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hashtagboykisser · 1 year ago

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HARRY POTTER HCS !!

FIRST “I LOVE YOU” !!

prompt: harry potter characters and their first “i love you”s in relationships

characters included: harry potter, ron weasley, hermione granger, draco malfoy, ginny weasley, seamus finnigan, fred weasley, george weasley

warnings: you and seamus smoking in seamus’ part, swearing, physical abuse in george’s part

harry j. potter…

who said it: harry

when: 5th year

“cmon… just a little bit more..” harry cooed patiently, hands placed on your hips. “forget it, harry. i don’t think i’ll ever get it right.” you sighed, wanting to throw your wand down on the ground.

dumbledore’s army had just begun merely a few sessions ago, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get your patronous just right.

maybe it was because you upset professor dolores umbridge today and pushed her far beyond her limits (not even on purpose, for that matter). or maybe it’s because colin creevey was stuck way too far up your arsehole whenever you would do something wrong when it came to today’s D.A session.

“well, maybe i can give you a happy memory to think about.” harry suggested. “how on earth do you plan to do that?” you questioned, wary of what he may do.

“maybe…like this.”

and with that, harry began to scan your lips with his, feeling for all the fine details that no one else would get to see but himself.

harry felt you smile against his own lips before pulling away, with a lopsided grin smearing his cheeks.

“i love you.” harry smiled, sounding as if he’s been waiting a century to say those words to you.

“i love you too.”

ron b. weasley…

who said it: him

when: 3rd year

“oh no!! oh no no no..!!” the ginger boy roared as he was being dragged by the foot by the black-furred dog (unbeknownst to him, which was sirius black), “i can’t die yet!! i haven’t told (y/n) how much i love her yet!!”

“you bloody moron, she’s right here!!” the shorter bushy haired girl replied, slightly jealous it was her best friends name and not her own.

“i love you, (y/n)! if i die, i promise my ghost will haunt you!!” ron shouted before being dragged away out of sight.

“i love you too!” you yelped, hoping he could still hear you.

hermione j. granger…

who said it: you

when: 7th year

“i know this isn’t much… but i wanted to be able to do something for you for our anniversary.” hermione said, rubbing her neck in pure embarrassment.

you, hermione, harry, and ron were on a hunt to look for all of voldemort’s horcurxes, and because of that, you all were staying in a rubbish tent in the woods.

the tent was empty for the most part, other than the small radio player that had muggle romance music on it.

“harry and ron are out of our hair…well for now anyway. i told them to go look for anything that could be useful, i just wanted to have a nice 3 months you.”

“you kicked them out for me?” you asked, disbelief leaving your throat.

“well yes — and i know it’s not much but-” the brunette would’ve continued if you didn’t interrupt her, and she gives a slight pout because of it.

“but it is much, it is something ‘mione! it is because i love you.”

“i- uhm. repeat yourself, please?”

“i love you, hermione.”

draco l. malfoy…

who said it: him

when: 6th year

“isn’t that right, ms. (y/n)?” the barely human wizard, voldemort, said, looking at you from the other side of table.

you gulped quietly, your shoulders stiffening. “yes, sir.” you murmured, glancing at the platinum blonde boy next to you before averting your gaze.

you and draco grew up together - as your mothers were very close in their teenage years, your fathers, not so much. but they got along okay.

when draco first became part of the death eaters, his mother decided it’d be easiest to have you there, to make it a little less hard on him.

“excuse me for a moment.” draco mumbled, somewhat abruptly, as lucius and the lord were in the middle of a conversation. draco stood up within the blink of an eye, and sped walked out of the room.

“would you be a dear and check on him for me, honey?” narcissa leaned over and whispered in your ear, as you were seated between draco and his mother.

you gave a small half-smile with a nod, as you politely excused yourself, afraid of what voldemort could do if you had done it in a way of which he didn’t like.

you went around the halls of malfoy manor, the walls of which most of your childhood memories took place, as sad as that is.

you saw a crack in the door of draco’s room, and you opened the door a tad more

draco said there, looking down at his folded hands, not saying anything.

“are you okay?” you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

“those meetings…get to me, sometimes.” the blonde mumbled, his voice cracking slightly.

“me too..” you answered, rubbing your hand up and down his back, as you sat next to him.

“thank you, for always being here. i’ve spent my whole life with you, i never want to let you go.” draco said, giving a small smile.

“i won’t ever leave you behind, okay?”

“this is exactly why i fell in love with you all those years ago.”

“wait…what?” you denied, your voice quiet.

“you heard me, i love you (y/n).”

ginevera m. weasley…

who said it: her

when: 5th year (well 4th year for her)

“hey (y/n)!” a familiar, high, squeaky voice called out to you, sounding a bit distant.

“oh, hi, ginny.” you half smiled, looking down at the younger girl.

“i need to talk to you, now.” ginny asked — well demanded, but she meant to ask.

you’ve known ginny long enough at this point to know sometimes, when she wants to ask a question, it can accidentally turn into a demand. especially, when she’s nervous.

“okay, no problem.” you reported, knowing exactly what she was going to say.

she grabs your wrist with a firm grip — but not firm enough for your to be hurt. and walks you down to a more empty side of the hogwarts express.

“i love you. and quite frankly, i hate it when you spend more time with my brothers and less time with me because it’s not fair, i fancy you!” the smaller ginger insisted, with a small stomp of her foot to show she meant what she said.

“i love you too, don’t worry, gin.” you spoke, as you tucked a string of hair behind her ear, that was before in the middle of her face.

she gave a lopsided grin before happily skipping off and giving a sing-songy goodbye.

seamus d. finnigan…

who said it: him

when: 4th year

the yule ball of the 1994 school year was slowly coming to a close, but you were unable to find where your date had ran off to, one moment he was with his best friend, dean thomas — and now you have no bloody clue where he is.

there was only one placed you hadn’t looked yet — the astronomy tower.

you begin your walk up the tower of many staircases and you hear some intense coughing the higher and higher you reach.

before your eyes, you see your boyfriend — or date, or technically boy friend, as the relationship between the two of you is a bit complicated, with a cigarette between his fingers.

“hey seamus.” you say, as you sit down next to him, leaning into his touch.

“hi doll.” he says, grinning as he puts an arm around your waist.

“can i smoke with you?”

“absolutely not, angel!” seamus gasps, shocked, putting a dramatized hand to his chest, his mouth open a gap.

“huh? why not?” you asked, now just confused.

“because! i love you! i’m not letting a gorgeous goddess inhale that shit!” seamus replied, now tossing his cigarette away into the distance.

“you love me?”

“with every inch my body stands.”

fred g. weasley…

who said it: him

when: 5th year (3rd book/movie)

“i don’t know how you could even do this, i don’t know what half of this is supposed to to mean..” your ginger boyfriend said, cuddled up into your side, as the two of you studied for the following potions exams.

“well, to make it’s quite simple, it’s just seeing it on paper is the hard part.” you said, nudging him slightly, to make sure he wouldn’t fall asleep again.

“oh, how so?” he asked.

“well actually you take the-”

and before you could get any further, your boyfriend pecked you on the lips.

“sorry, at first i was interested and then i just didn’t care anymore.” fred said with a chuckle.

“fred gideon weasley!!”

“i’m sorry, i love you, does that make it better?”

“i… yes.”

george g. weasley…

who said it: him

when: 7th year (5th book/movie)

i mustn’t make mistakes any longer.

the words on your arm continued to ring in your ear, like the tangy feeling on your tongue after eating spicy foods.

none of this would’ve happened if you didn’t snap at the new d.a.d.a teacher - dolores umbridge.

the torturous (literally), cruel woman put you through so much pain in one detention.

don’t get me wrong, you’ve gotten detention once in 2nd year, but this could never compare.

the words on your arm were the ones that made you cry terrifying sobs as you had to continue to write and write and write - thanks to your low physical pain tolerance and somewhat sensitive heart, you just couldn’t bare it.

sprinkles of raindrops began to form in your eyes, they ground onto the table you were sitting at, as you tried to rub your eyes before anyone happened to notice.

“hey, love, are you okay?” george weasley - your boyfriend asked, scurrying over to you.

your arm was angled in the correcting lighting and point of view to where the taller ginger could see your scars perfectly.

“blimey!” your boyfriend shouted, pointing, before madam prince gave him a stern shooshing.

“what happened?”

you clung onto him immediately, sobbing quietly,

“hey love — it’s okay, i love you, i’m here and i always will be.”

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ruinofchimera · 2 months ago

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Please tell us more about Voldemort's relationship with Severus, and why you think it differs so much from Voldemort's other relationships

Whatever it is that lingers between Tom and Severus—power, manipulation, some dark bond none of us can fully grasp—it naturally ignites chaos in the mind of the beholders. And if you’re eager to feel that burn, I’ll gladly embrace you in it. To you brave, reckless souls, I say this: your wish is my command.

So, here we are, picking apart how Severus Snape—mudblood, poor, and bruised from the heavy hand of a Muggle father—managed to land himself a spot at the table with the most rabid pack of blood purists you’ve ever seen. A table, mind you, he had no business sitting at. The Death Eaters, that tight little clique of privileged purebloods, had no real reason to let in this scruffy little outsider. Sure, Snape was useful. Very useful. His skills were sharp as knives, and he could do their dirty work, get his hands filthy so they didn’t have to. But useful doesn’t mean welcome. Useful doesn’t mean accepted. You know who else was useful? Fenrir Greyback and his mangy lot. They brought terror to the doorsteps of half the wizarding world, and did Voldemort’s cause no small service. But did they get a place at the inner circle? Did they get respect? Hell no. They were the dirt beneath the boots of the real Death Eaters. Useful filth. And then there’s Snape, embodying everything these purists claim to despise—a half-blood with a tainted surname, living in squalor, dragged through the muck by a Muggle brute of a father. By all accounts, Death Eaters should have spat in his face and tossed him out like yesterday’s rubbish. But no. Not only does he get a seat at the table, he rises. He’s placed on a pedestal, standing closer to Voldemort than some of the most loyal, purest-blooded lackeys in the room. Voldemort, in all his cold-blooded glory, didn’t just tolerate Severus. He raised him up, right in front of their sneering, offended faces. Now, here’s where it gets really interesting. If you think Voldemort did this out of some sense of gratitude, you’ve missed the point entirely. Tom Riddle doesn’t do gratitude. That kind of sentiment is beneath him, an alien concept. Voldemort doesn’t reward; he uses. Deeds done in his name are expected, not appreciated. You’re not going to get a pat on the back from a man who thinks the world owes him its loyalty. Snape’s service should’ve earned him nothing more than a brief reprieve from pain. A loosening of the noose around his neck, if he was lucky. That’s Voldemort’s way—keep them all desperate, keep them all afraid. So why did Snape, of all people, get raised up? Why did he, the least likely among them, become a favorite?

Mind, it’s not just me declaring Snape as Voldemort’s favorite. That dark, twisted bond is laced into nearly every interaction between the two, as if something unspoken and festering passes between them. But it’s Narcissa Malfoy who lays it bare. A woman born into the highest echelons of pure-blood privilege, the very foundation on which Voldemort’s so-called supremacy stands, doesn’t hesitate when she calls him “the Dark Lord’s favorite, his most trusted advisor.” Let that sink in.

