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harrywavycurly · 5 months ago

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Southern Comfort Part 4: Fiddlesticks

Masterlist: Here

CW: None

A/N: Harry might’ve just fallen in love but who knows? I hope y’all enjoy and this is mainly just giving his side of the phone call✨

Harry rubs at the back of his neck as he looks at the clock in his kitchen as it changes to eight fifty nine, now all he has to do is wait arguably the longest minute of his life before he can hit the call button on your contact page he has ready to go on the screen of his phone. He can’t remember the last time he felt this nervous for a phone call that wasn’t related to his career. He can’t exactly explain why he finds himself wanting to talk to you ever since he wound up with your number three nights ago but he knows it has something to do with the fact he can be himself with you since you don’t know exactly who he is minus the few details he’s given. You accept him and all his little quirks because as he’s learned over the last day or so, you have a few of your own as well. While he wants to try to learn everything there is to know about you he knows it’s not exactly fair since he can’t share everything about himself with you, or at least not yet. He shakes his head to rid himself of the thoughts swirling around in it as he looks at the clock.

Harry reaches for his phone the moment he sees the numbers change to show that it’s finally nine. He puts his thumb over your contact ready to hit the call button when he feels his heartbeat quicken as he sees the words My Texas Tornado flash across his phone screen causing his eyes to go wide as he realizes that you’re the one calling him. He almost drops his phone trying to hit answer while bringing it up to his ear, he gathers himself a bit before he tries to quietly clears his throat.

“Hello-” before Harry can finish his greeting your voice is coming through his phone introducing yourself to him, finally giving him your actual name and he swears he’s never heard a sweeter sound and it takes him off guard making him have to grip the edge of his countertop for support. “It’s lovely to finally uhm meet you but you do know I was set to call you right? You didn’t have to-”

“It’s nice to meet you too sugar plum.” Harry smiles at how thick your accent is, almost like he can picture each word practically rolling off your tongue. “But I did wait five minutes for you to call and then decided I should take things into my own hands.” He looks at his clock and feels his brows furrow when he sees it still says nine in the morning, he looks down at his watch to check if it says the same thing and it does.

“Five minutes? Love it’s just now a minute past nine.” He explains as he runs a hand through his hair and that’s when he hears it for the first time, your laugh. It’s loud but also soft as it hits his ears and swiftly moves to the top of the list of one of his favorite sounds. He feels himself grin as he tries to picture what you look like when you laugh because if the sound is anything to go off of he just knows you look absolutely beautiful when you laugh.

“Oh fiddlesticks I forgot I set my clock five minutes fast so I’m never late to anything.” Harry can’t help but chuckle as you explain yourself. “Don’t you laugh at me Harry that’s not polite and you’re a gentleman remember?” He feels his cheeks get hot when you say his name and he’s very thankful in this moment that he lives alone because he can’t imagine how silly he looks all flush faced and giggly while just standing in his kitchen with his phone up to his ear.

“My apologies love but you just said fiddlesticks how was I supposed to hear that and not laugh?” He asks as he quickly pulls the phone away from his ear so he can put you on speaker before placing it on the counter next to his electric kettle. He hears you let out a huff and then some shuffling and what he can only assume is the sound of a door closing making him raise an eyebrow at his phone.

“Why don’t they make mugs easier to hold while also talking on the phone and trying to lock your front door?” He doesn’t know if you’re actually asking him or not but he likes the way your voice sounds when you’re flustered. “Like I have a purse and all that but you can’t go putting a coffee mug in your purse or that’ll get really messy really quickly.” He hears the sound of your keys jiggling as you place them back into your purse.

“Well they do have those things called handles that are supposed to be good for that sort of thing.” He can practically hear you rolling your eyes and that makes him fight the urge to laugh. “Off to the store?” He asks as he grabs his phone and heads for his living room.

“You have a good memory honeybuns.” Harry smiles and shakes his head at the petname having difficulty picking which one he likes the best now that he’s heard them all in your sweet thick southern accent that he has decided reminds him oddly enough of honey.

“I want to say thank you but in all honesty you did just tell me these plans yesterday.” He admits as he places the phone on his coffee table before sitting on the couch and leaning forward so his elbows are resting on his knees and his hands are clasped together so he can rest his chin on them.

“What time is your meeting?” Harry hears a faint sound of a bell that lets him know you’ve entered a shop of some sort. “Hold on for a moment sugar.” Before he can say anything in response he hears some shuffling and then the sound of someone’s voice saying your name. “Hey Kathy! I’m just seeing how Teddy’s feeling?” Harry leans back so he can get comfortable on the couch as he listens to you talk to Kathy. “Oh bless his little heart.” He feels his face drop at the slight sadness in your voice. “Well let me know if y’all need anything okay? And tell him we miss him in class and can’t wait for him to be back whenever he gets to feeling better.” Harry can just tell by the tone of your voice that you’re being sincere.

“Is Teddy feeling poorly?” He asks once there’s a few moments of silence letting him know your conversation with Kathy was over.

“Is that how you say he’s sick? If so then yes poor Teddy has the flu and just can’t seem to shake it so I’m gonna make him some of my chicken soup and his mom Kathy some banana bread.” Your answer makes Harry wonder if this is something you do all the time, make soup for the sick kids in your class and banana bread for people you know. “You think everyone likes chocolate chips in their banana bread?” Harry chuckles as he hears you let out a huff and the sound of a pen clicks in the background.

“I’d say maybe do half with and half without just to be safe?” He suggests as he looks down at his watch and sees it’s now half past nine. “Have you even made it to the store yet love?” He hears you take a sip of your coffee and he can just imagine you standing in the middle of a grocery aisle with your list and coffee mug in one hand and your phone in the other while contemplating if you should add chocolate chips to the whole pan of banana bread or not.

“I happen to live down the street from my favorite grocery store so don’t worry honey I’ve been here a good ten minutes already.” Harry smiles as he hears you take another sip of your coffee. “What time is your meeting sugar? Are you ready for it? I don’t want you getting your ass kicked and name taken again.” Harry’s head leans back as he laughs causing his hand to fall to his stomach, he can tell by the way your voice has a tinge of worry to it you’re being serious and that’s what makes him laugh even harder because the words you just said don’t match the sincerity of your voice. “If you don’t stop laughing at me I’ll make you add ten dollars to the douche bag jar Harry.” That’s what does it, Harry full on starts cackling as he slaps his hand on his leg and he feels the wetness gathering in the corners of his eyes as he squeezes them closed.

“I’m sorry love.” He tries to sound genuine but he knows it’s no use because he’s still half laughing as he speaks. “You sound so worried but you’re also saying things like kick ass and take names so it’s just a little jarring.” He explains as he hears you drop something into a cart as he tries to get himself together on the couch.

“I just don’t want you to get beat up that’s all.” Harry nods as he wipes at his eyes and takes a few deep breaths finally feeling his laughing fit coming to an end.

“My meeting is at ten thirty and I’m prepared for it don’t worry it’s just a check up to make sure we are on track with things timing wise and I know that we are because oddly enough I’m ahead of schedule with a few things.” He tries to pick his words carefully as he hears you drop a few more things into your cart.

“Oh see now that’s how you flirt with someone sugar plum.” Harry feels his hands get sweaty at your words.

“Saying I’m ahead of schedule does it for you huh?” He hears you make a fake soft whispering moaning type noise and he feels his mouth drop open.

“Oh yeah that’s exactly what does it for me.” Everything in Harry’s mind knows you’re messing with him but that doesn’t stop him from feeling like the wind just got knocked out of him as you tease him causing your accent to sound even thicker as your voice goes lower. “What things are you checking up on in this meeting?” He appreciates you quickly moving the conversation along because he honestly wasn’t sure he was going to be able to do it himself.

“Uh well I’m not-”

“I get it sugar plum you don’t have to tell me.”Harry smiles at how understanding you are as he fumbles over his words. He briefly looks down at his watch and feels his smile instantly drops.

“I’m sorry to have to leave you in the middle of your grocery shop but I’m afraid I have to head off in a minute.” He hears you let out a fake huff of annoyance that makes him chuckle as he stands up and grabs his phone off the coffee table so he can head for his front door where he keeps his car keys and wallet.

“I truly don’t know how I’ll manage the rest of my day without you laughing in my ear but I’ll do my best to get by.” Harry rolls his eyes at your teasing words as he grabs his wallet. “Have a good meeting honeybuns.”

“Thanks love you enjoy the rest of your shopping trip and let me know how your banana bread comes out.” He can practically hear you smile as he speaks while he slips his wallet into his back pocket.

“I will sugar don’t worry.” He hears you drop another item into your cart. “Well go on and say bye and hang up or you’ll never get off the phone.” Harry chuckles at how blunt you are with your honesty because it’s true, if he doesn’t hang up now he’d happily spend the rest of the day on the phone with you.

“Bye love.” With that he hangs up the phone and smiles when he sees your name on his screen before he slides it into his pocket. “I’m so fucked.” He mumbles to himself with a smile as he grabs his keys and heads out the front door.

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midnightstargazer · 7 months ago

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In OotP, when Regulus is first mentioned, this is how he's introduced:

"He was younger than me," said Sirius, "and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded."

The juxtaposition of those two things - younger and a better son - stands out because the Blacks are such an old-fashioned family. Sirius and Regulus seem like a typical "heir and a spare" situation, so for the spare to be a "better son" than the heir is a big deal.

In DH, when Harry visits the top floor of Grimmauld Place, one thing he notices is that Sirius had the larger bedroom. To me, this suggests that, at least when they were young children, their parents showed more favoritism to Sirius. He was, after all, the oldest and the heir. Given that Bellatrix and Walburga didn't have quiet, passive temperaments either, I doubt his personality would be seen as a problem until he ended up in Gryffindor, befriending the wrong people and rejecting everything the family stood for.

Regulus's more dutiful and obedient attitude was no doubt something they appreciated once Sirius really started rebelling, and it's easy to imagine them pitting their sons against each other: look at your brother, he's in the right house, he's rarely ever in detention, he's got friends we approve of - why can't you be like him? But still, they didn't disown Sirius until he ran away at sixteen. This suggests to me that any favoritism towards Regulus was, at least at first, an attempt to bring Sirius back into line and get him to behave the way they expected.

Even after Sirius ran away, they kept his room exactly as it was. Even if everything on the walls was attached with a permanent sticking charm, it shouldn't have been too difficult to cover it up. Furniture and personal items could certainly be gotten rid of. The fact that the room was still pretty much untouched tells me they kept holding out hope he might come back.

However, I do think that things would have changed for Regulus after Sirius was Sorted into Gryffindor and after he ran away. In both cases, there would have been more pressure on him to live up to the family's expectations. The impression we're given of Regulus in the books is of someone who didn't really think for himself and was very proud of his conformity. It seems reasonable to me that that would have come from growing up with an older brother who constantly defied their parents and, as a result, had lost their favoritism. And knowing, of course, that their love for him was just as conditional.

(That's not me saying he was forced into anything. I actually don't think Orion and Walburga would have forced either of their sons to join the Death Eaters. But I do think Regulus felt he had something to prove, was taught basically the same ideology at home, and was therefore easier to radicalize. And I think that feeling of having something to prove probably came, at least in part, from watching Sirius go from favorite son and heir to scapegoat to disowned.)

Both brothers, I think, ended up living very different lives than their family would've chosen for them. They would've been expected to marry pure-blood women and have kids, to support the blood purist ideology but not actually risk their lives for it, and either to live off their inherited wealth or to work in relatively safe, prestigious careers. So, in different ways, they both fell short.

I do think there was definitely a scapegoat and golden child dynamic, but I think it's a bit more complicated than that: changing favoritism through the years as it became more and more obvious that Sirius wouldn't fall into line with the family expectations, first to pit them against each other and then to cut Sirius off and replace him with Regulus.

#Sirius Black #Regulus Black #Black brothers #Sirius and Regulus #Marauders Era #Harry Potter

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iamnmbr3 · 9 months ago

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early days pre drarry where now that they're getting closer draco takes harry to meet his muggle friends. draco spent time in the muggle world during his probation and he still finds it easier to be around muggles in some ways because they don't know anything about his past and don't have any preconceptions; to them his dark mark is just a weird tattoo.

harry's interested to meet draco's friends. especially muggle ones because that's certainly new. he can't imagine the old draco he knew willingly having anything to do with the muggle world. plus he figures it'll be nice to be seen as normal and not gawked at as the savior of the wizarding world.

except as soon as he introduces himself they're all 'omg. YOU'RE Harry Potter?!!!!' and harry's so confused because they can't possibly have heard of him. and then it turns out they don't know anything about the boy who lived twice stuff. it's just that draco talks about him a lot.

draco's visibly dying and just kinda mumbles 'i might have mentioned you once or twice.'

#when draco brings harry back a few months later and officially introduces him as his partner no one is surprised.#drarry #Harry Potter #hpdm #my post

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chloe-skywalker · 2 years ago

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Visitors - Viktor Krum

Viktor x Fem!reader Diggory

Cedric x sister reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,385

Summary: Viktor and Y/n meet only to meet again not long after. And her brother and friends approve.

Authors Note: My first Viktor Krum imagine

Masterlist

Harry Potter Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Y/n had to admit being at the Quidditch World Cup was pretty cool. Especially since she got to go with her brother, father, and friends. It was also nice that she had seemed to catch the eye of a certain star player.

Cedric nudged his little sister, teasing her. “I think someone like’s you.”

“Shut up.” Y/n nudged him back looking down shyly.

After the game, Y/n had gone to the little shop portion of tents surrounding the arena. As she was exiting the tents she ran into someone.

“Sorry.” Y/n apologized before looking up.

“No, no I’m sorry. It was my fault.” Low and behold the player who kept eyeing her during the game was who she ran into. And now he was helping her up. “I’m Viktor. Viktor Krum.” He introduced himself with a smile upon his lips. She was even prettier up close.

