#i thought of this while writing Wizard every time I think of him in a story

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Time to bloom

Written for round one of the @steddiebingo

Prompts: Spring and Mutual Pining

Rated: T

Words: 2,348 [also on AO3]

Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy; Alternate Universe - Soulmates; Half-elf Eddie; Bard Eddie; Paladin Steve; Mutual pining; Getting together; First kiss; Fluff; Idiots in love

Notes: Today's challenge over at @st-loveconfessions was to write a ficlet inspired by an artwork, and I immediately thought of this beautiful fanart by @starthecozy. I know you like my fantasy AUs, so I hope that this one will make bring a smile to your face! ❤️💐

“So, what's the plan?” 

Steve looks up from the ale he's been sipping for the past hour or so to find Robin walking into the tavern. As she slides onto the barstool next to his, her eyes flick from his face to the colorful bouquet of spring flowers sitting next to his glass. 

“Are you actually going to go out there and give them to him? Or are you gonna let them wilt again?” 

“Shut up,” Steve grumbles. He knows she won't, and she knows he knows it, but she also knows it's not really her he's annoyed with. “I'm getting to it. I'm having a drink before I go, that's all.” 

She gives him a look. 

“Dingus,” she says. “For the past week and a half, you've picked a fresh bouquet every day, and then you keep finding excuses as to why you can't go and give it to him. Your rooms are starting to look like a flower shop and I think Mrs Henderson's sheep and Hopper’s horse have been conspiring to murder you for stealing their food. And quite frankly, if I need to keep watching the two of you dance around each other for a little longer, I might join them.” 

Steve chews on his bottom lip while she snatches his glass and drains it in three long gulps. 

“This is fucking embarrassing, huh?” he mutters. “I'm a damn paladin for heaven's sake. I've slain monsters and fought dark wizards and saved the realm from darkness, and here I am, unable to bring myself to tell that stupid, pretty, loud-mouthed bard I lo- … ugh.” 

He trails off, propping his elbows up on the bar and hiding his head in his hands. 

“I can't even say it in here. I'm so pathetic.” 

A hand grabs his right wrist, gently prying his hand from his face. 

“There's nothing pathetic about being scared.” Her finger traces the outline of the bird-shaped mark on his wrist, and instantly, he can feel himself growing more calm. “For the record, though, I don't think that you have any reason to be. He's as gone for you as you are for him.” 

Steve scoffs weakly. “Yeah, I doubt that. I'm not even his soulmate, so-” 

“You don't know that,” she says. “It's not unheard of for people to have two, or more even. It's entirely possible that you are and your marks just haven't manifested yet.” 

Steve gives her a look. “We've fought side by side. He saved my life on at least three different occasions, and I his. I think we'd know by now if- hey, what the hell?” 

“Not all soul bonds are forged in the fires of battle like ours.” She lowers the hand she just flicked his forehead with, picking up the bouquet and pressing it into his hands. “Sometimes, they need time to bloom. Now go to him.” 

*

He doesn't need to search long. The melody floating over the hill behind the tavern tells him exactly where he needs to go. 

Eddie is sitting cross-legged in the crisp spring grass, plucking away on his lute and singing softly in his mother's tongue. His hair is down, dark curls moving softly in the warm breeze, revealing the tips of his pointed ears every now and then. Steve stands transfixed and watches him, thinking back on how closed-off and guarded Eddie was when they first met. How he used to hide his ears under cowls and hats, always scared to reveal his heritage. How far they've come since then. It makes a familiar, fuzzy warmth spread behind his collarbone. 

And that's when Eddie looks up and sees him standing on top of the hill.

“Well, look who it is,” he greets, face splitting into that wide, toothy grin that makes Steve’s hand clench tighter around the bouquet and sends his stomach into weird little somersaults. “Haven’t seen you around in days. What earns me the pleasure of your presence?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Steve grumbles, forcing his wobbly legs to walk closer. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy, he says.” Eddie rolls his pretty eyes, putting the lute aside and gesturing for Steve to join him in the grass. His voice still has the soft, melodic lilt to it that’s always more pronounced when he’s just switched out of the elven language. Steve thinks he could listen to it for hours and not get tired of it. “The sun is bright and warm in the sky, the birds are singing, and spring is in the air, but his Lordship is busy. Why must you humans always be so dreadfully serious?”

Steve rolls his eyes, plopping down into the pleasantly cool grass. “Well, we can’t all laze around and make music all day. Someone has to make sure the place is running smoothly. And besides, you’re half human as well.” 

“And on days as beautiful as this, I like to not think of it,” Eddie winks. “But thank you for reminding me.”

They sit in silence for a while, the sounds of the village wafting all around them. Eddie is right, Steve thinks. It is a beautiful day. The last chill of winter is fully and truly gone, and the air smells of life and new beginnings. The kind of day he hoped to see again, back in the dark days when all seemed lost and it looked like all of their fighting had been in vain.

“It was nice, by the way,” he finally says. Eddie stirs, gaze shifting from the rolling clouds in the bright blue sky to his face. “The song.”

“Nice, huh?” Eddie huffs softly. “What high praise coming from you.”

“I’m making you a compliment here, you dickhead,” Steve groans, secretly thinking how the song wasn’t just nice, but beautiful. Beautiful as the day all around them and beautiful as the singer. “Take it or leave it.”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs, loud and unrestrained. It makes the dimples at the corner of his mouth appear, the ones that Steve wants to trace with his fingers. When he calms down, there’s a faint pink blush blooming on the bridge of his nose.

“Thank you. I’ve been working on it for a while.”

Steve perks up. “Huh? You wrote it yourself? What’s it about?”

“It’s, um- …” Eddie hesitates, suddenly absurdly interested in plucking at the young blades of grass. “It’s about love. How allowing yourself to be loved is the scariest thing, because it means giving yourself to the other person fully, without hiding anything or holding anything back. But how it’s also unavoidable, if you find the person your heart longs for.”

“That’s-” Steve says. Swallows. Wets his lips with his tongue before he tries again. “That sounds wonderful. You’ll need to translate it for me some time.” 

Eddie’s eyes flick up, locking on his, and he feels himself blush - a hot, tingling heat that creeps out from under his collar and all the way up to his cheeks. 

“I mean … only if you want to, of course. I’d never-”

“I’d love that,” Eddie smiles. “I’ll translate all the words in the song for you, a hundred times over if you want me to. Under one condition.”

“Huh?” Steve says, feeling his blush darken as he watches that smile grow more coy. “What condition?” 

“I want you to finally grow a pair and hand over those flowers.”

Steve sputters. Eddie laughs and pats him on the back as he tries to catch his breath. 

“Damn,” Steve murmurs, once he’s regained the ability to speak. His face must be shining like a beacon by now. “”Was I that obvious?” 

“Subtlety has never been your strength, big boy,” Eddie laments. “You’ve been moping around like a lovesick idiot for weeks. The entire village must’ve caught on by now. So, as your friend, I must insist you spare all of us further embarrassment and just confess your love to whatever fair maiden has caught your eye. I promise there’s nothing to be afraid of, she’d be a fool to- … what?”

Steve has whipped up his head and is gawking at him, eyes huge and incredulous.

“Maiden?” he croaks. Eddie scrunches his nose in confusion. It makes his entire face crinkle adorably, and Steve can feel a treacherous bout of laughter tingling in the warm, fluttery space behind his collarbone. “What maiden? There’s no maiden, you idiot.”

“A strapping young lad then.” Eddie waves a hand in the air between them. He’s trying to go for nonchalant, but there’s a distinctly annoyed undercurrent to his voice. “This isn’t the time to get hung up on technicalities, Stevie. I’m trying to tell you something important here. If you want to be with that person, you need to overcome your fears and take matters into your own hands, because nobody is gonna do it for you.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Apparently not.”

And then he kisses him. 

He might not be Eddie’s soulmate, but he won’t sit by and listen to him hark this nonsense about Steve running off with someone else. Not when Eddie’s laugh and Eddie’s voice and Eddie’s eyes have been all he’s been thinking of for months. 

Eddie makes a confused sound against his lips, arms flailing in surprise, and for a second or two, Steve is convinced he’s gonna push him back and demand to know what the hell he is doing. Then, he melts into Steve’s touch. His lips part ever so slightly, a shuddery sigh tickling Steve’s face, and his hands come to rest on Steve’s arms - lightly, hesitantly, like he isn’t sure this is really happening. Like he cannot believe he’s allowed to have this. It’s all the encouragement Steve needs to deepen the kiss. 

Eddie’s lips are every bit as soft as they look, the little noises he makes even sweeter than he imagined in his wildest dreams, and immediately, he finds himself wondering why he didn’t do this a lot sooner. By the time they pull apart, one of his hands has found its way to Eddie’s face, gently cupping his cheek, fingers slipping into his dark curls.

Eddie stares at him, lips pink and slightly parted, eyes round and large with surprise, and this time, Steve can’t contain the fond laugh that bubbles from his throat. 

“It’s you, you moron,” he says, because he has a feeling that Eddie needs it spelled out for him in order to believe it. “It has always been you. Since the day we met, I think.”

“But-” Eddie stutters. Trails off. His lips move silently, even though no words come out and Steve thinks with a victorious little swoop of his stomach that he has finally found a way to render him speechless. “But why?”

“Because,” says Steve, tracing the shell of one pointed ear with his finger. “You are kind and brave and funny and strong and one of the most amazing persons I’ve ever met and I’ve been trying to tell you this for weeks.”

He notices a little belatedly that his right hand is still clutching the bouquet of flowers, and with a sheepish little smile, he nudges them in Eddie’s direction. 

“These are for you, by the way. Will you accept them?”

“I will,” Eddie’s hands are warm as they close around his, that smile still soft and brimming with hesitant joy. “And, um … I also wouldn’t say no to another kiss?”

Steve is only too happy to indulge him. 

This time, Eddie is more bold, not leaving him the lead but deepening the kiss on his own accord, tongue poking out to tease lightly at Steve’s lips. Steve sighs and grants him access- 

-and that’s when it happens. 

It starts as a barely-there tickle in his left wrist, and at first, he thinks that it's Eddie’s hair tickling his skin. It's only when the feeling intensifies, spreading into his arm and all the way up to his shoulder and chest as a fuzzy, tingling warmth that he realizes it’s something else. He gasps and pulls back, heart kickstarting in his ribcage, head spinning with surprised exhilaration, because he recognizes this sensation. He has felt it before.

“Stevie?” Eddie asks, voice shaky with confusion, and Steve knows he can feel it, too. “What’s going- what is that?”

He is staring at something on Steve’s wrist, eyes huge and watery. Steve doesn’t need to look to know it will be there, but he does anyway. He wants to know what it looks like. 

It’s two music notes, delicate and entwined like dancers, in the exact same spot as Robin’s mark on his other wrist. They’re still pale, only just having appeared, but darkening even as he watches. 

“But how-” Eddie whispers, reaching out shaking fingers to trace the mark. “There’s no way- … What does that mean?”

Steve’s face is hurting from the force of his own grin. 

“It means,” he says, gently disentangling one of Eddie’s hands from the bouquet so that he can lift it between them and reveal the sword and shield blooming on Eddie’s wrist. “That I was an idiot. And also that we’re soulmates.”

He ducks his head to brush his lips against the mark, and the touch is like electricity crackling through his veins, is like the heady rush of a good wine in his blood. Eddie laughs, a shaky and surprised thing, and Steve knows he feels it, too. 

“Robin is gonna be insufferable about it,” Steve mutters. “She’s been bugging me to finally confess to you for forever, can you imagine her smug face when she sees these?”

Eddie frowns down at the marks. When he looks up at Steve, his dark eyes are glinting.

“I dunno, they still look a bit pale to me. Maybe we should wait for them to come in properly before we tell her. If only there was something we could do to speed up the process …”

Turns out Robin was right, Steve thinks as they tumble down into the soft grass together, exchanging whispered confessions of love between more laughter and kisses. 

Sometimes, love needs time to bloom. 

More Steddie Bingo

[lilacartsmadsion]

Hot take: Wizard should be op really.

Cause dude has a literal witch’s wand.

That’s like being handed down and taking Mjolnir and being worthy of it…

Like since Witches are the equivalent to gods in the cookie realm, then Wizard should be op

[ldrfanatic]

this happens once every few lifetimes

mattheo riddle x reader

synopsis - reader transfers to hogwarts from ilvermorny. she and mattheo fall in love with each other at first sight.

warnings - none, i think?

listened to while writing - the alchemy by taylor swift

i have a clara bow theo one in the works right now that i'm excited to drop at some point. ngl this gif of benjamin in deadly class inspired this idea A LOT.

part two?

slytherin boys works

you waited with baited breath outside of the great hall.

any moment now the doors would swing open and albus dumbledore, who you knew only through legend, would announce your transfer to hogwarts.

it was terrifying honestly. leaving ilvermorny was indescribably difficult. but when your father got a job opportunity at the british ministry of magic, it was decided. already you were feeling overwhelmed. you'd done your research but hogwarts was much larger than ilvermorny. it was much older as well, and thus had gained a reputation over a thousand years of producing some of the greatest witches and wizards the world has ever seen.

the large magnificent doors opened and every pair of eyes was on you.

you walked forward with sweaty palms, subtly attempting to dry them on your plain, black hogwarts robes. another change. the wardrobe was much more strict here than back in america. and where every student at ilvermorny wore the same blue and gold, students at hogwarts wore colors representative of their house.

finally, you reached the end of the walkway and stood face to face with a dusty and rather ancient looking hat. to your light surprise, it spoke. a woman whom you'd met briefly beforehand, professor mcgonnagall, picked up the hat gently and motioned for you to sit on the stool.

it was time to be sorted into one of hogwarts four houses. you'd been in wampus, the house of the warrior, at ilvermorny, and despite hours of research, you couldn't distinguish what the hogwarts equivalent would be. all four houses seemed to be good choices but there was one in particular that stood out to you.

no shorter or longer than exactly fifteen seconds after the sorting hat touched your head, a declaration was made.

"slytherin!"

an older student in green robes gestured you over to the table on the far right. not wanting to sit at the very front and continue to be gawked at, you briskly walked a little further down and took a seat at the middle of the table.

once you'd taken your seat, dumbledore began to explain that hogwarts would be hosting the triwizard tournament this year. after a flashy introduction from beauxbatons and durmstrang, you effectively decided that you were not the most interesting shiny new toy at hogwarts this year and silently thanked the universe for this turn of events.

at last, it was announced that you could eat and the tables filled with food. all around you students' plates began magically creating complex dishes. there were even some dinners that held food that you were sure you couldn't see anywhere on the table.

frustrated, you stared down at your empty plate. it was a long journey to hogwarts. you were hungry and quite frankly tired of things being so different. if one more complicated situation made its appearance at this school, you were undoubtedly going to lose it.

"just think about a food you really want to eat. it can be anything."

a boy next to you with brown hair and bright blue eyes leaned over. a thick italian accent levied on his deep voice.

you closed your eyes and thought about a delicious juicy cheeseburger with golden-crisp french fries. sure enough, when you opened your eyes, your plate had filled with food.

absolutely giddy with glee, you turned to thank the mystery man.

"no problem. i'm theodore nott. this is draco malfoy next to me."

the platinum blonde boy didn't even look up to acknowledge your existence. theodore, seemingly sensing your mild displeasure, spoke up.

"don't mind him. welcome to slytherin house. riddle, say hello to our newest recruit."

the dark haired boy directly across from you who you assumed was 'riddle' did in fact look over from his conversation with a boy with a chestnut colored complexion. yet, when your eyes found his, he didn't say hello.

he didn't say anything actually. he just sort of stared. as you held eye contact, it was like lightning running through your veins and sizzling at your fingertips.

for a moment, you wondered if he'd ever seen a person before.

then, as if he'd snapped out of a daze, a gentle smile played at his lips. dark curls fell over his brown eyes that seemed to sparkle the longer you looked at them.

his large hand crept over the table until it was outstretched towards you with a kind smile.

"mattheo."

you shook his hand with a shy smile. mattheo was currently looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered. in fact, your little interaction had gone on so long that theodore and the boy mattheo had been speaking with had both strucken up conversation with other students at the table.

"y/n."

mattheo eyed your appearance. his gaze flickered across your face, then to your hair, and all over the parts of your body he could see.