Here is the wife of Lucius Malfoy, a man whose lineage is steeped in the darkest of traditions. But when her family’s future is on the edge of a wand, when her son’s life dangles by a thread, she doesn’t rely on Lucius, doesn’t turn to Bellatrix. No, she comes to Severus, because deep down, she knows. They all do.

It’s something more insidious, something that slips through the cracks in the floorboards of Voldemort’s ideology. He is the one Voldemort trusts, the one Voldemort leans on, the one whose counsel can shift the dark winds of fate. That is real power, raw and untouchable. Narcissa sees it—how could she not? Even with all her aristocratic pride, even with the weight of her name and her family’s legacy pressing down on her, she understands that none of it means a damn thing next to what Snape has. Narcissa, with her family’s long, proud heritage, has to grovel before someone who, by the very logic of Voldemort’s cause, should be inferior. But Snape is different, and everyone knows it. They may not say it, they may not even want to admit it, but they know. He operates outside the lines, above the fray, immune to the very rules that were meant to keep people like him down. Snape, the half-blood, the one with the muddied past, holds a kind of sway that no one else in Voldemort’s ranks can claim.

Oh, there comes the bitter irony of Peter Pettigrew. After years of scraping and groveling, thinking he’d earned his place in the Dark Lord’s favor, Peter is handed over like a rag for Severus to wring out. Peter, one of the smug Marauders who’d gleefully hounded Snape through school, reduced now to something just shy of a house-elf, bowing and cringing under Snape’s very roof. A cruel twist of fate, no doubt arranged with Voldemort’s signature malevolence. Was this some attempt to plant a spy in Snape's house? Maybe, if you take it at face value. But think for a moment—Voldemort, who couldn’t pry Snape's treachery from his skull with all the power of Legilimency, putting his trust in Wormtail to do the job? The rat that couldn't outsmart a dormitory prank, never mind a master of deception like Severus?

No, this isn’t espionage; this is karma. Cruel, twisted karma orchestrated by the Dark Lord himself. You can almost picture Severus watching Peter scuttle about his house, casting him those withering, superior glances—knowing full well that Tom has given him this indulgence, this little taste of vengeance. Snape treats Wormtail with open contempt, because he knows he can. He knows it’s allowed, expected even. It’s as if the tables have turned in the most bitter of ways, a humiliating reversal of fortune. Pettigrew, who once revelled in Snape’s humiliation, now reduced to the lowest of roles, while Snape—Voldemort’s golden boy—sits at the top. Isn’t it delicious? You’d have to be blind to chalk it up to coincidence. Moreover, Pettigrew’s fate is all the proof you’ll ever need that Voldemort’s rule isn’t founded on something as simple or sentimental as loyalty. Loyalty? Sacrifice? Please. Pettigrew’s life was one long, groveling act of desperation to stay in the Dark Lord’s good graces. You bring your master back from the brink of death itself, and still, all you get is contempt. Voldemort demands service, sure. But service? Guarantees nothing. And when you set Severus and Peter side by side, the question gnaws at you. Why? Why is Snape the favored one, the exception, the enigma in Voldemort’s otherwise brutal, predictable hierarchy? What makes him different? There’s something between them—something that doesn’t follow the usual logic of power and punishment. Voldemort doesn’t just tolerate Snape’s defiance; he rewards it, bends the system to accommodate it. Something unspoken, something hidden behind the masks they both wear, grants Snape a level of favor that Pettigrew could only dream of.

What’s crucial to grasp here is that Voldemort doesn’t spare anyone. His entire ideology is rooted in cruelty, in domination, in the ruthless obliteration of all who oppose him. He doesn’t just eliminate enemies; he obliterates them, wipes them from existence without a second thought. And yet, here’s the anomaly: Lily Evans, mother of Harry Potter, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and a Muggle-born witch, is offered a chance to live. Live. This decision, however, is directly tied to Snape. Snape had begged Voldemort to spare her, and it is this plea—Snape’s plea—that softens the Dark Lord’s otherwise unyielding cruelty.

To truly grasp the enormity of this act, we need to take a step back and consider Snape’s position in all of this. Remember, Severus was just 21 years old when he found himself pleading with Voldemort, one of the most dangerous dark wizard in history, to spare Lily Evans.

Snape wasn’t the imposing, confident figure we often associate with him thanks to Alan Rickman’s performance—he wasn’t a man exuding quiet menace, seemingly capable of standing toe-to-toe with Voldemort. No, at this point in canon, he was barely more than a boy, a young man fresh out of Hogwarts, with no powerful lineage or wealth to protect him.

And yet, despite this—despite the sheer imbalance of power between them—Snape dared to approach Voldemort. Voldemort. With a plea. Not for himself, but for a Muggle-born witch. At best, Snape’s request might have been laughed off, dismissed as the desperate wish of a foolish young Death Eater. But it wasn’t. For some reason, Voldemort didn’t just tolerate Snape’s plea—he actually acted on it.

Consider how critical this moment was to Voldemort’s larger agenda. At the heart of his entire scheme is a singular, consuming fixation: the annihilation of the child prophesied to be his undoing. Harry Potter is Voldemort’s obsession, the one threat he must eliminate to secure his dominion. The Potters were no longer just enemies—they were the key to his future, and Harry was the focus of his most crucial mission. In this context, sparing anyone even remotely connected to Harry was an extraordinary risk. Leniency wasn’t just unnecessary—it was dangerous. By showing mercy to Lily, Voldemort risked undermining his own carefully constructed agenda. And this wasn’t a moment where Voldemort could afford to make mistakes.

This unprecedented act of “mercy,” this concession Voldemort granted Snape, became the very thing that led to his downfall. Had Voldemort simply killed Lily Evans on the spot, as he did James, she would never have had the chance to sacrifice herself for Harry. The protection her sacrifice invoked—the ancient magic that saved Harry’s life and turned Voldemort’s killing curse back on him—would never have existed. Voldemort, the cold strategist, fell because he didn’t bend for anyone—except, inexplicably, for Snape. And that single, dangerous deviation cost him everything. That’s how it’s all started.

And there it is— how it’s all ends. Voldemort’s final words to Severus Snape before he executes him. But pay attention to how he begins. “Clever man,” he calls him. He suggests that Snape might’ve already known the truth of the Elder Wand’s treachery. Tom would never acknowledge someone’s cleverness if it undermined his own intellectual abilities. If he implies that Snape may have already unraveled the mystery of the Elder Wand, it undoubtedly indicates that Voldemort had recognized Snape’s crucial role in the wand’s problems long before. It’s not just idle chatter or casual flattery. No, it’s a bloody confirmation that Voldemort himself had long ago pieced together the mystery of Snape’s involvement with the wand. This wasn’t some last-minute realization that forced his hand. It wasn’t ignorance that delayed Snape’s death, not at all. It was deliberation. Voldemort, for all his cruelty, wasn’t stupid. He suspected, long before that moment, that Snape was at the center of the problem with the wand’s loyalty. He just chose not to act on it until the very last moment.

He held back from executing him, searching for any other way around the wand’s limitations, trying to find a solution that didn’t involve killing Snape. But when it came down to it, when all other options were exhausted, Voldemort finally made his move.

And what does he do? He delivers a speech. A bloody speech, full of regret and excuses—“I regret what must happen.” Does that sound like the Voldemort we know? The Dark Lord who kills without a second thought, who carves his empire from the bones of the disobedient? Hell no. This is the man who thrives on fear, on swift, brutal punishment. And yet, here he is, delivering justifications like some guilty executioner. This isn’t Voldemort’s usual method. This isn’t the whip coming down fast and hard. This is something altogether more… hesitant.

That speech, soaked in rationalizations, tells us everything we need to know. Snape’s death wasn’t just business—it was personal. It’s a messy, ugly end to the unexplainable dynamic between them. Even at the very end, Voldemort is bending, twisting, trying to justify his actions to the one man who had managed to worm his way under his skin. And in that second, we see something rare—a glimpse of the complexity in their relationship. Voldemort’s usual ruthless efficiency is absent.

His “I regret it,” spoken once more, stands out like a blade in the gut, sharp and unexpected, slicing straight through Voldemort’s usual cold indifference. The Dark Lord, who has never spared a thought for the wreckage in his wake, lets these words hang in the air, unnatural as they are. A man who’s never known the weight of remorse now offers something that almost feels like regret. Not true regret, of course—Voldemort doesn’t have the luxury of feeling something so weak, so human. But still, It’s not a sentiment he offers to anyone else. It’s almost as if Voldemort doesn’t know how to process this lingering attachment, as though Snape’s mere existence demands something from him that Voldemort is incapable of giving. Snape occupies some strange corner of Voldemort’s mind, twisted and dark it may be, that not even the Dark Lord himself seems to understand. Despite the fact that I’ve painted a whole canvas of tangled thoughts on the strange relationship between Severus and Tom, I’ve barely begun to tug at the thread of their inexplicable dynamic. There’s so much more I could unearth, layers of intrigue and tension that ripple through every scene between them, and I could easily go on for hours about the small, delicious details woven into their story. But, as it happens, my full-time job is already sharpening its knife and aiming for my back, so I'll have to bring this whole saga to a close with the following quote:

For me, the intensity of this scene speaks volumes about their relationship, capturing the very essence of what makes these two so bloody fascinating. The way their gaze alone can make Death Eaters flinch under the weight of their unspoken understanding. It’s not fear, not exactly. It’s something colder, something deeper. As though they’re witnessing a bond forged in the dark, a grim understanding that none of them can ever be a part of.

That’s what keeps dragging me back to these two. The tension, the labyrinth of contradictions, the complex tangle of manipulation. I want to look away—hell, I should look away, just like the Death Eaters did. But there’s something about it, something that coils around me, tightening like a serpent’s embrace. Can you blame me?

#severus snape #tom riddle #voldemort #harry potter #lily evans

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sitp-recs · 6 months ago

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Hello! I saw your last rec for Draco being whipped for Harry. Would you have any recs for the reverse situation? Harry being absolutely smitten for Draco. I love when it's mostly from Harry POV and Draco is driving him mad. Does anything come to mind? Thank you for your lovely recs and your presence in the fandom, it's a blessing! ��

Yes of course! I feel like I did quite a few lists for pining Harry so this one will focus on smitten Harry told from his own pov. I tried to mix old favorites with fics I don’t see recced often. I’d highly recommend checking @tackytigerfic, @bixgirl1 and ignatiustrout as they all explore this trope so beautifully!

Take A Stab At It by @sorrybutblog (E, 3k)

It’s a bit pathetic, Harry knows, to have a hard-on for the guy who bullied you in school. Kind of cliché to look back on years of obsession and hatred and think, Oh.

Hourglass Heart by bixgirl1 (E, 5k)

It only happened once — depending on how Harry counted.

Blue Sky Is Living Here Today by ignatiustrout (G, 5k)

Draco's a father, Harry's in love with him, and it's really hard to take things slow.

The Things They Never Say by bixgirl1 (E, 9k)

Harry and Draco don't know how to talk. So they do other things instead.