“Y/n. Y/n Diggory.” Y/n mirrored his smile but she did look down feeling embarrassed. She just literally ran into the Viktor Krum.

“Did you enjoy the game, Y/n?” Viktor asked still having not removed his hands from hers.

“Very much.” She nodded looking back up at him. It seemed he knew she felt a bit embarrassed but he didn’t want that to stop their conversation. “You were very good out there.”

Viktor got a slight blush on his cheeks. “You flatter me, Miss Diggory.”

Y/n shook her head with a smile. “Please just call me Y/n.”

The two suddenly heard cheers and rants coming from behind Viktor. As the two looked over they saw it was his team. They both let out laughs. “Looks like I must go.”

“Me too it seems.” Y/n said also glancing behind her to where her friends were calling her over and goofing off.

“Will I see you again?” Viktor asked before she could go. He didn’t want to leave her presence just yet.

Sadly she couldn’t give him a good answer to that. “I don’t know.”

Viktor nodded knowing that with school and things that liked to happen in the Wizarding world they couldn’t tell when they might see eachother again. But he knew how he felt. “I’d like to.”

Y/n sent him a smile. “Then hopefully we will. I’d like it as well.”

Viktor sent her a warm hopeful smile as he let go of her hand and headed back to where he should be with his team. Meanwhile, Cedric had walked over and stood beside his sister.

“Does someone like a certain quidditch player? Or does a certain quidditch player like you?” Cedric asked smiling but not in a teasing way. He would support his sister in her decisions, always.

Y/n smiled shyly biting her lip, blushing. “Maybe a bit of both.”

^ ^ ^

Being back at Hogwarts was fun and stressful. But apparently, this year was going to have guests. At least that’s what Dumbledore is saying currently.

“This year Hogwarts will be hosting the Tri-Wizard tournament. This also means we will be housing 2 other wizarding schools as well. Let’s give them a warm welcome.” Dumbledore said and once he finished the big doors opened and in came the Drumstrang academy.

It didn’t take long for Y/n and Hermione and the others to notice Viktor Krum as part of the school.

“Well, will you look at who that is?” Hermione smiled as Krum entered the great hall.Y/n had told her about their encounter at the Worldcup. “Cedric wasn’t the only one to notice the way Viktor was looking at you. Or you him.”

“Hermione” Y/n dragged out her friend's name but even she knew it was true. She and Viktor had caught eyes when he entered the great hall. Cedric had noticed to.

“Y/n you deserve to find love. If that happens to be with the great Viktor Krum then let it.” Hermione encouraged. She would love to see Y/n happy and in love, the girl deserved it.

“You're supporting this?” Y/n asked with raised brows in shock before sneaking a quick glance towards the Drumstrang boys.

“Absolutely.” Hermione nodded, smiling mischievously. “I also think Cedric is supporting it as well.”

“Yeah, isn’t that odd?” Ron asked with his mouth full of food.

“Yeah, shouldn’t he be all protective over you?” Harry also questioned. Cause wasn’t that normal for siblings?

“Oh, he will be if anything happens but he’s also very supportive.” Y/n explained smiling over at her brother as he sent her a wink. Then Y/n and Krum met eyes again and both couldn’t help but smile.

^ ^ ^

Y/n and Cedric were sitting by the black lake just spending some time together. Before Cedric nudged y/n and nodded behind them. “Will you look who’s coming over.”

“Bug off” Y/n nudged him back.

“Well, I need to go get ready for our first challenge.” Cedric stated getting up obviously leaving the two alone.

“Cedric.” Y/n grumbled as he started to walk off. Her brother trying to play matchmaker.

Cedric and Viktor exchanged glances as they passed eachother. Viktor smiled at the y/h/c-ed girl as he approached her. “Y/n.”

“Viktor” Y/n greeted back smiling as he sat down next to her, also facing the lake. “How are you enjoying Hogwarts?”

Viktor smiled back, always enjoying the Diggory girl's presence. He thought about it for a moment before answering. Which Y/n appreciated that he took the time to give her a real answer and not a short one. “It's different. I will say it’s nice that it brought us together.”

Y/n nodded in agreement smiling at the muscular boy. “It is a nice outcome.”

The two sat there for a long time talking and getting to know eachother. They did that till they had to leave for the first event of the tournament.

“Here to wish me luck?” Cedric smiled as Y/n entered the champion's tent.

“Of course brother.” she smiled and hugged him. She’d support him through this but it didn’t mean she wasn’t scared for him. He’s her brother and wizards die in this tournament.

“Maybe have to also with a certain Bulgarian luck?” he teased wiggling his eyebrows.

“You keep teasing me and he’ll be the only one I wish luck to again.” Y/n threatened playfully pointing at him and poking him in the chest.

“I wouldn’t mind.” Viktor smiled standing behind Y/n and shared a knowing look with Cedric over her head. Cedric smiled down at Y/n before walking away to talk to Fleur.

Y/n turned to face Viktor with an evident blush on her cheeks. “Want me to route for you, hmmm?”

“I would like that, yes.” he flashed her a smile and gave her a nod in confirmation. It seemed this girl could easily get him to smile, which was rare.

Y/n smiled back giving a short nod. He wanted her routing for him, that gave her butterflies. “Then you’ll have me routing for you.”

“Young love is blooming for more than one contestant it seems.” They turned upon hearing the reporter. Y/n felt slightly embarrassed having known the way she was looking at Viktor was intimate. Viktor sensed her discomfort and narrowed his eyes. “An with her own brother also a champion no less.”

Viktor stepped forward and stepped in front of Y/n, acting as a wall. With a stern face and voice. “It’s none of your business.”

“I think it’s time you left Miss Skeeter.” Dumbledore stated as he entered the champions' tent.

“I have to agree.” Igor Karkaroff said, standing up for his student and the girl he knew Viktor has a crush on.

“Mr.Diggory, your up first.” Dumbledore said after Miss Skeeter had been escorted out. Then he turned to Y/n smiling. “And Miss Diggory you should get to your seat. We’re ready to begin.”

“Be safe.” Y/n said hugging her brother as the adults left the tent.

“I will.” Cedric promises hugging her tightly before heading out.

Y/n turned to face Viktor after Cedric left and headed to the exit walking backwards. “You as well.”

Viktor gave her a nod and sent her a wink. “For you, I will.”

Tag list:

@gruffle1 @padawancat97

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goldengalore · 2 years ago

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Never Alone

An anxious!reader fic.

Summary: Harry wants to meet Y/N’s family, but she is hesitant to introduce him to them and he can’t figure out why. When he discovers the reason, he’s hurt that she felt the need to hide it from him. This makes Harry question Y/N’s feelings for him, while she thinks he’s doubting her anxiety issues.

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: anxiety, toxic family, invalidation of mental health issues, angst, mentions of sex but no actual smut

A/N: Listened to Matilda and Renegade by Big Red Machine ft. Taylor Swift a ton while writing this. Also, to anyone reading this who has ever felt invalidated about their mental health issues, I see you and I hope you know you are never ever alone ❤️

***

Harry and Y/N hadn’t been dating for very long when he introduced her to his mother, Anne, and his older sister, Gemma.

He knew that meeting them in person for the first time would be stressful for Y/N because of her social anxiety as well as her obsession with making an excellent impression on every single person in his life. So, he cleverly began easing her into it by having her pop in briefly during his usual FaceTime calls with Anne and Gemma.

It worked because when he asked her to come home with him for Christmas, she didn’t even hesitate to say yes. That didn’t mean she wasn’t nervous about it though. Between her anxiety and his excitement, they were both a ball of jitters on the ten-hour flight from LA to London.

Harry’s family fell in love with Y/N. Once she conquered her initial timidness, she fit in perfectly with them. This didn’t come as a surprise to him at all, but Y/N was completely blown away by the love and warmth that his family showered her with. She was even brought to tears from it.

After a joyous holiday with his family, Harry found himself imagining what meeting Y/N’s family would be like. To him, that was the next logical step in their relationship, and he was eagerly anticipating it. So, when they’re a whole year into their relationship and she still hasn’t introduced him to her family or expressed any intention of doing so, he can’t help but wonder what might be holding her back.

She even had the opportunity to do so when she recently visited her family for a few days. She could have taken him with her. He even offered to tag along, but she refused, claiming that her mother had come down with some nasty stomach bug, so it wouldn’t be the best time.

He can’t lie. Her refusal hurt. Although he tries not to make a big deal out of it, it eats at him over the next couple weeks, so one day, he just decides to bring it up.

For most people, it’s a lazy Sunday—the perfect opportunity to sleep in and not get out of bed until noon. Not for Harry and Y/N though. No, the two creative souls got up bright and early to use this time to write and draw. Harry sits on one couch with his guitar in his lap and his songwriting notebook next to him along with his phone, which is recording everything he plays. On the other couch is Y/N, her sketchbook perched up against her bent legs, her pencil gripped between her skillful fingers as she works on a drawing.

Harry has been staring at her for some time now while mindlessly strumming his guitar. She’s too immersed in her task to sense his gaze on her.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, baby?” she responds without looking up from her sketchbook.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm?”

He pauses the recording on his phone before asking, “Why don’t you want me to meet your family?”

The question pulls her attention away from her drawing to his face. The hand holding her pencil is frozen on the paper.

“I told you,” she says softly. “It’s not that I don’t want you to meet them. I’m just... waiting for the right time.”

He cocks a brow. “The right time? Will there ever be a right time? We’ve been together for a year.” He really doesn’t want to sound pushy or demanding, but he also just wants her to know how he feels. “You and my mum are constantly sending each other cat videos. You and Gemma have inside jokes that I’m not even a part of. Meanwhile, I find myself wondering if your family even knows who I am.”

She gives him a small, slightly amused smirk. “H, they know who you are. Trust me.”

“You know what I mean,” he mumbles, looking down at his guitar. Sure, they may know him as “Harry Styles the singer” or “Harry Styles the actor,” but that’s not what matters to him. He just wants them to know him as Y/N’s boyfriend, that’s all.

“They know that we’re in a relationship,” she confirms.

He waits for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. “Okay... And? How do they feel about that? Do they ask about me? Do they even want to meet me?”

She averts her gaze, her pencil moving across the page again. “They ask about you every time I see them.”

“Then what’s holding you back?” he inquires gently.

Her response is so delayed that he wonders if he’s even going to get one. “I’ll talk to them,” she says after a minute. “We’ll arrange a time for you and me to go see them together.”

His eyebrows lift up in surprise. “Really?”

She nods. “Yeah. If you really want to meet them, I’ll try to make it happen.”

He doesn’t know what to say at first. He didn’t expect her to concede so quickly. “Thank you, lovie,” he says once the words finally come to him.

She just gives him a brief smile and returns to her drawing, making a few more pencil strokes before asking, “Wanna see what I drew?”

“Always.”

She tries to bite back an excited grin as she turns her sketchbook around to show him. He shifts the guitar in his lap and leans forward to take a look. He instantly recognizes himself in the sketch. It’s him sitting as he is now, on the couch with his guitar. Every detail of his facial features is intricately depicted from the focused furrow of his brow to the shape of his nose to the stubble on his jaw.

He stares at it in awe. “That looks amazing.”

“Thanks!”

He tears his gaze away from the sketch and looks at her. “You were drawing me this whole time? I thought you were brainstorming ideas for your next piece.”

“I was, but you just looked so cute sitting there with your guitar. I mean, you were practically begging to be drawn.” She shoots him a flirtatious grin.

“Mhm. Right.” He shakes his head at her, smiling. “Can I keep it?”

“Of course.” She carefully rips the page out of her book and hands it over to him.

“Another one for the collection,” he states happily, referring to his growing collection of sketches that she’s drawn of him over the past year. In the beginning, she used to hide them from him. Then one day, he stumbled upon her sketchbook sitting on the dining table, opened up to a page containing a flawless illustration of his Vogue magazine cover, and he was astounded. Y/N’s whole face flushed red when she found him staring at it, but he was quick to reassure her that he liked it and asked if he could keep it.

“I don’t mind, you know. That you like drawing me,” he told her that day. “It’s a compliment, if anything, and it’s no different than me writing songs about you.”

Her face brightened at his revelation. “You write songs about me?”

“All the time.”

Ever since that conversation, she no longer hesitates to show him these drawings and he makes sure to keep each one in a safe place.

“I still can’t believe you’ve been saving them all,” she says now. “You really haven’t thrown a single one away?”

“I could never.”

***

A whole week passes by, and it’s like their conversation about arranging a time to meet Y/N’s family never even happened because she doesn’t bring it up again. Harry starts to wonder if she only said that to appease him for a while and stop him from asking. That annoys him. It would be one thing to tell him that she doesn’t want him to meet her family; it’s another to make false promises just to shut him up.

He wishes he could drop it. But he can’t. Especially now that he is almost certain that she’s hiding something from him.

She has a meeting today with the owner of an esteemed art gallery in LA, who offered her the opportunity to hold her first solo art exhibition. She has spent the last couple months preparing for the exhibition, which is less than two weeks away. Her best friend and business partner, Rosie, will be accompanying her to the meeting. Rosie shows up at Harry’s house around 10:30 that morning.

“Y/N’s upstairs, still getting ready,” he tells her after inviting her in. “Should be down soon though.”

“I’m surprised I’m ready before her for once. That’s quite the accomplishment for me.”

“Yeah, I, um—” He releases a sheepish laugh, touching his fingers to his lips. “I may have made her a bit late getting out of bed this morning.”

Rosie opens her mouth to say something, then closes it. He raises his brows at her expectantly, but she waves a dismissive hand and says, “Oh, I was just going to ask what you two were up to, but then I answered my own question.”

A coy grin tugs at the corners of his lips, as the memories of his sensual morning with Y/N play back in his mind.