"sorry if this is a little awkward, but i can't remember the last time i was this captivated by someone." mattheo finally released your hand and you had to stop yourself from begging him not to.

"welcome to slytherin house. you're in the snake's nest now, beautiful."

---

7.8.2024

[atsro-slut]

Would you be willing to write a fem!reader x Remus where you're good friends with Remus, but one lingering touch and you were head over heels, so you're ranting to Lily about your feelings, and she comes up with a plan to set you up with Remus? Team efforts with the other marauders seem fun but you're completely free to do whatever you want! 🫶

Catching Lupin

Hey!!! My literal fav is back! I hope you enjoy bby!!

Remus Lupin x female!Reader

Y/N’s crushing on Remus, and with a little help from Lily and the Marauders, it’s about to go from friendship to something way more.

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:☆

Y/N had always considered Remus Lupin to be one of her closest friends at Hogwarts. Their friendship had blossomed over years of late-night study sessions, shared laughter over ridiculous inside jokes, and quiet walks around the castle grounds. But lately, something had shifted. The comfortable camaraderie they’d always shared suddenly felt… different. At least, it did on her end.

It all started with one lingering touch.

It wasn’t anything overly flirtatious—just Remus gently brushing her arm when handing her a book during their usual spot in the library. But the moment his fingers grazed her skin, a spark had ignited inside her, leaving her breathless and painfully aware of just how close he had been. Since that moment, she couldn’t stop thinking about him—about the warmth of his hand, the way his brown eyes glinted when he smiled, how she felt safe and seen whenever they were together. It was maddening.

And now, Y/N was pacing back and forth in the Gryffindor common room, her hands tangled in her hair as she vented to her best friend, Lily Evans.

"I can't stop thinking about him, Lily!" Y/N exclaimed, nearly knocking over a cup of tea in her haste. "Remus! And it’s driving me insane. I mean, what was that touch? That touch—it was nothing, but everything, you know? I swear, I’ve never been this pathetic over a guy before."

Lily raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at her lips. She had been watching the two of them for a while now, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that there was more between Y/N and Remus than either of them realized. She set her tea cup down, a mischievous glint in her green eyes.

"Oh, I know exactly what you mean," Lily said with a knowing tone, crossing her arms. "I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think no one’s watching."

Y/N groaned, flopping onto the couch dramatically. "This is ridiculous! He’s my friend. My good friend. And now every time he’s near me, I’m… I don’t know, melting like some kind of love-struck idiot."

Lily laughed softly. "Well, it sounds to me like someone needs a little nudge. What are you waiting for? A grand confession from him?" She paused thoughtfully before her eyes lit up with a spark of inspiration. "Wait, I have an idea."

Y/N sat up, her eyes wide. "What? What idea?"

Lily leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice as if they were planning the most intricate plot in wizarding history. "You want Remus? I’ll help you get him. But we need to make a plan. A plan where he realizes just how amazing you are."

Y/N blinked, slightly stunned by the sudden shift. "Wait, are you seriously going to help me? You, the one who always says I should wait for things to happen naturally?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Lily said with a wink. "Plus, you’re clearly head over heels, and you’ve been too busy staring at him to actually do something about it. Leave it to me. I’ll get the Marauders involved. They owe me a favor anyway."

Over the next few days, Lily set her plan into motion, gathering the Marauders for an impromptu meeting in the common room. Y/N had no idea what was going on, but she was already feeling the heat of anticipation in her chest. The Marauders—James, Sirius, Peter, and Remus—had always been close to her, but now that her feelings for Remus were growing, the thought of being around all of them was starting to make her feel a little self-conscious.

One evening, while they were all sitting by the fire in the common room, Lily subtly nudged her toward Remus. He was sitting on the other side of the room, a book in his lap, looking so effortlessly handsome that Y/N could barely keep her focus.

"You know what I think?" Lily whispered, leaning closer. "I think you should go over there. Sit next to him. Get a little closer. Let him see just how much you’ve been avoiding him."

Y/N’s eyes widened. "You want me to just… sit next to him?"

"Yep. And don’t be all nervous about it. Just be yourself." Lily gave her a sly smile. "And I’ll take care of the rest."

Lily’s plan was set into motion the very next evening. As Y/N walked into the common room, she found Remus lounging near the fire, reading a book. His hair was slightly messy, his glasses perched low on his nose, and his warm smile greeted her as she entered.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, looking up from his book. "How’s it going?"

"Good," she replied, her heart pounding in her chest. She hesitated for a moment before taking the seat beside him, her knee brushing his in the process. It wasn’t intentional—at least, not entirely—but the moment their legs touched, she could feel the heat spreading up her spine.

"Mind if I sit here?" she asked casually, trying to hide the way her stomach was doing flips.

"Of course not," Remus replied with a smile, not seeming to notice the nervous fluttering in her chest. He continued reading his book, but the proximity made Y/N acutely aware of every little movement he made, of the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, of the faint scent of the woods and parchment that always lingered around him.

"Y/N," Lily said from across the room, catching her attention with a pointed glance. She gestured subtly toward Remus, then to herself, as if signaling some silent code.

Y/N blinked, her heart pounding in her ears. What was Lily up to? Before she could question it, Sirius, who had been watching the whole thing with a grin, leaned toward James and whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, "So, what do you think, James? Should we help these two out? I feel like we could, you know, nudge them in the right direction."

James immediately caught on. "Oh, absolutely. Time for a little friendly intervention."

Peter, who had been quietly observing the conversation from the corner, suddenly piped up. "Are we talking about Remus and Y/N? I think we can help. A few well-placed compliments, maybe some strategic distraction…"

Before Y/N knew what was happening, the Marauders had begun their campaign. James and Sirius started joking around with Remus, purposely steering the conversation toward how “amazing” Y/N was—her intelligence, her kindness, the way she could make the most mundane tasks feel fun. Meanwhile, Peter, being the expert in misdirection, kept Y/N distracted with casual small talk, occasionally giving her a teasing wink.

Every time one of them said something about her, Y/N’s heart skipped. She was blushing. She had to admit, their plan was working.

Finally, Remus glanced over at her, his brown eyes meeting hers with a soft, almost shy smile. "You know," he said, his voice low and warm, "I’ve been meaning to tell you something."

Y/N’s heart leapt into her throat. "What’s that?"

He hesitated for a moment, then chuckled softly. "I think I’ve been a little oblivious... But I do like spending time with you. A lot more than I’ve realized."

Y/N blinked. "Oh," she breathed, a smile tugging at her lips. "I think I like spending time with you too."

Sirius, from across the room, gave a thumbs-up, and James clapped dramatically. Peter, ever the strategist, even pretended to be busy so they could have the moment to themselves.

Remus, looking a little sheepish but pleased, finally leaned closer. "Would you maybe want to… go for a walk? You know, just the two of us?"

Y/N’s smile widened. "I’d love that."

As they stood up together, heading toward the door, Lily gave Y/N a wink, mouthing, “Mission accomplished.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. Maybe it hadn’t been so hard after all. And thanks to her friends—especially the Marauders—Remus Lupin was no longer just her good friend.

He was something much, much more.

[sleepiexx]

Something He’d Overheard

James Potter x fem!Reader

Note: I’ve been in the marauders fandom for over 7 years now, I think it’s high time I write a fic for it. Part of my efforts to branch out into writing for more fandoms than COD.

Summary: James finds himself head over heels when he sees you defending a first year student.

Warnings: some curse words here and there, bullying mention, overall rlly soft

Word Count: 1151

After countless fictional characters and random strangers on the street with pretty faces catching his burning ire, anyone who knew James Potter knew good and well that he was a lover. He had long believed in love at first sight, merely seeing someone eye-catching often sparked thoughts of budding romance, fantasies of how they would love and what their relationship would look like amongst other things. Soulmates and fate were a big concept to him too, for example his favorite book character, a headstrong witch who was kind and brilliant, well James had a hunch that in another life they were lovers.

He’d fallen in love just about a million times, and yet something about you was different.

You had caught James’ eye one day as he made the trek to the library to collect his good friend Remus for their group’s usual night’s worth of mischief. Your beautiful eyebrows were pinched together in anger, a sneer on your pretty lips, your voice was loud and firm as you scolded one of the usual culprits (a death eater in the making) for bullying a defenseless first year student.

Your hand clutched your wand intently as you damn near hissed the words, “you wanna try picking on someone who can actually fight back?”

They let out a scoff and left the scene, leaving you, the first year, and unbeknownst to you, James.

The switch between standoffishness and caring came like whiplash. Your tensed frame relaxed as you knelt down in front of the first year (those eleven year olds seemed to be growing shorter and shorter every year). Your dominant hand reached out and gently wiped away the younger child’s tears.

“Everything he said is bullshit,” you began, “he’s angry at the world, looking for someplace to fit in, and unfortunately it’s really easy to fall into the wrong crowd. You haven’t, and he’s jealous of that.”

The kid sniffled, pout still indented firmly on their little lips, “who would be jealous of me?”

You shook your head in disbelief, “plenty of people! You have a gift that a large part of the world’s population doesn’t possess, that’s something to be proud of no matter what other witches and wizards try to tell you. Heck, I’m even jealous of you.”

As you spoke a smile crept its way on the first year’s face, “you are?” They asked.

“Yeah, I am!” You nodded, “you’ve got six and a half more years left at Hogwarts to have fun and run about the castle, I only have another year and a half.”

“This place is pretty cool,” they muttered.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Your face lit up and you stood to your feet, offering the small child your hand so you could walk them back to their common room. You’d never seen the awe-stricken onlooker, but the scene was now burned into James’ mind.

It followed him to the library, where he convinced Remus to follow him to their other friends, a long walk that Remus spent listening to James drone on and on about you. It followed him to his dorm that night, and every other night for weeks leaving the marauders to know every single detail about you. And it most especially followed him to each of the classes you had together where James would stare at you and admire your appearance while daydreaming about you.

It was the third time that week that the scene had followed him to the lunch table when Sirius slammed his palms on the table, “I’m putting an end to this nonsense right now. You either talk to her, Prongs, or I will. And trust me, you won’t like how in depth I will go about those daydreams you’ve been having where-“

Sirius couldn’t even finish his sentence with how fast James jumped in, “alright, alright! I have potions with her next, I’ll talk to her, I swear.”

The statement leaves the marauders satiated in conversation as they finish up their lunch and head to their classes.

In potions, James nearly decides to abandon ship, facing a new anxiety he’d never experienced before when dealing with a girl. He decides that maybe it would be best to keep to himself, too afraid to stumble on his words and make a fool of himself in front of such a pretty girl. All this is until Professor Slughorn proclaims that today’s assignment requires a partner. If there ever was a time to shoot his shot, it’s now.

He takes deep breaths, adjusting his posture and forcing his every step to radiate confidence before he reaches you, “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to be my partner?”

You smile, “I’d love to! Fair warning, though, I’m not the best at potions.”

James bursts out into a giddy grin, “I’m willing to pick up the slack.”

“Unfortunately, I bet I’ll make you eat your words,” nonetheless you collect the ingredients as James collects the supplies.

When everything is together, James reads off the instructions. You follow them with great care, not wanting to make a fool of yourself in front of your new, devilishly handsome potions partner.

You make to slice open one of the ingredients, as the instructions called for, but your knife slips, sending the damned thing hurdling straight towards your face. You close your eyes, bracing yourself for an impact that never comes, reopening them only to be met with the sight of the back of James’ hand.

“Holy shit,” you curse, “did you just catch that?”

James nods, almost surprised at himself.

You shake your head in disbelief, “if you weren’t such a good chaser, I’d suggest you take up seeking.”

Your statement renews James’ confidence, so you’d noticed him too?

“Can I show you how to cut it?” He asks, a smile on his face.

You nod, watching his hands intently, confused when he disappears behind you. You quickly piece together what’s happening when he grabs your hands with his own, handing you the knife and positioning you so that you slice through the ingredient like it’s nothing.

“Great job!” James praises, even though it was him that had done all the work.

You still take the compliment, grinning from ear to ear as he tosses the final ingredient into the potion, creating the rich purple color you were striving for, “we make a really good team, Potter.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, “well what do you say we see if we make as good of a couple?” You feel blood rush to your cheeks, James further clarifies “Hogsmeade this weekend? Just you and me?”

And you nod eagerly, “I would love that.”

If Sirius thought James asking you out would be the solution to him raving on and on about you all hours of the day, he was sorely mistaken and he was about to figure that out as soon as James stepped into the common room.

[aerynwrites]

Lost For Words

Gale Dekarios x gn!Reader

A/N: for the anon that sent in this request - I hope you and everyone else enjoys! I had such a fun time writing this haha.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: sexual content (not explicit), grinding, reader is a tease, gale is a flustered mess, suggestive talk, kissing, fluff at the beginning.

*I tried to keep this gender neutral, but please let me know if anything slipped through my editing!*

It’s not often you get any downtime, what with the parasite in your brain and all. 

But this evening has afforded you and your companions a rare but much needed free night. Most everyone has decided to spend the evening down in the tavern, drinking or gambling or whatever other pastimes happen down there. However, you and Gale have opted to stay upstairs, reveling in the unusual peace and quiet. 

Gale had been reading to you for a while, a fantasy book of some sort, but you’d excused yourself a few moments ago. Not because you were enjoying lounging in bed with him, but because a certain item in your bag has been calling to you since you received it. 

The Wavemother’s Robe. 

It has been a gift for getting ride of that machine that was polluting the bay waters, and you hadn’t really had a chance to look at it. 

But now, after you’ve retrieved it and stepped behind the dressing screen, you find that there isn’t really much to look at, at all. 

As you slip into the delicate yet butter-soft fabric, you can’t help but notice that it leaves very little to the imagination. So, in that sense, there is a lot to look at depending on who’s doing the looking. 

The neckline of the detailed collar of robe plummets down in a tragically deep neckline, the end reaching your navel. And the skirt of the robe is much the same, the slits in the sides coming up all the way to above your hip, leaving the fabric covering yourself hanging dangerously loose in the front and back. 

For half a second, you're tempted to rip the thing off and get rid of it. The whole outfit is somewhat absurd. 

But, despite your question about the functionality of such a garment, you can’t help but admire the beauty of it. The blue, scaled fabric sparkles in the dim candle light of the room, iridescent light bouncing off the walls whenever you turn. Even the small delicate chains at your hips and resting against your sternum twinkle gently. 

When you look in the floor-length mirror you can’t help but let your mouth drop open slightly. 

You look…good. If not a bit exposed. 

Without thinking much about it, you turn and come out from behind the screen, approaching Gale where he still sits on the bed reading. If he hears your approach he doesn’t acknowledge it, only flipping a page every so often as you watch him in silence, a small smile on your face. 

He’s sat propped up against the headboard, legs outstretched in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He cradles the book gentle in his hands atop his lap, eyes trailing over the page quickly as he consumes the story. 

You take a couple steps closer to the bed, now just an arms length away. 

He still doesn’t look up. 

“Gale…” you call in a soft sing-song voice. 

The wizard merely hums, inclining his head your way ever so slightly, but never takes his eyes from the page. 

“Yes, my love?” 

You huff, rolling your eyes as your smile tugs further at your lips. 

“I wanted your thoughts on my new clothes.” 

You watch as his brows furrow, his thumb sliding down the page to hold his place as he closes the book before slowly turning to look at you. 

“Your clothes-?”

His questioning is cut off with the audible clack of his teeth as his mouth slams shut, his eyes going wide as they finally take you in, trailing from your head to your toes before whipping back up again. 

He blushes. Actually blushes - his cheeks turning several shades darker as his eyes flit over your form once more before he’s back to looking at you all wide-eyed and scandalized. 

A shit eating grin overtakes your earlier soft smile as you take the last few steps to the edge of the bed, reaching out to pluck the book from his hands to toss it to the side. 

“So…what do you think?” you ask, voice dripping sweetness. 

“W-what do I-? I - ehm…it’s certainly - revealing-“

You drop your lips into a pout as you crawl onto the bed, your nose barely brushing his own as you swing a leg over his hips to settle on his lap. The robe pools between you, but the position causes the silken fabric to rise up your hips even further. One wrong move and even less would be left to the imagination. 