Sex Ed for Aurors by curiouslyfic (M, 9k)

Some things, you need to learn on the job.

i wake up falling, orphaned (M, 9k)

Draco’s always leaving, one way or another. Harry’s usually 240 thousand miles too late.

Poppiholla by @moonflower-rose (M, 12k)

Harry had accepted that he would pine silently for Malfoy forever, but one, humid summer might change that.

Take the Moon by tackytiger (M, 15k)

Harry Potter has always wanted a family of his own, and when a deadly blood curse forces him into a marriage bond with his best friend Draco Malfoy, it looks like he might just have found one. It's just a shame they’d always planned to break up after a year…

White as Snow by bixgirl1 (E, 19k)

After a quick escape from danger, Harry and Draco find themselves trapped in a blizzard, a small cabin their only refuge from the storm. It's the perfect place to recover and regroup — and to have a long-overdue conversation or two.

We Might Be Too Old for a Bildungsroman by @wellhalesbells (T, 21k)

Harry finds something he’s been looking for since the war’s end. Admittedly, the packaging’s a bit odder than he expected.

With Great Yawns and Stretchings by sugar_screw (T, 22k)

The coffee is very good. Really. And the cats are so cute. That's why Harry goes so often.

On Your Shore by @xanthippe74 (M, 35k)

Clearing out a remote house full of cursed collectibles in the Outer Hebrides? Not a problem for an experienced curse breaker like Harry Potter. Spending a week with the straight, happily-married man that he’s starting to have feelings for? And sharing a bed with him at night? Surely Harry can handle that, too.

LA, Who Am I To Love You? by @epitomereally (E, 42k)

Harry’s summer in LA is not going as expected. Pansy Parkinson keeps inviting him to parties in the Hollywood Hills and harassing him to finally go to the physical therapist, Blaise Zabini keeps slipping new strains of his company’s magical weed into Harry’s pockets in hopes of an endorsement, and Draco Malfoy keeps having sex with everyone but Harry.

Here's The Pencil, Make It Work by ignatiustrout (M, 49k)

Harry thinks "Why is Malfoy working in a coffee shop in muggle London?" is a much simpler question than, "Are you going to accept that auror offer and, if you don't, what will you do?"

Modern Love by tackytiger (E, 61k)

Azoth by @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 88k)

Now that Harry is back at Hogwarts with Hermione for eighth year, he realises that something’s missing from his life, and it either has to do with Ron, his boggart, Snape, or Malfoy. Furthermore, what, exactly, does it mean when one’s life is defined by the desire to simultaneously impress and annoy a portrait?

What We Pretend We Can't See by gyzym (M, 131k)

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

Can't Sit Still by wilteddaisy (E, 193k)

Five years after the war, Harry finds himself drawn to Draco Malfoy by memories that aren't his own.

#asks #anon #drarry reclist #smitten Harry #Harry pov

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pasukiyo · 2 years ago

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Hey, ignore if u arent still doing requests but I've had this storyline in my head for ages and I think ur a perfect writer for tom. Basically, the reader is a muggleborn but she attends Hogwarts and it's like half term where they are all home for a break. Shes either avery or lestranges adopted sibling and it's kinda been kept a secret from tom because.. well yknow shes a muggleborn lol(he knows about her now because her adoptive brother had to explain before bringing Tom over) anyways so hes at every or lestranges house for some reason (you make it up) and shes in her room, her adoptive brother needs something so he asks tom to get it from her desk in her room and they preferably have 🌶 time. Sorry if it sounds stupid but I've been thinking about this for ages!!😭

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!reader 8,104 words warnings: smut. sort of angst. also lots of prejudice against muggle-borns. read part two here. notes: reader is hufflepuff and muggle-born in this one. summary: every year, the lestranges will hold a christmas party for only the oldest of pure-blood wizarding families. every year you are locked in your room while the party rages downstairs, but everything will change when tom riddle is invited to this year’s party. everything…

The Lestrange name definitely held some irony, considering how strange the family truly was. The Mother sent an owl at lunch, the rolled parchment dropping onto the plate in front of Tiernan Lestrange. On either side of him sat Clarence Avery and Liam Mulciber, who gazed down at the rolled parchment sealed with the Lestrange family crest with sparkling irises.

“Is it for the party, Lestrange?” Avery asked as Lestrange took another bite of his sandwich, dusting his hands off before finally taking a hold of the parchment, untying the ribbon keeping it closed. “More than likely,” he replied as the parchment unraveled, his mother’s handwriting gazing back up at him in inky black cursive letters.

‘To my dearest son,

Tell your friends they’re more than welcome to join us on Christmas Eve for the party. Invite that Head Boy you were writing to me about too. I am most interested to meet him, since you speak so highly of him. Remind the Girl that she is to not speak of the party, I simply cannot have any more of her kind in the house. I will see you at King’s Cross Station, my darling.

With all my love, your mother.’

Of course, the Girl referred to the Hufflepuff sitting all the way across the Great Hall at her own House’s table, her head down as she ate, so as to not catch the attention of her brother or any of his friends. She didn’t choose this family— and if it were her choice, she’d be far away from them— and neither did they.

It was the fault of whomever it was who dropped her onto the Lestranges’ doorstep in the wee hours of the morning when she was only an infant. The Mother had given birth to her son only a few months before, and found the crying baby on her doorstep to be quite a burden.

She asked herself why the Mother and the Father even bothered keeping her, for even before they learned of her blood status, they hated her. Perhaps it was to uphold their reputation— taking in a child who wasn’t theirs? It was the perfect foundation for the story of a kind-hearted pure-blood family— how could the Lestranges let that opportunity go?

Of course, behind closed doors, she was treated less than a family member, some would argue far less than a house elf. She may as well have been a house elf if you ask her. She was treated like how they believed anyone of her kind should be treated— a mudblood deserved to be treated like the rubbish they are, they’d say.

Up until she got her Hogwarts letter, she believed them. She believed she deserved to be treated this way, that she deserved to be put through the torture that came with living with the Lestranges. She believed she had filthy blood, demon blood.

But all of that changed the second she first stepped foot into Hogwarts. Of course, the Lestranges were at first very against letting her attend Hogwarts— mudbloods shouldn’t be taught magic, they’d say— but even they could only take so many letters flying through the fireplace or popping up in the stew before they gave in. Of course, she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone of her blood status— “you are not to tell anyone of your filthy blood status,” the Father had told her with an accusatory finger in her face. “As far as anyone is concerned, you are pure-blood. So I expect you to act like it.”

Her school robes and supplies were not as grand as Tiernan’s, and she wasn’t allowed an owl or a cat or a toad. But she told herself that she would make do with what she had, and she felt at least a little bit grateful that the Lestranges didn’t give her tattered secondhand, even third-hand clothes, even if she knew it was all for the act.

When the Lestranges found out she had been sorted into Hufflepuff however, oh, it gave them all the more reason to ridicule and torture her back at home. “Of course the mudblood is in the weakest House,” the Mother would mutter beneath her breath as she and her husband read the letter their son had written. “We were fools to think that old ratty hat would sort her into Slytherin.”

Tiernan and his friends— they made certain that her life at Hogwarts was just as bad as her life at home. Of course, Tiernan was the only one who knew the truth about her blood, Avery, Mulciber, and the others just tagged along because they found it funny. They loved calling her names, making her trip in the hallways, pulling pranks such as jinxing her school books so that they may not open no matter how hard she tried.

And still, she didn’t dare stand her ground, for she knew all too well that the Mother and the Father would catch wind of it, and make certain that she’d be on the first train back to King’s Cross Station. So instead, she dealt with Tiernan and his friends, just like she learned to deal with everything else.

But Tom… Tom Riddle was different.

Tiernan Lestrange and his friends worshiped the ground Tom Riddle walked on, and it was no secret. She remembered when she first saw Tom, all the way back in the Sorting Ceremony in her first year at Hogwarts. She remembered hearing his name ‘Riddle, Tom’ being called and she remembered watching as he approached the platform, settling himself down onto the stool.

She remembered the way their eyes met and she swore her knees turned into jelly when she gazed into those dark ravines he had for irises. And she remembered when the Sorting Hat exclaimed “Slytherin!” hardly before it had even touched a hair on his head.

And she remembered how disappointed she felt when she was called up to be sorted, the Sorting Hat put her into Hufflepuff. She wanted to be a Slytherin— she wanted to be wherever Tom Riddle was.

In all her time at Hogwarts, she’d never even spoken a word to Tom Riddle. They’d pass each other in the halls, but thanks to her brother, she’d never been given the chance to even tell him hello. And Tiernan made it clear that she never would.

So life went on, and she got older. She hoped that over time, she’d forget about Tom. But it was hard when he was made prefect, and when he was given the Special Award for Services to the School, and when he was made Head Boy at the beginning of their seventh and final year.

She remembered her fifth year during all the attacks on muggle-borns vividly as if it were only yesterday. She remembered how frightened she was when she realized it was muggle-borns whatever it was was attacking. She remembered the panic she felt when Hogwarts was on the brink of being closed— she couldn’t have that! She belonged at Hogwarts, not out there with the Lestranges where she was treated like vermin.

At least here, she could pretend to be someone she was not.

Of course Tiernan was no help, always taunting her and teasing her that she’d be next. She remembered when she heard that it was Rubeus Hagrid who had freed the muggle-born killing beast, how although she felt that it could not be Hagrid, she felt a sense of relief when he was expelled, when all the attacks had stopped.

And of course it was Tom Riddle who caught him. And of course it just made her admire him more and more.

But she would keep her distance. She’d admire him from afar. She couldn’t begin to imagine the torment Tiernan would put her through if he found out she liked Tom Riddle.

“Yes! Looks like we’re invited, Mulciber,” Avery exclaimed, pumping his fist. Tiernan rolled his eyes at his friends, “you’re invited every year,” he replied, just as Tom entered the Great Hall, and they fell into silence as he approached.

She could see Tom over the tops of the heads of the Hufflepuffs in front of her, and she slowly sat up to get a better look. That was when Tom blinked up and she swore their eyes met, just for a moment, before he settled down into his seat, disappearing behind the heads of the other Hogwarts students. She felt herself flush as she hunched over her plate again, a small smile creeping onto her face.

“My Lord,” Tiernan Lestrange nodded as Tom settled himself between him and Liam Mulciber. Tom nodded in acknowledgement as he placed a few pieces of chicken onto his plate, and Tiernan’s gaze flickered from him to the rolled parchment in his lap. “My mother sent an owl,” he said, and Tom hummed in reply, nodding. Still, he said nothing.

Tiernan shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, and Tom, with his eyes slightly narrower than before, peered up at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say. Tiernan turned pink beneath Tom’s stare, and he presented the letter to him, Tom’s dark eyes flicking down to the inky black words on the scroll.

“My family, we… we hold a Christmas party every year,” he said, and when Tom glanced back up at him, he flushed again. “And you would’ve been invited! But it’s only for the oldest pure-blood families, and, well…” Tiernan trailed off when he saw the shadow looming over Tom’s already dark gaze, and Mulciber and Avery shifted in their seats uncomfortably.

