he around?"

"Yeah," he shrugs, "probably showing the customers how to use the thingamabobs."

You chuckle and nod, "well," you motion vaguely, "I know you're very busy, so I won't take any more of your time."

The man tilts his head, lips curled into an soft grin as he shrugs, "you don't hear me complaining, love."

You aimlessly look off to steel away the giggle that threatened to leave your lips, "right," you clear your throat, "ehhh, do tell me if the cake is to you—"

Before you can even finish your thought, George is back at his desk. He swipes a dollop of frosting and tastes it.

"—r... liking."

He raises his brows as he nods, "it's to my liking."

The both of you just stand there for a moment, staring at each other. You're now rather painfully aware of your breathing.

You start when the office door bangs open and a near exact replica of George comes walking in, "you would not believe what just—"

George's eyes are on you as you turn to his twin. You raise your hand, "hi... I'm-" you point to nowhere, "-the baker next door."

He turns to George, then back to you, reaching out his left hand, "Fred Weasley."

You smile and shake his hand, speaking your name in return.

"Hey!" George walks over, reaching out a hand, "I didn't get a handshake!"

You turn to George and his outstretched left hand, about to shake it, but Fred does not release you, and only turns to his twin.

"Fred-"

"I'm not done."

George watches Fred shake your hand, "well that's more than enough."

"Not really," Fred shrugs.

You chuckle softly, making them turn to you. You then offer your other hand to George, crossing your arm over the other, "here."

George looks at it and takes it with his right one. The three of your shake each other's hands for a questionably long time.

When you're finally released, you hold back a laugh and rub your palms on the side of your hips, "right... it was a pleasure to meet you both."

They nod in sync, "the pleasure is ours."

You giggle and raise a hand in regard, "come by my shop sometimes."

They wave back at you as you head for the door.

"I'll make you both a cuppa."

They smile as you exit their office. Once you were gone, the brothers instantly turn to each other.

Fred says, "she's cute."

"Yeah, I saw her first," George counters.

"Pfft, so what?"

"So, everything."

Meeting them was so... notable, that you thought about it the entire day. You found yourself giggling about the handshake for the nth time as you closed up, and right after you heard the door click, you whip your head back in realization that you'd left your bag in the counter, along with your keys.

You shake the doorknob, trying to will the door open, though you knew it was pointless, "no, no, no, NO!"

You step back and stare at the windows of your shop. You ruffle your hair and huff as you debate how bad the idea of breaking the glass with the rock would be.

You stare that your sign that read Sweets & Sweeties, feeling taunted by it so suddenly, and then you remember you forgot another thing. The window on the rooftop was surely open from when you opened it to let out some steam. What's more, it looked like it was about to rain!

"Oh," you groan and wrap your arms around yourself, "thank goodness I left my brolly too."

You crouch in front of your unlit shop, feeling rather helpless.

You hear a bell ring and turn to the shop next door. Out comes George and Fred, much wiser than you, with their brollies and suitcases in hand. They call your name in unison and you sigh as you come to stand.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" one of them says.

You freeze at the pet name, and he seems to catch on. He points upward, "sweetie."

You turn to your sign and feel bashful. You awkwardly chuckle, "right, I-"

"You alright?" another asks.

You look between them, "yeah," and shake your head, "no, ehhh, sorry... I... which is," you point in confusion, "which?"

"George," the one to your right raises a hand.

"Fred," the one to your left raises a hand.

"Right," you lower your head as you shake it, "sorry, I don't-"

"You'll get used to it," they say in unison.

You huff as you look back at them, both of their lips are pursed, "right..." you turn to your shop and point, "I, eh... locked myself out."

They turn to where you did.

"And I left my bag..."

They turn back to you.

"And my keys."

They make a face.

"And my brolly," you turn to you feet for a moment, "and the window in my roof open."

"Oooh," they say at once. George bares his teeth, "bad luck."

"And," Fred adds, looking up, "it looks like it's about to rain."

"I know!" you gasp, placing your hands on both sides of your head.

For a moment, the three of you stand there, soaking in your misfortune. A moment later, George turns to his brother and says, "hang on."

Fred turns to him.

"Don't we have a window in the roof, Fred?"

Fred turns to you, "that we do, George."

George turns to you too, "how are you with heights?"

"Ehhh..." your lips part, "....fine?"

With that, the twins head to the entrance of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, beckoning you over. They reopen the lights, leave their things by the door, and lead you upstairs.

"Now," George (you think) says, "I'd like to think our roof's pretty sturdy, but," he pulls out wand from his coat jacket, "I can always do a good ol' Levioso if anything goes awry."

You are comforted by the thought and nod as you make your way up. When you get to the top, you see a singular tiny window by the side of the roof and you momentarily wonder if this was a good idea.

"D'ya know what," George (you think) says, turning to his brother, "you should go down and watch her as she crosses, so in case anything happens," he points, "you can make sure she doesn't fall."

Fred (you think) shakes his head, "why me?"

"Because it was my idea to cast Levioso, Fred," George (you were right) retorts.

"Then you go down!" Fred whines.

"I'm not going down," he crosses his arms, "I just got here."

"Yeah, so did I—"

"SCISSORS, PAPER, ROCK!"

You watch to the instant match the twins have, finding one rock and scissors at hand. George grins, raising his winning fist. Fred rolls his eyes and sighs. He turns to you before going down.

George smiles and motions with his head, "come on then, I'll help you up."

He drags a box towards the window and reaches a hand out to you. You take his hand and step up, then reach for the sides of the window, pulling yourself up to get on the roof. You are glad their window was right in front of yours and that it wasn't a far walk at all.

Fred, who just got outside, catches his breath before cupping the sides of his mouth, "careful!"

You turn to him from below and call back, "trying!"

George watches you closely as you cross to the other side. He probably shouldn't think the wobble of your limbs endearing, but he does. The moment reach your window, he claps, "aye!"

You are quick to jump down, grunting as you do so. You turn around and smile at George who was already smiling back at you. He raises his hands, "you did it, sweetie!"

"I did, wheezing wizard!"

"Well," he tilts his head, "it's Wizard Wheezes but..." he shrugs, "you can just call me Georgie."

You raise your brows.

"I- I mean George."

You chuckle and purse your lips as you shake your head, "too late, Georgie."

"Now, hold on-"

"See you downstairs, Georgie!" you give a toothy grin as you close your window. You bite your lip and giggle to yourself for a moment, "cutie."

Georgie clenches his jaw as he stares the window. He sighs and kicks the box away before closing it, "damn."

[mywhisperingwords]

never will be | fred g. weasley

summary: if one more person called fred your boyfriend, you were going to hex them—and then probably yourself for wishing it were true word count: 5.8k masterlist

“Seriously, though,” Angelina said, leaning against the Gryffindor common room sofa with a sly grin, “when are you two finally going to admit it?”

“Admit what?” Fred asked, looking up from the deck of Exploding Snap cards he was shuffling.

“That you’re dating,” George chimed in from across the room, tossing a chocolate frog wrapper into the fire.

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “For the hundredth time, we’re not dating.”

“Not yet, at least,” Angelina muttered, smirking at you.

Fred laughed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Don’t listen to them. They’re just bored and trying to start drama.”

George snorted. “Says the bloke who can’t go two hours without dragging her off to help with one of his pranks.”

“That’s because she’s got steady hands,” Fred argued, flashing you a grin that made your stomach flip. “Best partner-in-crime I could ask for.”

“Mm-hmm,” George said, exchanging a knowing look with Angelina.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks but forced a casual laugh. “Exactly. Partners-in-crime. Nothing more.”

Fred’s grin widened, oblivious to the way your voice faltered on the last words.

Later that evening, as you sat in your usual spot in the common room, Fred plopped down beside you, his long legs stretching out in front of him.

George and Angelina had finally left you alone, their laughter about your so-called “relationship” fading into the background.

Fred tossed a bright green bean into the air, catching it in his mouth. “Honestly, they’re relentless. Next thing you know, they’ll be planning our wedding.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, definitely. George would insist on fireworks during the vows.”

“And Angelina would probably hex the cake to explode in my face,” Fred added, grinning.

“Not that you wouldn’t deserve it,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

Fred gasped dramatically. “Me? Deserve it? Please, I’d be the perfect groom. You, on the other hand…”

You raised an eyebrow. “What about me?”

Fred smirked, leaning back in his chair. “You’d probably spend the entire ceremony arguing with me about the flowers or the seating arrangements.”

“Only because you’d insist on something ridiculous, like having a Quidditch match instead of a reception,” you shot back, laughing.

“See? Proves my point,” Fred said, throwing another bean into his mouth.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips. The conversation was silly, but it sent a pang through your chest all the same. For a moment, you wondered—what if it weren’t so ridiculous? What if you weren’t just friends?

“Guess it’s a good thing we’d never actually be a couple,” you said lightly, testing the waters.

Fred snorted, not catching the slight hesitation in your voice. “You’ve got that right. Can you imagine? We’d probably kill each other within a week.”

Your smile faltered for a split second, but you quickly recovered, laughing along with him. “True. It would be a disaster.”

“An entertaining one, though,” Fred added, grinning at you.

You laughed again, but the ache in your chest lingered as his words played over in your mind. A disaster.

Fred, oblivious, tossed the box of beans onto the table and stretched his arms over his head. “Anyway, who needs all that relationship nonsense? We’re better off just being us.”

“Right,” you said softly, your smile not quite reaching your eyes. “Just us.”

But as you watched Fred lean back, his expression carefree and content, you made a silent decision.

It was time to stop hoping for something that would never happen. It was time to move on.

A couple days later, Fred dropped into the seat next to you in the common room, his typical big grin directed at you. “Fancy sneaking out to the kitchens? I was thinking a snack, but maybe we could even go for a full-course meal if the house-elves are feeling generous.”

You didn’t look up from your book, keeping your voice steady. “Can’t. I’ve got plans tonight.”

Fred tilted his head, frowning. “Plans? With who?”

“Just plans,” you said vaguely, flipping a page.

Fred narrowed his eyes, studying you for a moment, but you didn’t elaborate. Eventually, he shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Your loss. More food for me.”

You hummed noncommittally, keeping your gaze fixed on the words in front of you.

Later that evening, Fred was sprawled on the sofa near the fire, George and Lee arguing over a card game beside him. Angelina sauntered in, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail.

“Oi, Ang,” Fred called, waving her over. “What’s she up to tonight?”

Angelina raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“You know who. She said she had plans.”

Angelina hesitated for half a second before smirking. “She’s got a date.”

Fred blinked, the words not registering immediately. “A date?”

“Yeah,” Angelina said, sitting on the arm of the sofa. “With that bloke from Ravenclaw—what’s his name? Aaron? Aiden?”

“Andrew,” George supplied helpfully, grinning.

“Right. Andrew,” Angelina said, crossing her arms. “Apparently, he’s been asking her out for ages, and she finally said yes.”

Fred frowned, a strange tightness forming in his chest. “Huh.”

George glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Something wrong, Fred?”

“No,” Fred said quickly, shaking his head. “Why would there be?”

George exchanged a look with Lee, who raised an amused eyebrow. But neither of them said anything, much to Fred’s relief.

Meanwhile you were trying your best to focus on Andrew as he told you about his latest Quidditch practice. He was charming, handsome, and undeniably kind. Exactly the type of person you should be going out with.

But as much as you tried to stay engaged, your mind kept wandering. His laugh wasn’t quite as infectious. His jokes weren’t quite as sharp. And when he leaned in slightly to brush his hand against yours, your chest didn’t flutter the way you wanted it to.

You forced a smile, reminding yourself why you were here. Andrew had always been good to you, and after Fred’s clear rejection, it was time to stop holding onto something that wasn’t going to happen.

“Are you alright?” Andrew asked, his voice soft as he studied your face.

“Yes,” you said quickly, sitting up straighter. “Sorry, just a bit distracted. It’s been a long week.”

Andrew smiled, his eyes warm. “I get it. I’m glad you said yes, though. I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

You felt a pang of guilt but managed another smile. “Me too.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. Andrew deserved a chance, and you were determined to give it to him.

Still, as the evening wore on, you couldn’t help but wonder what Fred was doing. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the thought that you wished he were sitting across from you instead.

You had done your best to steer clear of Fred over the past few days. You weren’t sure why, if someone dared to ask. Maybe you wanted to avoid telling him about your date or maybe talking to Fred would force you to acknowledge that moving on was harder than you thought.

It wasn’t easy, avoiding Fred, considering he had a knack for showing up everywhere you didn’t want him to be.

And, naturally, today was no exception.

“Oi!” Fred’s voice rang out from behind you as you made your way down the hallway after class. “Wait up!”

You considered pretending not to hear him, but the sound of his footsteps catching up told you there was no escaping this time.

“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside you. His usual grin was in place, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “Haven’t seen much of you lately. Been avoiding me or something?”

You gave a half-hearted laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. Just… busy.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Busy with what? Or should I say who?”