Something Gale must take notice of, as he instinctively reaches out to tug at the fabric on your hips, keeping it in place as his fingers dig into the flesh beneath it. 

“Do you not like it?” you ask, feigning disappointment as you reach down to toy with the chain running down your chest. “I thought it was pretty.” 

Gale clears his throat and shifts his hips, the evidence of just how much he likes it evident against your inner thigh. 

“N-No not at all I -“ He coughs, the blush reaching down to his chest now, making his orb mark stand out against the flushed skin. “I simply was not expecting…”

His words taper off as you begin to trail a finger over the mark on his chest, following the tendrils up over his collarbone and onto the sensitive skin of his neck, making his breath hitch. 

“Not expecting…what?” 

“Well - I was deeply entrenched in m-my reading and then you come out like t - that!” 

His last word pitches up when you grind your hips against his own, his fingers now digging into your hip bones. 

You lean in close, lips brushing his cheek as you speak. 

“Thats a very…lackluster description,” you pout. “Have I left the great Gale of Waterdeep lost for words? What happened to your supposed verbosity? And I remember something about a practiced tongue -“ 

Your teasing words are cut off sharply as Gale's arms wrap around your waist and he flips you both over on the bed, your back hitting the mattress with a soft this just as his lips claim yours, swallowing your gasp of surprise. 

He wastes no time, his tongue pressing against the seam of your lips, demanding entrance. 

Something you happily grant him. 

The kiss is eager, frenzied, leaving no room for the teasing banter you had established earlier.

His hands move to slide down over your bare thighs before hiking one of them up over his hip and holding it there as he presses his hips down into your own. 

Only when his hips meet your own in a desperate grind does he pull away from you, lips moving instead to trail kisses down your cheek and jaw. 

“If you had given me a moment to collect myself,” he chastises lightly. “I would have gathered my wits enough to tell you how magnificent you look.” 

“Ravishing.” He presses a kiss beneath your ear. “Captivating.” Another on the junction of your shoulder. 

“Absolutely sinful.” 

A sharp nip to your collarbone has you gasping, just as a calloused hand slides up the exposed expanse of your chest, fingers hooking beneath the delicate chains there. 

“So…” He trails off, his lips traveling down to where his hand lays and then lower, pressing lightly to where the deep plunge of your robe ends. 

“Since you were so impatient, I suppose I’ll just have to show you as well. To make up for my lack of…verbosity.” 

A moan slips past your lips at his words, and you can't stop the shiver of excitement that runs through as his hands slip beneath the fabric of the robe. 

Maybe you’ll keep the robe after all. 

[crescenthistory]

your last animagus fic was so sweet! it even made some ideas popped in my mind. i was thinking about feisty (gn) reader being a crow animagus accompanying barty into his mischief, which could be scaring the skittles or pranking people in general. if you could write this, it would be wonderful 💞

(fun fact: crows can mimic sounds such as ambience noise or even human voice, this is so amazing and a bit scary, imagine encounter one while you walk in the woods AAAAAKXNSM!!! i love them so much, thx for reading me yapp xx)

hi lovely<33 thank YOU for yapping to me, i find it very endearing and entertaining 🤲 people who are passionate about what they love>>>>

now, i personally don't think i would be able to write this as a full-length fic, as pranking and mischief is not reallyyyy within my toolbox BUT this is very cute so i'm giving you some belated headcanons 🫂 if anyone's able/willing to write a longer version, please do share with the class and tag me!!

i present to you my thoughts of crow!animagus!reader x barty:

i imagine you become an animagus before you and barty get together

(because if you wanted to do it while the two of you were friends/dating he would INSIST on doing the transformation process with you)

and i think deciding when your relationship is at the point where you can/should divulge that part of yourself would be difficult to pinpoint

so what happens is that you would be laying on the floor beside each other in the astronomy tower, stargazing together. a date of sorts, in the way every second you spend with barty somehow feels like a date as he is fully, wholly dedicated to you.

the later it got, the more you two would switch between genuinely trying to find and remember constellations and just goofing around

those type of late night conversations where you seem to get to know someone 100x more in just a few hours than you otherwise could over the spans of months

asking each other increasingly deep questions

"tell me something about you no one else knows"

when else would you get the perfect opportunity to reveal your animagus status to your boyfriend?

stupidly, you feared his reaction. would he be upset with you hiding it for so long? would he think your animagus form was silly? would he look at you differently?

but when i tell you this man shrieked with excitement

"show me, show me, show me"

when you turn into a crow and fly around him in circles, he genuinely would jump up excitedly and twirl in the same direction you're flying so that his eyes never have to leave your form, laughing and screaming

the only thing on his mind would be how spectacular and remarkable you are, excitement and love filling any space that the hostility you feared might have fostered

not to mention; "that's bloody badass, baby"

you would land carefully on his shoulder and barty would scoop you up close to his body, almost squishing you and making you squeak

"we're gonna have to perfect the art of cuddling with crows," he would say gravely

barty, the secret academic weapon and swot that he is, would SO do his due diligence with research immediately upon the discovery

we're talking library trips, tomes and scrolls purchases, books upon books of muggle literature on crows and wizard literature on animagi that he chases through faster than you could imagine

when he learns of crows being able to mimic noises, including human voices, his mind floods with ideas

"oh, we are going to have fun baby"

that's how you start accompanying him into his many tirades and mischief

most of the time it is just as a companion, the crow sitting on his shoulder as he runs around the castle wreaking havoc

it adds to barty's general intimidating aura and the reputation that just barely proceeds him — the crazy guy with the facial piercings, acid green streaks in his hair, punkish style, chokers and a volatile wand now also has a crow with him everywhere? hell no, people steer clear of him

it doesn't help that many students swear he talks to the crow and seems to hold an entire conversation with it, based solely on its body language and occasional caws

"i swear to bloody merlin, the crow looked at me when i spoke badly of junior. it's like it understood, some human-like capabilities or what not, fucking scary."

it doesn't take long before you become a more active partner in his shenanigans, though

you will call out people's names to get them to enter a room barty needs them in (because let's be real, if barty called for them, nobody would be stupid enough to fall for it and go to him)

you deliver letters and packages for him, you caw behind first years so that they jump in fear, you borrow people's clips and rings and pens

poor regulus and evan get the most shit from you among the skittles, while dorcas finds the most amount of entertainment through it

i imagine it's through your animagus form that the skittles learn that when pandora talks to animals she actually does understand them -> you two have lengthy conversations, much to everyone's eventual chagrin

and while the skittles of course all learn you're an animagus, no one else in the castle does

(though i imagine the marauders have their strong suspicions from early on)

barty was already showering you in gifts — "my father's outrages amounts of money should be put to good" — but now he has taken it upon himself to get you anything and everything shiny he sees

"you're a literal crow and i'm your dutiful partner. i have to contribute to the nest."

(mind you, this would likely be a thing even before he ever sees you seek out something shiny while in animagus form; he just assumes)

ironically, barty starts behaving like a crow himself in how he seeks out shiny trinkets for you

and while you try and tell him you don't have those instincts when outside of your animagus form... you actually really do and you revel in the love and attention

after a while, i do believe he would attempt to become an animagus too

honestly, he would begin getting on your case about it every single day from finding out. same way he would immediately learn his s/o's native language imo — he needs to be included.

especially if regulus is a cat animagus in this universe, because his two favourite people simply cannot have something in common that he is excluded from. this man is the epitome of fomo

my default animagus form for barty is a raccoon, but i think he would also make a lot of fun as a bat animagus which fits perfect with you as a crow

can you imagine, just you two flying around on school grounds and later on in your neighbourhood when you move in together?

the crow and the bat<3(shit crazy boy who loves them)

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Harry Potter is Really Magically Powerful

So, in continuation to this post, and my desire to show some love to Harry James Potter, this post is dedicated to showing how magically powerful Harry actually is in the books — which is insanely powerful. Harry doesn't think of himself as a great wizard, but he is — definitely powerful enough to be Voldemort's equal (and Dumbledore's for that matter).

Under the cut are some quotes from the books that prove this.

Accidental Magic

Let's start with Harry's childhood accidental magic. Tom was considered prodigious for being able to steal things with magic and make animals obey him intentionally. Neville, as a late bloomer, bounced when thrown, which is the bare minimum of childhood accidental magic young witches and wizards should be doing.

Now he came to think about it…every odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him had happened when he, Harry, had been upset or angry…chased by Dudley’s gang, he had somehow found himself out of their reach…dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, he’d managed to make it grow back…and the very last time Dudley had hit him, hadn’t he got his revenge, without even realizing he was doing it? Hadn’t he set a boa constrictor on him?

(Philosopher's Stone, page 44)

Harry has:

Apparated out of Dudley's reach when in danger to get away - advanced magic only allowed to practice from the age of 16!

Growing back all his hair from not liking the bad haircut.

Disappearing the glass of the Boa Constrictor case and leashing it

not even when he’d had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he’d somehow turned his teacher’s wig blue.

(Philosopher's Stone, page 84)

4. Turning his teacher's hair blue.

We see Harry is capable of aparation, transfiguration, and various charms at a level that is considered prodigious. Harry was incredibly advanced as a child according to his feats of magic before even knowing magic was real. And while he wasn't as intentional as Tom, he was aware enough to know odd things happened when he was "furious or upset" that the odd things responded to him.

Intuitive Casting

I wrote later in this post about this, but I do want to write a whole essay about how magic works in the Wizarding world, but like, really in short, emotion and intention matter in magic. A lot.

And we see Harry make use of this fact to great effect. Using spells with intention to change the way they behave and they work for him because of how magically prodigious he is.

Harry raised his own wand. “Protego!” Snape staggered; his wand flew upward, away from Harry — and suddenly Harry’s mind was teeming with memories that were not his — a hook-nosed man was shouting at a cowering woman, while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner. . . . A greasy-haired teenager sat alone in a dark bedroom, pointing his wand at the ceiling, shooting down flies. . . . A girl was laughing as a scrawny boy tried to mount a bucking broomstick — “ENOUGH!” Harry felt as though he had been pushed hard in the chest; he took several staggering steps backward, hit some of the shelves covering Snape’s walls and heard something crack. Snape was shaking slightly, very white in the face.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 591)

This is from the last of Harry's and Snape's Occlumancy lessons. What's interesting here is that from Snape's words, it seems the protego spell isn't supposed to work like that. Harry is magically powerful enough to make protego (shield charm) to defend him from Legilamancy, turn the Legilamancy onto Snape and disarm Snape.

No wonder Snape is shocked, it really isn't supposed to work. Unless you're Harry Potter, that is.

He did say in their first lesson the rules of magic don't seem to apply to Harry.

“Reparo!” hissed Snape, and the jar sealed itself once more. “Well, Potter . . . that was certainly an improvement. . . .” Panting slightly, Snape straightened the Pensieve in which he had again stored some of his thoughts before starting the lesson, almost as though checking that they were still there. “I don’t remember telling you to use a Shield Charm . . . but there is no doubt that it was effective. . . .”

(Order of the Phoenix, page 591)

What I marked here is the fact in all their occlumancy lessons, even the first, Snape always placed a few memories in the pensive. He chose memories he didn't want Harry to see and place them there.

Okay... so why is that a big deal?

Snape repeatedly belittles Harry's magical skills, and yet, he fears Harry would turn the Legilemancy connection back on him. Legilemancy as Snape explained is no easy skill:

“Only Muggles talk of ‘mind reading.’ The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Potter . . . or at least, most minds are. . . .” He smirked. “It is true, however, that those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly...”

(Order of the Phoenix, pages 350-351)

As such, he doesn't expect Harry to be capable of it. But that’s a lie. He clearly thinks Harry is skilled enough to be a threat in this situation. That Harry just might be able to turn this around and glimpse his own memories, which is no easy feat.

And Snape is many things, but stupid isn't one of them. If he thinks Harry is uniquely magically prodigious to be capable of this, then Harry probably is. Especially considering how much Snape hates Harry and how much he'd rather think he's stupid, useless, and unskilled.

“SHE KILLED SIRIUS!” bellowed Harry. “SHE KILLED HIM — I’LL KILL HER!” And he was off, scrambling up the stone benches. People were shouting behind him but he did not care. The hem of Bellatrix’s robes whipped out of sight ahead and they were back in the room where the brains were swimming. . . . She aimed a curse over her shoulder. The tank rose into the air and tipped. Harry was deluged in the foul-smelling potion within. The brains slipped and slid over him and began spinning their long, colored tentacles, but he shouted, “Wingardium Leviosa!” and they flew into the air away from him. Slipping and sliding he ran on toward the door.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 809)

Okay, so can we talk about this Levitation Charm? Please?

Like, get this, he uses Wingardium Leviosa, like a shield charm that sends multiple magical projectiles away from him. This isn't how this charm works, but it is if you're Harry Potter. (again, this is that intention use I mentioned)

The point is, that Harry is magically powerful enough to bend the way spells are meant to work to fit his will and situation.

And when Voldemort possesses him at the end of the fight in Order of the Phoenix:

He was gone from the hall, he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry did not know where his body ended and the creature’s began. They were fused together, bound by pain, and there was no escape — And when the creature spoke, it used Harry’s mouth, so that in his agony he felt his jaw move. . . . “Kill me now, Dumbledore. . . .” Blinded and dying, every part of him screaming for release, Harry felt the creature use him again. . . . “If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy. . . .” Let the pain stop, thought Harry. Let him kill us. . . . End it, Dumbledore. . . . Death is nothing compared to this. . . . And I’ll see Sirius again. . . . And as Harry’s heart filled with emotion, the creature’s coils loosened, the pain was gone, Harry was lying facedown on the floor, his glasses gone, shivering as though he lay upon ice, not wood. . . .

(Order of the Phoenix, page 816)

Harry kicks Voldemort out.

As I mentioned, I have a a whole theory I'm drafting about magical theory and how magic works in the Wizarding World, but emotion as Harry describes in this scene is part of it. Emotion drives childhood accidental magic. Emotion is required to cast the Patronus charm and any of the unforgivable. Because of how emotion is tied to magic in this world, this instance is Harry's magic kicking Voldemort in his full power out of his mind.

Which is an impressive feat of magic.

Advanced Charmwork

“Oh — yeah —” said Harry, quickly forcing his thoughts back to that first broom ride. “Expecto patrono — no, patronum — sorry — expecto patronum, expecto patronum —” Something whooshed suddenly out of the end of his wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas. “Did you see that?” said Harry excitedly. “Something happened!”

(Prisoner of Azkaban, page 238)

This is the first time Harry cast a Patronus Charm. On his very first try of this complex charm, most adult wizards fail at — he succeeds. It isn't a perfect casting. His happy memory isn't happy enough, but the problem isn't Harry's skill.

The fact he succeeded in casting it at all with how crap his life has been up to this point is a testament to his magical talent.

Hatred rose in Harry such as he had never known before. He flung himself out from behind the fountain and bellowed “Crucio!” Bellatrix screamed. The spell had knocked her off her feet, but she did not writhe and shriek with pain as Neville had — she was already on her feet again, breathless, no longer laughing.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 810)

Harry, at age fifteen, casts the Cruciatus Curse for the first time. An advanced piece of dark magic that is tricky to cast. Sure, it wasn't the best cast Crucio, but it did work.

It did land.

It worked enough for Bellatrix to stop laughing and start taking Harry seriously.

Harry raised the hawthorn wand beneath the cloak, pointed it at the old goblin, and whispered, for the first time in his life, “Imperio!” A curious sensation shot down Harry’s arm, a feeling of tingling, warmth that seemed to flow from his mind, down the sinews and veins connecting him to the wand and the curse it had just cast.

(Deathly Hollows, page 452)

Like with the Cruciatus Curse, Harry succeeds in the Imperius curse on his first try (and the second try that happens immediately after). In general, Harry learns to cast most spells (even the advanced ones) incredibly quickly — like, on his first try. That's insane!

As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted, “Crucio!” The Death Eater was lifted off his feet. He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain, and then, with a crunch and a shattering of glass, he smashed into the front of a bookcase and crumpled, insensible, to the floor. “I see what Bellatrix meant,” said Harry, the blood thundering through his brain, “you need to really mean it.”