Tiernan cleared his throat again, “but I’ve been speaking very highly of you to my mother. She wants you to come,” he said, his lips curving into a smile. Tom pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he stared back up at Lestrange, handing back the parchment. “Yes, I know. I can read, Tiernan,” Tom said sternly, and Tiernan clawed at his knees to prevent himself from trembling.

“Yes… well…” Lestrange said shakily as he rolled back up the parchment, slipping it inside one of his pockets. “…I’d really love it if you come. We’ll all be there— me, Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, Nott— and our families too, so you can meet them all!”

Tom took a bite out of one of the chicken wings on his plate, placing it back down before wringing a napkin between his hands, gesturing towards Lestrange’s robes with his head. “Who is your mother referring to when she speaks of ‘the Girl?’” He asked, and heat crept back into Tiernan’s cheeks until they glowed scarlet. “Oh, you know… my sister…” he muttered, and Tom’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t she refer to her daughter by name?” Tom questioned, turning his body to fully face Tiernan, his interest piqued. “What does she mean by she ‘cannot have any more of her kind in the house?’”

The other boys leaned in to hear what Tiernan would say next, and he knew now that there was no way to get out of this. He’d have to tell the truth not only to his friends, but to his Lord.

“Forgive me, my Lord, for asking this of you,” Tiernan hung his head and muttered lowly towards Tom. “But I must ask that you promise you won’t tell another soul about this. This goes for all of you, too,” he said towards Tom and the rest of their group. Lestrange gazed into each of their eyes and held contact for a moment with each, to make it known that he was serious.

Tom shrugged, “I promise.”

Tiernan inhaled a shaky breath, before finally saying, “she… as you know, is not my sister,” he began. “And she’s not pure-blood, either. She’s a mudblood.”

Mulciber, Avery, and the others all leaned closer and broke into a sea of murmurs, “that sure explains a lot. But a mudblood? In the Lestrange family?” Tom remained silent as he stared at Lestrange, beckoning for him to continue. “Her filthy muggle parents left her on our doorstep after she was born. My mother and father took her in purely out of the goodness of their hearts,” Tiernan sat up and stuck out his chest proudly. “And they kept her, even when they learned where she came from. So you see now why she never comes to the party. Mother always tells guests she’s never home for the party anyways.”

The boys all laughed and ridiculed her while Tom, again, remained silent, staring absentmindedly down at his plate. He wasn’t sure what to think, how to feel. All this time he’d spent watching her, only catching glimpses of her from afar when he felt a gaze on him, watching as she turned away whenever she saw him with Tiernan and the others.

All this time he secretly lusted after her, the outcast of her family, the black sheep of the family. All this time he felt some sort of connection to her, all this time he felt he could relate to her because he, too, felt like an outcast. The outcast of the orphanage he grew up in, the outcast of the Gaunt family, the outcast of his muggle father’s family.

Tom Riddle never belonged anywhere, but he belonged here, at Hogwarts. And he knew she felt the same.

But would things change now that he knew she was muggle-born? Should he feel disgusted with himself now for ever thinking of pursuing her, for ever thinking of taking her in whichever way he pleased? Was it wrong of him to still lust for her, to still think of having his way with her?

Tom was clever but this, this he wasn’t sure of.

“So where has she been hiding during the parties?” Liam Mulciber asked, and Tiernan Lestrange snickered. “Mother and father force her up into her room. Says they’ll punish her accordingly if they hear even the smallest of noises coming from her room,” he replied, the boys erupting into another fit of snickers. Tom was still silent as he stared at his plate— he suddenly didn’t feel like eating.

The next day, she and a group of other Hogwarts students waiting to go home for the holidays gathered at Hogsmeade station, waiting for the arrival of the train. She snuck glances over to where Tiernan and his friends stood together, Tom in the middle of them all. She flushed and turned away when his head began to turn, and she moved to hide herself behind a few of her fellow Hufflepuffs, safe away from Tom Riddle’s view.

The train’s whistle echoed as the train emerged, slowing down to a stop before them. She dared gaze back over to where Tiernan stood with his friends as she waited for the doors to open, and when she did, Tom was no longer looking her way. She let herself stare for a little moment longer before she felt someone tap her shoulder, and blinked at the Hufflepuff girl in front of her with brown skin and shoulder length black hair she recognized as Clara Wingrave.

“Are you coming?” Clara asked, a furrow in her brow. She blinked and nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat back down. “Yes, sorry Clara,” she mumbled as she followed the Hufflepuff girl onto the train, sliding into the seat opposite the one Clara chose. She sighed as she settled herself into the seat just as footsteps thundered through the train, and she hardly had any time to register what was happening before their compartment door slid open, revealing none other than Tiernan Lestrange, Clarence Avery, and Liam Mulciber, Tom and the other three boys nowhere in sight.

Clara narrowed her eyes at their intruders, “hey, go find your own—“

“Shut it,” Mulciber hissed towards her. “No one allowed you to speak.”

Clara’s glare hardened as Tiernan leaned down to block his adopted sister’s view, his lips curving into a cheshire grin. Her hands balled into fists, and she suddenly felt the strongest urge to slam them right into that crooked smile of his.

“Mother sent the owl this afternoon,” Tiernan muttered, and he needn’t elaborate, for she was already used to the rules she was forced to follow every year during the annual Lestrange Christmas party. “Oh yeah? And let me guess… I’m not to speak of the party, I’m not to attend the party, I’m to stay up in my room and if I make even the smallest of noises, I’ll be punished accordingly? Is that all?” She asked quietly, so that the girl across from her could not hear.

Tiernan scowled and grabbed for her throat, much to Clara’s shock as she shrieked, giving her a firm shake. She pressed her lips closed and gazed into Tiernan’s dark umber eyes as they gleamed with mischief. “You dare give me attitude?” He tsked. “You just wait. I’ll tell mother and father about this and—“

“—Tiernan? Won’t you leave her alone for Merlin’s sake, the train is about to leave.”

She along with Clara, Tiernan, and his friends snapped their heads to the open compartment door where the Head Boy now stood, a furrow in his brow. He narrowed his eyes every so slightly, and he looked irritated. She flushed when she saw him and turned away as Tiernan released her, dusting off his clothes. She glimpsed up at him as he turned to leave, not without making sure to flash a dirty look her way over his shoulder before he slid the compartment door closed behind him.

“What the hell was that about?” Clara gasped and shook her head in disbelief. “I know it is common for siblings to fight, but that was just absurd.”

She shook her head as she shifted in her seat, gazing out the window as the train began to move, and Hogsmeade station grew further and further away until it disappeared altogether.

“He’s not my brother.”

The train ride back to King’s Cross Station seemed to go by quicker than usual, much to her dismay. She wished she could stay on the train forever rather than have to go back to living with the Lestranges, and wished that she had an invisibility cloak so that she could hide and be on her way back to Hogwarts within the hour.

But, since she didn’t, she sighed as she collected her bag with her few belongings and exited her compartment, stepping out of the train and onto Platform 9¾, where her eyes immediately fell upon the Mother and the Father where they stood, eyes narrowed when they fell upon their muggle-born adopted daughter. She huffed as she made her way over to them, standing beside the Mother with a considerable amount of distance between them.

“Where is my son?” The Mother asked through gritted teeth, and she shrugged her shoulders. “He and his friends should be getting off soon,” she replied, not daring to turn to look at the Mother. Sure enough, almost as soon as she finished saying it, there stepped out Tiernan and his friends, Tom Riddle close behind. The other boys left to greet their own parents, but Tiernan and Tom made their way over to where she stood beside the Lestranges, and she flushed.

Why was Tom coming over here?

“Tiernan,” the Mother smiled, drawing her son into her chest for a hug. “And you must be… Tom, is that right? Hogwarts’ Head Boy?”

She glanced over to where Tom stood, a charming smile plastered his face and she could feel heat creep back up her neck. She turned away from him before he could catch her staring.

“It is nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Lestrange,” Tom greeted them, shaking Mr Lestrange’s hand and giving the top of Mrs Lestrange’s a polite kiss. “Oh!” Mrs Lestrange giggled. “I like this one. The manners!”

Tom flashed his best smile but snuck a glimpse over to where the Lestranges adopted daughter stood, her arms crossed over herself as she looked anywhere but at him. He eyed her up and down just as Mrs Lestrange clutched either of his forearms, and he was forced to tear his attention away from the girl behind her.

“Tiernan here tells me you’re from the orphanage?” Mrs Lestrange asked and Tiernan felt like shriveling away beside Tom. Tom only nodded in reply to which Mrs Lestrange tutted, “how about this? You’re welcome to come and stay with us for the holidays. We’d be delighted to have you.”

She froze at this and her lips fell agape with the intent to protest, but nothing came out. She knew nothing she said would matter anyways, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle being around Tom for the entirety of the holidays. She’d been comfortable leaving him at a safe distance away from her at school, but now she’d have to deal with seeing him at the Lestranges? She simply wouldn’t be able to trust herself being around him for so long.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Tom beamed as Mrs Lestrange fussed over him, leading him away from the platform, and she, the Father, and Tiernan followed close behind. Tiernan made a point of ramming his shoulder into her every once in a while, and it took everything within her to control herself, to not shout or push him away. The Father saw this was happening but did nothing to stop it.

It wasn’t longer before they finally entered the Leaky Cauldron and made their way to the fireplace, and they each grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. The Father went first, then Mrs Lestrange, and Tiernan before it was down to her and Tom. It occurred to her that this was the first time they had ever been alone together, and she forced herself to look away as he stepped into the fireplace.

Tom was no stranger to her shy nature. He tilted his head to try and get a better look at her, watching as she peeked over at him only to find he was staring, and looked away again. He smiled, exclaimed “Lestrange Manor!” and he was gone, leaving her alone.

Soon, she too was back in the Lestrange Manor, and she nearly ran into Tom where he stood just before the fireplace. Her palms instinctively fell onto his back to find her balance, and oh, how she felt she’d explode where she stood.

It was the first time she had ever touched Tom, and she truly did not expect him to be so warm. Tom glanced back over his shoulder when he felt her hands on him and swiftly stepped out of her way, feeling her touch lingering on his back where she had touched him. Something ignited within him at that touch, and every doubt he had about still wanting to pursue her seemed to fray away.

He wanted her.

“Welcome to our home!” The Mother exclaimed with a smile as she dusted off the shoulder of Tom’s coat where some ash had fallen, letting her palms soothe back down all the way to his elbows. “Tiernan will show you where you will be staying. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

She began to follow Tiernan and Tom as they headed for the staircase leading to the next level, but just before she could, the Mother grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her backwards to face her and the Father. She scowled down at her adopted daughter as soon as she made certain Tom was out of sight and leaned down until they were eye level.

“Listen to me, girl, and listen to me good,” the Mother said lowly. “You are to be on your best behavior while we have a guest in the home. You are to stay up in your room for the holidays except for meals, do you understand me, girl?”

She blinked— normally, she’d hate the fact that she had to stay up in her room all hours of the day, but instead, she felt relief surge through her. At least she wouldn’t have to see Tom, at least she wouldn’t make a fool out of herself in front of him.

“Yes, Madam Lestrange,” she said as the Mother released her elbow, and the Father stepped forward, leaning down to eye level.