Your stomach twisted at the question, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Angelina mentioned you went on a date,” Fred said, his tone light and teasing, though his eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. “Figured you’d be too busy swooning over this Andrew bloke to hang out with your real friends.”

You rolled your eyes, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. “It was just a date, Fred. No swooning involved.”

Fred tilted his head, studying you. “Come on. Spill. What’s he like? Is he as funny as me? Doubt it.”

You hesitated, your heart hammering as you searched his face for any hint of jealousy, any sign that this conversation bothered him. But Fred’s grin was firmly in place, his tone casual and carefree.

“He’s nice,” you said finally, keeping your voice even. “Really nice.”

Fred’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments before returning. “Nice, huh? That’s a glowing review.”

You shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. “What else do you want me to say?”

“I dunno,” Fred said, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe that he’s secretly boring or has terrible taste in music. Something I can mock him for.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, but it quickly faded as the tension in your chest tightened.

Fred shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Well, if he’s so bloody great, maybe we should invite him to hang out with us sometime.”

Your head snapped toward him, your eyes narrowing. “Are you serious?”

Fred shrugged, his grin turning lopsided. “Why not? He could use a proper Weasley test. See if he can keep up.”

You shook your head, muttering under your breath. “You’re impossible.”

Fred watched you closely, his grin slipping just enough to reveal the confusion beneath it. He didn’t know why the thought of you with Andrew left a sour taste in his mouth, but he was determined to ignore it.

Maybe it was just because he didn’t know the guy. Or because he didn’t want to lose his favorite partner-in-crime to some bloke from Ravenclaw. That had to be it.

Definitely not because he cared more than he should.

&

The common room buzzed with its usual post-dinner chaos. Fred was in his element, loudly challenging George to an Exploding Snap rematch after a questionable loss earlier, when you walked in with Andrew.

Fred’s laughter faltered for half a second, but he quickly covered it up with a grin. “Well, well, look who decided to join us. Ravenclaw royalty.”

“Hi, Fred,” you said, your voice neutral but carrying an edge of warning.

Andrew smiled politely, clearly unfazed. “Hey. I thought I’d take you up on your offer to hang out.”

“Brave of you,” Fred quipped, gesturing to the chaos around him. “We’re not exactly Ravenclaw standards of refined.”

Andrew chuckled. “I can handle it.”

George appeared beside Fred, grinning broadly. “Andrew, right? You’re the Quidditch guy. Chaser, yeah?”

“That’s me,” Andrew said, looking pleasantly surprised.

“Always nice to have another flyer in the group,” George said, clapping him on the back. “Ignore Fred if he gets too annoying.”

“Oi!” Fred protested, but George was already leading Andrew to the sofa, chatting about brooms and game strategies.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Play nice,” you muttered as you passed Fred, taking a seat near Angelina and Lee.

Fred watched as Andrew settled into the group, answering questions and laughing at everyone’s jokes with ease. His jaw tightened when Angelina leaned over to whisper, “He’s charming, isn’t he?”

“Sure,” Fred said, his voice flat.

An hour later, everyone seemed to be getting along swimmingly—except Fred.

He wasn’t outright rude to Andrew, but his usual teasing had a sharper edge tonight. Every time Andrew spoke, Fred had a quick quip or an exaggerated eye roll.

When Andrew mentioned his house winning the latest match, Fred chimed in with, “Ravenclaw’s strategy, isn’t it? Win the game, lose the fun.”

George elbowed Fred, but Andrew only laughed. “We take Quidditch seriously. Some of us, at least.”

Fred grinned tightly. “Right. Because fun has no place in sports.”

“Okay,” you interjected, cutting through the growing tension. “Who wants snacks? I’ll get some from the kitchens.”

“I’ll help,” Andrew offered, standing up.

You hesitated, glancing briefly at Fred before nodding. “Sure. Let’s go.”

After you and Andrew left the common room, Fred slumped back into his chair, muttering something under his breath.

“What’s your problem?” George asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Problem? I don’t have a problem,” Fred said quickly.

“Sure you don’t,” Angelina said, smirking as she leaned against the armrest. “You’re only acting like a jealous git.”

Fred scoffed. “Jealous? Please. I just think he’s boring.”

George chuckled. “Yeah, he’s awful. Friendly, charming, loves Quidditch—how dare he?”

Fred scowled but didn’t reply, his gaze fixed on the door you’d just walked through.

When you and Andrew returned, the evening had mostly calmed down. Fred kept to himself, though his eyes followed you whenever you weren’t looking.

As the group began to disband for the night, Andrew turned to you, his smile warm and easy. “I had a great time the other night. Do you think you’d want to do it again? Soon?”

Fred’s head snapped up at Andrew’s words, but he quickly looked away, pretending to fidget with his deck of cards.

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to Fred for just a moment. His usual grin was gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and averted eyes. Ignoring him and the little voice in the back of your mind, you turned back to Andrew.

“Sure,” you said with a smile. “I’d like that.”

Andrew’s grin widened. “Great. I’ll find you tomorrow to figure out the details.”

You nodded, and as Andrew left, you glanced back at Fred one last time. He was shuffling his cards with unnecessary force, avoiding your gaze entirely. Weird.

Over the next couple of weeks, your relationship with Andrew began to take shape. Slowly but surely, he worked his way into your life.

He wasn’t overly pushy or demanding, which you appreciated, and he had a way of making you laugh—though not quite as effortlessly as Fred could.

Still, it felt nice to have someone show genuine interest in you, even if the spark you were hoping for wasn’t quite there yet.

Of course, Andrew didn’t just win you over—he charmed everyone.

“Well, he’s bloody polite,” George said one evening after Andrew left the common room. “And he brought snacks. Can’t argue with that.”

Angelina nodded in agreement. “He’s sweet. You picked a good one.”

“Of course she did,” Fred muttered, slumping lower in his chair.

Lee gave Fred a side-eye. “You alright, mate? You’ve been acting off lately.”

“I’m fine,” Fred said quickly, grabbing a deck of cards and shuffling them with unnecessary vigor. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Lee raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further.

The thing was, Fred wasn’t fine.

He didn’t know what it was about Andrew that rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was how the bloke always seemed to be around now, sitting beside you in the common room or leaning in too close when you laughed at one of his jokes.

Fred told himself it was just the newness of it all. You’d always been his person—his partner-in-crime, his go-to for pranks, his late-night snack accomplice. And now Andrew was stealing you away.

It was irritating.

But Fred wasn’t jealous. Definitely not.

One afternoon, the group decided to head down to the lake to take advantage of the rare sunny weather.

Andrew and George carried the food, Angelina and Lee brought the blankets, and you walked ahead with Fred, your pace slowing as you chatted.

“So,” Fred said casually, kicking a stone along the path, “how’s Prince Charming?”

You gave him a look. “He has a name, you know.”

“Right. Andy.”

“Andrew,” you corrected, rolling your eyes.

“Same thing,” Fred said with a shrug.

You sighed. “He’s fine. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Fred said, though his tone was anything but casual. “Just wondering how long he plans to stick around.”

“Why? You planning to scare him off?” you asked, your voice teasing but laced with curiosity.

Fred grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Before you could respond, Andrew called your name from behind, jogging to catch up with you.

Fred fell silent, his jaw tightening as Andrew slipped into step beside you, his hand brushing yours as he walked.

By the time you reached the lake, Fred was thoroughly annoyed.

As everyone settled on the blankets, Andrew took the spot beside you, leaning close to whisper something that made you laugh. Fred sat across from you, stabbing at his sandwich with unnecessary force.

“You alright there, Fred?” Angelina asked, nudging him with her foot.

“Fine,” Fred said tightly, taking an aggressive bite.

George smirked. “You know, for someone who doesn’t care, you’re awfully bothered.”

Fred glared at his twin but said nothing.

As the sun began to set, Andrew offered to walk you back to the castle, and you accepted with a smile. Fred watched the two of you leave, his chest tightening as your laughter faded into the distance.

“Mate,” George said, clapping Fred on the shoulder. “You’ve got it bad.”

Fred scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” George said with a knowing grin.

If there was one thing Fred Weasley prided himself on, it was his ability to remain unshakable. Cool under pressure. Steady in the face of chaos.

Except, apparently, when Andrew was around.

“I’m just saying,” Fred declared loudly, leaning back in his chair with the kind of dramatic flair that immediately drew everyone’s attention, “no one is that nice. It’s suspicious.”

“Suspicious?” Angelina repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Absolutely,” Fred said, gesturing wildly as if this were common knowledge. “No one can laugh at every single joke. Even George’s bad ones.”

“Oi!” George protested, though he was grinning. “My jokes are masterpieces.”

Andrew, seated comfortably next to you, chuckled. “I don’t know, George. That one about the Blast-Ended Skrewts last week was a bit of a stretch.”

Fred’s eyes narrowed. “See? Right there. He’s even polite when he’s being critical. Who does that?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. “Fred, are you really mad because Andrew is nice?”

“I’m not mad!” Fred insisted, though his tone suggested otherwise. “I’m just… observant. He’s too nice. It’s unnatural.”

“Fred,” Lee said, struggling to keep a straight face, “I think you might be allergic to decent human behavior.”

The group erupted in laughter, and for a moment, even you couldn’t hide your amusement. But Fred wasn’t done yet.

“Mark my words,” Fred continued, pointing dramatically at Andrew, “this whole ‘charming and perfect’ act is going to crack one day. And when it does—”

Andrew held up his hands, laughing lightly. “Alright, you’ve got me. I’ll admit it: I burned toast once. Twice, actually. Sometimes I even leave the cap off the toothpaste.”

“Oh, the horror,” Lee said, clutching his chest mockingly. “Fred, are you sure we’re safe in his presence?”

Fred scowled, muttering something under his breath.

You shot him a look, your patience wearing thin. “Fred, if you’re so bothered by something, maybe you should do something about it.”

Fred blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in your tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrugged, standing to grab a glass of water. “Exactly what it sounds like.”

Fred watched you leave the room, the weight of your words settling uncomfortably in his chest.

“What’s her problem?” he muttered, glancing at the others.

Angelina snorted. “You’re joking, right?”

Fred frowned. “What?”

George exchanged a look with Lee, barely containing his laughter. “Oh, nothing,” George said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with you acting like a jealous prat every time Andrew breathes in her direction.”

“I’m not jealous!” Fred shot back, his voice a little too loud.

“Sure you’re not,” Lee said, patting him on the shoulder.

Angelina leaned forward, her smirk practically glowing. “Fred, has it ever occurred to you that you’re not mad at Andrew? You’re mad because he’s with her, and you’re not.”

Fred opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. He shut it again, glaring at the lot of them as they burst into laughter.

“Honestly,” George said, shaking his head. “I’ve seen Blast-Ended Skrewts with more self-awareness.”

Fred groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You’re all useless,” he muttered.

“Hey, we’re just here to point out the obvious,” Lee said with a grin. “The rest is up to you, lover boy.”

&

The Three Broomsticks was warm and bustling with chatter, the kind of lively atmosphere that could distract anyone from their troubles.

Fred leaned back in his chair, nursing a mug of butterbeer, and let the noise wash over him.

It had been weeks since he’d felt this at ease. For once, he wasn’t thinking about Andrew or the way he seemed to occupy every spare moment of your time.

Because, for the first time in a long while, it was just the group—George, Lee, Angelina, you, and him—laughing, joking, and bickering like always. And with you sitting across from him, grinning over the rim of your butterbeer as you teased George about his latest failed prank, Fred felt… content.

Comfortable. Like everything was back to normal.

But then the door to the pub opened, letting in a gust of cold air and a familiar figure.

Fred’s stomach twisted the moment he saw Andrew.

“Hey, everyone,” Andrew said, his smile easy and confident as he approached the table.

Fred tried to focus on his drink, on George cracking a joke, on literally anything else—but then Andrew leaned down, his hand brushing your shoulder, and kissed you.

It wasn’t long, just a brief, casual kiss on the lips, but it might as well have been a Bludger to Fred’s chest.

The laughter at the table carried on, the others welcoming Andrew like they always did, but Fred barely heard a word. His mind was spinning, his heart racing, and for the first time, he couldn’t keep up the denial.

It wasn’t just irritation. It wasn’t just protectiveness.

It was jealousy.

Pure, undeniable jealousy.

And it wasn’t just because Andrew had you—it was because Fred wanted you.

The realization hit him like a brick wall. Every time you laughed at Andrew’s jokes, every time you brushed his hand with yours, every time you smiled at him with that soft, affectionate look in your eyes—it burned.

Because Fred wanted to be the one making you laugh, holding your hand, earning your smiles.

But it wasn’t him. And now, sitting here, watching Andrew slide into the seat beside you, his arm draped casually over the back of your chair, Fred finally understood why it hurt so much.

&

Fred paced the length of the Gryffindor common room like a man possessed, his hands raking through his hair as George, Angelina, and Lee lounged on the sofa, watching with varying degrees of amusement.