(Deathly Hollows, page 502)

And he gets better over time, both with the Cruciatus Curse, as we see here and his fully corporeal Patronus which is considered an unbelievable feat for a fifteen-year-old:

“Your Patronus had a clearly defined form? I mean to say, it was more than vapor or smoke?” “Yes,” said Harry, feeling both impatient and slightly desperate, “it’s a stag, it’s always a stag.” “Always?” boomed Madam Bones. “You have produced a Patronus before now?” “Yes,” said Harry, “I’ve been doing it for over a year —” “And you are fifteen years old?” “Yes, and —” “You learned this at school?” “Yes, Professor Lupin taught me in my third year, because of the —” “Impressive,” said Madam Bones, staring down at him, “a true Patronus at that age . . . very impressive indeed.”

(Order of the Phoenix, page 141)

I agree Madam Bones, Harry is impressive and is Voldemort's equal magically. Harry isn't just Expelliarmos. he's clever and talented and very magically capable with every spell he tries his hand in.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

Heyy! Happy late Halloween 🎃 I looooveee your writing !! Could you do headcanons for how marauders would react if the reader could do legilimacy? They're muggleborn so they didn't think it was that big a deal bc they thougjg all wizards could do it and casually mention it

headcanons for marauders reacting to reader knowing legitimacy

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 tries to brush it off as if he’s totally unfazed, but internally, he's panicking.

➯His first instinct is denial—surely, you’re just perceptive, right? But as soon as you respond to something he hasn’t said out loud, he’s rattled.

➯He’ll keep "testing" you, thinking ridiculous things like "I bet you can’t hear this" on a loop, only to break into a fit of laughter when you answer with an exasperated eye-roll.

➯When he finally accepts that you can actually read his mind, he goes into full-blown soulmate mode, convinced this is destiny.

➯James decides he’s above needing to verbalize “I love you” and will start giving you overly dramatic, lovesick looks whenever he thinks it, just to see if you’ll respond.

James is deep in thought about a prank idea. You: “Exploding ink? You know McGonagall’s going to see right through that.” James: choking “H-how did you know that?” You: “Because you were thinking about it.” James: “No, seriously, who told you? Sirius?! Remus? Who's the traitor?” You: “None of them. Just your brain.” James stares at you with a mix of awe and panic. James: “Brilliant. Terrifying, but brilliant.”

𝐒𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 jumps out of his skin when you first respond to his thoughts, staring at you like you’ve just sprouted horns.

➯He immediately calls you a demon and insists you’re here to haunt him specifically, but secretly, he finds it oddly thrilling.

➯Within minutes, he’s running around thinking of the most absurd things he can just to throw you off, like mentally chanting "I am an irresistible god of charm" to see if you’ll break.

➯Over time, he gets used to it and will sometimes think cute things at you, but never admit it if you notice.

➯Deep down, though, he’s convinced your Legilimency is proof that you’re some kind of witchy soulmate sent from the beyond to torture him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sirius is debating in his head whether he should wear his leather jacket to breakfast. You: “Leather jacket? Again?” Sirius: whipping around “What?! I didn’t say anything!” You: smirking “You didn’t have to.” Sirius: “I’m being haunted. This is it. You’re a witchy ghost sent to expose my every cool thought.” You: “What cool thoughts?” Sirius gasps dramatically. Sirius: “Betrayed by my own mind!”

𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬, initially skeptical, quickly connects the dots when you casually respond to one of his unspoken worries.

➯His brain goes straight to over-analysis, and he spirals just a bit, convinced you’re both a prodigy and incredibly dangerous.

➯While he finds it fascinating, he's low-key embarrassed every time you catch his stray thoughts—he didn't mean for you to hear that, really!

➯He starts to watch his thoughts around you, editing his internal monologue as if he’s writing an essay for you to "read."

➯Every now and then, he’ll test the limits by thinking random trivia or book recommendations at you, silently thrilled every time you respond.

➯He’s careful but secretly loves that you can understand him on this completely new level.

Remus is mentally debating whether he should get more coffee or just stick with tea. You: “Coffee.” Remus: startles “I—pardon?” You: “Just get the coffee, Remus. You’re going to regret the tea halfway through.” Remus: nervously laughing “Are… are you reading my mind?” You: “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫, the most openly freaked out, will start squinting at you like you’re the strangest creature he’s ever seen.

➯For days, he’s looking over his shoulder, convinced you’re pulling pranks on him somehow.

➯Every time you respond to his thoughts, he jolts and gives you a suspicious look, half-afraid and half-impressed.

➯It only takes one incident of you responding to something he really didn’t want to say out loud for him to become almost paranoid.

➯After a while, though, he’ll start to use it to his advantage, asking for silent reassurance when he's worried or seeking encouragement without having to say it—though he’ll always look a bit jittery when you respond, as if he still can’t quite believe it.

Peter is internally freaking out about his Potions essay, wondering if he should ask you for help. You: “I’ll help you with Potions later, don’t worry.” Peter: jumps “How did you…?” You: “You looked like you needed it.” Peter: “But… I didn’t… I didn’t even look at you!” You: “You don’t have to.” Peter stares at you, eyes wide, before finally mumbling. Peter: “...are you like… always in there?” You: grinning “Only sometimes.”

[professorsnape394]

Day 4: "Me or Her?"

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC

Rating:😠🥰

Prompt: Torn

Summary: Severus must chose between his old life and his new life, or risk losing those closest to him.

A/N: Can't resist a good angsty moment. Writing this broke me a little bit in the best possible way. My heart was aching.

Warnings: alcohol.

Word Count: 2184

Credits to Gif Creator

Halloween had always been a difficult day for Severus. While the rest of the world gathered their friends to dress up in ridiculous costumes and gallivant around from door to door, Severus opted to stay at home, mourning the loss of his first love and childhood best friend.

He remembered that night like it was yesterday. It was the height of the First Wizarding War; The Dark Lord had learned of the prophecy and was setting out to murder any new parents with a son born at the end of July. Severus had begged Voldemort not to hurt her. Dumbledore had promised to keep her safe. At that point Lily Evans was the only person in his life who had ever saw the good in him. He needed her to be kept alive.

As it turned out neither wizard kept their promise to their most loyal subject, and Lily Potter was murdered on the 31st of October 1981 Severus was the one to find her; lying lifeless on the floor of her son’s nursery. Her son, who infuriatingly had survived the Unforgivable Curse that was meant to end his life, remained unharmed and wailing in his crib. Lily had not been so fortunate.

Snape fell to his knees beside her limp body, cradling her in his arms. Sobbing openly for the loss of his best friend.

Halloween marked this occasion every year serving as a cruel reminder of everything he had lost that day. So instead of celebrating like everyone else, he chose to drink.

The potions master kept an old photograph of himself and the young witch hidden away in the drawers of his desk. It depicted a moving image of the two of them side by side as young teens, posing and giggling hysterically at the camera. It was his tradition to set the picture on his desk once a year and drink himself numb on a bottle of Firewhiskey.

This year he had thought would be no different. The picture lay flat on his desktop, the uncorked bottle of alcohol stood beside it. Yet, he hesitated.

Without warning his office door swung open, revealing a stunning young witch dressed in a deep red velvet gown with flared sleeves stretching almost to the floor.

“Are you nearly ready honey, if we don’t leave now we’ll be late the party.” Her temporary vampire teeth peaked out through her blood red lips.

While his enchantingly beautiful wife was hard to resist looking at as she relaxed against the doorframe, a party on this night just felt wrong.

“I’m not coming.” He muttered, his hand automatically reaching for the bottle.

“But you promised…” She whispered, the grin dropping from her face.

“I’ve changed my mind, I think I’d prefer to be alone this evening.”

The hurt on his wife’s face could not be clearer; this wasn’t the first time he had let her down at the last minute.

“It’s time to move on Severus.” She removed her fake teeth, not wanting her next words to be slurred.  “If you always insist on living in the past, those here in the present will get tired of waiting on you.”

While she had always been sympathetic to her husband’s emotions, she couldn’t help but feel rejected by him. That if Lily had somehow survived that night, she would be the one standing in her place instead.

Severus stared down at the old photograph, not daring to meet his wife’s watering eyes.

“Answer me this, Severus, because I’m only going to ask it once. If she were here. If it was me or her. Who would you choose?”

The question shouldn’t have come as a shock to the man, he had always suspected it had been on his wife’s mind. But hearing it out loud came as a blow to his chest. He knew the answer but it would hurt him deeply to say it aloud. So instead, he loosened the cap of his whiskey, poured himself a large glass and drank until only a few droplets remained.

A frustrated sigh filled the room.

“I’ll be back around 11. If your still conscious enough, feel free to join me in bed.” She snapped, slamming the door behind her.

Severus buried his head in his hands. Of course, he knew his ritual was unhealthy, and now that he was married it was well past time that he stopped it. But still, he worried that by giving up this day that he dedicated to his young love, he was somehow letting her down yet again. That it was his fault she died and by letting this routine go, she was somehow dying all over again. He worried that his memory of her might be forgotten if he didn’t spend at least one day a year wallowing in his grief for her.

He drained a second glass of whiskey.

Snape had fucked up big this time, and now his worry was he was at risk of losing his wife, the only woman who had ever truly loved him back. 

Looking down the barrel of his third drink, Severus heard a faint knock on his office door.

“Come in.” He called out.

In bounded a girl no higher than his thigh, clad in shades of pink and purple tulle, paired with a set of translucent net wings and topped with a silver plastic tiara.

“Hi Daddy.” She beamed up at him.

“Hello sweetheart.” Severus picked the girl up by her armpits, placing her gently on his lap. “And what are you supposed to be?”

“Eh, I’m a fairy princess, duh?” She mumbled, brandishing her pretend wand at him.

“Of course, you are.” He nodded in understanding. “And the most beautiful one at that.”

His daughter blushed appreciatively, but almost immediately fell into a look of disappointment.

“Mummy said you’re not coming to the party again.”

“That’s true, darling. Daddy has to stay home this year.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid I have things I need to do at home. But you and Mummy can still go to the party and have so much fun.”

“No.” She shook her head vigorously. “Mummy is always sad when you don’t come places. I don’t think she knows how to have fun without you Daddy.” The girl pouted.

Severus heart dropped in his chest. He knew his wife was disappointed in him staying at home, but he had always assumed she was out enjoying her time with her friends while he stewed in his self-pity.

“Doesn’t she dance with anyone at the party? I’ve never known your mother to miss out on an opportunity to frolic around a dancefloor.”

His daughter shook her head again, dark ringlet curls swishing through the air.

“She doesn’t even take part in the costume contests, which is rubbish because I bet she’d win every time. She just sits at a table all night watching everyone else have fun, it so boooooring.”

Severus’ mouth turned dry and he struggled to swallow past the lump in his throat. He couldn’t believe that the vibrant woman he had married would sit on the side-lines, dimming her light because of him. She was the life of the party, the one who went all in on everything she does, the one who makes everyone smile just by simply being in the same room them. She was everything he was not, which is why he loved her so much. He couldn’t bare the thought of her losing everything that makes her special because she always felt second best to a dead woman.

“Come with me.”

Severus took his daughter by her tiny warm hand and led her out of his office, but not before grabbing one last thing on his way out.

Yet another crack opened in his chest at the sight he stumbled upon in the kitchen.

His wife sat hunched over their dining table, sobbing into the palm on her hand, while tears poured down her cheeks, streaking her makeup as they fell.

“Y/N.” He croaked, laying his palm flat on her back.

The woman stiffened at this touch, quickly wiping away her tears and composing herself once more. She never let her husband see her cry.

“Oh, would you look at the time, sweetie.” Y/N gulped. “We better get going or else we’ll miss our chance to enter the costume contest, I really think we have a good chance at winning this year.” Her tone was unusually high pitched and alarmingly positive, but Severus could still hear the small sniffles she couldn’t repress every time she took a deep breath.

Y/N turned her back on Snape, rushing to the hooks by the door to grab her daughters coat and shoes.

“Y/N.” Severus repeated, his voice now full of pity.

“Like I said; we should be no later than 11, possibly earlier if this one has a sugar crash, but no need to wait up, I know you have more important things to do.” She didn’t dare even look in his direction.

Doing up the final button on her daughter’s coat, Y/N took her child by the hand and ushered her out the door.

“Y/N!” Snape said a final time, his tone firmer this time. “Look at me.” The woman froze on the spot but hesitated to face him.

Whispering in Delphine’s ear to go play, Y/N knew she couldn’t run from this conversation any longer.

Y/N forced her posture ramrod straight, tilted her chin up, took a long but shaky deep breath and finally turned to face her husband. It was obvious to him that she was trying her best to remain stoic, not wanting to show any weakness in front of the man who had none.

“You’ve made your choice, Severus. I can’t claim to understand it, but I’ll respect it. I know now that I’ll never be able to live up to the woman you first loved. I used to think that maybe if we were together long enough and I tried hard enough that I could be enough for you. I just wish I knew when I married you that would never be a possibility. I have always loved you, with every fibre of my being. I was foolish to think I deserved the same in return.”

“Y/N.”

“Stop saying my name. Please.” She squeezed her eyes shut tight, like it physically pained her to hear his voice. “Delphi deserves to have a stable home, so I’ll stay. But I can’t promise I’ll be the same woman I was. I’m sorry I couldn’t be enough for you.” A tear escaped Y/N’s eye, this time she let it fall. There was no need to be strong for a man who loved someone else.

“Shut up, you foolish woman.” Severus scorned.

“Excuse me? Don’t you dare talk to me like that I-”

“I made my choice a long time ago. I fell in love with an incredible woman. She was uncommonly kind, remarkably clever and surprisingly very funny. She had this ability to draw the attention of any crowd but somehow never made it about herself. Her smile could light up any room, turn any sad man happy. She would dance until her feet hurt, and then get up and do it again, even if it meant she had to go barefoot. She is singularly the most strikingly beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. I made my choice a very long time ago, Y/N.”

“I appreciate your honesty but I don’t want to hear it.” Another tear fell.

Snape slowly stepped towards his wife. He could see her shoulders tensing with every tap of his heel on the hardwood floor.

Severus wipes away her stray tears with his thumb, cupping Y/N’s face between two hands.

“The woman I fell in love with is so stubbornly strong, she has spent the last five years hiding away her tears from me. And it hurts me deeply that she thinks she could ever be second best to anyone. The day I met you was the day I realised I had never truly felt love before.  There is no second place in my eyes, you have always been the only one for me.”

“But what about- “

“She was my friend.” He interjected. “And I failed her in the worst possible way. Just as I have done with you; by not showing you how much you mean to me, that changes today. I’m coming to the party.”

“You don’t have to.” She tried to escape his embrace.

“I want to.” He pulled her closer. “For you and for Delphine; the only two girls who have ever mattered to me.”

Reaching into his pocket, Severus revealed the old photograph of him as a teen. He felt his wife’s breath hitch at the sight of it. The source of all her anguish, one silly little picture he had obsessed over his whole life. He wouldn’t subject her to that anymore.

With one singular rip, Severus tore the portrait right through the centre, severing himself from the past.

“No more.” He promised. “I love you, Y/N. No one else.”

[feyascorner]

6 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You remember how the sunlight glistened against his skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press the sharp end against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.4k words,,,tav is better than me i would've thrown hands like twelve years ago,,,I HAVE NO IDEA HOW I WROTE THIS IN LIKE TWO DAYS???? also thank you for all your comments they really motivate me to write!! so have this monster of a chapter early as thanks!!

"You'll kill them, Astarion," you mumble. "They might not have had the power to help you, but they're still your siblings. I don't want them to die hating you."

"They're not my siblings--not really. I don't care what they think of me. Hells, they could haunt me even in the afterlife, as annoying as that would be, but they're no innocents either. They've brought in as many souls as I have," he responds, his jaw visibly clenching at the thought. "I don't care if all seven thousand of them die hating me as long as you're here."

And while you feel flattered, you can't disregard the worry driving a hole through your conscience. Ever perceptive, he lifts a hand to brush stray strands of hair out of your face, his fingertips tracing your jaw. His voice is but a hushed whisper.

"You understand, don't you, my love? It would set me free--after two hundred years of forcing myself through hell--I can finally free myself from Cazador," his tone sours at just the mention of his master's name, and he intertwines his fingers with yours, drawing your attention back to him.

"It is what you want for me, no? For me to be happy?"