“And you mustn’t leave your room under any circumstances during the party tomorrow evening,” he muttered. “If I hear even the smallest of sounds coming from your bedroom, I will punish accordingly and do understand, I will not show mercy.”

She heard this rule every year, but still to this day, the way the Father threatened her sent chills down her spine. “Yes, Mr Lestrange,” she nodded and when the Father waved her off, she walked as fast as she could towards the stairs, practically sprinting up the steps and down the hallway until she finally reached her bedroom.

Tom and the rest of the Lestranges were already in the dining room when she finally bounded down the steps, and he could tell Mr and Mrs Lestrange were using all the self restraint they had within them to not blow up at her, most likely for his sake. He watched as she sat down across the table from where he and Tiernan sat, carefully only placing a small selection of food onto her plate.

He glanced back over to where Mr Lestrange sat on one end of the long dining table before looking over at Mrs Lestrange on the other end. Neither paid her any attention, or showed any intention of speaking to her. She didn’t seem to want to talk either.

“So, Tom, Tiernan tells me you’re exceptional at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Mr Lestrange said, shaking Tom from his thoughts. He forced a small smile as he nodded, wiping his hands on his napkin. “Yes, actually, I wish to become Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher one day.”

She listened as she finished her dinner as quickly as she could, but she didn’t stick around to hear the rest of Tom’s story. She gazed over at the Mother who only nodded that she may be excused before she gathered her plate and hurried off to the kitchen where the Lestranges house elf cleaned.

“Thank you for the food, Gimbel,” she nodded at the house elf who only nodded back as she set her dirty plate on the pile of unclean dishes the house elf had stacked on the countertop. She hurried back upstairs where she shut herself in her room, sighing as she fell onto her mattress.

All she had left to endure was breakfast tomorrow morning, and she’d be free of seeing Tom for the rest of the day. She rested her arm over her eyes, her heart beating against her chest. She couldn’t believe the boy she’s been pining after since her first year is in her house, staying in only a few rooms down from hers. How she wished she could talk to him, to treat him like a guest rather than act like he wasn’t even there at all.

She even, for a moment, wished she was a true member of the Lestrange family, so that she could be treated as an equal.

Tom hardly saw her for breakfast the next morning, for as soon as he and Tiernan had entered the dining room, she was seemingly finished with her food, and once again scurried off towards the kitchen as she did the night before. Tiernan scoffed when he saw this as they took their seats on one side of the long dining table, loading their plates with biscuits and bacon and eggs.

“I apologize for her… strange behavior, my Lord,” Tiernan muttered to home as Tom took a sip of milk. “She’s always like this, you see.” Tom didn’t care to listen to whatever else Tiernan had to say about his adopted sister. Tom had already made up his mind about her, it was how he’d find the chance to talk to her that was the problem.

She seemed to avoid him like the plague, and he knew he more than likely wouldn’t be seeing her at all the rest of the day, since the Lestranges locked her in her room while they hosted their party. Tom was clever, so surely he’d be able to find a way around it?

But as the time for the party to begin approached, he still came up with nothing. He had no excuse for wanting to see her, and with Tiernan practically breathing down his neck, he hadn’t any chance of sneaking away any time soon. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to see her at all when the party began and Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, and Nott all came rushing towards him and Lestrange. He had no space absolutely no space and no time to sneak away.

“Don’t worry,” Lestrange was saying to his friends. “The mudblood is upstairs in her bedroom. Won’t be coming out at all tonight, that one.” The boys snickered as they called her names and made jokes about her, but Tom wasn’t listening. Even though it seemed as if all hope of seeing her tonight was lost, he was still thinking of every possible excuse he could come up with to sneak away.

But fortunately, he wouldn’t have to contemplate for much longer.

“Blast,” Lestrange cursed, feeling around his pockets. Clarence Avery furrowed his eyebrows as he watched his friend, the others soon joining in. “What is it?” Liam Mulciber asked as Lestrange emptied each of his pockets, coming up with nothing. “Left my damn wand in my room,” Lestrange muttered, and Tom perked at this. Lestrange turned to Tom and stepped closer to murmur close to his ear, “forgive me for asking you of this, my Lord, but I simply do not trust the others. Will you go upstairs and retrieve my wand for me? I can’t go upstairs, mother and father said I need to stay down here.”

If Tom was the type, he’d laugh and jump up and down at the request. All day he had been trying to come up with some sort of excuse to slip away from the party, and now he finally had one. He cleared his throat and nodded, “of course,” he said to Lestrange before making his way over towards the staircase, but he did not stop at Tiernan’s bedroom door as he passed.

Instead, he walked a little further down the Lestranges upstairs hallway, stopping at the last door on the left where she was, the black wooden door the only thing separating him from her now. Tom raised a fist to the door and knocked, and for a moment, it was silent on the other side.

Who could possibly be knocking at her door?

She knew it could not be any of the Lestranges, for they would’ve just burst through the door without any respect for her privacy anyways. It couldn’t be Gimbel either, the house elf never came to her room. She grew weary as she closed her book and set it down on the mattress beside her, clearing her throat before murmuring a low, “come in.”

She watched as the handle to her door twisted and it swung open, and when she saw who was standing there in her doorway, she felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. She’d only ever dreamed of Tom Riddle being in her bedroom, but never before did she actually think he’d really come in here.

But there he was. There Tom Riddle stood, closing the door behind him and turning to gaze at her where she sat on her bed, his eyes entrancing as they were dark. Even from across the room, his irises seemed to pull her in like they were magnets and she was metal, and she lost herself further and further into his soul…

“Forgive me,” Tom said, and she blinked. Those were the first words she had ever heard him direct towards her. “I would not usually barge into a lady’s room like this.”

Fire raged across her skin, up her neck, and to her cheeks until they were seared with flame. She suddenly had the strongest urge to open the window, wondering if she had broken into a sweat yet or not.

She blinked again, and the corner of Tom’s lips curved into a soft smile. He knew he already had her wrapped around his finger.

“Your brother thought he left something in here,” he said, gesturing towards her desk against the far wall of the room. “May I?”

She could not think of anything Tiernan could have possibly left in her room, but she wouldn’t dare question Tom, so instead she nodded, and she watched as he strode across the room, opening her desk drawers and sifting through its contents.

Of course, Tom wasn’t searching for anything. But she needn’t know that yet.

“Hm,” Tom hummed, closing the drawers he had opened and turning to face her again, leaning back against the wooden desk. “Perhaps, your brother was mistaken.”

She felt small underneath Tom’s gaze, and she felt as though she could curl herself into a ball right now and shrivel away. But instead she sat still on her bed, unable to speak, unable to move. Tom chuckled and she pinched her bottom lip between her teeth, mentally cursing herself for being so shy. Typical Hufflepuff, she could imagine her adopted brother sneering.

“You know, you should really join the party,” Tom said, hoping to break the ice between them. She soothed the skin of her arms with her palms and rubbed at her elbows, shaking her head. “The Mother and the Father won’t let me attend,” she managed to speak at last, and she gulped down the lump in her throat.

Although Tom already knew the answer, he still tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Why is that?” He asked, and she swallowed again, forcing back down the truth. She dropped her head and shrugged, “because I’m different.”

Tom blinked, and he suddenly felt like he was ten years old again, still living at the orphanage he grew up in. For over ten years, he grew up unlike all the other children, and even at an early and young age, he knew that he was different. It wasn't until Albus Dumbledore came to visit him that he finally understood why he felt this way.

It was different in her case, because at least she knew why she was different. But they were still treated the same, like they were misfits, rejects, outcasts. It was then that he understood the connection he felt towards her with a different meaning, that he first noticed this string tethering them together.

They had both been lost before, but just like he had found himself, she could be found too. Tom could be the one to find her, for he seemed to be the only one who understood her.

Tom’s footsteps permeated her bedroom as he made his way over towards her bed, setting himself down on the mattress beside her. She flinched when she felt the bed dip beneath his weight, and it was then that it occurred to her just how close he was.

They had never ever been this close before.

“Why are you different?” He asked, gazing down at her as she peered up, their eyes meeting closer than they ever have before. For a moment she said nothing, only continued to lose herself further in the dark depths of the treacherous caverns that were his eyes. He studied her— her eyes, her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her lips.

It was no secret that she was beautiful, even Tom could admit that. But she was vulnerable, it was clear the moment Tom met her eyes again. And Tom could work with vulnerability.

“Well…” she trailed off, contemplating how much she should tell him. Tom’s fingers grazed against her knee and she trembled, her eyes flicking down to his hand and back up to his face. “You can tell me,” Tom said warmly. “You can tell me anything.”

She blinked. Never before had she heard those words. Nobody has ever wanted to hear her story before, for they all thought they already knew it all by now. She was the child who was left on the Lestranges doorstep as a baby, the child the Lestranges took in to ‘raise as their own’ because they just couldn’t bear giving such a young girl away since they were so kindhearted.

So never had she ever thought she’d be given the chance to tell someone about herself, to let someone read her story. But there was something about Tom, and she felt like she could trust him.

“I’m… I was left on their doorstep as a baby,” she began, and Tom nodded, encouraging her to continue. “I was… I am muggle-born…” she trailed off, wincing as she searched Tom’s face for disgust, but he didn’t even recoil. He only gazed at her with that same patient stare, waiting for her to keep going.

So she did.

“They hate me for it,” she added. “For having dirty blood. I’m not sure why they kept me, I could’ve been a Squib or not even a witch at all for that matter. Thankfully, I got my Hogwarts letter when Tiernan did.” She wrung her hands together in her lap, Tom’s warmth drawing her even closer to him. “It certainly didn’t help that I wasn’t sorted into Slytherin.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat back down again, and Tom let his palm rest on her knee again, his touch warm, like a kiss from the sun itself. She felt relaxed when he touched her, despite how nervous she actually was inside.

“They treat me… so bad,” she whispered. “They treat me like I’m nothing.”

Her voice wavered before it broke, and when it was clear that she wouldn’t be able to continue, the hand that had previously been resting on her knee retreated so that it may instead reach her face. Gently, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her face up to his, her teary eyes searching his for something, anything she could hold onto. Warmth, comfort, reassurance, hope, anything.

So Tom would tell her what she wanted to hear.

“You are not nothing,” Tom murmured, and her lip quivered the longer she stared at him. “You are somebody. Don’t let them take that feeling away from you.”

She blinked and her brow softened, her vision blurring with tears. She was somebody. Tom Riddle thought she was somebody.

And somehow, that seemed to be all she needed to hear.

A silence ensued and they only gazed deeper into one another’s eyes. With the grip still on her chin, he drew her near and he leaned down to meet her halfway, his lips pressing against hers softly, as tenderly as he could. He felt the way she shuddered under his touch, as if his kiss was a tranquilizer, and she was becoming limp and pliant, all for him.

So he kissed her deeper, he kissed her harder. His tongue was warm in her mouth as she let him reign dominance over her own, her hands shaking as one cupped the side of his face and the other grabbed his bicep.

This was what Tom Riddle had been fantasizing about for years. To have her compliant beneath him, to have her completely under his control. He loved how easy it was, how easy it was to have her. Although he’d admit, this connection he felt towards her was growing, and it was growing at an alarming rate. As he pushed her down onto the mattress and trailed his kisses down from her lips to her jaw, he found that his heart burned, as if she had set it aflame, and this feeling was foreign to him.