He and Rosie take a seat in the living room. He offers her something to eat or drink while they wait, but she politely declines. That’s when the thought occurs to him. If there is anyone who knows Y/N better than him, it would be her best friend, who has known her for the majority of her adult life. Surely, if Y/N is hiding something from him, Rosie could be the key to helping him figure out what and why.

“Hey, this might be a random question, but have you ever met Y/N’s family?” he asks.

“Yeah, a few times.”

“What are they like?”

Her hazel eyes narrow slightly. “Why do you ask?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Don’t you think it’s a bit strange that Y/N and I have been together for a year and she still hasn’t introduced me to her family?”

Rosie hesitates. She glances over her shoulder at the stairs before answering quietly, “Look, let’s just say... Her family isn’t very supportive of her.”

His heart sinks. “Shit. Really?”

She nods. “They’re like the type of people who think mental health problems aren’t real problems or that tough love can fix everything, including anxiety.”

He winces.

“Yeah…”

“Well, that explains a lot,” he says, referring not only to Y/N’s reluctance to introduce him to her family but also her emotional reaction to his family accepting her with open arms. “Why didn’t she just tell me that? I would’ve understood.”

“You know how Y/N is. She keeps a lot to herself, and she doesn’t even do it on purpose most of the time.”

“I know, but...” He shrugs. “I just thought we’d reached that stage in our relationship where we could tell each other anything. At least that’s how I feel when I’m with her.”

She had so many chances to tell him the truth about her family. Even if she didn’t want to get into the nitty-gritty details of it, all she had to do was tell him that they’re not nice people for him to drop the topic altogether. He feels guilty now for bringing up her family so much, but she never gave him any indication that they were bad people. Even when she went to visit them recently, it didn’t seem like she was dreading it. So, how was Harry supposed to know? How can he possibly know anything about her if she refuses to open up to him?

They hear her footsteps rapidly descending the stairs now.

“I’m ready!” she shouts.

Her outfit for the meeting is sleek and professional—a teal blouse loosely tucked into a pair of slim, high-waisted black trousers. Harry helped her pick it out this morning when she was struggling to decide between a few different options.

“How late are we?” she asks breathlessly at the bottom of the stairs.

Rosie checks her phone. “Not that late. We can still get there with five minutes to spare.”

As Rosie heads to the door, Y/N walks over to Harry to kiss him goodbye.

“Bye, baby. I’ll see you later,” she says.

He squeezes her hand. “Best of luck with the meeting. Remember to breathe.”

“I’ll try!”

And then she’s off.

***

Sometimes, Y/N can’t tell if someone is actually behaving differently around her or if her anxiety is causing her to see things that aren’t there. There have been instances where she thought someone was acting off around her and became convinced that they were upset with her only to find out that they were just having a bad day and it had nothing to do with her at all.

She wonders if this might be the case with Harry. He has been acting strange the past few days. The shift in behaviour is subtle. A kiss that ends a moment too soon, a smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes, a laugh that feels just a little bit forced. Most people wouldn’t take notice. But the thing about anxiety is that it forces you to notice everything. It’s as if the brain is in a constant state of hypervigilance, scanning its environment for the slightest sign of a threat.

Harry has been at the studio all day. She saw him briefly around seven o’clock this morning when her eyes fluttered open to find him all showered and dressed for the day, grabbing his phone off the nightstand.

“Heading to the studio. Love you,” he told her, planting a hasty kiss to her forehead before leaving.

She couldn’t fall back asleep after that, so she decided to start her day too and put some finishing touches on the drawings for her upcoming exhibit. However, her overthinking mind made it impossible to focus. She ultimately decided to take her drawings over to her apartment and work there instead.

Over the past six months, she has practically lived at Harry’s house with how much time she spends there. But her apartment has always been there in case she needs some time alone or, like today, she just needs a change of scenery to sharpen her focus.

It didn’t occur to her at any point to text Harry and let him know where he can find her after he finishes up at the studio. Or perhaps, her subconscious made her withhold that information on purpose to see if he would even notice or care for her absence.

Late that evening, she receives a call from him.

“Hey, where’d you go?” he asks when she picks up.

“Oh, I’m at my apartment. Couldn’t focus today, so I thought I’d try working here instead.”

“Hm. Wish you’d told me. I would’ve headed straight there from the studio.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles in response.

“It’s all right. Be there in a few.”

“Okay. See you soon.”

A nervousness seeps through her after their call. A kind of nervousness she hasn’t felt since the very early days of their relationship when she wasn’t quite comfortable around him yet. She doesn’t like this feeling and tries to distract herself by cleaning up the kitchen where she just finished having dinner not too long ago.

Harry has a spare key to her apartment, just like she has one to his house, so when she hears it turn in the lock, she knows it’s him. Her heart is in her throat.

She’s washing her hands in the kitchen sink when the door opens.

“Hi, my love,” he greets her. He’s wearing her merch today. Well, technically, it’s his merch that she helped design. Their merch, as he would call it.

“Hey,” she replies. As she wipes her hands on the towel by the sink, he walks up behind her and slides his arms around her waist, burying his face in her hair. She turns around to face him. “How was your day?” For some reason, the question comes out sounding awkward, at least in her head, but Harry seems unfazed.

“Productive. We wrote so much today. Song after song. I couldn’t believe it. Tyler suggested we pull an all-nighter, but everyone was tired, so we decided to go home…” A dimpled smile emerges on his face as he adds, “And I wanted to see you, so…”

He plants a sweet, lingering kiss to her lips. She should feel the stress dissipating from her body. She should feel a sense of calm washing over her like cool ocean waves on a hot summer day. But none of that happens.

His hand sneaks under her shirt, squeezing her bare waist before wandering upward to her breast.

“Sorry,” she says, pulling away suddenly. “I, um, I’m not in the mood tonight.”

He blinks a few times, thrown for a moment. “Oh. Okay. No worries.” He takes a step back and scratches the back of his neck, eyes searching her face. “Everything okay?”

She doesn’t meet his gaze. “Yeah, I think I’m just starting my period soon, so you know…”

“Ah. Well, maybe we can just cuddle then. If you’re in the mood for that.”

“Mhm.”

They lay on her plush black couch together, her head on his shoulder, his fingers running through the lengths of her hair. He’s humming some unknown melody—probably a new song he’s been working on. She feels her heartbeat slowing down, finally.

Then he says, “Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

Her heart picks up again. This is it. This is what she’s been dreading. She has no idea what he’s about to say, but of course, her mind jumps to the worst case scenario.

“Yeah?” she says, trying to keep her voice level.

“It’s about something Rosie told me.”

She frowns. “Something Rosie told you? What would that be?”

“She told me about your family, how they… they’re not supportive of you and your struggles.”

Her frown deepens. “She told you that?” She sits up now. “Why would she do that? She has no right to be sharing that kind of information about me.”

He sits up too, confusion taking hold of his features. “It’s not like she shared it with some stranger, lovie. I’m your boyfriend. Why is it so bad that she told me?”

“Because I didn’t want…” She trails off.

“You didn’t want me to know?”

She wordlessly looks down in her lap.

“Why?” he asks, the hurt apparent in his voice.

Forcing herself to look at him, she answers, “I didn’t want to disappoint you. You seemed so excited to meet them, and you bring them up all the time—”

“Yeah, that was when I knew nothing about them. If I’d known how they’d treated you, why the fuck would I want to meet them?” He runs a hand through his hair, clutching the ends briefly before letting go. “And I brought them up all the time because you were always so bloody vague about the topic. What was I— What was I meant to think? I’m not a mind-reader, Y/N.”

“I know. I know you’re not a mind-reader.” She tries to reach out to him, but he doesn’t seem to notice her outstretched hand as he turns away, so she lets it fall on the couch.

“Well, sometimes I feel like you expect me to be one because you never tell me how you really feel or what you’re really thinking, and I’m left to figure it out on my own.”

“Okay, that’s not true.” She shakes her head, growing a bit defensive now. “I know I used to be like that in the beginning, but you can’t tell me I haven’t gotten better since then because I have. You’re just angry right now and I—I can understa—”

“I’m not angry,” he insists, though he sounds pretty close to it, and it’s making her panic because although she has seen him get angry before, it’s never been at her.

His eyes fall shut for a moment. He seems to compose himself before continuing calmly, “I’m just frustrated because I feel like I’ve told you everything about me, I’ve bared my entire fucking soul to you, and I know it’s not as easy for you to do the same, but it’s not like it’s a walk in the park for me either. You say that it’s your anxiety that keeps you from opening up to me, but at this point, I can’t help but wonder if you just don’t feel as strongly about me as I feel about you.”

She flinches at the last part, a sense of betrayal settling like rocks in her stomach. “Y—you think I use my anxiety as an excuse?”

“That is not what I said.”

“That’s what you implied.”

“No,” he stresses, clenching his jaw. “You’re purposely misunderstanding me.”

“Why are you here, Harry?”

Puzzled green eyes stare back at her. “What?”

“This has clearly been on your mind for some time now. If you really think that I don’t feel strongly about you, that my anxiety is just some cover-up, then why are you still wasting your time with me?” Her heart thuds wildly in her chest as she spouts, “Is it just for the sex? Is that it? I mean, that’s why you came here tonight, right? Just for a quick fuck. And when you couldn’t have that, you decided to pick a fight with me.”

It was mean. Quite possibly—no, definitely—the meanest thing she has ever said to or about him. And it was undeserved. And she regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth.

The expression on his face switches from disbelief to disgust to pure pain in a matter of seconds.

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing thickly. “You’re right. That’s what I’m here for, Y/N. Just a quick fuck. Because I’m some lowlife prick that would use you for sex and get mad when I can’t have it. You figured it out. Amazing job.” He claps his hands and stands up, taking long strides to the door.

“Wh—where are you going?” she stammers.

He ignores her and shoves his socked feet into his Vans. On shaky legs, she hurries over to him.

“H, where are you going?”

As his left hand reaches for the doorknob, she grabs his other one.

“No, wait, don’t go.”

“No, you’ve made it clear to me the kind of person you think I am. Thanks for your honesty, Y/N.” He speaks without looking at her. She can only see his side profile, but it’s enough to catch the tears forming in his eyes.

He tries to pull his hand away, but she squeezes it tighter, pleading with him, “I didn’t mean it. Please don’t go. Baby, please—”

“I’m tired, Y/N,” he sighs out, sounding utterly exhausted. “I just want to go home.”

He manages to yank his hand free from her grasp and leaves the apartment, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Y/N stands there, staring at it for the longest time, before making her way back to the couch in a daze.

She doesn’t know why she said it. He was just trying to explain his inner thoughts and feelings, not attacking her, but her brain latched onto that one comment about her anxiety and blew it way out of proportion. It struck a nerve somewhere inside her, reopening old wounds created by people in her past who invalidated her struggles.

But Harry is nothing like those people. No, he is a far cry from them. No one has shown her the level of kindness and understanding that he has, and she fears that no one else ever will, which makes the thought of losing him catastrophically more painful.

She lies down on her side on the couch, curling her legs into herself as the first sob of many escapes her body.

***

The big day has arrived.

Y/N’s very first solo art exhibition that she’s been working her ass off on for the past few months takes place tonight. The gallery that offered to display her work made an agreement with her to donate a portion of the profits to a local mental health charity—something that Y/N has always wanted to do. She’s always dreamed of using her art to give back to causes that matter to her, and she is finally at the stage where she can do that.

Her art career has taken off this past year. She was doing well before, but this year has catapulted her career to heights she couldn’t have imagined. She knows Harry has a lot to do with it, since the limited edition merch she designed for him attracted millions of new eyes to her work, not to mention the fact that she started dating him afterwards, which further piqued people’s curiosity about her as a person and an artist. But Harry, being the humble man he is, argues that it’s her talent that keeps bringing people back to her work, not him.

Whether he admits it or not, Harry has changed her life in more ways than one. Even if he never speaks to her again, she will be thanking him for the rest of her life.

Over the past week, she has typed a hundred different apologies to him, deleting each one without sending it, convincing herself that it’s not good enough, that he doesn’t want to hear from her, that he probably hates her guts.

She has missed him all week, but tonight, that feeling cements itself deep inside her chest, mixing perilously with the fear of having to talk about her art with strangers. It would’ve helped to have Rosie here at least, but her fiancé’s mother was in the hospital after a medical emergency and she needed to be there for them.

Y/N feels incredibly alone.

The people working at the gallery have been lovely. She hardly had to do anything at all because they took care of the entire setup. Now, they’re preparing the refreshments table, and just the mere sight of all that food is making her nauseous.

As hard as she tries to keep her shit together, she crumbles and bolts towards the exit. One of the gallery workers tries to inform her that the exhibit is about to start, but she barely hears him through her heart pounding in her ears. Once outside, she starts walking down the sidewalk in a random direction and finds an opening between two buildings where she can take a moment to herself, away from other people.

The fresh air entering her lungs is somewhat soothing, so she tries to focus on that, leaning a hand against one of the buildings.

“Y/N?” says a deep, familiar voice from behind her.

It can’t be, she thinks to herself, but when she turns around, there he is. Standing on the sidewalk. Dressed in dark, indiscriminate clothing and a hat, which casts a shadow over most of his handsome features. He’s wearing his Gucci square-framed glasses that make him look like a college student.

“Harry? What are you doing here?”

He steps towards her, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I was sat in the cafe across the street, waiting for your exhibit to start. Saw you run out. Are you okay?”

Instead of answering his question, she asks in a weak voice, “You came to see my exhibit?”

“Of course I did,” he says, as if the concept of him missing it is unfathomable. He places his hands on his hips and adds with a faint smirk, “You think I, your number one fan, would miss out on your first solo exhibit? C’mon.”

Tears flood Y/N’s eyes, blurring her vision.

Harry’s face falls. “Oh no. Don’t cry, lovie.”