It is what you want. Just not like this.

Music was your way of releasing the mountain of feelings you kept locked away in your chest, waiting for the right person to recognize them for what they are. You’d hoped someone would understand the meaning behind your lyrics without you telling them outright, and they’d know what it truly meant to you. And for a while, you’d believed Astarion would be the key to this safe.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“While I usually entertain your certainly out-of-the-box plans, this is bordering on just foolish, I’m afraid,” Gale sighs, eyes tracing you as you pace around the house, stuffing every possible weapon and healing potion into a brown sack. Despite his insistence, you ignore him, testing the blade of a knife against the edge of the table. It’s not entirely dull, nor is it sharper than the dagger in your drawer, but it’ll have to do. “Simply charging into the tavern won’t do much good if you’ll be overwhelmed in number anyway.”

“I know what I’m doing, Gale,” you hiss, snatching an Alchemist’s Fire and shoving it a tad too hard into your bag. He tenses. “If they want to talk to me so badly, then I’m not waiting around for them to attack another one of my friends—I’ll go to them.”

“Yes, your determination is certainly praise-worthy, but can we please just sit down and think this through before running into a battlefield with a few knives? This is basically a suicide mission.”

“The wizard is right, even if it’s hard to believe,” Lae’zel announces from the corner of the room, wiping a cloth on her sword. “When I arrived, they’d already fled. They could be anywhere by now, and they’ve had more than enough time to plan another ambush if we were to charge now. We must be smart about this. I am a warrior, but I am no fool.”

“I’ll go by myself,” you say, a sense of finality in your voice. “They already showed what they’d do if someone they didn’t want to talk to approached them. I’ll just talk to them.”

Gale stares with lidded eyes. “So why are you packing so many explosives, exactly?”

“...Precaution?”

Silence befalls the room, and you take it as a sign to finish your preparations. All you can hear is the crackling of the fireplace and the rain falling against the windows of the home. The lot of you had somehow managed to stabilize Shadowheart by the time Lae’zel returned, and while she’d been conscious earlier, you insisted she rest before she consumed herself with the investigation again. You didn’t miss the way she limped back to her room with little to protest against you.

“Take the spawn with you.”

Two jaws drop at the words, the only one remaining fixed belonging to Lae’zel.

“The kainyank is living here to help. Not cause more problems for us. And so far, he’s only done one of the two things, and I’m dangerously close to turning to my blade if he doesn’t choose otherwise,” she says. “The spawn are searching for him, too. If blood breaks out, you must use him to flee safely.”

Gale blinks. “As in…use him as a body shield?”

“What else is he good for?”

While the wizard seems positively appalled, you can see the contemplation flicker in his eyes before he shakes his head. He's always been more considerate than the rest of you. “No, Tav would never agree to such a-”

“Okay.”

They both whip their heads toward you, and you avoid their piercing gazes, staring down at the dull blade in your hand. “It might help, too, if we find out why they want him. There are nearly 3000 spawns in the city—we can’t kill all of them, at least not immediately. It’d be best if we convinced them to leave, and the best way of doing that is to understand what they want in the first place.”

Lae’zel narrows her eyes. “Then you must swear it. Swear that if Astarion were to face risks, you will leave him behind. If he were to turn on you, you slice through his throat without a second of hesitation. He is there to aid you–nothing else.”

“I will,” the words feel hot on your tongue.

And so, you soon find yourself standing in front of his door, hand reaching for the door handle. There’s a slight pause right as you touch the cool metal, but you bite your tongue and shove it open, praying he’s still not as ravenous as he was a few hours ago. And much to your surprise, he appears wholly composed.

He lowers his book to his lap, eyes training themselves on you as they dart from your bag and then back to your face. The window’s wide open, bathing him in the moonlight, with dark curtains tied to the wall to keep them from obscuring his view of the city. He raises a brow. “What could you possibly want from me at two in the morning? Come here for a cuddle?”

You’re scowling again.

“I need you-”

“I’m flattered, but I fear you may stab a butter knife into my eye, so I’ll have to decline.”

“Not like that.” Your frown creases deeper at his smug grin. “We’re going to the Blushing Mermaid to find the spawn.”

“Just us?”

“They want to see us.”

“And if I refuse?”

The answer is almost immediate, cutting through the atmosphere like a knife on bread. “I hear the bloody bedrolls in the Duke’s dungeon are very comfortable.”

He drops his smile at this, and a tiny spark of pride puffs your chest. He seems to weigh his choices before snapping his book shut and standing from the bed, snatching a comb from his bedside table before pacing up to you, pocketing it behind him.

"A comb?"

He shrugs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, I doubt you’ll be giving me a weapon of any sort, so I must make do.”

You don’t correct him.

As the two of you make your way downstairs, you hear your other companions speaking.

“I didn’t expect you of all people to defend Astarion,” Gale says in disbelief, still comprehensive as Lae’zel poorly cuts up slices of an apple.

“I am doing no such thing, istik,” she mutters. “I am giving him a choice. Either to pick up his dead weight and prove his life is worth more than the dirt on my shoes or die at my hand.”

The walk to the Blushing Mermaid is painfully awkward. To you, anyway, because he seems positively unbothered the entire time. Seeing him leisurely follow behind you is irritating—and it bothers you more than you’d like to admit.

By the time you survey the area around the tavern, you’ve discerned they must be inside, considering there are no ambushes awaiting your arrival. While it’s a relief, it also increases the anxiety of what lies inside the tavern itself, and you confirm your knives are at your disposal if it were ever to come to that. You sincerely hope it doesn’t. Astarion sighs dramatically for the umpteenth time as you approach the front doors, and you finally snap to look at him with a glare.

“Will you stop breathing so damn loud?”

The change in your attitude toward him is apparent, but he doesn't seem to care. If anything, he seems more pleased with you than he was before every time you shoot him an annoyed glance or something along those lines. He responds with lazy answers, but it's better than the bitter ones he gave you before.

You're not terribly surprised, though. He's always loved pissing people off for his own entertainment, and it would be an understatement to say that he's been somewhat successful with you.

“I’m not breathing, my dear. I don’t need to, remember?”

“Then what is your problem?” you hiss between your teeth. “Are you trying to wake up the entire city with your insistent groaning?”

“Must we do this tonight, of all days? Couldn’t this wait till tomorrow?”

“No!” you say in exasperation. “That gives them too much time to heal and recover from Shadowheart and Gale. It has to be tonight, just in case they do decide to fight—then we’ll have an easier time because, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s just us two!”

He sighs again, and you swear you might pluck a strand of his hair for good measure. And just as you shove past him and reach for the door, he clears his throat again. Loudly.

“For God’s sake, what?” you nearly yell.

He smiles at you, pointing at the front door. “Well, if we’re looking to avoid an ambush, perhaps we should find another way in than the main entrance. Unless my prior knowledge as a rogue proceeds me.”

You blink. You recognize the validity of his statement and feel your face flare, and you immediately march past him again—the other way this time—and search for the nearest wall you can climb up to the roof. You hear him snicker, but you do your best to ignore it. 

Somehow, you manage to climb in through the window, admittedly a lot louder than him, but you don’t think it’s fair to compare yourself to him when he has footsteps lighter than a child’s. Hidden behind one of the tables, you peer into the rest of the tavern, which is completely empty save for the bottles of alcohol scattered everywhere. You turn to signal to him that the coast is clear, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Immediately, your face drains of color.

“Right here, darling.”

He drops down from seemingly thin air, and you gasp, nearly letting out a shriek if it weren’t for your hand covering your mouth. He grins at that.

Bastard.

“There’s nobody in the entire building–at least, not visible to the eye,” he confirms, glancing around the room.

“How do you know that?”

He points at the ceiling, and your eyes follow it. “Someone decided to build such useful beams on the roof. You can see the entire place from up there. Care to take a look?”

While you would have thanked him if he had been any other person, you only march straight by him. “Don’t do anything without telling me first.”

“No ‘thanks, Astarion’?” He quirks a brow but huffs when you ignore him. “Very well then, my liege. No need to acknowledge a humble servant such as I. But I shall let you know when I’m about to take any questionable decision.”

You’re starting to wonder if his presence is worth the headache it gives you.

Pacing around the tavern, it seems all too normal. No blood splatters against the wall, no broken chairs—hells, even the booze cups look clean, which is a rarity for the Blushing Mermaid. You check each room, inspecting down to the last cups in case there are traces of blood in them, but to no avail.

It’s like there was never anyone here.

“You look like you’re having trouble, my dear,” Astarion clicks his tongue mockingly, leaning back in one of the more luxurious chairs he’s decided is his own.

“Considering the only company I decided to bring along is lounging around like a bum, I’m not surprised,” you say back, now searching the smallest cracks in the walls for some sort of secret passage. It’s strange. Even though your companions had spoken of the bodies they encountered when facing the spawn, there’s not a single speck of blood in sight. Neither is there anything outside but the whistle of the wind.

“This particular wall must be quite fascinating.”

You fight the need to groan and whip around to snap at him, but he’s suddenly just a foot away from you, staring at the spot you’d been squinting at. Gods, you hate how quiet he is when he walks.

“As wonderful as it is getting a fresh breath of air,” he feigns disappointment with a half-hearted sigh, turning to walk toward the entrance. “I believe we’ve done what we can. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d love to return to my book–”

The wooden floor underneath him creaks. It sounds hollow.

As if there’s something underneath.

“The basement,” you blink, eyes wide. “The hag’s lair.”

He stares at you as if you’ve taken too many mushrooms. “It was sealed up after we rid of that dreadful woman. Good riddance, too, I mean, I’m not particularly fond of children, but eating them, even I wouldn’t be able–”

You rush toward the very corner of the tavern, sensing that he’s following you regardless of his obvious distaste toward your decision. There, you push against a table perched on top of the basement latch and test its locks.

It’s open.

“Heavens, it reeks here. How didn’t I smell it before?”

“Of what?” You sniff the air. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Blood, my dear. Fairly recent, too, if my judgment hasn’t gotten rusty in the time I’ve spent cooped up in that room,” he pauses. “And I haven’t gotten rusty, to be clear.”

“Right,” you retort, reaching down to pull the latch open. You don’t see him do the same, and you glance at him quizzically.

“Gods no,” he says, when he realizes why you’re staring. “I’m doing no such thing that ruins these nails.”

You sigh. Loudly.

The latch opens relatively easily, but you make an effort not to simply swing it open in fear the occupants inside might be warned of your arrival. You prop the trap door open against a chair and begin your descent down the stairs, remaining as silent as possible.

The first thing you can notice is that he’d been right.

The stench of blood burns in your nose, and you immediately cover it with your sleeve to avoid inhaling anymore. You’ve smelt enough of your companion’s blood today, and you’d rather not continue the streak with the blood of complete strangers. Astarion, however, frowns.

“Such a waste,” he mumbles.

When you turn to where he’s looking, there’s a pile of bodies—poor victims, no doubt—lying over a puddle of their collective blood mixing with one another. It almost feels inhumane to leave them that way, just hours after their death, as if they’re cattle to be used.

Though, in this case, they are cattle.

“Are you sure it’s them?”

“I’m telling you it is!”

“Where’s their lyre, then?”

“How would I know that?”

You locate the source of the whispers instantly, reaching for one of your daggers as your eyes bore into the corners of the lair that are obscured from your view. Astarion steps forward before you can figure out a plan to approach them, arrogance exuding from his very body as he holds nothing but the comb tucked in his back pocket. “We can hear you, you fools. Come out before I lose my patience.”

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

“They’re only a few spawns, my dear. Nothing like Cazador—no need to be so cautious.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a woman emerges from the shadows, her eyes trained on your own as she marvels at your mere presence. You realize she’s not alone as multiple vampires begin to emerge from different corners of the room, all a safe distance away but not enough to ease the nerves jittering in your stomach. She steps toward you. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

Another spawn steps beside her, and you immediately notice how ravenous he seems, eyes almost glistening with hunger as they bore straight into you. The woman puts a hand on his neck, seemingly soothing him, before he slumps his shoulders again, but the pure violence swirling in his head doesn’t seem to vanish. She then looks to Astarion, and the expression on her face morphs into something more akin to dread. “And you, brother.”

“Dalyria.” Astarion only stares with lidded eyes, visibly unfazed.

You instinctively scan the entire lair, searching for any differences you can spot since the last time you were here. The only glaring thing besides the bodies piled in the corner is the study desk on the other side of the room, scattered with different potions and concoctions. Behind the desk is an entire wall plastered with diagrams—most of which study the anatomy and functionality of what you can only determine to be a vampire judging from the fangs. There are also beds everywhere—though they look like they could collapse any second—and the room almost looks like a hospital.

The atmosphere between the siblings is so uncomfortable you’d think they’ll start attacking one another any second.

“Is Leon here?” you finally cut through, lowering your hand away from your blade. “I need to speak with him—technically, all of you.”

“How curious. We were hoping to speak with you as well,” she says, motioning all the other spawn to stand down. It does little to ease you. “By all means, feel free to go first.”

You take the opportunity, too exhausted, to demonstrate polite etiquette. “The spawn are causing too much trouble in the city, Dalyria. They’re killing too many people, and it’s getting noticed by more than enough people. At this rate, you’ll lose some of your own if the Fist figure out how you guys are hiding throughout the city.”

“...Yes, I’m aware.”

The resignation in her voice makes your throat bob, but you continue anyway. “I’m saying we need to get you guys somewhere more stable. Whether it be the Underdark or elsewhere, we can’t have you staying here.”

“I see,” she says slowly. “I appreciate you trying to talk this out with us, but I’m afraid I cannot grant your request.”

Your shoulders tense, and you can see Astarion shift beside you. “You don’t understand, sister. There’s going to be an outright war at this rate-”

“Baldur’s Gate is our home as well, Astarion. You, of all people, should know this,” she demands. “We have a right to remain here, and if the Fist insists on forcing us out, we have no choice but to retaliate.”

“But you’re killing the city off!” you gawk in disbelief, unable to believe what you’re hearing.

“We’re surviving,” she corrects, the corners of her lips turning downward. “Surely you can’t hate us for that.”

“Then…” you blink at her, positively appalled at her words. “Why the hells did you need to speak with me? What was worth putting my companion through hell?”

“...There is a way—for both parties to benefit.” She looks down at her hands, then back up at you. “I didn’t expect the both of you to come together. Our informants were correct when they claimed to see Astarion in your possession. In all honesty, we technically only needed one of you, but this makes things a lot quicker.”

Confused but desperately wanting an answer, you urge her to continue. Only you can see the way Astarion’s hand slips toward his pocket, where his comb lies.

“We were going to ask you to bring him to us, you see. But it appears you’ve already done the hard part.”

The dreaded intuition in the back of your mind tells you something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

“Me? What do you need me for?” he scowls.

She disregards him and continues speaking to you, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “If you turn him over to us, you’ll never have to see him again. That is what you want, yes?”

Both you and the pale elf freeze.

“I watched as my brother nearly killed you the day of the ritual,” she continues. “I understand how you feel being betrayed by someone you thought shared your pain. And I believe this is a way to relieve you of that pain—and finally move onto a new stage of your life.”

She acts as if Astarion is the only thing holding you from moving on from the past few months of your life. And if she’d said so a week ago, you would have nothing to defend yourself with. But you’ve cut the few strings left that tie yourself to him. You remind yourself that you no longer care for him, regardless of the slight squeeze in your chest. You’ve already sworn to force yourself to disregard him, and you want to say all these things to her, but nothing comes out. So, instead, you keep your mouth sealed.

Astarion scoffs from beside you.

“For God’s sake, please tell me you’re not actually considering this. Let’s just force the madwoman out and go,” his voice attempts to stay firm, but it’s high-pitched at the end. He’s panicking.

You don’t respond to him, and he stiffens. “...My main concern is the city. If you think you can use my personal matters to convince me to just let you keep killing all these people–”

“That matter will resolve itself in its own time. We’ll return to the Underdark—or wherever it is you wish, and you won’t have to spend your nights hunting us down anymore.”

With a dry throat, you fixate your gaze on her face, desperately trying to discern any hint of a crack in her mask. Instead, you find nothing. “Why would you do that? For one spawn?”

“I’m afraid that’s for me and my siblings to know. But I can promise you that no harm will come to you if you take this deal.”