He had no idea what this tenderness he felt was, whether he dared call it love or not. For eighteen years, he was under the impression that he couldn’t love, that love simply just wasn’t in the cards for him, and he was completely okay with that.

But this feeling, whatever it was he felt for her, came unexpectedly, and he was unsure whether or not he should embrace it or push it away.

For now, he worked at unbuttoning her blouse as he sucked marks into her neck, his tongue swirling around her collarbone.

She pressed her lips together to contain her noises as Tom slipped her blouse from her shoulders and down her arms, discarding it down onto the floor altogether. He made quick work of her brassiere, his lips previously kissing her collarbone venturing down between the valley of her breasts, sucking marks onto either mounds of flesh.

“T… Tom,” she mewled as he pressed a kiss to one of her nipples, kneading her opposite breast with his palm. He hummed in reply, gazing up at her through hooded lids as he sucked the erect bud, releasing it with a wet pop before doing the same to the other. She squirmed beneath him and squeezed her eyes shut, arching her back up off of the mattress. “T… Tom, I… they will punish me if they hear me.”

Tom smirked against her skin as he released her nipple from his mouth and kissed down her stomach, past her belly button, all the way to the hem of her skirt. He pushed himself up by the elbows as he hooked his fingers over the hem, beginning to tug them down her thighs.

“Then I suggest you stay quiet,” he said simply as he removed her skirt from her ankles, her panties soon joining the sea of clothes on the floor as well.

She sank her teeth down into her bottom lip so hard when he placed a kiss just above her aching clit, she feared she’d draw blood. Tom eyed her through his hooded stare as he teasingly dipped his tongue past her folds, testing the waters. He watched as her face scrunched and she kicked her legs, arching her back at just the simplest of touches.

So eager, he thought.

He soothed her stomach with one of his palms as he pecked her clit, watching the way she trembled and writhed, whining behind closed lips, silent pleading for more. Tears broke past the glossy barrier of her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks like crystals, and he smirked as he pressed his lips down against her heat, sucking her clit as it throbbed and ached to be touched.

She threw her hands down on the mattress on either side of her, her fingernails clawing at the sheets as he flicked his tongue up and down her slit, humming at the taste of her nectar on his tongue. She tried to watch as he lapped up the juices spilling down her folds before flicking his tongue against her bud again, but she couldn’t even hold herself up, much less keep her eyes open for longer than a few seconds.

“P… please,” she mewled quietly as one of her hands ventured down between her legs to grip at his hair, and she ground her hips against his face, eager for more. That was when Tom stopped and pried her hand away from his head, and she blinked up at him through her bleary eyes.

“Do you want to come?” He asked as he unbuttoned his shirt, shouldering it off of him and tossing it to the floor with the rest of the discarded clothes. She gaped at the sight of his chest, but he grabbed her face again and forced her to look at him, squishing her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. “I expect you to answer me when I ask you a question.”

She trembled and felt her walls clench at his words, nodding up and down. “Yes. Yes please,” she whimpered as he tore his hand away from her face to work on his belt, tossing it and his trousers away until he stood before her completely in the nude, in all of his glory.

He was beautiful. And he was already beautiful to begin with but this, she never could have even imagined how he looked underneath the clothes. He wasn’t muscular or built like a statue or even a Quidditch player, but still, his arms and torso were toned, and his cock…

She could feel her patience slipping away the longer he kept her waiting. She watched as he took a hold of his cock and stared down at her, maintaining eye contact as he gave himself a few pumps, his other hand absentmindedly stroking up and down her slick. She bit down onto her lip as she gazed up at him, watching him in anticipation for what was to come next.

Tom leaned back down to her face and captured her lips with his, unable to resist the temptation any longer. He kissed her again and again and again as he slipped inside of her, her moans muffled by his mouth on hers. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dug her fingernails into his skin, etching crescent moons into his flesh. Tom broke their kiss and let his forehead drop onto hers as he rocked his hips into her, slowly at first. One of her hands slithered to cup the back of his neck as tears streamed down the sides of her face, never feeling this good in all her years.

Tom let his gaze fall upon her face again, her eyelids squeezed shut but her face scrunched in pleasure, every once in a while muffling her sounds by pressing her face into his shoulder. He began to thrust harder than before, her legs wrapping around his waist and squeezing, beckoning him further inside of her. So he fucked her harder, and harder and harder and harder as if he intended to break her, to shatter her into a million pieces.

And maybe that was the goal all along.

Never has Tom felt this good, never had he felt so intoxicated by another person, and never did he believe he could be so attached to someone else before. Part of him hated it, part of him wanted to throw it away and stomp on it and set it on fire.

But the other part of him embraced it, another part of him felt powerful as he fucked into her with reckless abandon, powerful having someone underneath his control. He never imagined another person could feel so good, he never imagined someone else could make him feel so infinite. As far as he was concerned, he was doing just fine on his own.

But this was different. This was on a whole other level of power. He felt strong, even when she clenched around him and gushed around his cock, even when he felt himself so close to the edge, so close to releasing himself for another person.

He pushed away from from her and groped her chest with one hand, holding onto her shoulder with the other as he fucked her harder than before, without a care for how much noise they were making. He’d make it up to the Lestranges, he’d go down and tell them it was him making all the noise, it wasn’t like they’d punish him.

For now, he focused on chasing his release, on the way she felt around him, on the way he was so close to climax he could practically taste it. She sobbed beneath him and her lips fell agape with the intent of screaming his name but he clapped his hand around her mouth before she could as he thrusted again and again and again until finally he released, and warmth surged through her.

Tom’s chest heaved and he fell on top of her as she cried, motionless beneath him. Sweat made her skin glisten and tears made her cheeks swollen and sticky, but he found that he admired her all the same.

This warmth in his chest was new, and it was a feeling he couldn’t quite place or put a finger on. But if whatever it was could make him feel like he was on top of the world, like he was the most powerful being on this Earth, like he was infinite…

…then surely he could learn to embrace it.

a/n; oop this is the longest imagine i’ve ever written 🙈 thank you so much for the request anon! i wrote this one up pretty fast because i really liked the idea, it definitely wasn’t stupid! so i hope this is close to what you’ve been imagining!! and feel free to send in more requests if you’d like! i love writing requests!

| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

@darkmoviesquotespizza 🥹🫶

#tom riddle x you #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle smut #wizarding world #harry potter fic #harry potter fandom #harry potter imagine #harry potter #tom marvolo riddle

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waywardxrhea · 2 months ago

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Tuna-Tober Day 6 - George Weasley

pairing: Geroge Weasley x fem!reader

prompt: "Shh...I've got you now. I'm here."

word count: 2,051

content: Unforgivable Curse use, blood, choking, binding to chair

tuna-tober masterlist / main masterlist

dividers by: @firefly-graphics

You were attending your now mandatory seventh year of school at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it was going about as well as you expected with everything going on with the war against You-Know-Who. Hogwarts of course wasn’t spared from the infestation of his followers, and with Dumbledore dead, the place had all gone to pot.

Snape was in charge, and as if that wasn’t bad enough by itself, there were two new professors who were known followers of You-Know-Who… The Carrows. The brother taught what was now just called Dark Arts and the sister taught the required class of Muggle Studies. Instead of the class focusing on Muggle artefacts and how they functioned though, she taught how inferior the Muggles were compared to Wizards and how You-Know-Who would restore the “proper order” of things. You thought it was all total rubbish and you had made it clear to them from day one that you weren’t falling for their propaganda.

By the end of the first month, you were getting stir crazy with not knowing how things were going outside of the castle and knowing that no one knew what was going on inside. The Profit wasn’t publishing anything useful, so you attempted to get an owl out to your long time boyfriend, George Weasley, to ask what he knew. It was a calculated risk, and the reward was not worth it. The Carrows had intercepted your letter before it even left the school grounds and you were subjected to corporal punishment at their hand.

Needless to say, it was hard getting mail in and out of the school by the usual means, so after some thinking, you had resorted to using the secret passages hidden throughout the school grounds. You knew of these only because George had shown you some of them before he and his twin brother departed the school in grand fashion when Delores Umbridge took over the school. As bad as it was nowadays, sometimes you wished that Umbridge was still in charge. At least with her, seventh year students weren’t instructed to torture first years…

Even with getting owls out through a secret passage that took you to the Hogshead Inn, there was always the potential for mail to be intercepted and read though, so when things started getting rough, you and George had come up with a code system that you would use in your letters. The cipher was sent in multiple pieces over weeks, but once it was established, communication between Hogwarts and the outside world was a go. Because of this, you were the main source of information about the happenings of the school for Potterwatch listeners and freedom fighters throughout the wizarding world. Not that they could do anything about it…

Some weeks, there was nothing but bad news at the school, and your letters simply served as proof of life, and George’s replies did the same. You usually wrote of what the new rules were for the school, how punishment had changed, and just the daily happenings around the castle. One day though, George received a very different letter and the handwriting wasn’t yours. It was asking him to come to the school immediately.

Hours before…

You were irritably bouncing your leg as you sat in your seat for Dark Arts class. Professor Carrow had once more brought a group of first years to be punished for trivial rubbish. Up until now, you had never been called upon to dole out their punishment, but still, you hated to have to watch the poor young kids suffer at the hands of other students. Some days you had worked with your fellow DA members and got word out that there was trouble in your class. They would cause a distraction outside so you could sneak the young students out to avoid punishment. This of course caused you to get in trouble instead, but you were okay with that. You were more capable of enduring the Carrows.

Things were different today. The Carrows had been particularly harsh throughout the week, and were getting people in trouble for the littlest of things. Someone’s robe was slightly wrinkled? Detention. They wore their tie slightly off centre? Detention. A student flipped the pages of their textbook too loudly? Detention. Needless to say, you were fed up. After months of enduring their terror, you felt like you were at your breaking point. And it only got worse when you were called up to the front of the room by Professor Carrow.

“It has been brought to my attention that you’ve never been called up for your practice with the Cruciatus Curse. I think it’s time we change that,” he said, a small smirk on his lips as you stood before him. You refused to look in his eye and instead glared over his shoulder. “I’ve seen your talent with it when we’ve practised on rodents. You’ve got a lot of anger inside of you, child. Now you just need to take it out on these weak children.”

You turned and looked at the tired and terrified faces in front of you. Some you knew had gotten in trouble before and were just wanting to get this over with, but some were brand new faces. Likely subject to detention because of a minor infraction. Their terrified eyes pleaded with you, begging without words for you to not hurt them. It broke your heart.

“I won’t,” you stated defiantly, still not turning to give Carrow your respect.

“You will,” he snarled as he pressed the tip of his wand into the side of your neck. His voice suddenly got closer and his breath was hot on your skin as he said, “If you don’t, I will. And I won’t relent until they’ve learned their lesson.”

This statement had you seeing red and your chest began to heave with anger. The grip you had on your wand tightened, and before he could make another move, you snapped around and pointed your wand at him, shouting, “Crucio!” when he was in your sights.