“She kissed him,” Fred muttered for the fiftieth time, his voice tinged with both disbelief and frustration.

“Yes, Fred,” Angelina said patiently, not bothering to hide her smirk. “We were all there. You don’t need to recap.”

“But—” Fred turned on his heel, his expression wild. “How did I not see it before? How did none of you tell me?”

George snorted. “Mate, we’ve been dropping hints for years. You’re just thick.”

“Excuse me?” Fred stopped pacing long enough to glare at his twin.

Lee chimed in, grinning. “He’s right, you know. It’s been painfully obvious to everyone but you. Honestly, we were starting to think you’d never figure it out.”

Fred groaned, collapsing into a chair and burying his face in his hands. “What am I supposed to do now? She’s happy with Andrew. I can’t just…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You could do nothing,” Angelina suggested, crossing her arms. “Let her be happy. Maybe keep your mouth shut for once in your life.”

Fred glared at her. “Thanks for the support, Ang. Really helpful.”

“I’m just saying,” Angelina continued, shrugging. “If you care about her, maybe you don’t ruin things for her. It’s not about you, Fred.”

George tilted his head. “Or—and hear me out—you could tell her how you feel and let her decide.”

Lee grinned. “Or—and this is my favorite option—you stage an elaborate prank to scare off Andrew, then swoop in as the knight in shining armor.”

Fred groaned again, throwing his head back against the chair. “You’re all useless.”

“Hey, I’m giving you options,” Lee said defensively.

“Yeah,” George added. “And Angelina’s just saying what she’d do if she were you. Personally, I think you should grow a pair and tell her the truth.”

Fred shot him a look. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Angelina said, her tone softer now. “But you’ve got to figure it out, Fred. Otherwise, you’re just going to keep driving yourself—and the rest of us—mad.”

The sound of the portrait hole opening drew their attention, and there you were, stepping inside with your bag slung over one shoulder and a slight frown on your face.

Fred’s heart skipped a beat, and he immediately sat up straighter, trying to look normal—which, of course, only made him look even more suspicious.

“Everything okay?” you asked, glancing between the group and Fred’s suspiciously guilty expression.

“Fine!” Fred said quickly, his voice a little too loud.

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t push, instead walking over to your usual spot by the fire. You dropped your bag on the floor and pulled out a stack of parchment, rifling through it with a small, frustrated sigh.

Fred couldn’t take his eyes off you. It wasn’t anything special—just you being you—but the way your hair caught the firelight, the tiny furrow in your brow as you concentrated, the way you bit your lip when something didn’t go right…

In that moment, Fred knew.

Knew that no one else would ever make him feel the way you did. Knew that no one else would ever measure up to you. Knew that he couldn’t keep this to himself anymore.

Now he just had to figure out how to tell you.

“Merlin, he’s gone,” George muttered, nudging Angelina. “Look at him.”

Fred ignored them, his mind racing as he tried to think of something—anything—to say. But for once in his life, words failed him.

Fred had never been one to overthink things. Usually, he went with his gut, said whatever was on his mind, and dealt with the consequences later. But when it came to you, every plan he came up with seemed doomed from the start.

The first time he tried, it was on the way to Charms. He’d spotted you walking ahead, your bag slung over one shoulder and your hair bouncing as you moved. His heart did that stupid thing where it sped up, and before he could stop himself, he called your name.

“Hey,” you said, slowing to let him catch up.

“Hey,” he replied, suddenly feeling like his tongue had turned to lead.

You smiled at him, that warm, easy smile that made his chest ache. “What’s up?”

Fred opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, Andrew appeared from the other direction.

“There you are,” Andrew said, grinning as he slipped an arm around your waist.

Fred’s jaw clenched, but he forced a smile. “Right. See you in class,” he mumbled, walking off before either of you could reply.

The second attempt came during a group study session in the library.

Fred had been unusually quiet, his eyes darting to you every few seconds. You were sitting across from him, absently twirling your quill as you read over your notes.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, leaning forward.

You looked up, tilting your head. “Yeah?”

“I—”

“Shh!” Madam Pince hissed from across the room, glaring at Fred like he’d just set one of her precious books on fire.

Fred sighed, leaning back in his chair as George smirked beside him. “Smooth,” George muttered under his breath.

The third time wasn’t even his fault.

He’d waited until you were alone in the common room, curled up in your usual chair by the fire. It was late, and most of the others had gone to bed, leaving the room quiet and cozy.

Fred took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he approached. “Hey, can we talk?”

You looked up at him, your expression soft but curious. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Fred hesitated, the words hanging on the tip of his tongue. This was it. He just had to say it.

But before he could, Lee burst into the room, laughing loudly about something George had apparently done. The noise startled both of you, and whatever fragile moment had been building between you vanished in an instant.

Fred sighed, watching as you smiled politely at Lee’s antics before heading upstairs to your dorm.

Meanwhile, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Andrew was as kind and attentive as ever, but your heart wasn’t fully in it. You caught yourself zoning out during conversations, your mind drifting to memories of late-night laughs and pranks with Fred.

Andrew noticed.

“You’ve been a bit distant lately,” he said one evening as you sat together by the lake. His tone was calm but serious, his eyes searching yours.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, though you weren’t sure what you were apologizing for.

Andrew smiled faintly, shaking his head. “We should talk. Really talk.”

You nodded, your stomach twisting with unease and the underlying feeling of already knowing what was about to come.

&

The rain fell steadily, soaking through your cloak and chilling you to the bone, but you didn’t care. After your conversation with Andrew, you’d needed space to think, to feel, to breathe.

That was why you stayed in the same spot he left you in, even when it began to pour.

But tonight, the storm wasn’t just inside.

The sound of footsteps on the dock pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to see Fred, his red hair plastered to his forehead and water dripping from his clothes.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice carrying over the rain.

Fred shoved his hands into his pockets, looking equal parts frustrated and relieved. “I could ask you the same thing.”

You shrugged, turning your gaze back to the water. “Needed to think.”

Fred hesitated, then stepped closer, the wood creaking under his weight. “And you couldn’t think inside? Where it’s dry?”

You huffed a laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Guess not.”

An awkward silence stretched between you as the rain continued to fall. Fred shifted on his feet, clearly trying to work up the courage to say something.

He hadn’t planned this, hadn’t thought through what he wanted to say.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he blurted finally, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “You’re out here in the rain, and I’m the idiot who followed you, and… Merlin, I don’t even know where to start.”

You raised an eyebrow, your expression guarded. “Then don’t.”

Fred shook his head. “No, I have to. Because—because you drive me mad. You’re all I can think about, and it’s infuriating because I don’t even know when it started, but it’s just… there. All the time.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his voice.

“You know, Andrew is… perfect, really. Kind, understanding. Says all the right things. And he’s right. He’s everything I should want.”

Fred’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice steady. “If he’s so perfect, then why are you out here? With me?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and you blinked, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.

“Why, if Andrew’s so perfect, are you standing out here in the rain with me instead of him?” Fred pressed, his voice soft but insistent.

Your chest ached, and before you could stop yourself, the truth spilled out. “Because he’s not you, Fred! He never was.”

Fred stared at you, his breath hitching as your words sank in.

You laughed bitterly, swiping at your wet face. “Andrew is kind and caring and everything I should want. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s not you. And that’s why we ended things. He knows he’s not the one I want to be with.”

Fred didn’t move for a moment, as though your words had stunned him. His wide eyes searched yours, raindrops slipping down his face, mingling with the uncertainty you saw flicker there.

But then, something shifted. Determination sparked in his gaze, and in one swift motion, he stepped forward, closing the distance between you. His hands, rough yet gentle, cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your rain-damp cheeks.

The kiss came like a thunderclap—fierce, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. His lips claimed yours with a desperation that stole the breath from your lungs, as though this was the only way he could make you understand everything he couldn’t say.

The rain blurred everything around you—the trees, the lake, the world itself—but Fred’s warmth anchored you. His hands trembled slightly against your skin, betraying the vulnerability beneath his boldness.

A soft gasp escaped you as your fingers curled into the fabric of his soaked shirt, pulling him closer instinctively. The rain had drenched you both, but Fred’s heat seeped through the layers, making you feel like nothing else mattered.

His lips moved against yours, earnest and unrelenting, as though he feared you might slip away if he didn’t hold on tightly enough. And yet, there was no demand in his kiss, only a raw, aching need that left you dizzy.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, Fred rested his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. His hands stayed on your face, as if letting go would break the fragile moment between you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but firm, his thumb brushing away the rain—or was it a tear?—from your cheek. “Forgive me?”

The rain continued to fall, cold and relentless, but it didn’t matter. Fred’s eyes searched yours, unguarded and full of something that made your chest ache.

“Always,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute.

Fred’s lips curved into the faintest smile before he kissed you again, softer this time but no less consuming.

From a distance, George and Lee watched from the cover of a nearby tree, Angelina holding an umbrella over them with a triumphant smirk.

“Told you,” George said smugly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lee muttered, crossing his arms, but not before handing George the bag. “I still say it’s weird to bet on your brother’s love life.”

“Not when it’s this predictable,” Angelina chimed in, snatching a Galleon from the bag. “You’re welcome, by the way. I made this happen.”

“You did nothing,” George said, rolling his eyes. “They’re just idiots. Idiots in love.”

[starksweasley]

Gravity // Remus Lupin

Summary: In which Remus is jealous (slight angst, fluff)

Word Count: 1243

The Gryffindor common room buzzed with laughter and the mellow warmth of firewhiskey. James had one arm slung around Sirius’s shoulders and the other around yours, his messy black hair flopping into his face as he laughed uncontrollably at one of Sirius’s jokes. Across from you, Lily’s green eyes sparkled as she leaned forward, recounting a  tale from Potions class, while Peter, perched on the armrest of a chair, blushed at her playful teasing.

You caught Remus’s eyes from across the room. He was reclined in his usual spot, legs stretched out, a soft smile playing on his lips. But there was something else in his gaze—something that burned brighter than the fire crackling in the hearth. That look wasn’t for the group. It was for you, only you. For months now, those glances had spoken louder than words. They’d said everything he tried so hard to deny.

It was a dangerous game, the one you played with him. Secret meetings, whispered promises, kisses that left you breathless and aching for more—and then the inevitable, his anguished voice pulling you back to reality. “We can’t do this,” he’d say, guilt clouding his honey-colored eyes. “I can’t risk hurting you.” Yet here you were, caught in a relentless cycle, tethered to him by something neither of you could control.

Lily’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “So,” she began, her tone light and teasing, “that Slytherin boy in Potions—what’s his name again? Avery? He’s been staring at you like you’re Amortentia. Are you going to say yes if he asks you out?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Not a chance. I’d rather kiss the Giant Squid.”

James let out a loud guffaw, and Sirius raised his glass in mock salute. “Good taste, love. That Slytherin’s a jerk.”

But your laughter caught in your throat when you saw Remus. His jaw clenched, his knuckles white against the arm of the couch. He quickly averted his gaze, staring into the flames as though they might temper the storm brewing inside him. You’d seen this look before. The quiet possessiveness he tried to hide. It sent your heart racing.

Eventually, the group began to drift apart. James slung an arm around Sirius as they stumbled toward the boys’ dormitory, still laughing. Lily bade you goodnight with a knowing smile, and Peter yawned his way upstairs. Left alone, you lingered for a moment, watching the embers glow. Then, with a sigh, you headed toward your dormitory. Or at least, that was the plan.

The castle was quiet as you wandered the corridors, the cool air brushing your skin like a whisper of the night. You’d detoured for a glass of water, your footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stone walls. But as you turned a corner, a hand caught your wrist and yanked you into the shadows with a force that sent your heart racing. Your back hit the wall, the cool stone biting through your jumper, and before you could react, his lips were on yours.

“Remus,” you gasped against his mouth, the word barely audible, lost in the intensity of his kiss. His hands found your waist, strong and unyielding, fingers digging into your hips as though he needed to anchor himself to you. His kiss was searing, desperate—like he was pouring every unspoken word, every buried feeling, into this moment. His teeth grazed your lower lip, a low growl escaping his throat, and your knees nearly gave way beneath you. Possessive. Wild. Devastating.

When he finally pulled back, his  eyes locked onto yours, ablaze with a fire that made your breath hitch. His chest heaved with the effort of restraint, and yet his hands stayed firm on your waist, refusing to let you go. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke, the silence between you crackling with unspoken desire and frustration. The world outside seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you in this charged, stolen moment.

“What the hell, Remus?” you whispered, your voice trembling but your tone firm. “What’s this about?”

“Do you think I didn’t notice?” he growled, his voice low and rough. “That prat in Potions looking at you like you’re something he could just… have?” His fingers tightened on your waist, nails digging into your skin. “You’re mine.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, but you rolled your eyes, though your cheeks burned. “Oh, really?” you hissed. “You’re allowed to act like this, but then you tell me we can’t be together? Stop telling me we can’t do this and then pulling shit like this, Remus!”