The tears streak down her cheeks now, ruining the makeup she spent so long on applying tonight. “I thought you hated me.”

He reaches towards her and delicately places his hands on her arms. “I could never hate you.”

“But you should! You should hate me because you’ve been nothing but patient and understanding with me and I treated you like shit in return and I hate myself for it and I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay—”

“No, it’s not!”

“Shh, come here.” He pulls her into his arms, cradling her head against his chest, holding her there until she calms down. Then he draws back and lifts her chin to make her look at him. “Listen to me. I did not come here to make you cry and ruin your big night, okay? I came here to support you. Now you’re going to put on that beautiful smile of yours and you’re going to go back in there and you’re going to put on this wonderful exhibit—”

“I don’t think I can.” She shakes her head.

“Yes, you can. You’ve worked so hard for this, my love. You deserve this. Don’t let your fear tell you otherwise.”

She sniffles, thinking for a moment. “You’re going to be there?”

“Yes. The whole time,” he reassures her. “I promise to be discreet though. I’m not about to steal the spotlight from you.”

“I wouldn’t mind even if you did, to be honest.”

“See, that’s the fear talking.” He pokes her softly in the chest. “This is your night and your night only.”

A part of her wishes he would just pull her back into his arms and let her stay there forever, safe and warm and comfortable. But he’s right. She has worked too hard and come too far to allow fear to stifle her now.

“Okay,” she says finally. “Okay, I’m going to go back in.”

He smiles widely. “That’s my girl.” He kisses her and sends her off with a few more encouraging words.

For the first fifteen minutes of the exhibit, as the first batch of visitors trickle into the gallery, the voice in Y/N’s head is screaming at her to run out the nearest exit and not look back. It takes everything in her to keep her feet planted where she is and withstand the racing heart and the churning stomach and the sweaty palms.

It isn’t until people start coming up to her to ask questions about her art that she begins to feel any semblance of calm, which is surprising, considering that this is the part she was most afraid of. Once she gets into artist mode, articulating her artistic ideas and techniques in front of these strangers comes naturally.

She spots Harry every now and then, wandering around the gallery with everyone else, blending in remarkably well in his dark clothes and hat and glasses. At one point, while she’s talking to someone, she sees Harry in the distance, holding up his phone with the camera aimed at her. He winks when he catches her eye.

By the last half hour of the exhibit, Y/N’s throat is dry and hoarse from talking so much. She can’t believe how many people were interested in discussing her work with her.

While she’s taking a break to have some water, she hears someone shout, “There she is!”

She turns to find Jeff and Glenne walking towards her, smiling and waving like proud parents.

“So sorry we’re late,” says Glenne. “Traffic was a nightmare.”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, it’s totally fine. I didn’t even know you were coming.”

“Are you kidding?” says Jeff. “We’ve been looking forward to this.”

Y/N told them about the exhibit when she and Harry invited them over for dinner last month. She didn’t expect them to remember. The fact that they did means everything.

“We were going to buy something, but it looks like everything’s sold out, huh?” says Jeff, looking around.

“Oh, we’re so coming early for the next one,” says Glenne.

Y/N smiles at the determination in her voice. “Thank you for coming. You guys have no idea how much it means to me.”

Her heart is so full. Whereas the night started with her feeling petrified and alone, she now feels more loved and supported than ever. To say that the exhibit was a success is an understatement, and having Harry, Jeff, and Glenne all there for her was the cherry on top because success tastes so much sweeter when you have people to share it with.

***

Harry is bursting with pride. Watching Y/N put on this exhibit tonight has been quite a treat. She has blossomed from someone who used to not think very highly of her artistic capabilities into a self-assured artist right before his eyes, and he has loved being able to witness her growth.

Now they’re at his house, having Thai food, and Y/N, who hasn’t eaten all day due to nerves, is devouring everything so quickly that he worries he might not have ordered enough food for them. Luckily, that doesn’t end up being the case.

Afterwards, as they’re placing their dishes in the sink, Y/N tells him, “I saw you sneaking pictures of me at the exhibit. Like a little fanboy.”

He laughs. “I hope you don’t mind. You just looked so in your element.”

She bites her lip. “Can I see them?”

“Sure.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and opens up his camera roll. He places it on the counter so they can both look together.

Each photo shows Y/N talking to people who came to see her work, her hands poised in the air as she describes her creative process or her inspiration behind a specific piece.

“You look so confident,” he comments. “And happy.” He looks up at her from his phone and nudges her softly with his arm. “I’m proud of you.”

For a second, it seems like she’s about to break down into tears again but then contains herself.

“I really don’t deserve you,” she says.

He gives her a gentle look, knowing that she’s referring to the hurtful words she fired at him that night in her apartment. The words that burrowed deep under his skin for a few days until he gained some clarity and realized that she’d only said them because she felt attacked, that she didn’t actually believe them. Of course, that didn’t make it okay, but it did soften him towards her a little. And knowing Y/N, he could safely assume that she was far angrier at herself than he was at her.

“Y/N, I know you didn’t mean what you said. I mean, it still fucking hurt, but I know they were just words said in the heat of the moment… Right?”

“Yes,” she replies without hesitation. “And I’m so sorry, not just about what I said that night, but also what I didn’t say about my family, for hiding that from you.”

“No, I never should’ve pushed you to tell me in the first place.”

“But you never pushed me, Harry.” She turns her body towards him fully, leaning against the counter. “You just asked because you were curious about that part of my life, the same way I was curious about your family before I met them. It’s just that my family is… They’re nothing like yours. It’s not like they’re terrible people. They’re just not warm or affectionate, and they see any display of emotion as a sign of weakness.”

He quirks a brow. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, lovie, but they sound like robots.”

“You’re not far off,” she replies with a shrug. “They have this toughness, this stoic resolve that I used to envy when I was younger, until I realized that I didn’t want to be like that at all. As a child though, when your whole family is like that and you’re the anxious one who can’t get your emotions under control, it’s hard to feel normal. My parents didn’t know how to handle my anxiety, so they tried to mold me into them, and when that didn’t work, they just started denying my feelings altogether. Every time I would try to talk about my feelings, they would shut me down, tell me to suck it up and toughen up and stop being so goddamn sensitive.”

Hearing that makes Harry’s chest ache. Y/N is a sensitive person, sure, but he never viewed that as a shortcoming. In fact, it’s one of the many things that drew him to her because he is the same way. His sensitivity has allowed him to be more empathetic in his relationships and more vulnerable in his music—qualities that he also noticed in Y/N.

“I got tired of trying to explain it to them,” she continues, “so I left and tried to make something out of my art career. And God, my parents hated that. They were never the creative types; they thought anything related to art was a waste of time. They kept telling me I was wasting my potential to be something bigger, something better than an artist. And at one point, I started believing them, but then I met people like Rosie, who weren’t emotionless robots and who actually appreciated art for what it is.

“And I made a life for myself out here, pouring my heart and soul into my art, and I’ve tried so hard to keep this new, amazing part of my life separate from that part because I don’t want them to ruin this for me.”

“That’s why you didn’t want me to meet them?” he asks gently.

“Well, that and the fact that they’re convinced that you’re just some hotshot superstar stringing me along while sleeping with ten other girls at the same time because they don’t see how someone like you could ever fall in love with someone like me. And they make sure to remind me of that every time I go see them, which is just so fun,” she says sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

Harry doesn’t really care that her parents see him as some pompous asshole obsessed with sex. What does bother him, however, is that they try to make Y/N feel like she somehow doesn’t meet his standards, that she isn’t good enough for him because that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“How come you still visit them?” he asks. “Not judging, just curious.” If it were up to him, he would never let them see her again.

She sighs. “I don’t know. I guess I always felt obligated to? I felt like they did care about me, even if they sucked at showing it. But the older I get and especially this past year, I feel less obligated to put up with their shit. I’ll probably keep visiting for now, just not as often anymore.”

“You don’t have to deal with them alone, you know.” He takes her hand in his. “I’m more than willing to go along for moral support.”

“That’s really sweet, but… It’s hard enough hearing them say disrespectful things about you when you’re not there. If you were there, I think I might start throwing hands.”

He chuckles. The idea of his dear sweet Y/N, who couldn’t hurt a fly, threatening to fight her family for disrespecting him makes him melt inside.

“Okay, well, I understand if you’d prefer to go on your own,” he says. “My offer still stands though, if you change your mind.”

She smiles. “Thank you. I appreciate that. And I promise to be more open and honest with you moving forward. I really am trying.”

“I know you are.” He looks down at their hands, rubbing his thumb over the back of hers. “Can’t be easy when you were told to bury your feelings down all through your childhood.”

“Yeah…”

When he looks up from their hands, he finds a peculiar look on her face, her eyes tender and almost hypnotic as they stare back at him.

He frowns slightly. “What?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing. Just feeling extra lucky tonight.”

“Oh.” He smiles, nearly blushing under her intense gaze. “Sooo, when’s the next exhibit? Because I have some suggestions.”

Her brows lift up curiously. “Suggestions?”

“Yeah, mostly for the refreshments table. I feel it was a bit lacking.”

She gasps. “Not the refreshments table! I worked so hard on that!”

“Hm, well, clearly not hard enough.”

She pouts. He chuckles and pinches her bottom lip before leaning in for a kiss, stopping just by her lips.

“I love you so much,” he whispers.

“Love you more.” She completes the kiss.

***

Thank you for reading! For more anxious!reader and other fics, check out my MASTERLIST

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #anxious!reader #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #my writing

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randomcreator-09 · 2 months ago

Text

The Mahoutokoro DADA Professor (Part One)

(Severus Snape x Reader)

Part one, Part Two

(gif ain't mine > idk I saw it one day and saved it then forgot... But it's not mine :"3)

✨Pure fluff, maybe a lil angst heh dunno XD and a tad full of sarcasm✨

🐧AH! Suddenly had an idea to write a character where she's from an asian country and Snape is just so intrigued and annoyed by her XD. Enjoy my imaginations (didn't use grammarly on this one so it might have some grammar errors pls be kind :"3)

OH also I was inspired to write this with that one shot I dont remembor :"3 please dm me if you whoever wrote this somewhat the same trope sees or reads this, so I can tag you or maybe remove it if you request so🐧

Now enjoy ^^

-----

As Hogwarts came to another start, Severus Snape found himself sitted once again in the great hall with the insufferable children in front of him.

The war has ended, and two years have passed since his close call with death. He wished it had ended that way, though; he really has no clue what faith has put in on him again.

Nothing out of the ordinary has changed in two years, except well the dark lord being defeated and him being awarded the Merlins honor for his sacrifices, along with the Pince riches and manor named after him. He scowled at that house, and he couldn't fathom the idea of living in it, so he stayed in his humble home at the end of Spinners End.

There was a new addition to the staff, though. Professor Y/N/L, you teach the subject he has been eyeing for quite some time now, DADA.

McGonagall hired you last year, with recommendations from Hermoine of course. She has placed good words for you, complimenting how you had helped her with advocating elf rights and how you have helped Harry in defeating scoundrels of the wizarding world as an auror.

There was something unique about you, too. You didn't graduate from Hogwarts like Hermoine or Harry; you graduated from the far east. To be exact you graduated with golden robes from Mahoutokoro Wizarding School Japan.

Everyone was giddy when McGonagall introduced you in the great hall. You were wearing your golden robes, depicting your Mahoutokoro origin. You probably were the same age as Severus (having graduated from Mahoutokoro in 1971, a year early due to your exceptional skills). Severus was the least giddy, though; he despised the fact you took the spot to his dream position.

He took your presence as a challenge, and he cannot wait to embarrass you in front of the students if you ever asked for a sample duel.

And that day did came.

On October 2, 2000, you knocked on his classroom door in the middle of his potions class. You slowly peeked your head at his dungeon door and smiled at him.

Oh, how he despised your bright smile.

"Hello, Professor Snape, " you greeted as you kept your body behind the door.

Severus raised a brow and enveloped himself with his black robe. "Professor Y/L, what a pleasure to have your presence," his voice like a hoarse rumble of thunder. Nagini's bite wasn't too kind to him after the years. It pains him to speak, but he has gotten used to it now.

"Well..." you muttered under your breath as you entered his classroom. The eyes of his students are on you but are back on their cauldrons as soon as Severus slams a notebook to one table.

"Is it alright to ask you to come with me for a sample duel?" the words rolled out your mouth, startled by the sudden burst of noise that echoed throughout room.

Severus smirked slightly. 'It was his time to shine,' he thought as he pulled his sleeves up and crossed his arms. "I suppose after class?"

You nodded with a smile and gave him the details of what time the duel would be held before thanking him as you left.

Severus curtly nods at you, a welcome, I suppose, or more of a thank you. As soon as you left, he swiftly turned around and walked straight to his desk. Severus had a genuine smile plastered on his face, his thoughts running wild on how he could embarrass you infront of your students. He felt victorious even with his thoughts.

Some of his students saw this smile and were terrified by it. He's gone mad.

------ (Duel ends)

Severus was in disbelief. Shocked, totaled, bamboozled, whatever it is you name that depicts a man who just lost his wits AND WAND!

He stood there dumbfounded as you gripped his wand with your hand.

You hit him with a successful expelliarmus at what felt like 2 minutes of exchanging spells!

"Now, children, expelliarmus is a spell you do to take an opponent's wand. Using it wisely, along with other spells exchanged by me and Professor Snape, is one way to win a duel or to pass your OWLS and NEWTS," you exclaimed, walking towards Severus and handing him his wand.

You called out names of students to watch them duel. Severus walked down the duel table, his demeanor unchanged and cold, but his insides were in turmoil. He had just been defeated, infront of her and her students.

You patted his back, which made him even tad furious at how he just lost that duel. How good were you to be able to defeat him? Has he lost his talent in duelling? Is he perhaps aging too fast?

"You did well, professor. Don't be too harsh on yourself, " you said as you watched your students duel.