For what seems like the millionth time this month, you have no idea what to do. Lae’zel’s words flood you like a wave crashing onto shore as you remind yourself that Astarion is here not as your ally but as a shield. If things are as Dalyria says, simply turning over the man standing next to you would end this entire ordeal. You could return to your everyday life of repairing the city, learning to heal and grow from the terrors of the illithid invasion. You could learn to let people in again.

You could learn to play music again in hopes of finding the person you dreamed would understand.

Such an enticing, perfect deal. It’s almost too perfect. But you’ve learned not to trust perfection, especially when handed to you by a vampire spawn.

Astarion, who had been observing your expression this whole time, almost seems to read your mind. Or perhaps he’s just feeling selfish, ready to defend himself. “You’ve created a lot of problems for me, dear sister. I’ve gotten accused of your own murders, thanks to your pets.”

The delirious spawn, who’d looked sluggish after Dalyria’s soothing, now bares his teeth at Astarion. Dalyria attempts to calm him again, but it’s no use. The bloodthirst cannot be satiated unless there’s blood spilled on his very hands.

Astarion doesn’t seem to take a hint—or maybe he does but chooses to simply ignore it. “I’ve always known you were strange, Dalyria, but really? Experimenting with your ‘useless procedures’ on fresh spawns? He looks positively possessed, sister. He might just resort to eating you instead.”

“They are not useless, Astarion,” she snaps. “I am a doctor. I’m only curing what needs to be cured.”

“Then tell me why you haven’t managed to cure yourself of our curse? You may be intelligent in medical aspects, but gods above, you are more foolish than Cazador himself if you really think you can cure vampirism.”

“I had nobody to test my ideas on for two centuries, Astarion! Now that I do, surely I can-”

“You’re starving them, Dalyria,” he snaps, tone drastically different from the banter you shared just minutes ago. “And they’ll give into the thirst sooner or later.”

His words are the final straw.

The spawn who’d been standing beside her launches himself toward you. Before you can even register what’s happening, his fangs are at your throat, your neck tilted so it shoots pain up your side. Just as you feel your skin split at the tips of his canines, Astarion rips him away from you so harshly that the spawn flies helplessly into the wall, which crumbles under his weight. Dust flies into your eyes, and you cough, wiping at them until it clears just enough to see Dalyria staring in horror.

“I told you, Dalyria. You are no doctor, not anymore,” Astarion scoffs, eyes narrowed into slits. “And I’m afraid I can’t let you kill my liege here, as I’d much hate to be trapped in a cell somewhere underground.”

You reach the specks of blood drops forming on your neck, horrified by the close encounter you had with death just seconds ago. The culprit of your injury lies unconscious beside the cracked wall, and you wonder just how hard he had to be thrown to be rendered in such a state. You can see the other spawns’ eyes practically glow at the sight of your blood—fresh, unlike the pile of corpses on the other side of the room.

She turns to you, desperation pouring from the wavering of her voice. “Please, don’t make me do this. Don’t make us enemies. All you need to do is give us Astarion. My brother, for heaven's sake!”

You think better of it. Something that obviously pleases Astarion if the way his face relaxes tells you anything.

“May I?” he glances at you.

Surely, there are ways–more civilized ways–-than drawing your blade, but the ferocious growling from the rest of the spawn tells you otherwise. You need to find out why she needs Astarion so badly, and clearly, she’s not willing to tell you unless it’s through pure force. You despise the idea as much as you despise the predicament you’re in, but you refuse to be attacked and deliver nothing back.  Just as you nod to his question, another spawn lunges, unable to resist the red staining your neck.

But it’s smart this time, choosing to eliminate any threats before turning to the full course. In this case, the only thing between you and the vampires is another vampire.

“Brother!” Dalyria shouts, horrified.

You don't bother calling his name, only barely manage to tackle Astarion out of the way before the spawn’s claw sinks into the very ground he was standing on just seconds ago.

As embarrassing as it is to practically crash on top of him, both of you wince because it’s more painful than anything. You force yourself up with your arms, and it’s then that you see even more spawn crawling from whatever shadows they hid in, and you realize you are terribly and most definitely outnumbered. By a lot. 

“Dalyria, if you’re truly a doctor, do something! Stop them, godsdammit!” you shriek in her direction.

“They’re not—they were doing so well!...” she gasps before she reaches for a tattered journal and desperately files through its pages in a frenzy. “They were nearly docile before. I don’t know why–”

You feel Astarion’s hands slip out of the sack you carry on your back, realizing you hadn’t even noticed him opening it. He’s still lying flat on the ground, and you look down at him, puzzled before he laughs bitterly.

“I’ll be borrowing this for a few minutes, darling.”

You barely dodge another spawn that comes flying at you, rolling off of him and practically slamming into the wall. And before you can crawl away, your knife—in Astarion’s hand—stabs through the spawn’s left eye through the back of their head, specks of their blood splattering against your cheek.

You want to throw up.

“No, don’t harm them! Please, just let us go!” Dalyria pleads, but you’re finished being patient with her. She clearly has no way of calming the spawn, and you’re tired of being thrown around like a ragdoll in the mess that is the lair.

You yank out the Alchemist’s Fire and chuck it at the nearest cluster of spawn—around 2 or 3—and flinch as the vial collides and explodes into flames right before your eyes, blowing your hair out of your face in a gust of smoke and wind. You swear you hear Astarion cackle in utter glee at the destruction, but you choose not to dwell on it, too busy figuring out how else you could get out of here alive.

“You’re ruining the patients!” Dalyria screams, and you almost regret not throwing the vial at her instead.

“Your spawn are the ones attacking us!”

Suddenly, her face goes impossibly pale, and you hear a hiss of pain from a few feet away. Astarion winces as one of the spawn claws at his chest leaves behind a reasonably deep wound following the path of their sharp nails. Your knife is kicked away from him, and you hear Dalyria again just as he reaches for the comb instead. “Brother, be careful!”

You’re not sure if she wants you and Astarion dead or not, but it’s seriously giving you backlash at this point.

He stabs the comb into the spawn’s neck and kicks him away, and you take the opportunity to send the knife he dropped through the air.

By some miracle, it pierces straight through the spawn’s arm. Astarion lets out a breathy laugh from the floor, attention glued to your handiwork. “Ha! And to think that could have been me!”

And while you want to admire your aim yourself, there’s no time. Dalyria’s footsteps rush up the stairs, out of the basement, and you realize you need to follow moments after Astarion, who’s already fleeing up the steps, cursing under his breath. “That demented wench!”

You stand to follow after him, but the remaining spawns are already blocking your way. There are only two more, but you brace yourself for the worst, reaching for whatever remaining weapons you have left in your sack. The smoke and debris feel suffocating in your lungs, but you have no choice but to push through, praying to whatever God you can remember at the moment that this be the last time you have to fight this many vampire spawn. Or any, for that matter.

You wish you had left your fighting days behind you when you defeated the elder brain, but you suppose even that was too much to ask for.

You arrive just in time to see the sunrise.

Lying against a wall is Astarion, who you find just before the sunlight hits the part of the ground he’s on. He’s clutching his shoulder, which drips with his own blood, and showing no signs of the quick vampire regeneration. You stare down at him, face stoic as you wait for him to say something.

Judging from his condition, you assume Dalyria got away.

“Leaving me to die here would be unwise,” he scoffs. “Though it’d be rather easy to let me burn to death in the sun, I must remind you that I much rather prefer decapitation if it’s all the same to you.” 

“I’ll consider it,” you reply curtly. "Can't promise anything, though."

He leans his head back, amused. The sunlight is just a few feet away now, and you wonder how long it's been since he's been outside to watch the sunrise. “You’ve always had a cruel streak in you. I just had to lure it out, sometimes, but when it did come out—Gods, you should have seen it yourself.”

“You’re delirious,” you remind him, observing just how much blood he’s losing. You remind yourself of your resentment when worry probes a small part of your heart. One that you hope dies soon. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“I haven’t been exactly feeding well, unfortunately. And days old boar’s blood can only sustain me so long, darling,” he lulls his head forehead, sneering to himself. “Now that I think about it, dying by sunlight sounds rather poetic, don’t you think? Perhaps you can make a song about my glorious death.”

He’s definitely unhinged from blood loss.

You sigh, tossing his arm over your shoulder as you deem the sunlight a bit too close now. It’s a slow process with your own body’s soreness, but you manage to drag him to a more shaded area, propping him against the wall there so that you can rummage through your sack for a healing potion. You stop when his hand latches onto your arm.

“What?” you frown.

“It won’t help. I need blood, my dear.”

“There’s none for you here.”

“The bodies in the basement,” he bites back a groan, more blood gushing out of his shoulder. “I can make use of them--give their deaths a sense of purpose."

The displeasure on your face must be apparent because he laughs.

You pause, lowering the sack onto the ground. While you’re illuminated by the sunlight now, he remains in the shadow of the building, only able to see the sun with how it reflects off of your skin. And you find that he’s no longer looking at you but looking past you into the glowing orb you call the sun. You remember how its light glistened against his own skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press its tip against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

His eyes widen, and the temptation is more than evident with how his mouth falls open as if he tastes your blood from a few inches away. But as fast as it had come, he tears his eyes away. “I’m not taking your blood.”

“Stop with your prideful act, Astarion. You’re going to bleed out.”

“I wouldn’t die, exactly. I would just remain unconscious until I can properly heal myself.”

You spare him a long, hard stare. He refuses to look at you, biting the inside of his cheek to ignore the scent of your blood. And it's painfully clear he's failing.

You have no idea why he's so insistent on avoiding your blood, but you refuse to spend your own time pondering it.

“Fine then.”

He watches in utter loss as you lick the blood off of your finger, shrugging. “Bleed out for all I care.”

You turn to stand, but his hand latches on your arm once more. You’re not sure if you’re imagining how warm he feels, but you think you must be. He's always been terribly cold.

“Do you hate me now?” he asks again, this time staring up at you through his lashes. “Have I finally run through your patience?”

The question remains the same as he asked you a week ago, but it feels different now. This time, you know your answer, and it feels so, so relieving. You just wish you could understand his own feelings, but his expression is so superficial you don’t even attempt it.

“Yes,” you reply blankly. “I hate you.”

He takes a moment to process your words. You have to admit it’s satisfying to say it to his face, even if your hatred for him is new. But perhaps because it’s new is why you feel it so strongly, and you silently thank it for how confident you sound saying the words. Even if they taste bitter. You think he might have some quip to respond with, but he only smiles, and as usual, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You never want to see it again.

Without another word, he pulls you down to him, and you nearly topple over before stabilizing yourself with either of your knees on either side of his legs. He breathes against your neck, and you think he might drink from you until you feel his fingers brush against your nape. Immediately, your body freezes like a deer in headlights, flinching at his touch as your mind involuntarily forces the last memories you have of his hands on your neck.

And ever so perceptive, he notices how you recoil from his touch.

You hate your body for reacting the way it does out of fear. Not the disgust or the anger, but something much more pathetic, and you want to go back on your own actions to stop yourself from appearing so weak to him. You think he might tease you--taunt you, even, but he stops, slowly pulling away and lowering his head from the crook between your shoulder and head.

You’re unable to see his face, but his movements seem more sluggish.

Instead of going for your neck, he lifts your wrist, brushing his lips against it before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh.

Despite the initial sting, it’s a feeling you’ve grown accustomed to over time. With him, it had always felt so intimate. It’s why you can’t help but feel heat bloom across your cheeks before you remind yourself you no longer care for him. Only when you think he’s drinking a bit too long do you try to pull away, but his arm loops around your waist, bringing you even closer as the amount of blood he’s taking increases with how deep his fangs are.

You feel so cold, yet heat burns through your very blood. It makes your head dizzy, and you take it as a sign that he’s had enough.

You only manage to speak a few seconds later, breathless. “Astarion.”

He pulls away, seemingly out of breath himself as he releases his hold on the rest of your body. He runs his tongue over the access, staining the side of his mouth. He uses his finger to make sure the rest is off his face. “I know.”

He rarely feeds so messily, so you discern he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been drinking well. Knowing he wasn’t deceiving you brings little relief, but it’s still a welcome feeling. Rubbing at your wrist and the two puncture wounds now residing there, you stand up and slug your sack over your shoulder. He watches you the entire time, and you hate that you can never seem to read his expressions—only one, and that’s whenever he claims to despise your very existence.

His shoulder has already stopped bleeding.

“Why didn’t you drink from those people at Sharess’ Caress?” you finally say.

“Their blood…” he pauses, trailing off, and suddenly he seems to change his mind. “...I've grown tired of it.”

“Blood is just blood, isn’t it?”

He stares at you for a moment, then laughs.

“I wish it was, darling.”

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[bluekidchaos]

Holding you again

here's to hoping i write a bit more this year!!

Pairing: Severus Snape x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, post-second wizarding war, severus snape lives, mostly suggestive smut, fluffy smut, some angst

Words: 1,3k

Can also be read on AO3!

Back to masterlist.

I had accepted my death from the very beginning -knowing it was inevitable- and I had made my peace with it, mostly. Many regrets haunt me but the biggest one is leaving her behind with my timely demise. Those regrets hit me as that damned snake lunged at me, as I gave Potter my tears, as I could feel my life slip from me. One final thought before I disappear, forgive me.

-

My lungs are on fire, no, I think I'm drowning? Maybe it's both. My whole body aches, my ears are ringing and I can't see, it's too bright or.. maybe too dark? Is this what hell feels like? It must be, eternal agony.

There's shouting around me, movement, it sounds like her, but it can't be. I'm dead. It's just a last cruel joke from the universe.

-

A muffled voice tears through my senses. "Sev? I don't know if you can hear me, but if you can, I just wanted to say.. I miss you, please come back to me." A cruel joke indeed.

Severus wakes up with a yell, the searing pain jolting him upwards making him almost double over in the bed. Frantically looking around him for any sign that he's in danger. The lights are blinding him but he can faintly make out that he's in a hospital.

A healer runs into the room, a young woman he recognizes having taught a couple of years prior. She says something to him but the ringing in his ears is too loud.

Severus is on edge. While he's sure he's at St. Mungos, he doesn't know whether Voldemort is dead or if he's actually safe.

His senses are working overtime now. Severus is holding one hand towards the ceiling trying to shield his eyes from the harsh light. The ringing is slowly starting to cease and some words are getting through to him.

"Professor? ... Can you - me?" The woman notices his aversion to the light and dims it a bit.

Severus tries to speak back but only gargled noises come out and he finally acknowledges the pain in his throat. Feeling like someone tore it out and put it all back wrong.

"Don't try to speak, you're still healing. Here, you must be thirsty." She hands him a glass with a straw in it. The first sip feels like heaven, if he were alone he'd probably let out an audible moan at how good it felt.

Another healer comes in shortly after, a man this time, that Severus knows from when he has supplied the hospital with potions. He explains everything to Severus, Voldemort was defeated by Potter, and they won the war. He was in critical condition when they brought him here and he's been in a coma for six months.

Severus's thoughts start spiraling, it's been half a year. Where are you? Are you okay, alive?

The older healer tells him to rest but Severus can't stop thinking about you, and he also just woke up from a coma, how much more rest does he really need?

Whether he wanted to or not Severus did end up falling asleep again and when he woke you're sitting by his side, reading a book. He doesn't wanna disturb you at first, just takes some time to take you in. Your hair is tucked behind your ears, lower lip trapped between teeth while you focus on the words in the book.

It takes a couple of minutes before you look up from your book and notice his eyes on you but when you do you almost throw your book aside and jump at him. Landing perhaps a bit too roughly over him you embrace him in a tight hug, sobbing in relief.

"You really are awake! Oh merlin, I thought.. I-" Another sob broke through you and Severus held on tighter, he wanted to say something, to comfort you. Tell you it was okay now, but nothing came out.

-

Severus spent another six months in St. Mungos before they let him go home. During this time you were by his side every day. He regained his speaking abilities, his voice was still hoarse and would probably continue to be but at least he could talk again. The pain had mostly subsided into a dull background feeling.

The moment he stepped foot into their home he felt himself relax properly for the first time in a year. Fatigue hitting him pretty hard too, he wanted nothing more than to just go to bed and hold you.