He exhaled sharply, stepping back and running a hand through his hair, his fingers tugging at the roots as if trying to wrangle his thoughts into submission. His eyes darted away for a moment, but they quickly returned to you, filled with a vulnerability that made your chest ache. “I’m a big, stupid idiot,” he muttered, his voice breaking slightly. “I know I am. But I can’t stay away from you. And I… I can’t stop thinking about what might happen if I hurt you.” His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his fears.

Your resolve softened, the tension in your shoulders easing, but you refused to let him off the hook so easily. “You’re not going to hurt me,” you said, stepping closer, your voice steady despite the rapid thrum of your heart. Your hands brushed against his, daring to close the distance. “But you can’t keep breaking my heart like this, Remus. Either we’re together, or we’re not. No more in-between.”

His gaze locked onto yours, searching, pleading, his expression torn between hope and fear. He opened his mouth as if to speak but hesitated, his throat working against the words. Finally, he exhaled, his shoulders slumping. “I want to be with you,” he admitted, his voice so quiet it was nearly lost to the silence. “Even if it scares me. Even if it’s selfish and stupid. I want you. Only you.”

The confession sent a rush of warmth through you, your heart swelling until it felt too big for your chest. Slowly, deliberately, you reached up and cupped his face, marveling at how beautiful he looked in the dim light. His features were alight, the sharp planes of his cheekbones softened by the look in his eyes, those molten gold irises that held the weight of a thousand secrets and a million  promises. Your thumbs brushed against the rough stubble on his jaw, the texture grounding you in the reality of this moment. He leaned into your touch instinctively, his eyes fluttering shut for a fleeting moment as if savoring every ounce of your presence. You pulled him into a kiss that was softer, deeper this time, a perfect blend of passion and quiet devotion that made your knees weak. His arms came around you, enveloping you completely, holding you as though the world might shatter and steal you away if he let go for even a second.

When you broke apart, you rested your forehead against his, your breaths mingling haphazardly. “Good,” you finally murmured. “Because I’m not letting you go, Remus Lupin.”

A faint smile curved his lips, and for the first time that night, his eyes shone with certainty. “I think I could get used to that,” he said, his voice warm and steady. And in that moment, it felt like you’d finally broken the cycle.

[clesired]

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐂𝐀𝐓 | 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 !

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

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

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ! “can i request a fred x black cat!gf since he’s such a golden retriever!bf?” thank you to the lovely anon who requested this <3

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ! go christmas shopping with your boyfriend, come back with a cat!?

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! no warnings, fem!reader, golden retriever bf!fred x black cat gf!reader, established relationship, second person pov, 0.8k words!

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

Your eyes scan the hustle and bustle of Hogsmeade, mentally mapping out the different shops you need to hit for your Christmas shopping.

Nodding to yourself, you gently release Fred’s hand and look up at him to confirm. “Okay, meet at Three Broomsticks in two hours?”

He looks at you like you’ve just kicked him, as he grabs your hand again and frowns. “No, what? Why are we splitting up?”

He looks so genuinely confused as to why that’s even an option and it makes you feel a little warmer despite the chilly air.

Still, you squeeze his hand softly and shake your head. “You’re one of the people I’m shopping for today, Freddie.”

You see the indignance before he even speaks. “That’s okay, I’ll just pretend like I didn’t see.”

His quick response pulls a laugh out of you before you can stop it and you shake your head in amusement.

“Two hours isn’t even that long, love. We spend more time apart during classes.” You point out gently.

It’s not that you wouldn’t prefer Christmas shopping with your boyfriend—you just prefer that your gifts remain a surprise a bit more.

He pulls you into his chest, uncaring of the surrounding witches and wizards witnessing the public display of affection.

“That’s because I’ll get a howler from mum if I skip too many classes.” He grumbles quietly, and you pout back at him teasingly.

“Oh, the poor baby. The horror!” You coo as you pinch his cheek teasingly, causing him to let out a quiet huff before he suddenly throws you over his shoulder and starts booking it through the village.

You let out a noise of surprise as you pound at his back, your hits doing absolutely nothing to slow him down.

“Put me down this instant, Frederick Gideon Weasley!” You pull out his full name, which causes him to laugh.

“Promise we’re shopping together first!” He calls back, and now it’s your turn to huff.

“Fine, I promise. Now unhand me, you silly man!” You smack his butt for emphasis just as he’s setting you down on your feet.

He smirks mischievously as he stares down at you, hands still holding you by the waist firmly. “Feeling a bit cheeky, are we, love?” His brows wriggle up and down playfully.

You furrow your brows, “What-” and then you groan, realization setting on you. “Oh, you are foul for that joke.”

He leans in closer to you, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours affectionately. “You love it.” He insists softly.

“I love you.” You correct, looking up at him.

He smiles, his eyes shining with happiness as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “And I love you.” He murmurs softly.

“Even though you drive me crazy sometimes.” You tack on, causing him to step back and clutch at his heart dramatically.

“Really know how to make a bloke feel special, love.” He winces softly, hanging his head as he rubs circles over his heart.

You roll your eyes playfully as you gently pull his hand away from his chest, intertwining your fingers before you begin walking to Tomes and Scrolls.

“C’mon, Mr. Broken Heart. You can walk it off, yeah?” You pat his back consolingly before facing forward and leading the way.

Fred pretends to sniffle softly as he walks, taking one big step forward to even out with you. “My girlfriend stop being mean to me challenge, difficulty level: impossible.”

You turn your head to glare up at him. “I am not mean to-”

You stop short as he raises a pointed brow, and you feel your cheeks heat up in a rare display of embarrassment as you look the other way.

“That doesn’t count. I’m defending my name here.” You mumble quietly, making him chuckle as you feel yourself get pulled into his side yet again.

“Don’t worry, you look cute when you’re all irritated. Like a disgruntled kitten.” He notes with a smile.

“You did not just call me a kitten.” You say, your tone laced with the slightest hint of incredulity.

“You’d look cute as a cat, now that I think about it.” Fred continues playfully. “Think you’d fit as a black cat.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” You grumble quietly, and Fred nods.

“Spoken like a true black cat.” He says matter of fact, and you can’t help but laugh out of sheer confusion.

“My love, what does that even mean?” You raise your brows.

He chuckles with you, “You know, I’m not really sure. But it makes sense to me.”

You side eye him as you two walk past Pets & Familiars. You can already see the gears turning in his head as he peers through the shop window.

“Don’t you even think about it, Freddie.” You warn, and he pouts softly.

And there he goes with his puppy eyes—you’re a sucker for that look and he knows it. “Oh, you are playing so unfair right now.” You grumble quietly.

By the time you’re walking back to the castle hours later, not only does Fred know everything you got him for Christmas and vice versa—but you are both now proud parents of a little black kitten.

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

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! wooh, first request done!!! not sure i did the black cat!gf archetype justice, but i tried. 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! *: ･🐚༄🫧*ੈ✩

[redheadwannabesblog]

happy holidays everyone!

Hinny and Hot Chocolate: missing scene HBP

Harry wakes with a start. It takes him a moment to realize where he is as he recognizes the camp bed he’s been curled up on. He hears the rhythmic sound of Ron’s heavy breathing coming from the other side of the room and relaxes. It’s the burrow a few days before Christmas. He rubs his eyes before reaching for his glasses. It was another dream about the ministry, another vision of Sirius falling through the veil, another repeat of hearing Bellatrix cackle. 

He got out of bed and carefully walked downstairs hoping to get a glass of water without waking the house. When he takes the last step he quickly sees he is not alone. Ginny is sitting at the kitchen table, Arnold snoozing softly by her hands that are closed lightly around a steaming mug. 

She looks up and smiles lightly at him and she says “hi, would you like some hot chocolate? I made plenty.”

He nods and takes a seat while she gets up to make him the cup. She puts it in front of him and he says “thank you, what’s keeping you up?” 

She seemed like she’d come from bed. Her hair was tied back in a messy bun. She was in an oversized sweater with a large G on it. But it must have been George’s because it was huge on her. He still couldn’t believe how pretty she was and how long it took him to notice.

She sighs “my roommate, she may look like a Veela but she snores like a troll. I’m shocked the house isn’t shaking” 

He laughs quietly. “What’s your excuse?” She says before taking another sip. 

“Oh you know, can’t sleep. “

She’s quiet for a while and seems to be studying his face. “How frequent are they? The nightmares” 

“How did you know?” She always seemed to see through whatever mask he put up. 

She shrugged “I’m familiar with the experience. I was the same for a while, still am some days.”

He keeps looking at her. Not sure he understands when she continues. “That summer after my first year I had them every night. It took a while to figure out how to cope.” 

“What finally worked?”

“Running”

He wasn’t sure what answer he was expecting but it wasn’t that. 

He raised his eyebrows over the mug of hot chocolate while he took a sip.

“Well running and flying. I think that really helped. They both gave me a place where I could put away all of it for a while. It helped me focus. Escape a bit. “

They were quiet for a long moment. 

Harry looked at her, something he’d been doing a lot of for the past few months but he really looked at her. She’d grown up so much. He thought back to the little girl who had once put her elbow in a dish of butter at this same table. 

“ I’m sorry, I should’ve asked you how you were afterwards. Maybe I could’ve helped you.”

Ginny let out a startling laugh, nearly spitting out the hot chocolate. “ only you would think that after killing 100 foot snake and bringing me back from the brink of death you’d need to apologize for not doing more. Honestly how much of a hero do you need to be?”

He laughed too but still he wished he had done more but he didn’t press. 

“I’m OK Harry. And you will be too. And if you ever want to go for a run with me I’d welcome the company. “

He smiled at the kind offer trying not to imagine her in workout clothes with her long hair whipping behind her. 

They chatted for a while until their drinks were gone but before long the clock in the corner chimed and they both looked. 

2 am. 

“Well I’m gonna try again to get some sleep. Maybe she’s quieted down. Goodnight Harry. “

And she left him sitting in the kitchen leaving just the faintest scent of flowers. 

[janeiscompletelyfine]

Intro?

Okay real talk somebody's gotta make a Marauders intro post. There are way too many abbreviations that confused me so much when I joined and I want more for the next generation of newbies. We need to have a:

Characters (I mean some we all know but also like Emmeline etc)

List of ships and their ship names

The abbreviations (troto, ahb, tcoptp, otb, also like the skittles)

The activities (What's a rp? What communities to join? Moots? Ficwriting?)

The Important People (my-castles-crumbing, bizarrestars, mskingbean)

The Important Things (David Thewlis interview, the 40-line stare)

Signs (Red converse, moons, stars, suns)

Our music

Useful reminders (don't support jkr, don't go on prosnape pages)

Anyone wanna help me make one? Or have more ideas of what we could add?

❤️Jane

[youhavemyswordandmybow]

HEY! My newest WIP is complete if anyone fancies a bit of drarry eighth year, with a slice of adventure and some smut.

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 you still would've been mine

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, you and james get closer to each other as the days go on, remus, your ex, soon realizes and feels jealous even though he knows he has no right to. 

warnings: james is end game, drama, jelly remus, fluff, angst, lowkey a cliffhanger..

1.8k words

The following weeks felt like a dream you didn’t quite dare to trust. You and James had grown closer—so much closer. His presence became a constant in your life, his easy laughter and steady warmth like a balm for your soul. He didn’t push, didn’t demand anything of you, but the way he looked at you sometimes, like you were the only person in the room, made your heart flutter in ways you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

It was during one such moment in the library, late at night, that you caught him staring at you again. You were seated across from him, your textbooks spread out between you as you tried—and failed—to focus on your Potions assignment. James was supposed to be working on his Transfiguration essay, but his quill rested idly in his hand, his gaze firmly on you.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him, though a small smile tugged at your lips.

James grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Nothing. Just... you look different lately.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Different how?”

He shrugged, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Happier. Like the weight of the world’s not sitting on your shoulders anymore.”

Your heart tightened at his words, but not in a bad way. It was strange to think that he could see through you so clearly. “I guess I am,” you admitted quietly, your fingers fiddling with the edge of your parchment. “Thanks to you, mostly.”

James’s expression flickered with something unreadable, and for a moment, you thought he might say something. But instead, he gave you one of his trademark grins and reached for his quill. “Well, I’m glad to be of service. Now, focus on that essay before McGonagall roasts you alive.” 

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and for once, you let yourself enjoy the moment without overthinking it.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ;.

But not everyone seemed as happy about your newfound closeness with James.

It started with the glances—subtle, fleeting, but noticeable all the same. Every time you and James walked into the Great Hall together or laughed a little too loudly in the common room, you could feel a pair of familiar amber eyes watching. Remus had always been quiet, his emotions carefully controlled, but lately, there was a tension in the way he held himself whenever you were near. It was as though he was constantly on the verge of saying something but never quite managing to.