He glared down at you, only his eyes moving as he scoffed. 'unbelievable,' he thought. He lost to a little midget like you.

He had to do something about this humiliation. With that, he scurried away from you and into the dungeons, preparing himself from the daily torment of the memory of losing from you.

-----(Your POV before he left)

Severus stood beside you as you two stepped down the duel table.

You had caught him at his most unexpected moment and effortlessly defeated him in the duel. You were a gifted dueller, after all.

As you watched your students duel, you looked up to see Severus with his usual cold demeanor. However, as you looked down at his hands, you could see how he gripped his hands. You smiled warmly at the thought of him even thinking about this moment more than once in the future.

"You did well, professor. Don't be too harsh on yourself," you said as you watched your students duel. You hear him scoff at you before twirling dramatically around and leaving.

You smile at that, and as you hear the door close shut, you stop your student's duel and end the class for the day.

A few days have passed since your duel with Severus, and he has been avoiding you since then. You felt it since he was always following you around before, and it's not that you don't like it. You actually do.

You've liked him since the day you arrived; you've always had a thing for dark, dramatic, gothic men, and he was the spite image of that.

You've always tried to start a conversation with him, to which he either scoffs or replies a bit dryly. You don't blame him, that scar in his neck must've hurt.

As you walk the open hallways of Hogwarts, passing by and greeting students, you see his familiar silhouette. He was walking away from you a bit too fast for his normal phase. You smile at this and tried following him to where he was going.

-----(Back to Severus POV)

Severus has been dreaming about you. Silly encantation, you must have placed some sort of spell on him while in duel, he concluded to himself.

His dreams started with you kissing him on his lips at first to you straddling his lap. He'd wake up with beads of sweat all over his body despite the cold temperatures of the dungeons where his chamber was. There was a constant tent on his blanket too! He despised you even more when you've become an apparent dream of his.

It has been almost two months now since the duel. Severus has been avoiding you since, embarrassed from the duel and ashamed of the silly dreams he's been having. He can't believe he's been dreaming of you, LIKE THAT TOO?!

December 15, 2000. He decided to walk Hogwart's open corridors to get some breather. He had to do something with you, scold you for coming to his mind, his dreams, his nightmares, his... His everything.

He shook his head, no way. NO WAY he has feelings for you. NO WAY.

As he turned the corner and walked even faster, he sees you being greeted by students. His body tensing up, as he quickly eyes you head to toe.

It's been days since he last saw you, and you were as marvelous as you looked from the last. Your hair tied up in a messy bun, your golden robe over your dark blue wizard clothes beautifully insinuating your figure, and oh... Your smile. He hated that bright smile, but he blushed every time you gave him that smile.

He quickly turned around and swiftly walked away from you. Walked? He RAN.

He never felt like this, not even with Lily. He felt like a schoolgirl running away from the sight of their crush. Jeez, he really needed to man up sometimes.

"Professor Snape!" he heard you exclaim. He paused in his tracks. Shit.

He turns around to see you walking towards him, with that darn smile again.

"Professor," he mutters, trying to compose himself. Hopefully his not showing much emotions or blushing. His cheeks felt hot though, darn it.

"Would you like to go to Yule Ball with me?" you asked sweetly.

Severus was frozen. He never thought he'd ever be asked to go to Yule Ball. Not even as a professor.

He looks at you with narrowed eyes. "And why would I say yes to that?" his voice sultry and rough.

You smiled again, he's going to have a heart attack anytime soon, he could feel it.

"Well... You could always say no. I wouldn't mind asking Professor Fin-"

"Nonsense, you can never dance with such a tiny man. It'd be best if you dance with me, by practicality ofcourse" he grunts in a way that flowed out of his mouth.

You laughed, which made Severus's heart do cartwheels.

"That's settled then." as you turn around and leave.

Severus was yet again left in shock. Did he just agree to dance with you at the Yule Ball?

He slammed his palm to his forehead. Now he is just being your lap dog. He has no choice now but to actually dance with you.

The woman who defeated him in duel. The woman who took his spot in DADA. The woman from the east who Severus never met before. The woman... He currently has feelings for.

He smiles. Atleast he knows now why faith has kept him alive.

-----

Next>> Part 2 is released!!!! ^^

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phoebe-delia · 11 months ago

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The Family We Choose

Okay. So. I got very emo because of this post from @xx-thedarklord-xx. And then I got all the feels from @littlewinnow's INCREDIBLE art for it. And it got me thinking about what it must've been like for Hagrid to meet baby Scorp. And just. This happened.

"Hagrid, this is Scorpius Fleamont Potter." Harry gently places the little bundle in Hagrid's waiting arms.

Hagrid brings the child up close to his chest. "Oh, look at yeh," he murmurs. "Such a wee one. He's got yer eyes, Harry."

Draco chuckles softly. "Yes, he does. And my hair, luckily for him."

Harry wraps his arm around Draco. "He got the best of us both, I think."

Hagrid gazes in wonder at the baby in his arms; the chubby cheeks, the wide green eyes, the fine blond hair on his soft head.

Hagrid feels his eyes well up, and he tries to hold back his tears; he should wait to be a blubbering mess when there's not a baby in his arms, but he can't help it. He sniffs and tries not to let the overwhelming happiness in his chest take him over entirely.

When he glances back up at Harry and Draco, they're looking at him with joy and fondness; particularly Harry, who appears as close to tears as Hagrid feels himself.

"Hagrid," Harry starts, "Draco and I wanted you to be among the first on staff to meet Scorpius. And, well...We also wanted to say thank you."

Hagrid's breath catches. "Ter thank meh? Wha' for?"

"For everything," Harry shrugs. "For being part of the reason I'm here—and that Scorp is here."

"And for your great capacity for forgiveness," Draco says quietly. "I can't imagine I'd have lasted long here as a professor if not for your generosity and empathy."

Hagrid can't hold back the tears now. He looks back down at Scorpius and then at Harry and Draco. "Neither of yeh needs ter thank meh."

"We wanted to," Harry says. "And—to introduce you to your future apprentice here, of course."

Draco raises an eyebrow. "What makes you think he won't be a potions master?"

Harry shrugs. "Nothing, only that potions is a miserable subject for miserable twats."

Draco swats at his arm. "Is that any way to talk about your husband's career?"

Harry grins and rubs at his arm. "I suppose I deserved that."

"Too right you did," Draco grumbles. Harry snickers and pulls Draco closer, pressing a quick kiss to his temple.

Hagrid begins to tune out the bickering couple and looks back at Scorpius, who coos in his arms. The child is absolutely perfect; and better than that, he's safe. He's loved. And he always will be.

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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 months ago

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Five Fics Friday: August 23/24

Happy Friday everyone!! Finally going on my 2 week holidays, so I'm glad I have some great fics I can read if I get bored!! Check out what's on my radar this week! Enjoy!!

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how do we turn on the light? by moonyinpisces (M, 229,988+ w., 18/22 Ch. || WiP || Post-S2, Romance, Slow Burn, Angst with Happy Ending, Light Humour, Supreme Archangel Aziraphale, The Second Coming, Christianity, Drug Use, Book of Life, Death Threats, Suicidal Thoughts, Sex in the Bentley, Duke of Hell Crowley, Character Death) – Aziraphale ascends to the highest level of the Archangels. And he remembers—well. It’s not important what he remembers.

#johnlock fic recs #ineffable husbands fic recs #good omens fic recs #my fic recs #five fics friday

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1d1195 · 2 years ago

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Neighbors I

For my 🐱 anon I hope you like it. It's gonna have to be multiple parts. I've really enjoyed writing it so far!

Warning: lots of fluff and pining. Very domestic Harry stuff.

Harry was glad she asked because he would do anything for her and he was glad she felt comfortable asking for such an intimate thing. Harry knew being a single mum was a challenge like no other. He wanted her to have the world and he would help however he could.

Harry was suffering.

It had been two weeks since he last spoke to her. At first, he thought he was imagining the lack of communication. He even convinced himself that it wasn’t anything to do with him. She was busy. Her mum came to visit. She was visiting her brother. Rory was on a play date while she was at work today. Another mum asked her to babysit, and she brought Rory to play while she did.

Harry was sitting by his front window, looking out to the street and saw her adorable little home just right there. But she wasn’t. Neither was Rory. He missed them both so much and it made him think about the day he moved in and saw the sweet girl and her little boy playing in the front yard.

Harry was on his phone video chatting with his mum and sister when he pulled into the driveway. He was showing off his little house that he had gotten all to himself, and he was so proud and happy. It was going to be his place where he could be and do whatever he wanted and not have to worry about anyone else.

Except for the most adorable neighbors he could have asked for.

“Hi!” A tiny shout came from out of thin air. Harry was mid-sentence chatting with his family when he spun to see the little boy waving enthusiastically from across the street.

“Oh, Harry he’s so cute,” Gemma cooed from his phone.

Harry was so startled by the little voice he forgot his camera was showing off the whole neighborhood. “Hi there,” Harry waved his free hand as the little boy’s mother knelt beside him and whispered something in his ear with smile and she fluttered her fingers at Harry gently. He wasn’t sure what he said, but the little boy threw his hand over his mouth and he swore he saw her mouth ‘sorry’ and she must have explained Harry was on the phone to the little one once more because he put his finger to his lips to keep quiet.

“I think I have t’meet the neighbors,” he told his mum and sister with a smirk.

“Try not to fall in love with the first girl you lay eyes on,” Gemma said knowingly but the glint in her eye was saying anything but the words that left her mouth. She knew her brother was one to fall in love quickly. Especially if he was going to be in close proximity to the sweet looking girl she could only barely make out on the grainy video call.

“Or her son,” his mum replied with the same glint in her eye as Gemma. Harry had such a soft spot for children. He was good with them and adored them immediately. Little ones liked how tall he was and marveled at it. He chuckled shyly and shook his head as he headed across the street. He hung up on the only women in his life up until that very moment where the whole trajectory of his life changed meeting his new neighbor.

“Hi,” he said with a smile so bright it warmed her thoroughly—Harry looked like pure sunshine. She was still crouched beside the little one and she was lucky she had her son to distract her a bit from the beautiful sight of him.

“Hi,” she answered and wrinkled her nose at the boy in her arms. “Are you shy suddenly?” She asked the little boy and squeezed his sides making him giggle and try to hide his face against her neck. “Go on, you wanted to introduce yourself,” she said and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Harry also crouched down in front of the two and he stuck his hand out to the little boy. “M’Harry, what’s your name?” He asked.

“Go on,” she encouraged. “You can do it,” she whispered in his ear loud enough for Harry to hear but still just for the little one.

“I Rory,” he said incompletely and put his hand in Harry’s (it was the wrong hand which just made Harry melt a little more).

“S’nice t’meet you, Rory. This is a nice neighborhood y’got here. M’glad I got t’meet you on m’first day here.”

“This is Mommy,” he said and gestured to the beautiful girl he was standing in front of; she was young for sure. Harry couldn’t not notice she was young. Especially for how little Rory looked. It was hard for Harry to not notice every little detail about her—she was beautiful from head to toe, and it was easily the fastest Harry had ever become smitten with a girl. “She 25,” he volunteered.

“You’re supposed to tell him your age not my age, you goose,” she rolled her eyes with a smirk and squeezed his sides again making him giggle. She kept her eyes mainly on her son, but they darted over to Harry every so often.

“I free!” he said holding up three fingers proudly. “Mommy teached me,” he said and then listed off the numbers one through ten counting the rest on his finger.

“Cool lad,” he said with a smile. “You’ll have t’teach me,” he winked at him. “M’not so good with numbers,” he explained.

“One, two three, four...” he started quickly.

“Easy baby,” she said. “Don’t want to scare him off before he’s been here a day,” she winked in Harry’s direction.

“Oh, I don’t scare easy,” Harry told her seriously. He held her gaze for the first time since he walked over without looking at the little one. Rory was contentedly staring back and forth between the two putting his thumb to his mouth. She offered her name and held her hand out to him.

Harry took hold of it and wished he could never let go. Her hand felt so perfect in his. He could have cried. He couldn’t wait to tell Gemma and his mum. “Lovely t’meet you, kitten,” he murmured.

“Mommy not a cat,” Rory giggled.

“I know lad, but she’s pretty like one,” he winked at her and watched her long enough to see her cheeks turn pink at his assessment. Feeling proud of the reaction he turned his attention back to Rory. “S’like how she called y’baby. You’re not a baby but you’re cute like one.”

“You talk funny,” Rory giggled.

“Rory James,” she scolded lightly with an eye roll. She didn’t sound mad like any mother that had scolded their son before. Harry’s own mum would say she was too gentle—even if it wasn’t needed. “That’s not polite,” she said knowingly and pursed her lips at him in disappointment. “Say sorry to Harry, please,” she nodded at him expectantly.

“Sorry, Harry,” he said softly looking remorseful. His lower lip jutted out and Harry swore he saw his eyes glisten with a set of tears.

“Oh, s’alright lad,” he smiled gently and rubbed his hand up and down his little arm. Harry didn’t want to condone his actions since she told him to apologize, but it wasn’t a big deal. Harry knew where she was coming from too. “I do talk funny, don’t I?” He winked at him and gave his arm a little squeeze. “You talk kinda funny t’me too,” he stage-whispered to him and made him giggle.

Rory yawned after a minute. “Mommy, sleepy time?” He asked rubbing his eye with a little fist. Harry was in love with this little guy as much as he was in love with his mother.

“Oh yes, definitely nap time,” she said and finally stood, scooped him into her arms and gave Harry a gentle wave. “It was nice meeting you, Harry. Thanks for saying hi,” she grinned so gently and beautifully, Harry wanted to take a picture of that smile and cherish it forever. “Can you say, ‘see you around’ to Harry, before you fall asleep?”

“See around, Harry,” he repeated sleepily from the crook of her neck.