You broke the silence first, "I think we could both use a nice hot bath right about now, hm?"

He only nodded at your proposal, a bath didn't sound too bad, he could still relax and he did need to wash off probably.

While the bathwater ran you helped each other undress, planting soft kisses over the exposed skin, gentle touches over faded scars.

Eventually moving into the bathroom you add some oils and bubbles to the water before stepping into it. Severus joins shortly after and once he's made himself comfortable you lean back against his strong chest.

His arms move to encircle you, holding you tightly like he's scared you'll disappear at any second. You let the silence envelop you, no words were needed.

Severus could feel his need for you rising with every second he had you in his arms, never wanting to let you go again. He started trailing kisses along your neck.

You moaned slightly in response and let your head fall back against his shoulder to give him more access. Feeling his arms untangle themself a little, one trailed up to cup your chest and the other slowly made its way down between your thighs.

The hand on your breasts groping you and rolling your nipples between his fingers while his other hand starts making slow and deliberate circles around your clit.

You whine into his ear and your legs fall open as much as the little tub lets them. A hand of your own reaches above you to tangle into his hair and guide his head to plant kisses on his face.

While his fingers are working you into a frenzy he captures your lips with a passionate and intense kiss, all the words you didn't say to each other before transferred through the kiss. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip to ask for entry.

You open your mouth to him, letting his tongue and taste overwhelm your senses, your tongue coming to meet his in a lazy battle for dominance that he eventually won.

Severus could feel you tense above him and his fingers sped up. You felt yourself getting closer to the edge, neither of you caring to drag out the moment much. It was pure desperation and need, longing for each other.

He had broken your kiss to catch his breath but his forehead was still connected to yours, not daring to break too much contact with you. "Let go my darling, I love you so much.."

Your orgasm washed over you softly, Severus's fingers slowing down a bit to not overstimulate you but keeping the movement up to extend your pleasure.

Only when he felt you relax in his arms again did he stop. He was back to kissing you, less hurried this time, just full of emotions and softness.

You pulled back a little to look at him, feeling tears well up in your eyes you just smiled at him.

Severus wiped away a stray tear before kissing you on the cheek and smiling back at you, seemingly understanding you. He kissed your face and head a few more times before letting you sink down more into the warmth of the tub and his embrace.

You stayed in the tub long after the water turned cold just holding on to each other. 

[lostinforestbound]

Hallo! Before requests close, can i request rolan trying to hype himself up to go confess his feelings to his crush

Yes you absolutely can! This was so fun to write!! I love an awkward, anxious Rolan!

Rolan Confessing to His Crush

Rolan is a man with bravado! He's confident in his abilities as a wizard being completely self-taught. He's a prodigy, he's dashing, and now he has everything he could possibly want. He has a tower and his siblings are safe. But gods damn it all, he's selfish and he wants more.

His crush has plagued his mind ever since he felt safe with Cal and Lia in the tower. He thinks about them day and night, even while he's supposed to be working. He imagines domestic thoughts so sweet they make him sick.

He puts off telling them anything at all. He even avoids them for a period a time before realize how it makes him look like an ass. He doesn't want them to think low of him, he liked them too much to put up that facade for long.

The more he waits, the more his imagination runs wild. He imagines them caressing his shoulders as they whisper in his ear, convincing him to go to bed. He imagines them kissing him sweetly in the mornings as they get ready to start their day. He imagines their body pressed against his, staying close as they relax after a long day.

He hates these thoughts, loathes them even. He catches himself practicing kisses on the pillow he holds every night, wishing it was them. It's utterly pathetic, and it only makes him feel more lonely than he ever was.

He doesn't confide in Lia or Cal, they naturally figure it out. Lia is the one that suggests Rolan gets his head out of his ass and just confess already. Watching him like this is a bit painful to watch, and Cal agrees.

So he asks his crush to meet at the Elfsong Tavern and spends the entire day figuring out what to wear. Is this too flashy? Should he be more casual? He can't underdress, nor overdress, it will be humiliating. Does he bring a gift? Oh gods, he doesn't even know what they would like!

When he starts panicking and looking like he's going to back out, Cal steps in to calm him. He even helps pick his outfit for him and tells him to just be himself. Obviously don't be a dick, but let himself loose. "You'll be fine, and you'll never know unless you try Rolan."

After that talk, Rolan finally heads to the Elfsong Tavern, ordering a whole bottle of Arabellan Dry for liquid courage. He half-expects them to not show up, so when they do, his heart skips a beat. He's so stunned that he didn't think to grab their attention right away, but they find him easily enough.

After loosening up with a few drinks between them, he finally confesses. How he's been thinking about them often, more than he should as a friend, and wants to have the chance to take them out properly.

His heart almost bursts out of his chest when they say yes, especially when they state how they've been feeling the same for quite a while. He doesn't notice the way his tail flicks about happily, nor does his crush point it out.

It's fun the rest of the night! They go to the roof to get away from all the noise and keep drinking. They're both flustered, maybe embarrassed, but very happy. And that's where they have their first kiss.

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 10

@flufftober

Prompt(s): Bet/Game/Contest

Pairing: Dean Winchester x f!reader

Warnings/tags: misogyny/catcalling/dude being a creep and asshole (not Dean), duelling, canon-typical violence, Dean being a dork, I'm putting a warning here for cringe/stalker/gross behaviour from the asshole,

Summary: Whilst perusing a stall at the renfair you encounter a guy that just won't leave you be, when Dean overhears. As penance for coming to your "rescue", he's challenged to a duel for your hand.

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: I just loved writing this one. I actually went and re-watched the episode before I wrote it after I had the idea💀 I was stuck on this prompt for a while. I was thinking of pie eating contests (duh-doy) and bets with Loki but nothing seemed good enough. But I hope you enjoy reading! - Love, Grem 💜

As always, likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! 💜 Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

Prev | Next | Masterlist

Smoke wafted in-between the stalls and tents of Ye Olde Marketplace, the smell of meats, mead and treats making your mouth water. This was your second renaissance fair and you were determined to make it worthwhile. You were an elf this time around, not necessarily LARPing but just in costume; the whole nine yards with flowers in your hair, glitter on your cheeks and of course, pointed ears. Your outfit complimented your body excellently as well as your elven "character". Layered skirts and flowy bouse with your body adorned in earth-toned accessories, it was no wonder you were stared at by other fair goers.

One in particular had followed you from stall to stall. You tried blocking him out but the skin-crawling feeling of being watched had you on edge. You picked up a crystal at one of the stalls ran by a guy in a comical wizard hat and a long grey beard, reading the miniscule cursive card on the stand amongst the crystals. You couldn't make out every word but you thought it read something about keeping bad energies at bay.

You really needed that right now.

"Mi'lady." A voice said from beside you, making you jump. It was that guy. You can't control your facial expression as you cringe at him.

"Hi." You mutter and turn away. You secretly hope that all of the anti-douchebag crystals are out in full force because this is not something you do not want to be dealing with today.

"What doth bring a fair maiden such as yourself to a place such as this?"

His voice is grating and you suppress a shiver, opting to continue browsing instead of answering. Why did this have to happen to you?

"Hey!" The guy begins, reaching a hand out to you. "I'm talking to yo-"

You turn as you see his hand reaching towards you, ready to chew him out for being a creep, but another hand halted his hand in its tracks. Your eyes widen as you follow your rescuer's hand all the way up his arm to his face. He's dressed as some sort of knight, loose shirt and some chainmail, but his features have a stormy look to them as he glares at the guy who'd been following you. You melt into a puddle; handsome doesn't even begin to cover how damn good this guy looked. Even if he did have powdered sugar on his cheek.

"This guy bothering you?" His voice is gruff and stern, green eyes meeting yours and you find you can't quite say anything.

"Uh, well -"

"I wasn't doing anything - I was here first!" The creep protests and the look on your face says it all; you're disgusted and unimpressed.

You look back to your knight with no shining armour. "Yeah. He's bothering me."

"I declare a duel!" The creep says loudly and a few passers-by slow down to nosy in on the conversation. "For the lady's hand."

"Dude," Your hero sighs, looking incredulous at him as you roll your eyes with repulsion. "Give it a rest. Just take your damn potions and go."

The creep unsheathes a wooden sword and points it at your hero, who half-heartedly shrugs with an exasperated "really?". The creep jabs him in the chest once. He doesn't quite get to the second jab as his sword is smacked out of the way and a swift punch lands perfectly in the square of his face.

With a sickening crack he slumps to the ground, clutching a bleeding nose. You can't help but feel a little smug at the sight and your heart swoons just a little at the scene you've just experienced. A handsome knight coming to rescue a damsel in distress.

"Come on," You say to your knight, nodding to one of the other colourful stalls. "I believe I owe you a drink for rescuing me."

You set down two butter-beers on a picnic table, and jostle a brown paper bag of freshly made mini donuts in the middle. The smell that wafts from the bag is sickening - and you reach in and pop one into your mouth as soon as you're seated.

Your knight, who you found that his name was Dean, took a sip from the buttery stein in front of him, making a grunt of approval and immediately swigging more.

"Thanks again," You say over your own glass. "You fight for a maiden's honour a lot?" “It’s what I do. Saving people.” He looks like he’s about to add something else, but clears his throat, looking sheepish. “It’s a family thing, ya know?” “Hm.” You don’t know whether it’s the LARPing or if he’s being genuine, but your heart flutters again and you can't help but smile at him. He's stuffing two mini donuts into his mouth but when he catches you smiling at him, he attempts to smile back but his cheeks are too full and when you laugh at him his cheeks go pink.

"Well, cheers!" You raise your stein and clink it with his. The conversation ebbs and flows naturally and you soon find yourself engrossed in his family history - well, his character's family history - about monsters and demons and angels. It's so well-thought out you're almost embarrassed to not have anything so detailed.

After Dean's phone rings as you're traversing stalls together (nearly three hours later) and a very curt conversation with someone on the other end, Dean gives you an apologetic look.

"Sorry, duty calls." He sighs, tucking his phone away into his pocket again. You'd already exchanged numbers earlier after finding out you had more in common than you'd realised, and at the very least, if you couldn't date the guy you could at least be friends.

"That's alright. I had a blast today." You gush, grinning at him. He gives you a boyish smile in return and before he has a chance to say anything else, you lean up to place a soft peck on his cheek. Dean's smile only grows wider when you sternly remind him, "Keep in touch, Dean Winchester. I wanna know all about these monsters and the next parts of the story."

"Yes ma'am." He affirms with a short nod, making his way out of the fair, nearly tripping into a hidden rabbit hole because he can't stop looking over at you as he leaves.

You giggle and wave him out of sight. Perhaps you should make an equally intricate backstory for your LARP character, though not as sad as Dean's, using today as an example. You decide then and there that meeting Dean Winchester ought to be a turning point for something good instead of bad. Although, you can't quite decide who your next monster of the week will be.

You'll just have to call Dean for some ideas.

[pinkcutiepiee]

Ooo hi! If it’s okay, can I please request a Fred Weasley x muggle!fem!reader where they are engaged and are staying at the Burrow to have their Wedding there that weekend, and even though y/n has been to the Burrow to visit his family many many times throughout she the years of she and Fred’s relationship, and she found out about magic a while ago, it never ceases to amaze her and she honestly loves going there so much and is also always amazed when she visits the Twin’s joke shop. Anyways, Fred just thinks his fiancée is the most adorable human being in the world as she stares at all of the magic (that honestly he never thought of as amazing because it’s normal to him) with wide eyes and disbelief. Honestly he’d love showing off to her (she thinks it’s really hot tbh🙇‍♀️)

Fred Weasley with a muggle!partner (gn)

so sorry this took a while! thank you for your patience! didn't want to make this too long so i just wrote a moment in this pair relationship, so let me know if you want any more would love to write more for this pairing<3

masterlist

Divider my @saradika

“This is so cool!” You exclaim excitedly as Fred hands over another new product that is about to be introduced at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Fred leans against the door frame with his arms folded, smiling softly, as you play with the product. He doesn’t respond; instead, he allows you to become fully immersed with the magical object.

If you had asked him, he probably would’ve said that it was one of his and George’s less impressive, more simple products, in comparison to everything else they have on offer. However, your reaction alone is enough to convince him otherwise. How you look at the product in awe makes him fall in love with you all over again, no matter the years you’ve been together, or the fast approach of your wedding in 4 short days. In this moment, he feels that he’s setting his eyes on you for the very first time.

Being a muggle, and growing up around mediocre muggle magic, gactual magic le magic, even the simplest of actual magic was enough to amaze youcompletely. The twins joke was up there as one of your favourite places. . Every time Fred introduced you to something that was so normal in his day to day life, your excitement was close to that of a child at Christmas. Which sometimes, Fred would use to his advantage to jumpscare you. But in times like these, he finds himself unable to do anything other than watch in complete awe. How did he get so lucky? He wonders.

His mind wanders back to the first time you stepped foot in Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes early in your relationship, 5 whole years ago. You had gone speechless, mouth open in shock as you take in your surroundings. You could’ve sworn you were dreaming when you entered, not wanting to be woken from this magical dreamland. Fred remembers this as the moment he decided he had to marry you. That you were the one.

“Just because I’m distracted, don’t think I don’t know you’re staring,” you smirk as you continue to play with the item. He smiles back as he continues to stare.

“I don’t know how, but my love for you gets stronger every time I see your reaction to magic,” his words earn a playful scoff from you as you finally look at him for the first time since you were handed the magical objects, “that’s so cheesy,” you tease as you approach him, placing the object down to hold his hands.

“Maybe… but you love it,” he says back, leaning down to peck your lips gently, smiling in the kiss. The kiss itself feels magic, especially when you play with the hairs at the nape of his neck - deepening the kiss alongside the playful movements of your fingers.

“Merlin, I can’t wait to marry you,” he groans as he pulls away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, holding you gently against his body, the possessive part of him excited for the day he can start to show you off as his wife.

[morelikeravenbore]

Can I Make It Any More Obvious? Part two.

He Was A Punk, She Did Ballet...

I do not know why I've included so many bloody Shakespearean references into this crackfic about a sk8er boi wizard, but since I'm writing this by the seat of my pants with absolutely no plan or outline, I'ma let my subconscious cook. Also, I'm hesitant to call this a "crack fic” any more. Let's call it tender crack. A crack fic with feelings.

Content: MEET CUTE MODERN AU. 🛹 Mentions of “magical drug use” (the recreational smoking of mallowsweet*), mentions of alcoholism, swearing.

*not my original idea. I've read this idea in a few fics before and think it's genius so credit to whoever wrote it before me!

Word count: 3.2k~

👉 PART ONE HERE.

[read on wattpad]

Madame Puddifoot's Tea Shop, previously known as Steeply & Sons, was a garish, pastel-pink nightmare that took prominence in the village square like an overdone sponge cake at a corporate buffet.

The preferred meeting place for first dates, romantic rendezvous and anyone looking to indulge in tiny, outrageously overpriced cakes, Sebastian had been inside only once in his life and didn't wish to repeat the ordeal again: lace doilies, frosted cupcakes and sickeningly sweet tea was not his idea of a good time.

‘In a village brimming with interesting places,’ he grumbled, keeping in step with the little redhead beside him, ‘he invites you to Puddifoot's?’

Having naturally charmed Mr Brown into giving her a special discount on every book in the shop ("...a munificent diminution for the fair danseuse!”), a request to return any time day or night (“Antemeridiem, noonstead, or crepusculum!”), and an invitation to join the village book club (“...whereupon we postulate and divagate into scintillating literary excursuses!”), they'd left Tomes and Scrolls only after Sebastian, growing irritated by not having her full attention, had ushered her out the door and into the bustling street beyond.

Was he jealous of his middle-aged, married landlord simply for speaking to her?

… Yes.

‘What's wrong with Puddifoot's?’ she asked, sparing him no glance as she weaved through the main street.

Across the village square, the tea shop's frosted icing-sugar windows winked merrily at them under the midday sun.

Sebastian pulled a face.

‘Their cakes are small!’

‘Their cakes are small?’

‘Offensively so! And as far as first dates go, it's the most predictable, uninspired place he could have chosen! Puddifoot's, really?’ he scoffed. ‘Ominis might as well have admitted he hated you and been done with it.’