“Go, now!” shouted Sheamus before standing up with a few other DA members who began clearing the room. Before he left, Sheamus turned back and called out your name for you to follow, but was met with a horrifying sight.

Once you stopped concentrating on the curse and Carrow recovered from the pain you subjected him to, he was furious. Before you could even turn tail and run out of the classroom, Carrow had bellowed, “Diffindo!” and large gashes ripped through your robes and skin, causing blood to start seeping into your clothes. Your screams pierced the air before Carrow was grabbing you by the throat and shouting, “You think you can turn your wand on me?! You think you can get away with that unscathed?! You’re in for a world of torture, girl!”

“Sheamus, go!” you managed to choke out when you realised that he was still in the room.

“No!” Carrow shouted, flicking his wand and causing the heavy classroom door to slam shut. “You, boy, as punishment for aiding the other children, are going to help me deal with this brat! The two of you are close, so with what I have in mind, it’ll be punishment enough. If you don’t, you’ll be subject to the same.” After he finished his statement, he tightened his grip on your throat the slightest bit while waiting for an answer.

“I won’t!” Sheamus countered.

“Just…just do it!” you choked out, your voice quiet even to your own ears as you began to get dizzy.

You didn’t hear your friend say anything, but assumed that he agreed when Carrow’s hold on you released and you crumbled to the ground, gasping for air. The relief was momentary though, because within seconds you were being forced up and into a chair before being bound to it.

As you slumped forward, you heard Sheamus mumble, “Forgive me…” before your body was wracked with the most excruciating pain you had ever experienced.

What followed was more wounds being inflicted into your skin and the chair with you in it being blasted into the wall. You lost count of how many times the Cruciatus Curse was cast on you, but even through your scrambled thoughts, you could tell which ones Carrow cast - they were more painful. More evil.

By the time black was threatening to take over your vision, you finally heard, “I think she’s learned her lesson.” The chair magically sat upright as Carrow snarled, “Next time you know not to disobey me. This is going to be child’s play compared to what you’ll endure if you dare turn your wand on me again. Now get out of my classroom.”

Sheamus waved his wand and your bindings were released, causing you to collapse out of the chair and onto the floor in a heap. You were in and out of it as he practically dragged you in the direction of the Room of Requirement. When the two of you arrived, Sheamus was calling, “Neville! Hannah! I need some help!”

“What happened?” Hannah asked, her eyes wide as she took in your bloodied form.

“She refused to cast the Cruciatus Curse on the first-years. Cast it on Carrow instead,” he told her with a shake of his head. A grim look crossed his features and he scowled as he added, “He made me cast it on her too. Five times. I had half a mind to turn my wand on him too…”

“Good thing you didn’t. This is awful…” Hannah whispered as she started helping Sheamus get you to a secluded area to tend to your wounds. Before they got to the area, she turned to Neville and said, “Write to George. He needs to know what’s happened.”

“On it,” Neville agreed before rushing off to get a letter written.

“Where is she?” George asked urgently as he ducked through the portrait that hid the passage from the Hogshead Inn.

“They’re still trying to heal her, mate, just give-” Neville said as he stood up from his desk.

“I need to see her!” George snapped, the terror and fury in his eyes obvious to Neville who nodded and took George to where Hannah and Sheamus were still healing the many gashes Carrow had inflicted on you.

“We’ve gotten most of it, there shouldn’t be any visible scars,” Hannah said, giving George a small smile as she wrapped a blanket around you.

She and Sheamus stood, and the latter clasped George’s hand in his before going in for a quick hug with a pat on the back, telling him, “She’s been asking for you. Good to see you, mate.”

George simply nodded before making his way to your side. He settled down into the heap of pillows before pulling you gently into his arms. When he did, you finally let go of the tears you had been holding back since Carrow got his hands on you. “Shh…I’ve got you now. I’m here,” George whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled you closer and nuzzled into your hair, kissing your head gently as he did.

It took a while, but you finally calmed down enough to whisper, “Thank you…”

“For what?” George asked, placing a kiss on your temple.

“For coming. You…you didn’t have to. It’s dangerous,” you replied, shifting so you could wrap your arms around him and snuggle into his chest.

“For you I’d risk anything,” he told you. Soon enough, your exhaustion took over and you fell asleep in George’s arms. The sleep itself was heavy, but your mind was filled with nightmares that you were sure you wouldn’t escape for years to come.

From then on, George would make trips to the school to check in on you as well as deliver things the DA and rebelling students needed. The first trip back was to bring a surplus of supplies to make potion for dreamless sleep. After that was prank supplies to boost morale. Then it was defensive products to protect yourselves. Some days it was simply him, and those days you were especially grateful for. George was your safe place and you were his. And in these times of war, that was something you both needed.

I always think it's interesting to see stories written from the year that the Trio wasn't there, so that's what inspired this lil story for the prompt. I once again am showing off how much I love writing George Weasley's protective side!

likes and comments are always appreciated! xo, brooke <3

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley angst #harry potter fanfiction #tuna tober 2024 #tuna tober prompt challenge 2024

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spindrifters · 11 months ago

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In honor of impmas 2024, I present to you good godfather sirius black and the one and only time I will ever write harry, ft. some groupchat crack treated seriously. happy birthday, @impishtubist!

“Where have you been?”

Harry jumps, the uncanny impersonation of Molly Weasley reverberating through the dusty rafters and black lacquer front hall of Grimmauld Place. Sirius smirks, grabs the lanky fifteen year-old by the scruff and pulls him into an all-encompassing hug.

“Didn’t half scare me, Sirius,” Harry grumbles into his chest, and there’s the whisper of an attempt to pull away, but his heart isn’t really in it. In any case, Sirius doesn’t let him go, just buries a grin into that mess of hair. Lemongrass shampoo and London grime.

“Serves you right, sneaking off in the middle of the night.”

“I wasn’t sneaking.”

“No? What time d’you call this, then?”

“A perfectly appropriate time of night to go for a walk,” his godson continues to grouse. “Needed to clear my head.” Only it doesn’t escape his notice that there hasn’t been another attempt to pull away. And he’s not wrong. It’s barely half eleven, only Harry’s at double risk on his own these days. If not Death Eaters or another bloody dementor, then the press who’ll hound him to the ends of the earth should they catch sight of the Boy Who Lied—fucking cunts—alone on walkabout without so much as his friends for a buffer. There’s a reason the Order’s got about ten layers of protocol surrounding his protection at all times. If it were anyone else who’d caught him slipping in through the front door, there’d be hell to pay.

Harry’s not stupid, though. Far from it, Sirius thinks, that old pride swelling in his chest. And he’s got James’s cloak for good measure, clutched in a hand that smells of hot concrete and pigeon shit.

Harry seems to sag against his chest, Sirius’s hand still wrapped around his nape. Summer sweat of a teenage boy on the brink of becoming a man.

“Knut for your thoughts?”

“M’fine.”

Liar.

These are the things, then. The little tells beyond the way Harry strains toward him like a houseplant yearning for the sun. It’s not the same as sniffing out smells—daffodils and murtlap essence and the endless putrid fecal stench of Azkaban—but it’s just as strong. Pheromones or some muggle toss like that, something he might ask Hermione Granger about if he remembers before she heads back off to school.

It’s something Sirius noticed a long time ago, the change that happened in fifth year when his own heightened senses were lent keener by the dog that now lived inside. He remembers that Prongs was bright and coppery like triumph when he stepped off the Quidditch pitch, or cinnamon-fresh like home. He remembers being sixteen, frustrated and hormonal and knowing he’d die on the spot if anyone caught him with his nose buried in Moony’s discarded trousers to see if there was anything there that might even hint he wasn’t alone in this.

And Harry…

Something sour signaling frustration. Harsh metallic that means fear. Beneath that, the sweet damp scent of hurt. Sirius can hardly blame him. Fuck Peter Pettigrew, if he ever gets out of this fucking godforsaken house arrest, Merline Maitland and the rest of her staff at the Prophet are at the very top of his hit list.

“Go to bed,” he tells him, pressing a kiss to his sweaty brow, one that smells of rubbish bins lining the streets for the morning to come.

Green eyes flick up, half shock. “Thought I’d get it in the neck.”

“Nah,” says Sirius, guiding him up the stairs. “Just let me know next time. Maybe Snuffles can come along, too.”

“Yeah,” says Harry, though they both know he won’t. Sirius doesn’t need to sniff that out to know. He still thinks he has to protect Sirius just as much as Sirius knows it's not his job to do it.

He’s a good boy, Prongs. Too good. He doesn’t deserve any of this.

And.

You’d be so bloody proud.

#good godfather sirius black #harry potter #sirius black #my fic #imp tag #impmas 2024

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hollowed-theory-hall · 8 months ago

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The Ministry of Magic: Part 1/?

(Part 2, Part 3)

Legislative Processes

I don't know if I was the only one who was paying too close attention any time Arthur or Percy Weasley mentioned anything to do with their ministry jobs to try and understand how the magical government works... but I made some notes based on random one-off lines that have some implications.

So, I'll start with a short one about one of the ways laws come into existence in the UK Ministry of Magic.

“C-cars, Molly, dear?” “Yes, Arthur, cars,” said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing. “Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly.” Mr. Weasley blinked. “Well, dear, I think you’ll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if — er — he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth. . . . There’s a loophole in the law, you’ll find. . . . As long as he wasn’t intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn’t—” “Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren’t intending to fly!”

(CoS, 43)

Like, this is bizarre. Let's recap, Arthur Weasley is the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, described as:

“What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?” “He works in the most boring department,” said Ron. “The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.” “The what?” “It’s all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like, last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antiques shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare — Dad was working overtime for weeks.” “What happened?” “The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place and one man ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs clamped to his nose. Dad was going frantic — it’s only him and an old warlock called Perkins in the office — and they had to do Memory Charms and all sorts of stuff to cover it up —”

(CoS, 36)

It's a small office, only Arthur, the office's head, and one employee, Perkins. Even though it's such a small office, that is held in low regard, Arthur still has the legal authority to bill laws relevant to his office. Molly and he literally say he wrote a loophole into the law on purpose!

This means any department or office head in the ministry, regardless of how small or inconsequential they are, has the legal authority to draft a law and offer it to vote in the Wizengamot. We know the law bills get voted on, so at least random ministry personnel can't just make laws for whatever they want.

We don't really know what Araminta Meliflua Black did for a living, but she was clearly legally allowed to draft laws too:

and Araminta Meliflua . . . cousin of my mother’s . . . tried to force through a Ministry Bill to make Muggle-hunting legal

(OotP, 113)

And we know her law didn't pass, so I assume it was dropped during a Wizengamot vote.

But this process shows how much the Ministry of Magic doesn't function like a democracy.

I'll write about what exactly the Wizengamot is, how I believe it functions, and who the members are (I'm pretty sure they aren't elected democratically though. Edit: I wrote it). Still, for now, the legislative process in the ministry is that every office head writes laws in their area of expertise (or anything else they're passionate about, apparently). Then the law gets voted on by the Wizengamot which is both the Parliament (the legislature) and the supreme court of justice in the ministry (somewhat like the House of Lords in the UK used to function in the past).