The tipping point came one evening in the common room. You and James had just finished a heated game of Wizard’s Chess, and James was laughing at your feigned indignation over your loss. His hand brushed yours as he reached for one of the chess pieces, and though it was an innocent gesture, the spark it sent through you was anything but.

“You’re insufferable,” you said, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably as you bit back a smile.

James leaned back in his chair, his grin as cocky as ever. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

Before you could retort, a voice cut through the cheerful atmosphere.

“You’re awfully confident these days, Potter.”

Both you and James turned to see Remus standing near the fireplace, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. His gaze flicked between the two of you, lingering on your still-close hands before settling on James with something that almost looked like a challenge.

James raised an eyebrow, his easy demeanor shifting slightly. “Just enjoying a game of chess, mate. Didn’t realize that was a crime.”

Remus’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Of course not. But maybe you should consider how things look to others.”

The air grew tense, and you felt your stomach twist uncomfortably. “Remus,” you began softly, but he didn’t let you finish.

“It’s just… surprising, that’s all,” he said, his tone carefully neutral but his eyes betraying a hint of something darker. “How quickly some people move on.”

The words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. James, however, was on his feet in an instant, his usual playfulness replaced by a steely resolve.

“That’s enough, Remus,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You don’t get to make her feel guilty for trying to be happy.”

Remus’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, it looked like he might argue. But then his shoulders slumped, and he turned away without another word, disappearing up the staircase to the boys’ dormitory.

James let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair before turning back to you. “Are you okay?”

You nodded slowly, though your chest felt heavy. “Yeah. I just... I didn’t think he’d react like that.”

James hesitated before sitting down beside you again, his hand hovering near yours but not quite touching. “He’s probably just... dealing with his own stuff. Doesn’t excuse what he said, though.”

You nodded, appreciating his attempt to be understanding even as your emotions churned inside you. The confrontation with Remus had stirred up feelings you thought you’d buried, but as James’s steady presence grounded you once again, you realized something important: the past might still linger, but it didn’t have to define your future.

“Thanks, James,” you said quietly, offering him a small smile. “For sticking up for me.”

He returned your smile, his eyes soft. “Always, Y/N. Always.”

And though the tension in the room hadn’t completely faded, you felt a warmth settle in your chest that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t love—not yet—but it was something. Something real and unshakable, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself hope that it might be enough.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

The weeks following James’ quiet but constant presence had been transformative. While you were still piecing together the fragments of your heart, James had become your steady companion, grounding you in ways you hadn’t expected. His easy laughter and unwavering loyalty were a balm to the wounds you’d once thought irreparable. And though you hadn’t acknowledged it out loud, something deeper was growing between you.

On a crisp autumn evening, James found you in the library, hunched over a pile of books. He grinned as he approached, a strand of his messy hair falling over his forehead.

“You know, if you keep frowning at those pages, they might just frown back,” he teased, sliding into the seat across from you.

You couldn’t help but smile, closing the book in front of you with a sigh. “Studying for Potions is basically begging for a headache. Slughorn’s quizzes are impossible.”

James leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand. “Lucky for you, I’m a master at Potions.”

“You’re a master at barely scraping by,” you shot back, smirking.

“Details, details,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Come on, let’s take a break. I know a place where we can actually breathe.”

Curious but wary, you allowed him to lead you out of the library and through the winding corridors of the castle. Eventually, you found yourselves at the Astronomy Tower. The view of the grounds stretched out beneath you, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun.

“Wow,” you whispered, stepping closer to the edge. “I don’t come up here enough.”

James stood beside you, his hands in his pockets as he gazed out over the horizon. “It’s one of my favorite spots,” he admitted. “Quiet. Peaceful. And the stars at night? Incredible.”

You glanced at him, your heart fluttering at the way the light caught his features. “Thanks for bringing me here,” you said softly.

James shrugged, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more serious. “You looked like you needed it.”

The two of you stood in companionable silence for a while, the breeze tugging at your hair. But the quiet wasn’t uncomfortable—it was easy, natural. And as the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, you found yourself glancing at James again, your chest tightening with unspoken feelings.

“James,” you began, your voice hesitant. “Can I ask you something?”

He turned to you, his warm brown eyes meeting yours. “Anything.”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Why have you… why have you stuck around? With me, I mean. After everything with Remus.”

James’ expression softened, and he stepped closer, his hands still tucked in his pockets. “Because I care about you,” he said simply. “And because I want to be here. With you.”

Your breath caught, his words settling over you like a warm blanket. “You… you’ve been so good to me, James. I don’t know if I deserve it.”

He frowned, shaking his head. “Don’t say that. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are—all of you. And I… I think I’ve been falling for you for a while now.”

His confession hung in the air, a fragile, beautiful truth that made your heart race. You stared at him, your emotions a whirlwind of surprise, relief, and something you hadn’t dared to name until now.

“James,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I… I think I feel the same way.”

A slow, radiant smile spread across his face, and he reached out to take your hand in his. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time in months, you felt completely and utterly safe.

“Well,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “That’s good to hear.”

The two of you stood there, hand in hand, as the sun disappeared below the horizon and the stars began to emerge. There were no grand declarations, no dramatic gestures—just the quiet, profound realization that something new and beautiful was beginning.

As the soft glow of the moonlight bathed the tower, James stepped closer, his gaze flicking briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. “Can I—?” he began, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Please.”

And then his lips were on yours, warm and gentle, as though he was afraid to break the moment. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, steadying yourself as the world seemed to tilt. The kiss was everything you hadn’t known you needed—soft, tender, and filled with unspoken promises. When you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, both of you breathing heavily.

James smiled, his hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of nervousness and joy.

You laughed softly, your cheeks warm. “I’m glad you did.”

The stars above seemed to shine a little brighter as the two of you stood there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, ready to face whatever came next—together.

[lumosou]

୨୧ — The Harry Potter boys and their Love Languages ( ˆ͈̑꒳ˆ͈̑ )੭ ; 𖦹 + ♡

ꕤ — Characters ; Harry J Potter. Ron Weasley. Fred Weasley. George Weasley. Neville Longbottom. Draco Malfoy. Cedric Diggory.

ꕤ — Discretion ; none!! just fluff and love.

ꕤ — A/n ; eee i’m so sorry for disappearing for a bit ☹️. but i appreciate alll the support u guys have been showing me on all my works!! ily guys!! so here’s a fun lil treat :3 thank u endlessly 🫶🏻

; masterlist.

୨୧ — Harry J. Potter & Acts Of Service.

Harry isn’t good with words—not the ones that matter, anyway. He stumbles, stammers, gets stuck trying to say how he feels. But when it comes to showing you, there’s no hesitation. His love is found in the way he waits outside the library to walk you back to the common room, how he memorizes your favorite tea and makes sure there’s always enough sugar. It’s the way he notices when you’re too tired to finish an essay and stays up scribbling notes for you even though he’s just as exhausted.

He’s the boy who gives pieces of himself quietly, always watching, always finding the small gaps in your day where he can slip in and help without you asking. Because that’s what he needs—to feel like he’s protecting you, even from the smallest inconveniences.

Harry doesn’t say I love you in grand speeches. He says it in the way he fixes your broken quill without telling you, how he gives you the better seat at dinner, how he’d gladly carry your burdens if you let him. To him, love is action—every unspoken I’ll take care of this wrapped in the quiet hope that you’ll understand.

୨୧ — Ron Weasley & Quality Time.

Ron doesn’t need extravagant displays of affection; he just wants you. To be near you, to sit next to you, to share the little pieces of his world that make him who he is. He thrives in your presence, whether it’s laughing over a ridiculous chess match, walking the long way to class just to keep the conversation going, or sitting quietly by the fire while the hours slip by unnoticed.

Time with you is how Ron shows he cares. It’s in the way he always makes room for you—on the couch, in his day, in his life. He’ll wait for you after lessons, save you a seat at every meal, and offer you the last Chocolate Frog without hesitation. He’s happiest when you’re there, no matter what you’re doing, because your company makes everything better.

For Ron, love is in the small, stolen moments. It’s in the way he notices the things you like, the way he teases you just enough to see you smile. He doesn’t need to say it out loud—not when every minute he spends with you is his way of saying, You matter to me.

୨୧ — Fred Weasley & Physical Touch.

Fred speaks in touches—quick, fleeting, and full of mischief. A hand on your shoulder as he sneaks up behind you, a playful nudge of his elbow to make you laugh, the way his arm always ends up slung around your shoulders like it belongs there. He’s tactile in a way that feels effortless, like he can’t help himself when it comes to you.

But then there are the other touches, the ones that mean more than he ever says out loud. His hand brushing yours under the table, his fingers ghosting over your back when you’re standing close, the way he pulls you into a hug that lasts just a second longer than it should. He’s all warmth, all ease, all Fred.

With him, touch is a language of its own. It’s how he shows he’s paying attention, how he steadies you when the world feels too loud, how he reminds you that he’s there—always, without fail. He’ll twirl a strand of your hair around his finger while you’re trying to focus, just to see you roll your eyes, but his thumb will stroke gently over your knuckles when you’re quiet, reminding you that he sees more than you think.

Fred’s love is in the way he’s never far, his presence a constant, reassuring hum. Every touch, whether playful or tender, says what he won’t always put into words: I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re mine.

୨୧ — George Weasley & Acts Of Service.

George loves quietly, but he loves deeply. His affection isn’t loud or flashy—it’s in the little things, the unnoticed gestures that leave no room for doubt. He’ll stay up late helping you finish that essay, even though he’s got his own work waiting for him. He’ll charm the Gryffindor common room fire to burn just a little brighter when you’re cold, or tuck a sweet you love into your bag without a word.

With George, it’s all about thoughtfulness. He pays attention—really pays attention—to the things that make you happy. He knows your favorite snack, your favorite quill, the way you like your tea. He notices when you’ve had a rough day before you even say a word, and his first instinct is to fix it. A joke, a small gift, a ridiculous gesture—it���s all his way of saying, I’m here for you.

But his acts of service aren’t just practical—they’re personal. He’s always finding ways to make your life brighter, softer, more manageable. If you’re overwhelmed, he’ll take something off your plate without you asking. If you’re sad, he’ll make you laugh, even if it means making a fool of himself. And when you ask why he does it, he’ll shrug, his ears pink, and say, “Because I can.”

George’s love is subtle but unwavering. It’s in every thoughtful detail, every small action, every quiet I’ll take care of it that he hopes you’ll notice but never expects you to. It’s the kind of love that doesn’t demand attention—it just is.

୨୧ — Neville Longbottom & Words Of Affirmation.

Neville’s love is soft, steady, and full of reassurance. He’s the boy who sees the best in you, even when you can’t see it yourself. His words are careful, heartfelt, and impossibly earnest—he’ll tell you how brilliant you are after every small success, remind you how brave you are when you’re doubting yourself, and whisper how beautiful you look when you catch him staring.

But Neville’s words aren’t just sweet; they’re intentional. He notices the things you’re insecure about—the things you try to hide—and makes it his mission to remind you of your worth. When you’re frustrated or overwhelmed, he’s the one who tells you, It’s okay. You’ve got this. You’re stronger than you think. He believes in you wholeheartedly, and he’ll never let you forget it.

His love is in the way he writes you little notes when he’s too shy to say things out loud, the way he always manages to find the perfect compliment at the perfect moment. Neville’s words aren’t about flattery—they’re about truth. He means every single one.

With Neville, you never have to wonder how he feels. His words wrap around you like a warm hug, a constant reminder that you’re loved, cherished, and seen. To him, every You’re amazing is another way of saying, I’m so lucky to have you.

୨୧ — Draco Malfoy & Gift Giving.

Draco shows his love in the way he gives—not just things, but pieces of himself. His gifts are thoughtful, deliberate, and so carefully chosen that you can’t help but feel how much he pays attention. A rare book he tracked down because you mentioned it once, your favorite sweets neatly wrapped and waiting for you after a hard day, or an heirloom quill with a note that simply says, It reminded me of you.

It’s never about the price, though he pretends it is. He’ll roll his eyes and call it no big deal, but the way he watches your reaction gives him away every time. Because it isn’t just a gift—it’s his way of saying, I see you. I notice what makes you happy. I care.

But it’s not all material. Draco gives his time, his attention, his loyalty. He’s there when you need him, even if he doesn’t know what to say. He shows up with a coffee you didn’t ask for or slips a note into your bag that reads, Don’t forget how brilliant you are. It’s in the way he lends you his scarf when you’re cold or makes sure your favorite seat by the fire is saved.

Draco’s love is in the details, the way he always finds the perfect thing to remind you how much you mean to him. He doesn’t say I love you easily, but his gifts? They say it for him. Quietly, fiercely, and completely.

୨୧ — Cedric Diggory & Physical Touch.

Cedric’s love is quiet, steady, and impossibly warm, and it shows in the way he touches you. It’s never demanding, always gentle—a hand at the small of your back as you walk through the halls, his fingers brushing yours under the table, or the way his arm wraps around your shoulders without hesitation when you’re cold. With Cedric, touch isn’t just comfort; it’s a promise: I’m here, I’ve got you.