“See y’around, lad. Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” he said softly.

“Bye Harry,” she said gently.

Harry gave a wave as she retreated inside. He returned back across the street ready to unpack as quickly as possible and find as many excuses as he could to see the pretty girl and cute lad again.

“Mommy?” Rory asked tiredly as she carried him down the hall to his room. Her head was spinning with the image of the guy across the street. Harry was undeniably attractive. His hair begged to have her fingers sink into it. His eyes were so gentle and green she was sure he could have seen her swooning over him. He was tall and physically fit. It was unbelievably unfair he lived across the street. She adored her little boy but there was no way she could ever expect Harry to want to be in a relationship with someone that had a son so young.

“Yes, my love,” she hummed softly interrupting her daydream of Harry.

“What bed bug?” He asked sleepily. She giggled.

Harry spent his days working from home as a virtual psychologist. He was very lucky to work remotely, only having to go into the main office once in a blue moon. It was nice to work from the comfort of his home office and not have to worry about traffic or things like that. The clients he worked with suffered from a range of anxieties and Harry did his best to help them cope.

But maybe the best benefit was the view. From his office he could watch the sweet girl across the street.

She ran a home daycare during the day and he watched her periodically flit about the house and yard with several little ones in tow. They followed her like little ducklings, and she was so good with children it made Harry ache for something he didn’t even know he wanted at that moment. He couldn’t even hear her sing or talk to them from her view but the way she bent to their level made eye contact with them, it was so obvious that they loved and adored her. She treated them like people.

Harry liked that a lot.

Three nights a week another car parked in her drive and she was flying out the door dressed in what had to be a waitress uniform. She returned late at night—sometimes past midnight—Harry didn’t see past midnight all that often, but he saw it once or twice, so he made the assumption. Despite the lateness of the hour, she was always up and ready the next morning bright and early; she was chipper and beautiful for the little ones that liked to watch her almost as much as Harry liked to watch her.

On Sundays she played with Rory in the front yard.

“Rory!” She shouted as Harry ran by. Harry stopped in front of their yard and crouched down to snag the boy before he accidentally ran into the road. They didn’t live on a busy street; in fact, there wasn’t a car in sight, but it was the principle of the thing. He saw the way her heart took off and she looked stressed but relieved as Harry spoke to her son.

“Y’can’t run in the road, lad,” Harry told him.

“You run,” he pouted.

“M’a little older than you, lad. And even still, m’running on the sidewalk,” he said gesturing to the space beside the road. “The road is for cars, s’not for guys like us,” he explained.

He nodded knowingly. “Mommy says I get hurt,” he contended.

“Mummy’s right,” he nodded back. “She’s very smart,” he said looking over the top of Rory’s head and smiling at the poor love that was still eyeing the road as if it betrayed her.

“Baby, we don’t want to bother Harry; he’s running,” she said moving closer to him after a moment.

“I run?” He questioned, looking up at Harry expectantly.

“No, love he—”

“That sounds like fun Rory!” He stood up grabbing hold of Rory’s hand and winked at the speechless girl as Harry stepped off the sidewalk and let Rory run a few toddled paces up the road. Following alongside Harry cheered for him. “Wow, lad! Look at y’go! Can hardly keep up!” he chuckled as he pretended to struggle to run after Rory.

Rory giggled. “I fast!” He said excitedly.

“Sure are,” she called from a few paces behind. Harry turned back and smiled at her again.

All that was two years ago, though. Back when she was still talking to him, and Harry didn’t have to wonder what was going through her head. When Harry was still part of watching Rory grow and they developed their own routines as neighbors and friends. Before she decided to cut Harry out.

Shortly after moving in, she called Harry nervously. She gave him his number in case he needed anything while he was away on business or if she had any concerns about his house. He gave her a spare key telling her he just had a couple of plants in the kitchen that needed water every day. She returned the notion saying she rarely left when she had a toddler in tow, but you never know.

He could hear the anxiety in her voice. He got the feeling she didn’t ask for help very often. It would make sense given she was a superhero mum. Harry didn’t want to let her down.

“I’m really sorry to ask you this,” she sounded pained to ask him. Like it was physically hurting her to get the words out. Harry tilted his head as he held his phone to his ear. He glanced out his office window unable to see where she was in her house. “My sitter cancelled on me suddenly. Could you watch Rory for my shift? I know it’s last minute and I promise it will only ever be this one time...I just can’t call out this close to my start time—”

“Love the whole purpose of me working from home is I have a flexible job. I can watch him—he’s just going to bed soon anyway,” he promised. “I’ll be right over.”

“Really? You will? Thank you, Harry. Thank you so much. I promise I’ll pay you,” she said with so much gratefulness and relief in her voice he could hardly stand it.

“Don’t be silly kitten, I’d be insulted,” he said hanging up and taking no time at all to hurry across the street.

Rory was delighted to hang out with Harry. He didn’t hang out with men all that much. Harry was the best in his eyes. “We’ll have a little men club night,” he winked at the little boy. “We’ll play games, drink some juice, and watch an action movie,” it was an ambitious to do list before his bedtime in two hours, but she giggled at him and that was worth all the wins in the world in Harry’s eyes.

Harry watched him regularly—every Thursday after that.

Rory’s eyes lit up like nothing he’d ever seen before every single Thursday. It was obvious he looked up to Harry. He was the only regular man in their life, and he was the perfect role model. Harry taught Rory a lot of things in those short two hours before bed each week. Harry never thought of himself a teacher, but he never thought about how he learned to do some of the things Rory asked him to show him.

“Mommy says I can learn to pee standing up,” he whispered to Harry one Thursday almost a year after he started watching him. Harry smirked. He’d grown so much in just one year it made Harry overwhelmed sometimes. He spoke better than the three-year-old he met. Harry obviously wasn’t here for Rory’s baby days, but it had to make the poor girl just as overwhelmed some days. He was growing so fast.

“That’s cool lad. Guys usually do that,” Harry nodded knowingly with a smirk.

“Harry, how is Mommy going to show me?” He asked curiously. “Mommy told me girls don’t have to stand,” his little eyebrows were pinched together. Harry chuckled lightly. It was a valid concern and he wondered what it must be like to navigate such a different part of parenthood like that for the sweet girl. Harry was lucky his mum and dad were still together when he was potty training; that would have to be difficult for her and for Rory.

“M’sure your mum knows how t’teach y’anything, Rory. But if you’re not sure after her lesson, I can answer any question y’have,” he shrugged. “S’pretty easy,” he told him. He stood up from the couch and gestured in front of him as if there was an imaginary toilet there. “You just stand there and go like this,” he said and held his hand in front of his pants like he was pretending to pee.

“Oh,” Rory said his eyebrows furrowing together once more. “That looks easy.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he chuckled sitting back down. “M’sure y’can handle it.”

“Harry?” He asked quietly. Harry was searching through movie titles on the TV to find something that he thought Rory would like before bed.

“Yeah, lad?”

“Sometimes...” he looked a little uncomfortable and stared at his little legs that barely crossed over the edge of the couch. “Sometimes I don’t want to ask Mommy things,” he told him shyly. “Could I ask you?”

Harry turned and looked at him. He frowned slightly. He didn’t want to overstep his boundary as babysitter or even neighbor, but he knew she would want to know anything going on in Rory’s life. “Rory, you can ask your mum anything,” he promised.

He nodded. “Mommy says that, too,” he affirmed. He waved his hand over to Harry asking him to come closer. “But Mommy doesn’t have a penis,” he whispered shyly—like it was a secret. “I don’t know if she knows everything about them,” he said seriously.

Harry bit back the laughter that was trying to burst its way through and he nodded seriously. “You’re right, lad. But Mummy knows how t’help you,” he reminded him. “She always helps you, yeah?”

Rory nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’ll let Mummy know that if you have questions that she can’t answer, you can ask me.”

It was jarring to have Harry in her house when she got home so late from work. Harry was reading or watching TV on her couch while the little one slept soundly in his bed. The idea of coming home to Harry made her overwhelmed even when she was so tired and longed for her own bed.

If she wasn’t so tired she probably would have thought about going to bed with Harry. Fortunately, she was tired and while she thanked Harry a million times in the span of five minutes she couldn’t think about sleeping with her gorgeous, lovely, perfect neighbor. Today she was listening to the recap of the boys’ night because Harry wanted to tell her something important.

Harry relayed the story of Rory’s line of questioning that night she smirked and rolled her eyes. “That’s very funny. I’ll be sure to talk to him. Thank you,” she said gratefully. “But...if he does...have questions that I can’t answer, could he ask you?” She wondered. Harry was glad she asked because he would do anything for her and he was glad she felt comfortable asking for such an intimate thing. Harry knew being a single mum was a challenge like no other. He wanted her to have the world and he would help however he could.

“Kitten, I’ll tell him anything he wants t’know if it’s okay with you.”

She smiled sweetly. “Thank you, I really appreciate that, Harry,” she was so tired she didn’t think anything of it and leaned in to give Harry a hug.

Harry didn’t question it because it felt so natural to wrap his arms around her and have her in his embrace. Harry wondered the last time she was held by someone outside her family. He knew from the visual he had each day that there were no men in her life besides Rory, himself, and her brother. This was too nice and too sweet. She felt so warm and perfect in his arms. He was also getting tired but he was wound up in the smell of her the feel of her so quickly it made his head spin.

All at once she must have realized her position. “Uh...sorry,” she said softly and pulled away clearing her throat. She refused to meet Harry’s eyes. “I’m very tired.”

“Oh...” he hummed. “S’okay kitten...you’re pretty warm,” he shrugged with a grin. “I like hugs too.”

She nodded and still didn’t meet his gaze. “Thank you,” she repeated. “For everything.”

He remembered that hug a lot when he held the pillow in his arms thinking about how he hadn’t seen her in over two weeks. He doesn’t even know what he did wrong, and it drove him nuts. Of course, he adored her but he didn’t want Rory to think he had abandoned him either.

Apparently, Rory had been thinking the same way.

“Mumma, does Harry not love me anymore?” He asked before bedtime one night.

She sighed heavily. “Oh...baby, no,” she shook her head. “Harry loves you,” she promised. She knew that was true. Despite all her misgivings and all the things she worried about. She knew Harry adored her little boy.

“How come he hasn’t played with me in a while?” He asked.

She couldn’t tell him that she was too attached to him and it wasn’t fair to Harry that he would be a father for someone else’s baby. She was thrust into motherhood and it was the best thing that ever happened to her, but she would never make anyone—but especially Harry—be a parent before they were ready. “Sometimes grown ups are busy,” she said. “He’s always there,” she promised. “And you’ll always have me,” she smiled, ruffling his fluffy hair.

“I know that Mumma, but I like playing with Harry too. And I think he likes playing with us too.”

Little kids were too smart for their own good sometimes.

#harry #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #neighbor!harry #one direction #one direction writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #neighbors

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bowtiepastabitch · 1 year ago

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Let's talk costuming: Angelic Robes and The Unreliable Narrator

It's two am, I have to be up at six, but this has been fermenting in the back of my head for the past five hours I've spent doing homework and if I don't get it out I shan't sleep.

The costumes we see representing angelic character in Season Two are VASTLY different from those we see in Season One. (See my post on Aziraphale's Job Robe for an in-depth art history analysis of this individual costume piece.) In season one, the angelic flashback clothing we see is rather humble and uncomplicated. As all things in this show, this serves a very important narrative purpose.

Let's first compare these gorgeous gorgeous girls to their S1 counterparts, shall we?

Just look at the collar on that robe! In S1, we're introduced to Aziraphale in a very plain tunic-style robe with an unfinished neckline. Aside from a slight gold decoration and draping on the shoulders, this could easily be mistaken for rather primitive human garb. S2, by comparison, introduces angelic costume as non-ostentatious but still refined with a gold-trimmed gathered neckline and wide sleeves. The fabric itself, on a textile level, is much finer and softer. Overall, the robes give an air of innocence and angelic purity that is lacking from Aziraphale's S1 'fit. Let's look at another example:

Their Rome costumes are strewn with so many incredible details (check out this incredible post from 2019) but they still retain a bit of that historical ruggedness. Same for these:

The argument could be made for pure historical compliance, sure, but to claim a lack of anachronisms in this show would be a flat-out lie. No, S1 Crowley and Aziraphale are very distinctively human in their dress. The cloth has a wider weave, the ornamentation is minimal, all around it serves to highlight their fitting-in with humans and the humanization of their characters. They're 'going native,' as it were, no doubt about it.

So why, in S2, is Aziraphale suddenly showing up looking like he just popped out of a renaissance painter's wet dream?

Simple. Suddenly, Aziraphale isn't an angel among humans acting human, he's an angel being an angel doing angel things. We get to see the rest of the heaven gang in full angelic decadence as well, a bold departure from the starkness of 'modern' heaven. If this is, as many of you lovely folk have speculated, a series of flashbacks from Aziraphale's memory, the design choices designate very clearly Aziraphale's perception of himself as an angel. A perception which, mind you, would likely be influenced by later human ideas of angelic and heavenly aesthetics. As an unreliable narrator, Aziraphale is showing us not his actual wardrobe as an angelic being but his perception of his past self.

Crowley, too, is affected by this shift in dress. Bildad the Shuhite is everything S1 flashback Crowley is not: fashion-forward, smooth-talking, and impeccably well-dressed. We've got three different fabric textures (that's three times as many as any of his biblical S1 robing) and a definable silhouette. He's practically a fashionista.

If this were all taken as an objective narrative, the shift back to billowing-void peasant Crowley at Golgotha, where we next see her chronologically, would be strange to say the least.

So why is the costuming of the S2 pre-modern flashbacks so much more elaborate? There's three possibilities I can imagine for a change in costume design for any show:

Budget: this is highly unlikely an instant rule-out for me. I've seen what costumers can do on a shoestring budget, and besides the later period costumes make this demonstrably false.