She stifled a laugh behind her hand. ‘Those are some wild aspersions,’ she said delicately. ‘Where do you prefer to take your dates in Hogsmeade, then, if you're such an expert?’

He bit his tongue before he could blurt out the words ‘Shrieking Shack’ — not that he ever took dates there; mostly he went there to smoke mallowsweet by himself and wallow in self-pity. Even so, it'd still be a better choice than squeezing into a lumpy, overstuffed loveseat while fairies dumped confetti over his head and people he wished never to see snogging snogged with unbridled relish and vigour.

‘I would take you somewhere fun,’ he scowled. ‘Like —’

‘Like a wedding altar?’

Sebastian flushed. ‘No —!’

‘Oh, oh! L'hôpital?’ She turned to him with a surprisingly impish grin for someone so renownedly elegant.

Something funny wiggled in Sebastian's chest.

‘Trust me, you don't want to date Ominis — he's a pompous rich boy with a stick up his arse!’

‘I thought he was your best friend?’

‘He is! That's how I know he's a pompous rich boy with a stick up his arse! Look —’

Running a hand through his tangled hair, he pulled her aside to a shady spot beneath an old, gnarled oak and tried not to loom over her: at almost twenty-one years old, Sebastian had started growing early in life and hadn't yet stopped.

Fuck, why was he so bloody gigantic.

‘You won't like him,’ he said, hunching awkwardly. ‘He won't make you laugh, or take you anywhere fun, or —’

‘Propose marriage while bleeding from the head?’

A nearby merchant — a humpbacked witch with one eye and somehow too many teeth — let out an amused cackle, but Sebastian was too distracted by the strange little wiggle in his chest to tell her to sod the fuck off.

Brilliant. As if a head wound wasn't bad enough, now he was having heart palpitations as well? Had he overdone it with the Shakespearean theatrics and inadvertently brought upon his own tragic, untimely death? Was he to die at her feet as Romeo for Juliet — only via self-inflicted concussion over a quick-acting poison?

Fuck it — if today was the day that he died, he'd at least try for a first (or last?) date. As a wise man once sang: Do you like my stupid hair? Would you guess that I didn't know what to wear?

‘Don't go on a date with Ominis,’ he said, swooping his stupid hair out of his face. ‘Go on a date with me.'

She blinked at him. ‘What, now?’

Let's go, don't wait, this night's almost over.

‘Why not?’

‘Mmm… Because I already have a date?’ She shrugged past him, but he only lumbered after her like the big, brainless troll he was.

‘Wait —!’ He held up his palms. ‘Look, I know you get some blood-soaked guy coming up to you on the street, you don't know me — but I know me, and I promise I'm —’

‘A dirty, rotten, sneaky little rat!’

Sebastian whipped around.

‘Ominis!’ he squeaked.

In all his years of dragging his best friend into detentions, secret underground lairs, and Muggle mosh pits against his will, the sight of Ominis’ sightless eyes boring into his with all the fury of his Slytherin lineage never failed to strike fear into Sebastian's heart.

It also, simultaneously, never failed to amuse him.

He didn't hesitate. With an absurdly high-pitched giggle and not a single logical thought in his addled brain, he grabbed Aurélie by the hand and took off running.

Board in one hand, girl in the other, he pelted through the village, twisting and turning through back alleys and narrow openings, scaring children and the elderly alike as he barrelled past them, cackling hysterically.

Suddenly, he was fifteen again, facing off with Peeves after being caught on another midnight jaunt through the Restricted Section; challenging an unsuspecting victim to an unsanctioned duel simply because he was bored; running from the prefects when he was inevitably caught nosegrinding down the Grand Staircase at two in the morning.

He hadn't felt this alive in years!

Beside him, the ballerina kept pace easily, pivoting round corners and leaping over obstacles with all the grace and finesse befitting her profession. As they dashed across someone's backyard, whipping through rows of freshly hung laundry, Sebastian caught the edge of a smile on her face before a pair of granny knickers slapped him across the cheek.

The wiggly thing in his chest giggled and kicked its feet aaaaall the way to the outskirts of the village, where a low stone wall at the end of an alleyway ended their daring escape. Beyond it, rugged and heather-brushed, lay freedom.

He looked at her.

She looked at him.

‘Over?’ he suggested with a hopeful waggle of his brows.

‘Well, I can hardly go back now,’ she returned with a wry shrug.

Grinning, Sebastian piffed his board over the wall and then turned to offer his little companion a helping hand. But to his surprise, she was already up, balancing atop the precariously narrow wall in a position he vaguely recognised as something ballet-shaped.

He gawked for a moment, unashamedly admiring the entire length of her legs, from ankles to knees, from knees to thighs, from thighs to butt.

‘Careful,’ he warned, scrambling up after her. A steep decline on the other side of the wall made him nervous. His hands hovered close, ready to catch her should she lose her balance, but she only peeked at him sideways with a smug expression, footsure and composed.

Cute.

‘This is the fifth position,’ she explained, framing her arms above her head. ‘It is the pinnacle of ballet's basic stances.’

‘The fifth position, huh?’ he said with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. ‘Skipping ahead a few bases, I see.’

She ignored him.

‘It may look simple,’ she sniffed, turning her face to the sun, ‘but it takes years of training to reach complete security.’

‘Okay, show off,’ he snorted, climbing gracelessly down the other side of the wall. ‘Nothing about twisting your feet backwards like that looks simple to me.’

Safe now from the wrath of angry best friends and verbose shopkeepers, they picked their way carefully down to the banks of a shallow stream. A copse of willows drew them into a clearing, a dappled green reprieve from the midday sun. Sebastian couldn't remember ever coming across a spot as beautiful as this — but perhaps the company made it so.

In the middle of the clearing, she turned and caught him gawking.

‘Come here,’ she said. ‘I want to take a look at your head.’

Sebastian gulped. ‘My — my head?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh la la, the bump on your forehead!’

‘Oh.’ He'd almost forgotten. ‘My head’s fine,’ he lied, but she looked at him so sternly that he shut up and bent his stupid head for her inspection.

Please don't look at me with those eyes, please don't hint that you're capable of lies.

Gently, she pressed her fingers to the bump above his eyebrow.

‘Does this hurt?’

‘No,’ he winced, his voice rough. And then, ‘...Maybe a bit.’

‘Thought so.’

Her fingers left his face but returned a moment later holding a little jar of funny-smelling ointment.

Sebastian held still.

‘Hold still,’ she said.

Sebastian held more still.

With a touch that gave him full-body tingles, she pushed his hair back and dabbed a little ointment over the cut.

‘That stinks…’ was the best thing he could think to say.

‘It's Essence of Dittany,’ she explained. ‘I use it on my feet after a long day of dancing.’

He pulled a face. ‘You're putting foot cream on my face?’

‘It's Essence of Dittany!’

‘Yeah, for your feet!’

‘Oh, mon dieu.' She rolled her eyes. 'How old are you?’

Sebastian cracked a grin. ‘I'm surprised I didn't tell you that already.’

‘If you did,’ she began, tucking the jar back into her pocket, ‘I wouldn't forget it the way someone forgot my name two times. — Now…’ Without warning, she reached up and cupped his face between her soft little hands.

Sebastian's knees almost gave out.

‘Look at me,’ she said, and he looked, and looked, and looked, and thought he might not look away ever again.

‘Are you dizzy?’ she enquired, her face so close he could feel her breath.

Yes.

‘No.’

‘Dazed?’

Very.

‘No.’

‘Faint?’

Only when you touch me.

‘I'm fine,’ he murmured, but the tremor in his voice said otherwise, and his racing heart racing said otherwise, and the way his gaze kept dropping to her lips definitely definitely said otherwise.

I dread the thought of our very first kiss, a target that I'm probably gonna miss.

‘Okay,’ she said after a good long frown at his face. ‘But if you feel like you're going to fall…’

Sebastian almost told her he already had.

Thankfully, a sudden rustling in the greenery diverted him from embarrassing himself further, and from out of the treeline came another unexpected redhead (this one considerably less pleasing to look at than the one whose hands had just been on his face.)

‘Weasley?’

Garreth Weasley gave a start. ‘Sallow? What are you doing here?’

A fellow Hogwarts graduate and self-proclaimed “potion prodigy”, Garreth supplemented his apprenticeship wages at Pippin's Potions by selling his own “special blend” of mallowsweet on the side (unbeknownst to Pippin, of course, who, like most of the older generation of Hogsmeadians, vehemently decried the “grave misuse” of an otherwise unremarkable magical herb.)

Sebastian suppressed a groan: his mallowsweet dealer was the last person he wanted to see right now — especially when said dealer had an annoying habit of trying to steal his girlfriends.

Unsurprisingly, Garreth's eyes lit up at the sight of the pretty girl before him.

‘Hey, Aurélie!' said he. 'Nice to see you again.’

‘Again?’ Sebastian's mouth fell open. ‘You know Garreth bloody Weasely as well?’

‘Oui. We met just yesterday at your potion shop… Uhh, Peepins?’

‘Pippin's,’ Garreth corrected, his expression so jovial that Sebastian wanted to punch it right off his stupid freckled face. ‘I helped her pick out the best Valerian sprigs for her —’

‘— For my fudge!’ she cut in. ‘Oui, fudge. I'm making some. Fudge, that is. For — erm... Eating… Because it's, um… Nice? I think.’

Sebastian eyed her suspiciously. Why was she so nervous about fudge?

‘Right,’ he said, turning back to Garreth. ‘Anyway, did you want something, Weasley? Because we're in the middle of a date right now, if you can't tell.’

‘A date?’ spluttered the girl he most definitely was not on a date with.

‘A date?’ echoed Garreth, who looked slightly put out by the news. ‘Why aren't you at Puddifoot's, then?’

‘Oh, for fucks—’ Sebastian threw his hands up in exasperation. ‘There are other places besides Puddifoot's to go on dates, you know!’ he exclaimed. ‘All that mallowsweet's annihilated your imagination!’

Garreth's expression brightened. ‘Oh, speaking of —’ he said, procuring a small brown package from his pocket. ‘Got a new strain I'm looking to test out. Figured you'd be the perfect candidate.’

He tossed the package at Sebastian's chest: all three of them watched as it bounced off and hit the ground. Nobody moved to pick it up.

‘I don't know what you're on about,’ Sebastian lied, his eyes flicking nervously over the literal ballerina next to him; the epitome of elegance and refinement, he was certain she'd never smoked a bloody ham let alone indulged in the questionable (mis)use of mallowsweet.

Utterly fucking clueless, Garreth scooped up the package and held it out to him. ‘To be honest, I swore never to sell to you again after last time.’

‘Last —?’

‘Remember? You called me a “soulless fire crotch” and accused me of ripping you off —’

‘I never —!’

‘— but Leander reckons he's “giving it up” again, so now you're the only buyer I've got left who'll test out the experimental stuff.’

Unable to avoid it any longer, Sebastian snatched the package out of Garreth's hands and did his best to look thoroughly mystified. ‘Mallowsweet, you say? For potions, right?’

He sounded ridiculous even to himself.

‘Potions?’ Garreth looked puzzled. ‘No, you're supposed to smo—’

‘Smoulder it over a low flame before brewing, yep, I know, got it! Well, thanks Garreth, always a pleasure seeing you!’

‘But — you —’

‘Goodbye Garreth!’ He gave him a rough shove in the direction from whence he came.

‘Alright, alright, I'm going! Bloody hell. You fall off your wheel board or something?’

‘Skateboard,’ Sebastian said through his teeth. ‘It's a skateboard, Garreth. I know it's got wheels and it's very confusing for you, but —’

‘Oh!’ At this, Garreth turned. ‘Your uncle's up at the village, by the way.’

Brilliant. Uncle Solomon had a way of showing up drunk whenever things were going well for Sebastian; if he was at The Hog's Head already, he was probably halfway drunk by now. By nightfall, he'd be banging on Sebastian's door demanding to know where Anne was.

Sebastian didn't bloody know where his sister was. Nobody did.

‘How long's he been there?’

Garreth shrugged. ‘Not sure, but he was still upright last I saw…’

It was times like these that Sebastian was glad his twin sister had disappeared. Years of trying to hold together a splintered family had taken its toll on her; after all, looking after a drunken uncle and a brother obsessed with the Dark Arts wasn't exactly conducive to healing.

The hastily scribbled note she'd left had read: I can't die in Feldcroft. Please look after our uncle.

By the time Sebastian had found it, she was long gone.

He hadn't heard from her since.

No sooner had Garreth's flaming red hair disappeared into the brush than the baggie of experimental mallowsweet was yoinked unceremoniously out of Sebastian's hands.

‘Oi!’

‘Ooooh, you have a mallowsweet dealer?’ Aurélie danced out of his reach, giggling. ‘Can I try some?’

‘Wh — no, he's not a dealer!’ he spluttered, tailing her across the clearing. ‘And no, you can not “try some”!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s for potion-making!’

Grinning mischievously, she took a little whiff of the package then pulled a face and immediately thrust it back at him.

‘Eurgh, what are you brewing? Dungbombs?’

‘No — Wiggenwald.’

‘You're a terrible liar.’

‘Actually,’ he said, tucking the bundle into his hoodie pocket, ‘I'm a Slytherin. And if you must know, mallowsweet helps me sleep.’

‘So you do smoke it!’

‘Yes, mother, I smoke it.'

She narrowed her eyes. ‘Can't you just use potions for that?’

‘Oh, you mean like a Sleeping Draught?’ He quirked a brow. ‘Or is it the Draught of Peace you’re brewing up with your precious “Garreth Weasley approved” Valerian roots?’

‘I told you, it's for fudge!’ she snapped.

‘You're a terrible liar,’ he smirked. ‘You don’t use the sprigs of the Valerian plant in fudge unless you intend to knock yourself unconscious for several days. — Or are you hoping to use it on someone else?’ he added, thinking of Ominis.

‘Oh, and you're an expert on fudge now, are you?’

‘I passed N.E.W.T level potions,’ he said smugly. ‘So unless you’re brewing a Fire-Breathing Potion — which, as an aside, I don’t think you need — then you're lying about the fudge.’

‘I don't see why it's any of your business!’ With a dramatic huff, she stomped across the clearing and threw herself a fallen log by the creek's edge.

‘It's not,’ he chuckled, sitting beside her. ‘It's just not very fair for you to accuse me of lying when you're telling little fibs of your own, is it?’

Secretly amused, Sebastian waited out the stubborn silence that followed and tried to act like he wasn't acutely aware of her arm pressing against his. There was a strange sense of familiarity about her presence, as if in some other lifetime they'd sat together just like this, side by side beneath the trees.

Eventually, she spoke again.

'If you must know,’ she began, her voice tight, ‘I've been under some... stress lately. And now I can't sleep without, well…'

'Without knocking yourself out with a Sleeping Draught?' he offered helpfully. ‘I know what that's like.’

'Strictly speaking, I'm not allowed to use “substances". Not that my Muggle instructors would ever recognise the effects of a Sleeping Draught, but still…' She heaved a heavy sigh. 'It's just… I've been dancing almost my entire life. My goals, my plans, my future — everything about me revolves around ballet.’

‘And now?’ he prompted.

‘Something happened…’ she said slowly. ‘Something that made me realise that I don't know who I am outside of the thing I've been trained for my whole life. — That's why I'm here, actually.’

He nodded understandingly. ‘To find yourself?’

‘Oh — no, because I accidentally blew up the dance studio with my magic.’

Sebastian choked.

'I'm the only ballerina with magic, you see,’ she explained, patting him gingerly on the back. ‘The Ministry had to obliterate everyone who witnessed my, erm… mishap, and I was ordered to take the summer off for "stress relief" lest I violate the Statute of Secrecy by exploding on stage or something. So…’ She waved her hand flippantly. ‘Here I am.'

Sebastian began to laugh.

‘You blew up your dance studio?’

‘I didn't mean to!’ she wailed. ‘It was awful! I broke all the mirrors! — It's not funnyyy, stop laughing!’

But he couldn't. Too far gone for composure, he hid his face in his hands and laughed til his cheeks hurt.

‘You know…’ he said, nudging her with his elbow. ‘I could teach you a far more effective way of relieving stress.’

Her scandalised look almost set him off laughing again.

‘I'm talking about skateboarding,’ he snickered. ‘Why? What were you thinking of?’