He’s affectionate in ways that feel effortless. He’ll press a kiss to your temple when no one’s looking, or pull you into a hug so tight it feels like he’s shielding you from the world. When you’re upset, his thumb traces slow circles over the back of your hand, grounding you. And when words fail, it’s his touch that reassures you—light, familiar, unshakable.

But it’s the little moments that matter most. The way he reaches for you instinctively, his fingers intertwining with yours like they belong there. The way his forehead leans against yours in quiet moments, his breath mingling with yours in a silent exchange of you’re everything to me. Cedric doesn’t just touch you; he anchors you.

To him, love is closeness. It’s the warmth of his body against yours, the feel of his hand in yours, and the way he’s always, always pulling you closer—because with you, he’s home.

﹙@ 𝗹𝘂𝗺𝗼𝘀𝗼𝘂 ﹚

[cruel-seduction]

Golden Trio Masterlist

Harry Potter

~ Harry Potter Headcanon || 18+

more character yet to come

[persephone-writes]

A Diviner's Guide to James Potter

Chapter Fifteen: Repairo

James Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Chapter Fourteen ☆ Series Masterlist

Description: Two diverging paths are presented to you: avoidance or intuition. Which one will you choose?

Word Count: 7k

Notes: as per usual, I know nothing about the divination that I use in this chapter, but I tried my best to make it accurate and also work with the story. I apologize if anything is super inaccurate!

You stayed in the Astronomy Tower later than usual, the early hours of the morning creeping up on you without you noticing. You were the last one left, ruminating over the meaning of the stars. When you finally became too tired to reasonably continue, you begrudgingly gathered your things and left. You appreciated the silence of your walk back, the castle appearing grander under the shadows of your lonely journey. 

The common room was empty when you arrived, and while you ached for sleep, your mind was still restless. You watched the stars outside the windows from your spot on the sofa, twinkling in the black sky like little candles lighting an otherwise unseeable path. What it led to, you did not know. You turned away, balling up your pass and tossing it into the fire. 

As usual, you were in out of your depth. The mistake of looking at James’s chart had been made, and there was no going back. Now, the insatiable desire to know more would always be there, urging you on and on until you had all the answers, the perfect reading. You needed help, though you had no one to go to.

As you stared into the dancing flames, the heaviness in your shoulders growing, the portrait hole opened. Your head shot over to see who it was at this time, praying it wasn’t James on one of his late night excursions. You weren’t sure if you were thankful or displeased to see Remus step through, his Prefect badge pinned to his muggle shirt. He seemed tired himself, though that was not unusual. He was always in a perpetual state of insomnia and aching joints, only making your problems seem childish by comparison. 

“Hey,” he said as he neared you, “what’re you doing up?”

“Just not tired, I guess.” It was a bold lie, given that you were forcing your eyes to stay open, suppressing a yawn as you spoke. 

Remus stood there for a moment, seeming to debate his options. He gave you a tight lipped smile, motioning to the spot beside you. “Mind if I sit?”

You shook your head, watching as he sat down on the other end. Neither of you spoke for a minute, each listening to the music of the crackling wood. 

“I don’t know how you Prefects do it, having to stay up late all the time,” you said finally, keeping your voice to a whisper. 

“I’d probably be up anyway. Besides, you astronomer’s do it just fine,” he answered, pausing as he turned to you with a mischievous look in his eyes. “So, I hear you’re in the dueling club now?” 

You groaned, slumping down into the couch, your legs stretching out in front of you. “Maybe not for long. I’m the oldest one there, I feel like a freak.”

“More than usual?” 

You only rolled your eyes, sitting up straight again. A log on the fire popped, sending sparks flying into the hearth. 

“I know we’re not that close,” Remus began, “but I feel like I have to mention it.”

You sighed, knowing very well what he was referring to. “I figured it was coming eventually.” 

“James won’t tell us anything. All I know is that whatever you guys talked about, it’s put him in a mood,” he said, smiling a fraction. “I think Sirius might kill him soon.”

“Glad to know we’re feeling the same,” you mumbled. 

“It’s become rather annoying.”

You snorted. “He has a talent for that.”

Remus said your name, more serious this time. You looked away, wary of whatever he was about to say. It was unusual for him to butt in, a bad sign that whatever you had gotten yourself into was far more significant than just you and James. This was bleeding out into everyone else, slowly unspooling your tightly wound secret. 

“I hope you don’t get upset with me for asking, but do you and James have something going on?” he asked hesitantly.

You let out a long, exacerbated breath, rubbing your hands over your eyes. “No. Why does everyone seem to think that? What could possibly give you that impression?”

Remus shrugged, smirking a bit at your discouraging expression. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d be a surprise. You know that James is shite at keeping secrets from us. But if it were true, I’d believe it.”

“That did nothing to answer my question,” you said, your voice flat. 

“Well, he got pretty pissy when you said you weren’t shagging.” 

“That's just how he is,” you grumbled. 

“No, it’s not,” Remus said with a shake of his head, still amused by your annoyance. You raised your brows, unconvinced. “Sometimes he is,” he amended, “but most of the time it’s a joke. He’s not really upset when we call him a git or say his glasses make him look like Minnie.”

You snorted at the memory of the joke which once dominated all conversation. Peter had come up with it during the first quidditch match last year, though Sirius couldn’t let it go until it fully ran its course, thus becoming entirely unfunny by January. 

“That one was true,” you chuckled. “That’s what he gets for trying out a different pair. Can’t reinvent the wheel.”

“Was that a pun?” 

You huffed, rolling your eyes. 

“Y’know,” Remus began again, “sometimes the way you look at each other is bloody disgusting, like we shouldn’t even be in the same room with you two.”

You didn’t respond, your chest growing heavy at the similarity between his and Marlene’s words. It was two for two, doubling the believability, though not enough to convince you just yet. 

Remus laughed a bit, continuing despite your silence, “Any minute I expect you guys to start snogging.”

“Well, that’s never gonna happen,” you said, another pang running through your heart. 

Remus sighed, standing up from his spot on the sofa and glancing down at you. His eyes were soft as you met them, his smile weak but nonetheless one of a good friend. “I won’t say it, ‘cause I have a feeling that's why you’ve been shooting daggers at Padfoot for over a week,” he paused, considering the shift in your expression, “but, I know…or at least I think I do.”

Again, you didn’t say anything. You didn’t even know if you had anything to say, your breath quivering a bit as your eyes shot back towards the hearth. Remus allowed you to stay mute, moving around the side of the sofa to head to the dormitories. Before he left, he came behind you, giving you a small pat on the shoulder, just like he would’ve done for one of the guys. 

“Give it a shot,” he said, continuing towards the staircase, “you might be surprised.”

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“Listen to this, ‘Merchum denies that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry could be a target for any attack, violent or otherwise, despite rumors to the contrary. While agents of He Who Shall Not Be Named largely remain unknown, various high ranking Ministry officials have been ousted as part of their ranks. Other lower level Ministry employees have also been linked to a network of informants aiding in the recent attacks. When asked if it was plausible that Hogwarts has also been breached, or could be in the future, Minster Merchum stated, “...my faith in Headmaster Dumbledore is unmatched, as if my belief that our increased security efforts shall thwart—”’ bla, bla, bla,” Dorcas said, abruptly ending her reading with a groan. “Well, we know that’s a load of rubbish.”

In an act of solidarity, your friends were lounging about your dormitory Wednesday morning during your free period. Wednesdays were always slow days, even for Lily, who’s schedule was the most packed out of anyone you knew. 

Lily put down her book, taking the Daily prophet from Dorcas across from her and scanning over the article. Her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, her head not lifting even when Marlene began to speak. 

“I’m starting to agree with Sirius about Merchum, which is not a pleasant thought.” 

Dorcas snorted a bit, shaking her head with a small, joyless smile. 

“How many years is it going to go on? It feels like twenty by now,” you said, groggy from what felt like the longest three days of your life. Your DADA homework couldn’t have been helping. 

“It just about has been,” said Marlene, her head falling in her hand. She looked to Lily, who finally glanced up. 

“Another child was attacked,” Lily said, dropping the paper onto her lap. “It’s been a while since that’s happened. I’m starting to think Sirius may be right, as well.”

You rubbed your eyes as you tried will away the thought of someone like Remus, only five years old, asleep in bed while someone stalked just outside their window. 

“I wonder what they’re doing with them,” you said softly. “The Slytherins and Zephyr, I mean.”

“Hopefully they’ve thrown them all in the tower cell,” said Dorcas with a sneer.

“They wouldn’t do that,” Lily said, beginning to fold up the paper, concealing the dreary article from view. “But I have no doubt Dumbledore is taking care of it. He’s been able to keep it all out of Hogwarts this long. It’s out there where they’re having trouble.”

Out there. You sat silently, letting the awful phrase ring out in your skull. There were so many reasons to hate it out there, to loathe its very existence. You thought you ought to write to your parents more often, even though you had no idea what you would even say. Maybe you’d just let them know you pitied them and their occupation of out there, the place where things occur.

“How many months till we’re out of here?” Marlene asked.

“A little over three,” Lily answered, her mind clearly elsewhere. She wasn’t looking at either of you, gnawing at her lip again. 

“How exciting,” Marlene drawled.

“Yeah,” you said mindlessly, the threat of July looming over you like chimney smoke. 

You shook your head as if to clear your thoughts, remembering an issue that somehow seemed far more pressing. You’d been itching to go to the Library to gather more materials on astrology, though you hadn’t had the chance yet. While your astrological talents were likely one the best out of the Gryffindor's, you were nowhere near skilled enough to get a full, in depth reading on yours and James’s charts just with a single reference book. However, if you went to the Library now, Lily would surely want to come along, forcing you to wait until all three of your dormmates left for Herbology. 

When they had gone, you headed straight to the Divination section of the Library and grabbed as many relevant books as you could find. However, despite hours of work, your readings were still elementary at best. As lunch neared, you realized that all the books in the world were no match for a true diviner’s perspective. You lugged them back to their shelves with a sour huff, mulling over your options. There were only two, though neither of them seemed pleasant. You could either learn to be happy with what you had, or seek out the help of a professional. 

Making up your mind quicker than expected, you plopped back down at your table, pulling out a couple new sheets of parchment. You made separate charts for you and James, devoid of your interpretations or any indication of who they were about. You slipped them back into your bag, safe until you’d need them. Professional, it was. 

You and Peter walked together to Transfiguration after Divination, though it was not without its own awkwardness. It was a habit that felt odd to break, so ingrained in your routines that not doing so seemed worse than pushing through your sporadic, dull conversations. You made small talk about Quattlebaum’s new peacock-feathered cap, though Peter’s laughs were half hearted and strained. The relief you each felt when you reached the Transfiguration classroom was evident by your shared sighs and lack of goodbyes. 

James hadn’t bothered you since yesterday morning, and by the look of it, it didn’t seem like he was planning on doing so anytime soon. You snuck a single glance his way, only to find his eyes glued to his parchment, scribbling down notes. Like before, the Slytherins and Zephyr were absent, though no word on their whereabouts had slipped past the tight lips of the professors. People had begun to talk, at least in Gryffindor, about their sudden disappearance, though not one of you had let the circumstances out. Everyone besides your group was completely in the dark, and you wanted to keep it that way. 

“Mister Black!” McGonagall snapped in the middle of her lecture. 

Everyone dropped their quills, the room growing dead quiet. You looked to Sirius, who had perked up in his seat at the sound of his name. He brushed his hair behind his ears, startled by her scolding. 

McGonagall clasped her hands in front of her, still looking towards him with harsh eyes. “If you are so skilled in Transfiguration that this class has become boring enough to nap in, I suggest you come to the front and teach it yourself.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Sirius said, though his voice had a playful tilt, just the right amount to get him out of trouble without losing his reputation. 

You rolled your eyes, sharing a look with Lily. 

“Five points from Gryffindor,” McGonagall said, turning back to the class. “As I was saying…”

Just then, a fluttering scrap of parchment in the shape of a crane weaved through the feet of other students, moving under their desks before landing directly in front of you. You stared at it a moment before looking around, though all your classmates were either focused on McGonagall or their own papers. Even Sirius was staring at your professor, his head resting in his hand. You turned to Lily, who gave an equal expression of perplexity towards the paper. With McGonagall still speaking, her eyes roving across the class, Lily shrugged, going back to taking her notes. 

Slowly, you grabbed the paper and pulled it under your desk, the sound of you opening it masked by the cacophony of scratching quills. You instantly recognized the chicken scratch, your heart hammering. 

I’m sorry. 

You shoved it into your bag, your shoulders tensing. You didn’t dare another glance towards him, lest you meet his dark brown eyes, enchanted with the strong will of a friend aching to be forgiven. 