Change in production design team: Technically possible, yes, but if there's one thing Good Omens does well between seasons it's continuity. I mean, they burned the fucking bookshop and then hand-painted tiles to recreate it exactly for the second season. This is not Harry Potter. This isn't it.

An intentional design: Everything, and I mean everything, in this show is intentional. While not everything the wardrobe team does is easily decodable (see Crowley's shapeshifting sunglasses) we've got a pretty comfortable bit of time to figure such things out. This is the only option that makes a lick of sense.

Wonderful, so we've established that this is a narrative choice.

So if it's a narrative choice, and it's distinct from the stylistic choices of Season One, then someone is lying to us. Or rather, we have an unreliable narrator somewhere along the way.

Most of the buzz on ye olde tumblr focuses on the idea of Aziraphale as narrator and memory-holder for S2, and that would certainly make sense from both a story and design. Of course he would see Angel Crowley as adorable and innocent and angelic (the hair is not helping his case either omg I love her), and of course he would see himself as grandly, exaggeratedly, almost dissonantly angelic at the major turning point in his faith.

If Crowley is narrating, then it calls into question why he would choose to remember himself this way. It holds a sort of nostalgic sadness, a memory of a joyful innocence permanently lost to God's cruelty. When we see Aziraphale in angelic splendor later, we're reminded again of what Crowley has lost. It echoes the aesthetic of his former angel self, the gathering and gold trim and bright white fabric, but also introduces a much more elaborate silhouette that reflects the shift toward heaven's new high-and-mighty attitude.

Finally, I'd like to point out that by contrast Season One focuses heavily on themes of humanity rather than ethereality. Narrated by God, no less, who probably has thoughts on their assimilation. While I think we can assume God to be a more reliable narrator than Crowley or Aziraphale, it's not out of the question that She would have her own story to spin about our Ineffable Idiots' shared history.

Ultimately, I think it's safe to say that whatever's going on in costume design is a Clue to the story we're being told in S2 and the one we will be told in S3.

#I would commit unspeakable crimes to work wardrobe for this show #just let me sew on some buttons and I'll be happy as a clam #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #good omens analysis #good omens costumes #costume design #ineffable husbands #unreliable narrators #angel crowley #go2 #nerd shit

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awyeahitssam · 9 months ago

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Harry just can't seem to stay dead. TW: Suicide, character death, frequent character death, torture, murder, disjointed snippets, concept discontinued -

The first time he dies Harry is fifteen months old, and it’s murder. His parents are both dead already, killed by the same hand Harry himself falls to, but they aren’t in the large, white expanse he wakes up in seconds later.

In fact, Harry is quite alone.

So he does what’s natural, and cries,

and cries,

and cries.

He stops after a bit, when his chest begins to ache. If his mummy or daddy were here, they would have come.

He’s alone.

He can’t remember ever being completely alone before, but he’s a big boy. Mummy’s big boy, she always says with a beaming smile when he's been very good. He can wait for her to come get him from this strange place.

This strange, dull, all-white place.

So he sits and waits, only Harry is a child with a short attention span and an oversized imagination. He wishes he had something to do - some toy to play with. He thinks about the colorful puffs of light daddy had introduced to him yesterday longingly, and suddenly pale puffs of smoke appear before him. Pink, purple, green. All of his favorite colors.

Gasping in delight, Harry claps clumsily, but this disperses the smoke and he’s alone again.

He whines, put out. “More,” he babbles. “Moremoremore!”

Obediently, the expanse lights up again. Harry grins gummily, falling onto his back to watch the pretty colors burst above him.

After a time Harry grows bored. He thinks of home - of his blanky and his stuffed toys and his mummy’s beautiful red curls and his daddy’s laughter - and longs to return.

A portal appears below him and he drops through with a squeal of delight.

Eventually this memory fades, just like the memories of his parents, lost in the cobwebs of a small cupboard under the stairs.

...

Unlike Mummy or Daddy, the Lady has never encouraged Harry's babble or answered his questions or bowed to his demands - "juice!" or "up!" were his favorites. In fact the first time he said “no!” which usually made adults laugh, or sigh and shake their heads, Harry was spanked.

Harry had never been spanked before, not even when he crashed his toy broomstick into Mummy’s desk and got ink spilled all over himself and the ground. Mummy had said he had been a very, very bad boy to ride his broom without mummy or daddy around, and Daddy had backed her up with stern, grunting noises even though his eyes were twinkling like they did when he laughed.

Here, when he spit a mouthful of mashed banana on the floor, the Lady shrieked and threw a washcloth at him, glaring until he got the hint and sloppy mopped it up. Harry didn’t know why the Lady didn’t just make the rag do that itself, but then again Harry didn’t understand a lot of things about the Lady.

The Mister was also not very nice. When Harry was quiet Mister paid him no attention, but if he made the slightest sound Mister’s beady eyes would narrow at him and he would start to shout. Mister was very loud, loud enough that he made Harry’s little ears ring and the other boy in the house start to cry.

The Mister stopped at the tears of the other boy, and so the next time Mister shouted Harry cried. This time, Mister did not stop. He just kept yelling and yelling and yelling until Harry’s head hurt really bad, and he seemed to suddenly lose his voice altogether.

That day Harry was put into his cupboard before it got dark outside, and was not let out for a very long time.

...

The next time Harry dies he is six years old. One moment he had appeared on top of the roof of his school, and the next he is falling. (It’s not exactly an accident, but it certainly isn’t on purpose, either. Harry had landed in the center of the roof, perfectly balanced. But he had gone to peer over the edge, searching, half for Dudley and his gang, half for a way down. He didn’t have to search for long. Maybe his depth perception was bad--the teacher had said he needed glasses, but Aunt Petunia hadn't gotten him them yet.)

He breaks his neck.

When he opens his eyes in an endless white expanse he is discomfited, the brightness so disparate from the darkness of his cupboard. Almost as the thought forms, he wishes the space were not so white, and a section of the room--place--endless land--suddenly turns a comforting pitch black.

Harry stares.

...

Harry decides within his first week at Hogwarts that killing himself is too risky. At the Dursley’s he had little to no supervision, discounting nosy neighbors. Here he was watched all the time: students whispered about him in the corridors, professor’s kept a close eye on his progress in classes, and his dormitory had four other boys in it. There was no real opportunity for privacy, and he couldn’t exactly hang himself, be caught in the noose, and have to explain it all to the Headmaster. He would probably be experimented on or something. He was already so different than other boys; to push it further seemed unwise.

His first chance comes when Draco and Fang abandoned him to the mercies of the Forest, but before he can find a suitably sturdy tree branch a centaur pulls Harry onto his back and leads him from the Forest.

Harry’s getting anxious, by this point. He’s never stayed alive for so long. He feels claustrophobic in his own skin. Sometimes he scratches his nails over his flesh like it will stop the pressure in his head, but he knows there’s only one real way to be rid of it.

His time with the Dursleys had taught him nothing if not patience, so he waits. And waits. And waits.

Harry makes it all the way to Yule before puncturing his carotid with a potions knife. Waking up in the white room feels a lot like bliss.

...

Harry is face to face with Lord Voldemort, and he feels so much—but not fear.

Voldemort, he considers, is a being of rage, madness, and destruction. The only problem that Harry immediately considers is that the man might not kill him quickly.

...

Harry has killed himself many times. That doesn’t prepare him for killing somebody else.

Quirrell burns beneath his hands and Harry is so scared, relieved, horrified. He killed somebody but he is alive — yet unlike most people, even if Quirrell had killed him he would still be alive.

...

In his Second Year, Harry kills himself forty-seven times. He’d like to say it isn’t because of the entire school turning against him for an ability he can’t even control, but he’s never been in the habit of lying to himself, and that was certainly a contributing factor.

Harry had thought he’d left the condemning stares in Little Whinging, but whispers break out when he passes and people either scamper out of his way or don’t like they have something to prove.

It’s easier to kill himself with magic, Harry discovers. Typically less of a mess, too.

Snape has no desire to educate children, and especially not Harry. So the next time he finds himself in The Room, throat ripped out by a giant three-headed dog, he asks for books.

He stays for a week, studying interspersed with flying after a conjured snitch, cooking, and resting. He sleeps far better in The Room than he ever has in Hufflepuff’s dormitory. Nobody can reach him here.

It’s his sanctuary.

At the end of the week Harry has learned many things about potions, but more importantly he has learned how to make poisons.

Vomiting them up after is awful, but he has time to figure out which works best, both for killing him and for voiding after.

...

The horcruxes appear one by one.

The diary is first, of course.

...

When Harry escapes the Hospital Wing a week later the stares and whispers are worse than ever, but there’s no malice to them any longer; in fact most all of the students, and even some of the staff, are looking at him like he’s something incredible. Again.

That night Harry downs a bitter vial of poison. He’s dead before his head hits the pillow.

The first time Harry sees someone else in his sacred space, his escape from the world, he screams. He finally understands what it means when people claim they ‘see red,’ because all of Harry’s distance and half-hearted indifference shatters and all Harry can think of is splattering this intruder's blood and making his white room red.

His magic throws the teenager off his couch, rips the book from his hands, and slams him to the ground. It presses down around him, hard enough he can’t move against it, until he’s nothing more than a pinned butterfly.

“How dare you!” He shrieks. “This is my home, you think you can just do whatever you want? I��ll rip your bloody throat out, I will destroy you!”

Dark eyes stare up at him, nonplussed. Considering. “You’ve already done that.”

It’s only then that Harry actually recognizes him. He feels jolted. Alarmed. Present, like he always is here. “Riddle.”

Riddle doesn’t so much as twitch in response. He can’t, thinks Harry, with a burst of righteous pride.

“How are you here?”

Riddle’s face twists. “You should know, Potter. You’re the one who killed me.

Harry blinks down at him. Considers this. “I killed Quirrell as well, but he didn’t show up here.”

Riddle’s eyebrows draw together. “You’re twelve, and I’m the second person you’ve murdered,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Brilliant.”

“It was self defense both times,” said Harry, unbothered by the accusation. “But yes. Except for the fact that you are somehow here, in my home.”

...

When Harry next appears (absently clearing his throat - asphyxiation is far from his favorite method, but it’s certainly the easiest when staying with the Dursley’s) he doesn’t spare Riddle a glance. Though he’s reading one of Harry’s books he’s not in his space, and that’s all that truly matters. It’s more respect than Harry had been expecting. Or perhaps Riddle didn’t want to be pinned down and helpless again, which seemed far more likely.

He toes off his shoes, setting them neatly out of the way before curling into the corner of his sofa. The eyes on him are easy enough to ignore - he’s got plenty of practice by now. He tucks his legs to his chest and summons a book, flipping it open to the marked page.

Harry liked to read travel books. After being confined to a cupboard and the small, monotonous Little Whining for most of his life it was no wonder he found some excitement in accounts of exotic locations and different cultures. The rarely indulged pastime became even more excited when he entered the magical world. Reading about historically important magical sights and imagining that he might one day visit…

Tom eyes him warily. “Enjoying your summer, then?”

Harry sighed internally. Did the boy really need attention? This was supposed to be his time, his escape from the Dursleys - from everyone and everything.

“Immensely,” he returned, not bothering to glance up. He cleared his throat, slightly self-conscious at how hoarse his voice was. He had scarcely spoken ten words since his arrival ‘home’ last week.

...

“What do you want, Riddle?” Harry snapped. “Isn’t it enough you’re ruining my only get away from—”

Harry stopped himself. Voldemort had come back to life once. Who said this piece of him couldn’t as well? After all, Riddle had said they were between life and death.

“Well excuse me for wanting some conversation,” Riddle sneered back. “I spent fifty years locked away in a diary, and the last several weeks in this place.”

“You’re the one who locked yourself away,” Harry snaps, unsympathetic. “And I would’ve let you go on living if you didn’t nearly shut down the school for the second time and attempt to murder me.”

For a moment Riddle appeared mutinous. If he said “you started it,” Harry might actually kill him. Permanently. Somehow.

Instead, he lets out a breath and leans back. Harry becomes aware of his own tense posture, and quickly relaxes back into the couch, jerking his eyes away from Riddle.

This was far from the relaxation he had anticipated.

Harry let out a deep breath and flipped to the next page of his book.

The room fell silent again.

...

On the next visit, Tom is in Harry’s area. He’s using the stove, scrambling eggs, and a strange, burnt smell lingers. Harry waves his hand to banish it.

“What are you doing?”

Tom jerks around, immediately abandoning the skillet and stepping off the kitchen tiles. He eyes Harry warily, waiting for his reaction for a moment, before saying, “I haven’t eaten in a long time. I was… hungry.”

Harry considered mentioning that there was no hunger here. But physical needs and mental ones weren’t always so disparate, and Harry took his meals here during summer as well, to feel the content even if afterwards he returned to an achingly empty stomach.

Harry decides to ignore this, approaching the pan curiously. The eggs are more brown than pale yellow, over cooked and sticking to the skillet. He wrinkles his nose in distaste, waving the mess away.

He turns a frown on Riddle. “You don’t know how to cook eggs?”

Riddle’s lip curls. “You do?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ve been able to do simple things like eggs since I was four.”

Riddle’s lips purse, but Harry turns from him without waiting for more of a reaction, cracking a few brown eggs on the edge of the skillet.

“Were you trying for scrambled, or is that just how they came out?”

“I prefer over medium,” Riddle responded after a long moment.

And so Harry began to cook. His actions were smooth, comforting in their familiarity. He hardly minded cooking so long as the Dursley’s weren’t hovering around. He had thought that fondness might carry over to Potions, but that was before he met Snape.

Harry loses himself in the motions, peripherally aware of the way that Riddle is studying him. He plates the eggs and a thought is enough to keep them warm, then continues on with toast and a fry-up. It’s a bit heavier than Harry would dare eat if he was in the process of re-feeding his actual body, but if he felt the least bit ill he would just leave this plane.

Riddle takes his first bite cautiously. “It’s good,” he says to himself.

Harry side eyes him but doesn’t say anything. He takes his own bites delicately, measuring, like he always does when returning for Hogwarts. Even here, overeating with a shrunken stomach could make him sick. And doing so, only to return to the physical plane, made his shriveled stomach all the more noticable.

...

He thinks about boarding a train.

Not often, but it does come up.

“Where does it lead?” Riddle asks once, after he’s just sat, staring at it come and go, for long enough that the teenager’s finished his book.

“Somewhere a lot less dramatic, I’m sure,” Harry murmurs, watching it leave the station once again. It’s just a feeling, but Harry believes pure tranquility lies in wait at the end of those tracks. He’s also sure that it’s a one-way trip into nonexistence, and while he occasionally (okay, nearly always) longs for such a thing, he has duties. Neville and Luna depend on him - the world depends on him - and it’s all very…

Dramatic.

Harry sighs, looking away from the tracks and climbing to his feet. He should be doing something productive.

Though honestly he would much rather stare into space for the next few hours and forget the way his friends have, once again, abandoned him.

He turns to Riddle instead.

“The Triwizard Tournament. Ever heard of it?”

Riddle inclines his head. “Yes, of course. It used to be a way for the three premier European schools to prove their superiority. A Hogwarts student most always won. The practice was discontinued in 1792, when all three champions died in the first task.”

Harry stilled, taking in a quick breath.

“The book said ‘high death toll,’ but of course it’s something like that.”

Even if he died he would come back. But if he died, and died in front of a crowd of hundreds if not thousands, then came back it would be terrible.

He would become more than the Boy Who Lived. He would become the Boy Who Wouldn’t Die. An experiment, shunted into the bowels of the Ministry.

Harry sighed, throwing himself back onto the couch.

“It’s been resurrected this year,” he divulges tiredly. “And I’ve been nominated, despite the age limit being seventeen. It’s probably another ploy by your counterpart to kill me.”

There was a long silence, and when Harry at last looked up Tom was staring at him with a strange sort of intensity.

“What?”

“You can not be killed, yet you continuously die. Still, I find the thought Voldemort being the cause of such deaths... distasteful.”

“You'd rather I keep severing my carotid?” Harry asked, unsure of where Riddle was going with this.

“Were I alive, I would rather you refrain some such activities, but as I am not…” Riddle frowned at whatever he saw on Harry’s face. “Your company is preferable to eternal solitude.”

Harry rolled his eyes, ignoring the strange tightening in his chest. “You just want somebody who can cook a halfway decent meal.”

Tom shrugs nonchalantly, not gracing him with an actual response.

“Speaking of which, I’m making comfort food.”

...

“Harry-”

“I’d like to be alone,” he says, stiffly.

“Listen to me!” Tom commands, shuffling even closer.

“Leave me alone!” Harry snarls, jerking away from his touch, and in a dizzying warp Harry is quite suddenly surrounded by blackness, a sharp contrast the the pristine white of the train station.

Harry blinks, eyes squinting at the sudden shift, but then he doesn’t feel Tom’s hand on his shoulder, doesn’t feel their shoulders pressing together, and he relaxes.

...

Sirius is dead - actually, one hundred percent, can not be reached dead - and as soon as Harry escapes Dumbledore’s office he follows.

The first thing he does when he arrives is scream. He doesn’t give a fuck about the dark eyes on him, doesn’t give a fuck about anything because the only human being that actually seemed to care for Harry (for his comfort, his safety, what he wanted) was gone.

“Fucking!” Harry slammed a fist into one of his bookshelves and watched as it went up in flames, before heaving a breath and flinging a palm full of pure, destructive magic at the picture frame of he and Sirius embracing for the first time.

“Harry? Harry!”

“You really don’t want to mess with me right now, Riddle,” Harry hissed, chest heaving, fists clenched so tight that he should have bled.

“What's happened?” Tom pressed, gently laying a hand on the trembling boy's shoulder. Normally physicality seemed to soothe something in Harry, but the wizard sprang away from Tom’s touch as though it scalded him.

“Touch me again and I will raise this god-damned place to the ground, and you along with it!” Harry bellowed.

His entire body was shaking. He felt like he was splitting into a million pieces, felt useless, felt helpless. He hated Riddle for this, for what he had become, what he had inadvertently caused. Voldemort had trained the insane witch who grew up to murder her own cousin and he hated that, too.

“You have to mean it, Harry.”

Oh, but he really, really did. It was his wand - burning hot and angry in his hand - that was stopping him, not his lack of hatred.

“Potter, you cannot win against me!” she cried. He could hear her moving to the right, trying to get a clear shot of him. He backed around the statue away from her, crouching behind the centaur’s legs, his head level with the house-elf’s. “I was and am the Dark Lord’s most loyal servant, I learned the Dark Arts from him, and I know spells of such power that you, pathetic little boy, can never hope to compete —”

Harry’s wand was lost to him, but in that moment he did not care. He had done powerful magic before, and now, with hatred blossoming from within him, he did not feel he needed the conduit.

He rose from behind the fountain, and yelled again, “Crucio!”

Bellatrix fell with a shriek, only it did not stop there. The most horrible, grating sound clawed its way out of her throat. Her agony was clear, but Harry was hardly satisfied with the proof of her pain. She had killed Sirius.

He did not care about the consequences. He walked until he stood above her, close enough to look in her eyes, were they not clenched tight in pain, and leveled a hand to her again.

“Avada—"

“Expelliarmus,” a high, cold voice whispered.

But Harry had no wand. “Kedavra.”

There was a burst of green, and Bellatrix lay dead. Harry grinned as he turned to face the Dark Lord, who simply stared at him, red eyes wide. The man appeared shocked, which only served to amuse Harry more — he looked much like Tom when he was dumbfounded — until he considered what drew him here. Voldemort… hadn’t he killed Sirius just as much as Bellatrix.

Something in Harry grew very cold.

“Did you tell her to?” Harry whispered, giddiness abandoning him swiftly. “Did you tell her to kill the only family I had left?”

Harry was shaking with residual rage. He felt like he could do anything. There were no consequences, nothing mattered, Sirius was dead—

“Such anger, Harry Potter. Such power.” Voldemort’s voice was as chilling as ever. Harry clenched his hands, eyes glaring up into red. Daring him to—to—to what?

“Did you tell her?” Harry demanded, pushing as hard as he could. He didn’t fully understand what he was doing, just that he needed to know, needed to see if Riddle—Voldemort—was responsible for this.

For a moment, Voldemort looked almost amused. Then his eyes widened, and Harry was falling…

He saw himself through Voldemort’s eyes — his exhausted slump, pressed tight lips, eyes alight.

What has the fool been teaching this boy?

He was forced back, his scar burning hotly and pulsating with pain.

He grimaced, but it was edged in triumph.

Voldemort didn't order it. Hadn’t even expected Sirius to be here at all. He didn’t particularly care that the man was dead, other than the errant thought that he was the end of a noble bloodline.

Voldemort’s face shifted to a snarl. The sharp gleam of hunger in his eyes was gone, consumed by fury. “How dare you,” he hissed. “Crucio.”

Harry should have expected it, but he did not. Perhaps he had gotten too used to pushing Tom’s boundaries to recall that he was dealing with a different beast altogether.

Harry was not in control here. Here, Voldemort could fight back, and he could win.

Harry fell, teeth biting into the flesh of his lips to keep from crying out. He arched from the ground, tendons straining, bones creaking as he bent to an unnatural angle. He hadn’t forgotten the agony he experienced in a dreary graveyard, but remembering the pain didn’t acclimate him to the sensation any better. Once upon a time he thought the basilisk burning through his veins was the worst feeling he would ever experience. He knew better, now.

“Scream for me,” Voldemort whispered. A hand brushed over his hair, barely there at all, and Harry ground his teeth together hard. “Don’t fight it, Harry Potter. Surrender…”

"Fuck you," Harry hissed out, barely having to open his mouth for the parseltongue.

The cruciatus stopped abruptly.

“What?” the Dark Lord whispered, or perhaps hissed.

Harry let his eyes slit open. “I said fuck you,” he repeated.

...

He falls sixteen years, six months, and two days later to Voldemort's killing curse. It’s the second time; the first brought him to the white room originally, and Harry wonders if the second will close it off to him.

But no, he appears in the train station as always. It seems death is still his choice, and though some might think a lot of his character for going towards it without this guarantee, the shards of Voldemort would undoubtedly scorn him for it.

This time Harry doesn’t question the new presence, doesn’t so much as glance at the other horcruxes who hover away from it, bright eyes wary. Unlike the others his very soul recognizes this piece of Voldemort, whose form is but an infant, skin raw and rough, flayed-looking.

It shudders, so obviously in pain, and Harry thinks it says something about the horcruxes, about Tom Riddle and Voldemort and everything in between, that the man doesn’t have enough compassion to help his own soul.

And they accused Harry of self-loathing.

From the depths of his soul, Harry really does pity them. Yes, he hates them at times, feels annoyance and affection and a chaotic jumble of incomprehensible things for the destroyed soul pieces, but he loves them too. Perhaps has loved this one the longest: this burnt husk of Voldemort that’s always been with him.

He wonders if he can even go back without him, can stand the hollow feeling where Voldemort’s soul had once fit alongside his own. He can almost feel it now, a black, echoing chasm. Or perhaps that’s just the grief for all those already dead...

Harry picks the child up easily, ignoring Tom’s grunt of discontent and the diadem’s irritated hissing. They haven’t been introduced yet, but Harry trusts the others not to allow him to attack Harry, if only in self preservation.

The reminder of the ring’s punishment is still fresh enough in their minds.

The horcrux doesn’t flinch away when Harry moves to cradle it to his chest, infinitely gentle and conscious of no-doubt sensitive skin. He wonders if its state is because of Voldemort’s Killing Curse or the neglect of Harry’s soul, though he rather suspects the former by the way the horcrux twists into him, soft whines ceasing as the cool silk brushed his tender skin.

Harry coos at it thoughtlessly, watching in wonder as it seems to oh-so-slowly heal, skin warping until it’s a smooth, pale, utterly human bundle. Dark eyelashes part and Harry is somehow unsurprised to find his own bright green eyes staring back at him from Tom Riddle’s toddler face.

What is a bit shocking is the amount of trust those eyes hold. Harry can’t ever remember looking at somebody like that. Logically Harry didn’t think Tom Riddle was capable of it.

Emotionally it made something in him melt.

Damn toddler-horcrux. Maybe Harry did have some kind of paternal instincts after all.

“That’s not one of us,” Tom Riddle sneered.

“Don’t be a berk, Tom, he obviously is,” Harry sighed. The toddler turned to look at Tom condescendingly, before turning back to Harry with a gummy smile.

Fuck, he was cute. And manipulative. Don’t trust him, Harry. Don’t give in.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Harry said sternly, even as he gently combed a hand through soft, night-dark curls. “Just because it’s working doesn’t mean I don’t know.”

“Really, put that thing down, love.” The locket said.

“This one is more mine than any of you are, and he’s staying in my arms, where he belongs.”

Harry stared down into green eyes contemplatively, before shrugging. “Well, for the moment at least. Soon I’ll need to return and off Voldemort before he gets any grand ideas of hurting more of my friends. Nagini first, though.”

The toddler huffed loudly, pudgy hands reaching up and tugging at Harry’s hair. Harry huffed, wondering if this was typical child behavior or baby Tom was trying to punish him. He caught the small hand and gently untangled it, keeping it loosely clasped in his own.

“Here’s the thing,” Harry said, looking up from the toddler. “If you guys hurt a hair on his head while I’m gone, you’ll be getting on a train to the afterlife. Express.”

The horcruxes looked bitter, mouthes twisted in disdain, though the youngest was merely watching Harry with the same thoughtful gleam in his eyes he had for five years. Harry stepped towards him, raising a brow until he held out his arms reluctantly to accept the child.

It immediately began to bawl, struggling to get back to Harry. Harry leaned in, pressing a kiss to its forehead and cooing softly. “It’s okay, my darling. Tom has you, you’re safe. He won’t hurt you, and I won’t be gone forever.”

It worked. The babe settled under his babbling, with a few heavy sniffs. Harry smiled down at it softly, and looked up to meet Tom’s gaze, intent on his face.

“I’m trusting you,” Harry says lightly, reaching out to cup the boy's cheek. He’s older than Tom, now, standing a bit taller than the sixteen year old. “Take it seriously this time, won't you?”

“You want me to care for our soul while you ensure my permanent death,” Tom replies smartly.

Harry hums, considering that. He’s standing close enough that the toddler manages to squeeze tubby fingers into the front of his robes, clinging. He slowly lets his hand fall from Tom’s face, gently grabbing the hand and holding it, instead.

“Yes,” he agrees, “that just about covers it.”

Briefly, Tom looks annoyed. Then, inexplicably, he looks fond. “We really are nothing alike, Harry Potter.”

Harry smiled at his surrender, a crooked, muted thing. “Now who’s lying to himself?”

End.

...

This guy is long abandoned, I believe I stopped touching it about five years ago or so. I found the fact that I was tracing the same plot points from the incredibly silly, and didn't enjoy the way I had expressed Harry's 'depression'. Really, I was just writing snippets, playing around with the concept when I started. I was about to just delete everything, and then I thought, I know at least one of you will enjoy this. So, here it is!

A story may come tumbling out in 3-5 years with the same general premise, but with some large changes. If that ever comes out, it will be a love note to mental health, and depict the struggle as realistically as I can write it.

Hope you have a peaceful night/day! 🖤

#TW sui #tw sui ideation #tw torture #snippet #disjointed snippets #Harry #horcruxes #weird op moment #written 4-5 years ago #won't be continued #my (old) writing #look at me trying not to claim it

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