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You stood at the base of the ladder just before last period ended, waiting for the Divination class to leave for the day. When all was clear you climbed up, poking your head into the hatch and peering into the room, though Quattlebaum was nowhere to be found. 

“Professor?” you called, climbing inside. 

Suddenly, Quattlebaum came around the corner, his peacock-feathered cap bouncing with every step. “Miss L/N, is it Monday already?” 

Unsure if he was joking or not, you shook your head. “I was wondering if I could ask for your help on something.”

“Oh! And what might that be?” he asked, flicking his wand towards the tables. Various cups and teapots flew through the air, their contents disappearing before they piled themselves onto the stack in the corner. 

“I wanted to practice my astrology, so I decided to try interpreting the compatibility of these charts, but I’m a bit stuck,” you said, reaching into your bag for the charts.

He took the parchment from you, his smile widening. “How exquisite! I’d be delighted to aid in your extracurricular astrological studies. Please, take a seat.”

He took a seat at his desk, placing the charts in front of him to read further. You sat in the chair opposite, fiddling with the sleeves of your robes as you watched his eyes run along your drawings. 

“Splendid penmanship,” Quattlebaum said with a joyful gasp. “Did you source your calculations through the Astronomy records?”

“Yes,” you answered, your nerves worsening when he paused over your chart. 

He hummed, looking up. “How did you choose these particular dates?” 

“Oh, um,” you stuttered, “I was working on a chart for a friend, so I was already on 1960. I figured I would just flip to two random dates for practice.”  

“I see,” he muttered, smiling softly. 

“I already made my own compatibility report on these two charts, but I wanted an expert's opinion to compare to my own,” you said, growing more and more certain he knew what was going on. You couldn’t recall if he knew your birthday or not, though if he did, it would be plainly evident that this was not an extracurricular endeavor but a personal project. 

Quattlebaum made no further sign that he made this connection, taking your chart in his hands as he leaned back in his chair. His lips were still quirked when he picked up James’s chart, holding them side by side. He sat this way for what felt like an hour, his gaze darting between them. Soon, his mouth dropped into something meditative, a small crease forming between his brows. 

You took a breath as he leaned forward, dropping the parchment onto his desk without glancing towards you. 

“There is tension, much tension,” he began with another hum, “particularly in the Square Sun and Lunar node, as well as the conjunction of Sun and Lilith. Pluto and Saturn are also points of weakness…though not without hope. No! Such charts display a great deal of celestial attraction, harmony within differences. There is a circling, a twin orbit of magnetic power. They likely feel a great pull towards one another, an intense, possibly overwhelming connection which may take great adversity to sever. There is deep understanding despite their unique approaches to conflict, a longing to adopt outlooks which they do not naturally possess.”

He paused, his eyes darting to yours as he pointed towards your chart. “This individual grounds the other, offers an alternative to direct action which may prove impetuous. The other may encourage greater impulsivity, a reliance on the strong intuition which the first holds but does not employ. Such creates a degree of strain, a push and pull…though together they balance what is insufficient. However, an exact prediction of their compatibility is impossible, I’m afraid. As you well know, Miss L/N, our births are rarely our ends.”

You nodded, mulling over his words. Although he had given you a more thorough understanding, you were still desperate for more, grasping at anything you could find. 

“Is there nothing more you can tell me?” you asked, hopeful he would oblige you. 

He did not speak for a moment, his gaze distant. “If they were able to reach friendship, to find each other in commonality within the fog of our mysterious universe, then the stars tell us much. The Trine Sun and Mars point towards a prevailing kinship, and Venus and Mars to passion, though there is no way of knowing if such a thing did, or will occur. That passion may be in anger, their kinship unable to break through learned prejudices. These sorts of pairings have the possibility for extraordinary success or equal failure.”

Your chest felt heavy, as did everything. You wondered if it had happened in reverse: first came kinship, next prejudice. “I see.” 

Quattlebaum was quiet for a few seconds, lost in thought. Finally, he made another noise of intrigue, his head cocking to the side. “However…if their initial meeting was positive, the outlook does appear far more hopeful.”

You sat up straighter, your heart leaping. “Really?”

“I believe so,” he began. “You seem rather invested in this pair, given they were chosen at random.”

“Oh, I just happened to get a similar reading,” you said, trailing off. 

“A similar reading,” he repeated. 

You swallowed, your hands still fidgeting. 

“I can offer you no more, I’m afraid.” Quattlebaum stacked up the parchment, handing it back to you. “Though I hope I was able to be of some help to you.”

You slipped it inside your bag, standing up to leave. “Thank you, Professor—”

“Please, sit a moment longer,” he said, motioning towards the chair. 

Slowly, you dropped your bag onto the floor, sitting back down. You sat stiffly, dreading whatever he was about to say. 

“Your aura, I’ve noticed, has not been as bright as usual.” 

“I’ve been told,” you said warily. 

Quattlebaum smiled. “Yes, Sybill mentioned it to me on Monday, though of course I noticed myself. I believe she thinks it’s time for me to retire, and she may be correct,” he chuckled, the feathers on his cap bouncing again. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me? In confidence, of course.”

You looked down at your lap with a shrug. “Something happened with my classmates this weekend. I’m all right, though.”

“Yes, yes, all the professors have been informed,” he said, his voice laced with genuine sadness. “Such a dreaded ordeal, indeed. But this is not what I speak of.”

Your shoulders stayed slumped, still unable to meet his eyes. You pressed your mouth tight, unwilling to speak about your more intimate problems. 

“Your aura shows you have been deeply shaken by a great change, one that is far larger than the unfortunate decisions made by your classmates. It is filled with uncertainty. Am I correct?”

You peeked up through your lashes, finding his expression softened and less animated than usual. You nodded, your mouth turning down into a frown. 

Quattlebaum stood, walking around his classroom towards a tall, purple cabinet. He opened a drawer, taking out a deck of tarot cards and bringing it back over to his desk. He dropped them down onto the table, though before they hit the surface they spread out in a line, whizzing through the air creating various rings which circled around each other. You watched as this frenzy halted, once again forming a line before settling back down onto the desk. 

“The forking paths, you learned it fifth year. A helpful spread when faced with difficult decisions.”

You sighed, pondering whether this was an excellent idea or an awful one. A professor learning about the fact you were in love with one of your friends was not exactly something you were aiming for. Though, even if Quattlebaum did learn everything, who’d believe him?

You reached out, pulling a card from the deck and placing it face down onto the table. 

“Uncertainty presents us with two choices, decision and indecision,” said Quattlebaum, watching as you did the same to another. “The choice to act or not to act is always first. All others come after.” 

With a flick of his wrist, the cards formed a pile again. He flipped over the first of your cards, an omen you had not stumbled upon but welcomed. However, this did nothing to prevent your anxiety from taking over as you saw what it was, Eight of Cups, reversed.

“Avoidance of the natural flow of life,” he began, his voice low. “Loss and lacking change, the great beasts in the way of growth. You have expected this much.”

You nodded, swallowing as you flipped over the second, the High Priestess, upright.

“Intuition, the truth that lives within us all. Some may see it clearer at first glance, though all possess this gift.” Quattlebaum moved your two cards to the top of his desk, grabbing the deck. “You have been shown your trailheads. Now, connect with your inner sight, choose the path presented by the Eight of Cups: elusion, fallowness.”

You closed your eyes, rooting your feet on the floor as you imagined it: throwing the crane into the fire, scurrying to your dormitory, hiding in the library, going back to the way things used to be when James was just some guy you saw around the common room…

Quattlebaum placed five cards onto the table below the Eight of Cups, motioning for you to flip them over. You did so, one by one. 

He began to speak, explaining every card. Although you knew them well, you welcomed his assistance, your mind reeling. 

“The Page of Cups, reversed. When reversed, the Page of Cups’ wonder and innocence is used against you, creating misunderstandings, hurt feelings and painful emotions. The Ten of Wands, upright. Someone burdened, struggling to uphold his responsibilities. This is beared alone, often in darkness.”

He followed this pattern for the rest of the cards, Quattlebaum explaining their meaning as you revealed them. 

“The Chariot, reversed. The Chariot turns away from its celestial influence, allowing aggression to fester, giving up self-control and determination. The Three of Wands, reversed. Frustration, a lack of method and commitment. There will be unforeseen obstacles and a lack of foresight,” he paused as you flipped the final card, the air growing thick as you each gazed down at it. “The Tower, upright. The crumbling of a mighty structure, upheaval, a disastrous destruction…there is great change in life, a burning away of what was once known.”

Quattlebaum stopped, looking to you as if you had something clever to say. You did not, your thoughts filled with a blinding dread. A dark cloud seemed to hang over you, filled with the awful array of cards before you: painful emotions, burden, aggression, lack of foresight, destruction. 

“You have seen the path of the Eight of Cups,” he said, picking up the deck again. “Now, choose the path of the High Priestess: the way of the Diviner.” 

I wish you could see the way he looks at you…Give it a shot, you might be surprised…She’s the very best of us…

Slowly and with great purpose, Quattlebaum placed five cards in front of you, waiting as you began to flip them over as you had done before. 

“The Knight of Cups, upright. A dreamer, idealistic, the mediator. There is calm, unlike the other knights, whose passion is explosive. There is drive, but not without purity. This often represents following ones heart. Three of Pentacles, upright. The apprentice who listens to others and offers their help. Collaboration, the coming together of minds.”

Your hand hovered over the next card as you flipped it over, momentarily suspended in an odd mix of shock and elation. When you realized your mistake, you quickly pulled your hand away as if the air itself had burned you. 

“The Lovers, upright,” Quattlebaum began, moving on as if nothing had happened. “A pair, not the same and yet not entirely different, come together in romance…there is a purposeful choice to their union, for it is just that, a choice.”

You did not give a moment of pause before you turned over the next, unwilling to allow yourself to sit with it much longer. 

As you did, Quattlebaum continued, “Ten of Swords, reversed. A survival of tragedy, rebirth through despair, a healing of deep wounds. Finally, the Four of Wands, upright. A welcoming reunion, a celebratory harmony of belonging, a time of stability.”

The air was charged with something, prickling on your skin. You did not speak, taking a long breath. You thought about what you had just seen: following your heart, collaboration, romance, rebirth, harmony. 

“Miss L/N,” Quattlebaum said after a moment of silence, “you do not need my assistance in these readings. You know as well as I what they foretell.”

“Yes, Professor,” you said, your voice shaking. 

Quattlebaum eyed you, almost wistfully. Something darkened in his gaze, foreboding and unexpected. “There is unmistakable turmoil beyond this castle. It is mounting, very soon to come to a head. In its face, we must all do what we think is right. It is unfortunate, but you must make your choice alone.”

You sat with his words for a moment, your palms beginning to sweat. Your breath was still shaky, though you did your best to calm it, breathing slowly through your nose. After a beat you nodded, moving to grab your bag. 

“Thank you for your help, Professor,” you said, standing up to leave. 

Quattlebaum didn’t answer, walking you to the hatch and offering you a somber look as you threw it open. 

“You have a good heart,” he said as you began to descend the ladder. You stopped, looking up at his unusually stoic expression. “It would serve you well to trust it.”

You gave him another curt nod, hopping down the ladder as he closed the hatch above you. Soon you were alone, standing at the top of the tower staircase. You had received more than you came for, though it had yet to fully sink in. Your feet felt heavy as you walked back to the common room, Quattlebaum’s words punctuating your every step. 

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Wednesday evening had been spent mostly in silence on your part. Lily had noticed, asking more than once if you were all right or what she could do to help. Every time you brushed her off, insisting it was just your usual lack of sleep. You went to bed early, feigning a deep slumber while you laid there, staring at the ceiling. Even with all the answers in the world, you still weren’t satisfied. It seemed as though things kept changing every hour, every minute, so fast you were in a constant state of trying to catch up. Now, you thought it may be worse than before. A small sliver of hope had begun to ignite inside of you, fed just enough by weeks of crumbs. When you finally closed your eyes, forcing yourself to rest, you could still see James’s handwriting, hovering within a sea of black. 

On Thursday morning, his note was still in your bag. You had forgotten to take it out, carrying it with you when you went to speak with Quattlebaum, then back to your dormitory. You allowed it to stay there when you moseyed down to the kitchens for a late breakfast, having no place to be. You took a long time to finish your food, even longer to drink your tea, heading back up to your room just as second period was getting out. 

Lily was there when you came back, hunkered down at her desk with a large stone in front of her. Books and parchment were scattered all around, her wand in her hand. 

“Alchemy?” 

“Yes,” she sighed, glancing up at you for a moment, “and I’m swamped.”

You chuckled, grabbing your own homework. “That's what you get for taking so many classes.”

She just shook her head, turning back to her stone. She pointed her wand at it, muttering something you didn’t understand. 

You each worked like that until lunch when you forced her to leave to get something to eat. You weren’t hungry, giving her the opportunity to eat in the Great Hall for a change. You felt awful that she had spent nearly every meal with you in the kitchens since Sunday, save for the couple of times Marlene was able to bully her out of it. 

Alone in your dorm, your eyes caught your scarf lying on your bedside table, concealing your broken wristwatch. It was still flashing between weather patterns, far too distracting to leave out in the open. Lily had promised to help you with it this weekend once she had some free time, for all your attempts to fix it thus far had been unsuccessful. 

With a tightened jaw, your mind swirling with guilt over her continued kindness, you flew from your chair, throwing your scarf onto the floor as you grabbed your watch. You shoved it into your pocket as you left the room, in desperate need of some fresh air. 

Eventually, you found yourself sitting on a stone bench in the courtyard by Gryffindor Tower, your watch laid on your knee. Trying a new, more advanced form of repairo used on complicated machinery, the watch seemed to mock you as it continued to flash between a snowstorm, a sunny day, and a monsoon. You had little practice with the incantation, which may have been why it had no effect whatsoever. You had absolutely no experience with these sorts of charms to begin with, much less with watchmaking. The possibility you’d be able to fix it yourself was slim, though not zero. You gave it another try, adjusting your wand movements in hopes that was your issue. Again, nothing spectacular occurred. 

Suddenly, your head shot up as someone cleared their throat above you, your small jump causing your watch to tumble from your lap onto the grass. James stood with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, his mouth pulled into an awkward half smile as he looked down at you from a few feet away. 

“Hey,” you said, still a bit stunned. 

He shifted his weight, glancing down at his feet for a moment. Soon, his eyes found your watch, now flashing between a rainbow and a crescent moon. He knelt down to pick it up, turning it over in his hands as he stared intently at the broken face. 

“What happened?”

“Broke it during the duel,” you answered, half of you wishing he would go, the other begging him to stay. 

“Mind if I sit?” he asked softly, motioning towards the bench. 

You shook your head, lacking the conviction to tell him to leave. You kicked yourself as you scooted over to make room, James sitting down beside you, still gazing on your watch. 

You hadn’t been alone with him since he chased you out of Charms on Tuesday. It felt strange to be with him like this, like things were normal. You had been thinking about what Quattlebaum had said all day, despite trying your hardest not to. It had brought you out of your initial rage, leaving you mostly in mourning of what once was. It felt as though too much had been said to ever regain your former friendship, striking you blind as to how you were meant to talk to him or where you ought to look. You knew where you wanted to look, although that was certainly not an option. 

“The mending charm won’t work?”

“No, not that I’ve tried,” you said, your head bent towards the grass. “Lily’s going to help me this weekend.”

“Huh.” His eyes darted over to yours, duller than you were used to, though still curious. “Where’d you get it?”

“Mallard and Rosman’s. My dad got it for my fifteenth birthday.” 

Mallard and Rosman’s was the premier useless enchanted clothing seller in Diagon Alley. It’s where Sirius had gotten Remus his jumper that changed color based on the leaves. It had been earthy brown since mid-November, soon to turn a pale green. 

“I remember when he sent it through the post. I could hear you from across the table,” James said with a small smile. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice you haven’t had it on, you wear it everyday.” He turned away, pointing his wand at it and trying repairo, though nothing changed. “I’m not sure why I thought that would work.”

You nodded, the warmth of him beside you like a bonfire, blazing on your cheeks. You didn’t realize how much you’ve missed him these past few days until now, even if you still held so much against him. But, then there were the cards: go back or move forward. 

“Why aren’t you at lunch?” you asked, just to fill the silence. 

He shrugged. “Wasn’t hungry.” He rubbed his thumb across the face of your watch, tender as if it was something precious. “I know I owe you an explanation for what happened” he began, his voice low, “but I don’t really have one.” 

You glanced at him, taking in only a fraction of his face. “I don’t either.”

“You were right about my ego, but you weren’t about the rest,” he paused, looking out into the courtyard, his eyes running over the window panes. He continued to fiddle with your watch, his other hand coming to run over the straps. “I didn’t mean to make you think I’d be embarrassed over something like that.”

In all honesty, you weren’t either. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact thing he said that made you come to that conclusion, only that it seemed to make too much sense to be wrong. For four days you had tried to make peace with it, though it hadn’t been nearly enough time, the thought still eating away at you. 

You tried to figure out what to say, preferably something that wasn’t a lie. “Thanks,” was all you were able to come up with, mumbling it so softly you were unsure if he could even make it out. 

“I wish I told you,” he said, leaning forward to look you in the eye. 

His mouth was twisted into something akin to distraught, though you pulled your gaze away from it before you could think too much about it. 

“If I had a time turner, I’d go back and do it,” he began again. “Actually, if I had one I’d curse him right outside of Transfiguration.”

Your gaze ran along the rims of his glasses, down the bridge of his nose, stopping at his cupid's bow. You noticed that his hair was getting long, curling around his ears. You wished you could reach out and brush it away from his face. 

“You sound like Sirius,” you said, a small smile pulling at the corners of your lips. 

“He’s been making a lot of sense lately,” he said, matching your half hearted grin. His smile soon dropped, leaving him pensive and remarkably calm. “It’s selfish of me, but I really want to be your friend right now. I know you don’t need my help, but I hate not giving it. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

“James—”

“Whatever happened before, I promise it won’t happen again,” he interrupted. “I’ll tell you every—”

“James,” you said again, sterner this time. He finally stopped talking, his eyes searching your face, wide and hopeful like they had been in the corridor outside the common room. “You’re relentless, you know.”

“And cheesy,” he said, smiling again. “I’ve got a few quotes stored up if you want to hear them.”

You looked away, your head drooping forward with a groan. “You’re going to make a great old man one day.”

“My mum says I’ll act like a child forever,” he chuckled. “Maybe it’ll even out at some point.”

You took in his expression, forgetting some of your heartbreak, even if just for a moment. “Fifty’ll be your year.”

James laughed again, though it wasn’t without a tinge of something else, things unsaid. More so than ever before, you longed to know what he was thinking. 

“Hey,” he said softly, his humor gone, “are we gonna be all right?”

You heard Remus in the common room, his hand on your shoulder, “Give it a shot, you might be surprised.” Marlene, too, was urging you on, “I wish you could see the way he looks at you.” Then, there were the stars and the cards. The path was not without complication, but it was there, waiting for you to walk down it. It was the brave thing to do, you realized. It was brave to make a choice. 

You bit your lip, offering him a small, encouraging smile. “Yeah, we’re all right.”

James threw an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest. He held you tightly, wrapping his other arm to cradle you, still holding onto your wristwatch. Slowly, you wound your arms around his middle, allowing yourself the luxury of resting your head on his shoulder while avoiding the temptation of burying your face in the crook of his neck. He smelt like he always did: Sleekeazy’s hair potion, broom polish, and something entirely his own, earthy like moss, yet fresh like linen. It was better than a hundred fields of French lavender, sweeter than the little cakes at Puddifoot’s, warmer than a cup of butterbeer or your corner of the Library. You couldn’t believe how much you’d already forgotten, how much you were willing to give up. 

Unthinking, you said exactly how you felt, murmuring into his cloak, “I love you, James.”

As soon as you said it your face began to heat, a jolt of nerves running down your arms. He squeezed you one more time before pulling away, a hand remaining on your shoulder. 

“Love you, too,” he said, playfully tugging at you before taking his hand away. “That’s another thing you never have to say.”

“All this time you just assumed I did?” you teased, trying to forget the way your ears felt as if they were on fire. 

“No,” he began, his smile bright again, the way you loved, “just for future knowledge.”

“Ah, I see.” 

He pushed your shoulder with a laugh, glancing back down at your watch. He handed it back to you, standing up from the bench. “They’ll be able to fix it at Mallard and Rosman’s if Lily can’t figure it out. But if anyone can, it’d be her.” 

You nodded, looking up at his face, more serene than you’d seen him in a while. For a split second, nearly short enough to make you question it, you saw something in his eyes. They sparkled like champagne bubbles, a hue of radiant, golden warmth. He was looking at you as if it were some sublime sight, like the mountains at dawn or the colored lights of aurora borealis. But like a shooting star, it was gone just as you caught it, taking your breath away.

“I have Potions,” he began, “but I’ll see you later, all right?”

“All right,” you said, your words caught in your throat. You watched him walk back towards the archway, dazed as if you were in a dream. 

“I mean it!” he called, flashing you a smile as he disappeared into the castle.

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Taglist: @floverisland @ilovejamespottersomuch @googie-jeon @tvnile

[rottenherbs]

Rumors and Lies // H.P x reader

Summary: Harry is frustrated that a new rumor is spreading in the hall about your relationship. You try to cheer him up in any way you can. 

Word Count: 972

Author's Note: Super fluffy! (Also sorry for the sentence with the “made made” i literally was wracking my brain for a better  phrase but it literally just works LOL 

[masterlist]

Much love, Saige 

———-

Being Harry’s girlfriend was not for the faint of heart. Obviously, many girls at school swooned over the boy, and jealousy wasn’t a trait of yours, but the bullying and quips that were whispered in the halls always hurt you more than it did him. It wasn't until something was circulating about your relationship that hindered Harry in a way you’d never seen before. 

“You know I love you for who you are. Okay?” 

“I know you do, it just frustrates me that they won’t just accept that I love you, i am with you!! Like ONLY you!” He scoffed, head in hands. His head was spinning, anger throughout his body. He was having a hard time maintaining his composure, kicking himself mentally in how he was behaving around you. He knew it wasn't that big of a deal, but it was… sorta. 

Unfortunately, its been the second time this week a peer of yours had gone up to Harry and attempted to swindle him into a date; well aware that you two were together. It was embarrassing, not only for the girl, but slightly for Harry. The situation was awkward and he hated being put in a position like that. A rumor had gone around that he was seeing the ravenclaw prefect.

Was this going to be an ongoing thing? Harry thought. 

He sat on the edge of his bed, his hands raking through his hair, pulling at the roots slightly. It kept racing through his mind that people had the implication that he’d leave you, at all, none the less for some Ravenclaw prefect. He worshiped the ground you walked on, constantly trying to be a better person for you. Even the idea of breaking your heart made his blood pressure rise. 

You could see how upset he was getting. You walked over and sat next to him on his bed. His body slumped slightly into yours as you sat, his head thumping on your shoulder in defeat. Wrapping your arms around him, you hummed lightly into his hair, planting light kisses. After a minute of silence, Harry took a deep breath in, his hands slowly moving across his lap to yours.  

“I’ll never leave you for someone else. I hope you know that.” He mumbled, his thumb rubbing his hand roughly in an attempt to calm himself. “No matter what people say in the halls” 

“I know love. Believe me, no one could rip you from my grasp.” You chuckle, whispering into his ear. Your arms snake around him, squeezing his body as tight as you could. Harry laughed, his arms bound to his sides, falling back onto the bed. You both laugh and tousle slightly, your arms racing around tickling any exposed skin. His face was twisted into a fit, his glasses askew on his face, his cheeks warm and red from laughing.

Somehow after a minute, the tables had turned, Harry was on top of you, your arms pinned above your head, both of you entirely out of breath. You smiled up at him, your armpits suddenly feeling very vulnerable to his touch, not knowing what his next move would be. 

Harry looked down at you, his eyes twinkling with a sense of power. He loved being on top of you. Your hair was disheveled and your lips were parted slightly, exhaling from your mouth. You were undeniably perfect, and he wished he could stare at you all day. Scrunching your eyebrows, you looked up at him sternly, becoming antsy under his touch. 

“Are you just going to hold me down all day?” You scoffed rolling your eyes sarcastically. The corner of your lip quivered in a smile, unable to hide your true feelings. 

“I might.” He chuffed, looking around the room. “Doesn’t look like we have anywhere to be.” Looking back down at you, his smile was more mischievous. Any movement he made - made you squirm under his touch, his hands only tensing around your wrists harder. The air in the room changed, the tension was palpable you swore you could taste it. 

Just as Harry was leaning down, itching his way closer to you, the door to the shrared dormitory swung open, slamming itself against the wall echoing around the room. Both of you turned your heads towards the sound, Harry's legs still straddling your waist. 

“Mate. You know the rules.” Ron scoffed, his hands flying to cover his eyes. He stood for a moment, his sight shielded from both of you. Harry didn’t move off of you, his head fell back, smacking his forehead with his palm.  You laughed at them both, the theatrics of the pair was beyond entertaining. 

“We weren’t even-“

”You’re ontop of her!” 

“No we were just”

“Listen.. I'll be back in an hour, but I swear if there isn't a sock on the door handle and you two are…… frolaking… believe me there will be a new story around the halls.” He shook his head, freeing one of his hands from his face miming around him attempting to find the door handle. You and Harry watched him struggle, both holding back laughter until he successfully closed the door. 

“Maybe a rumor about us “frolaking” wouldn’t be that bad huh?” You tapped your finger on your chin, inquiring playfully. Harry's smile grew, leaning back down again just inches from your face. 

“We ought to do it anyway. Wouldn’t want Ron to be a liar now would we?”