In democracies, the legislature is usually elected by popular vote or indirectly elected, this group of elected legislators would be the only ones who could legally write laws. As every office head in the ministry has the authority to act as a legislator, I assume no such election methods are in place for every single office in the ministry. For the larger department heads, perhaps, but not every minor office.

If we take the muggle UK as our legislature template, laws can be billed by any member of the parliament (be it the House of Lords or the House of Commons). Then these bills are voted on multiple times by the parliament. It's more complex than that, but my main point is that in every sensible democratic country, the members of the parliament are the ones drafting laws and voting on them. In the Ministry of Magic, it seems like basically everyone in the Ministry can draft a law, not just Wizengamot members (who vote on them).

In the US there are ways for citizens to recommend laws to the member of Congress that represents them, but that's completely different to Arthur just straight up writing a loophole into the law intentionally! There isn't even anyone who oversees the phrasing of the bill, or reads through it to make sure it makes sense or, idk, legal if Arthur could just write what he wished! Or that Araminta could write a bill for muggle-hunting and offer it up to a vote, like... there doesn't seem to be any screening for the laws that go into a vote. Not even for their phrasing.

This is just a messed up little fact about the legislative processes within the Ministry of Magic I didn't see anyone mention that I think is interesting.

#harry potter #hp #harry potter theory #hp theory #hp meta #harry potter meta #wizarding world #ministry of magic #arthur weasley #hollowedtheory #wizarding politics

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arliedraws · 5 months ago

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One-Shot: Sirius falls through the Veil, ends up in 1981, and kidnaps his 21-year-old self

This is the silliest thing. Someone prompted me a month ago with “What if Sirius went back in time and kidnapped James to keep him safe?” And while this was a good prompt, I thought about the likelihood that he would kidnap his younger self. (Also, I think this is the prompt that got me thinking about HARRY going back to 1981—all these ideas are connected 😂). I think I meant to make this some sort of Sirius/Sirius incest (is it incest?), but I never got around to writing the smut, haha. Anyway, I wrote this about a month ago, and found it today. I realized I hadn’t finished it and threw on a few more words to sort of tie it up neatly (haha). I don’t think I’ll post it on AO3 so enjoy this tiny treat here!

When Sirius awoke, his cheek was pressed to the floor and his arms were bound behind him. An ache throbbed behind his eyes, and his mouth was dry. Groaning, he tried to lift his head, but it was too heavy. The ropes were hardly necessary—he wasn’t sure if he could have moved even if his arms and legs were free. It didn’t feel like the side-effects of a stunning spell—it was almost like he’d been drugged.

He blinked. The room came into focus.

It was his flat. The dirty floor belonged to him—the dusty television had been a gift from James, the sofa a hand-me-down from the Potters, and the rug a street-find. Sirius listened carefully. Someone was in the kitchen. Sirius peered beneath the sofa to see a pair of boots moving around in the kitchen.

Inwardly, he swore. What had happened? He’d been in a scrap—he remembered that. There were three Death Eaters—Rosier, Wilkes, and some other one he couldn’t recognize by voice alone—who had tripped his alarm in Hogsmeade. He’d leapt into action before they could do any serious damage. There was a fight; they were swift but he was faster, and then he remembered their sudden flight, their masked faces disappearing before he could capture one of them. This enraged him. He reported it to Moody, and Moody told him to go home and rest.

Sirius hadn’t gone home, however. He returned London and went to the pub.

It was coming back now: the pub, the man with the haunted eyes—the one who reminded him of his father, who had bought him a drink.

He drugged you.

Sirius was trying to remember when it must have happened. When Sirius arrived at the pub, it was relatively busy, and he sat at the bar where he liked to flirt with whoever was slinging pints. It hadn’t been more than ten minutes before the man came in.

Not a bad looking bloke. A bit worn, a little thin in the face. A Muggle, he’d thought. He wore black jeans, boots, a cotton t-shirt, and brown leather jacket. Yet Sirius caught his gaze, and he felt something very strange. It was like the man could see every mistake he’d ever made in his life—as if he knew precisely who Sirius was.

Sirius was drawn to him, and he was glad when the man asked if he could join him. They spoke blandly for a few minutes, yet there was an undercurrent of electricity between them that thrummed beneath his skin. The man asked rather boring questions—was he from London? Did he have a girlfriend? Where did he go to school? Sirius had come up with alter egos dozens of times, and providing this Muggle with rubbish answers came easily.

“How old are you?” the man wondered.

“Almost twenty-two,” Sirius responded honestly. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-six.”

Sirius wasn’t sure if that surprised him or made perfect sense. He had placed this man anywhere between thirty and middle-aged because the man did not look very old but carried a particular gravitas that only people of a certain age could bear.

“What are you looking for?” Sirius asked. “Someone younger?”

“No. I was looking for you.”

Sirius grinned. “Oh yeah? How’d you know I’d be here?”

Yet the man only looked at him a bit sadly, and the grin slipped from Sirius’s face. The man glanced around to ensure they weren’t overheard before he leaned in, his haunted eyes flickering to the half-drunk beer on the bar.

“People like you aren’t so hard to predict,” he murmured. “What are you looking for?”

“Nothing,” said Sirius. That was true. It had been a long time since he had looked for anything in particular—there were times when anyone would do, and there were others when he was so particular that he went home alone.

The man drained the rest of his own pint and then took a swig of Sirius’s.

“You come here alone often, don’t you?” said the man.

“I don’t usually leave alone.”

“Liar.”

Sirius took his glass back, not keen on letting the man drink the rest for him. There were only a few dregs left.

“Why not? Reckon I’ve got a face only a mother could love?” said Sirius. He grimaced at his beer. The rest was a bit flat, and it had gone warm too. The man, however, caught the bartender’s eye and indicated they both needed another round.

The man shrugged. “If only she did.”

That rankled Sirius. “Do I know you?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Sirius leaned against the bar, his head swimming. He couldn’t remember much else from then on, only bits and blurs as they continued to talk, the man pressing questions and Sirius feeling robotic as he responded, losing his grip as he watched the man watch him, those pale eyes so eerily familiar. He felt sluggish and stupid. The words tumbled from his mouth, and at some point, he felt the man tug on his arm and lead him from the pub.

Now he was remembering—Sirius had been vaguely aware that the situation was not good. The man tugged him along when Sirius began to dig in his heels. No, he recalled thinking. No, I’m not right. Something’s wrong.

“Don’t fight me now,” the man warned. “You were doing so well, Sirius.”

“Who’re you?” Sirius slurred. His tongue wouldn’t move properly.

The man might have answered, but there was a whooshing in his ears. He could hardly see, and the man was pulling him through a door and up a flight of stairs. Sirius had reached into his pocket for his wand but couldn’t find it. The grip on his arm tightened and Sirius weakly fought back.

That was it—it was all he could remember.

Sirius wriggled his fingers. His shoulders ached. How long had he been tied like this?

“Awake, are you?” said the man from the kitchen.

Sirius remained silent.

The boots crossed from the kitchen, out of sight for a moment, and then came around the sofa. Sirius followed the movement, turning his head. He needed to sit up, not lie about with his chest pressed against the floor, but the ropes were too tight.

The man crouched beside him.

“How do you feel?”

“Did…did you...” He could hardly form the words. “Drug me?”

“Yes. Slipped it in when I took your drink. You didn’t notice a thing.”

“Why?” said Sirius, still feeling too sluggish to comprehend. His mouth felt as if it were filled with cotton.

“You’ll learn soon enough,” said the man. “Just sit tight until the drowsiness wears off.”

“Why m’I on the floor?”

“You kept rolling off the sofa, and I got tired of putting you back.”

At least he had tried to fight back.

The man hooked his hands in the rope, pulled until Sirius was upright, and set him against the sofa. Whatever fear Sirius felt a moment ago was trickling away, but he couldn’t understand why—this man held him against his will. Sirius had been drugged and bound and left on the floor of his flat. The man, however, looked at him with curiosity and pity—if this were the man to kill him, Sirius felt oddly at peace with it.

Strong fingers took his chin and turned his face.

“Like what you see?” said Sirius dryly.

“You’re very handsome.”

“S’pose…s’pose you took advantage while I was drugged?”

A smile tugged on the man’s lips, drawing one corner into a soft smirk as he drew a finger from cheek to jaw. Sirius shivered.

“No,” said the man. “Where’s the fun in that?”

An exhale hit Sirius’s face, carrying with it the stale smell of beer and whiskey. How long ago had they left the pub? The window was still dark, and the streetlamp cast its warm beam through the curtains.

He couldn’t think properly. Whatever poison the man had tipped into his drink, it had yet to leave his system, and it was every bit of strength he could muster to keep himself from keeling over sideways.

“Muggle?” asked Sirius. The question fell out unformed.

The man’s smile widened. “Are you asking if I’m a Muggle?”

“Are you?

“No.”

“What d’you want? Why’d you tie me up?”

“You tried to fight me.You might fall for a drugged drink, but you’re clever enough to know when to fight back. I also know how you duel, but we have important things to discuss, and I’d like to keep my limbs attached.”

“I can hardly move,” murmured Sirius, his head feeling heavy.

“Give it time. Are you thirsty?”

Sirius nodded slowly. The man stood and disappeared from view. Get out of these ropes! Do some blasted wandless magic, idiot! At least try to escape! Inhaling, Sirius closed his eyes. Wandless magic was exceedingly difficult even when his hands weren’t tied. Finite, he thought. Finite—Finite—!

The man chuckled as he returned.

“Don’t bother. You’re still drowsy, and you won’t get free without a wand.”

Sirius opened his eyes as the man knelt before him. That face—it was uncannily familiar—almost like his father’s but younger. He looked like a Black, that was certain, but no one he knew. He held the rim of a glass to Sirius’s lips.

“Drink,” he said.

The relief of water coating his dry mouth staved off the humiliation, but only until a few drops dribbled down his chin. When the man pulled away, Sirius felt the weight of sleep tug on him. He didn’t know if it was whatever the man had slipped in his drink earlier or if he was simply exhausted, but he couldn’t stop himself from slumping forward, his face falling in against the man’s chest.

The shirt smelled like cigarettes. They’d both been smoking at the pub, he recalled. A hand trailed through his hair, the nails scraping gently across his scalp, and Sirius couldn’t help a release of air from escaping his lungs.

“What d’you want?” Sirius murmured.

The man’s touch was loving in its gentleness, stroking him with care as if soothing a small child after a bad dream. Sirius closed his eyes. The drug this man had slipped in his drink made him lazy and compliant in a way that would terrify him if he were sober, yet he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I’ve come to warn you,” the man said softly. “You’re about to be sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban.”

“What’re you talking about?” His thoughts were so slow, so sluggish.

“You really don’t suspect him at all, do you?”

Sirius groaned, sinking into the man’s hold. The voice was deep. It lulled him into pliability. The ropes weren’t necessary to keep him in place. All he could do was think about the hand in his hair.

“Remus,” muttered Sirius.

The man scoffed. “Don’t be stupid. Think, Sirius. Really think about it.”

“I—I dunno,” Sirius said. “What’d you give me, anyway?”

The man shoved him suddenly, and Sirius jerked awake. The man held him roughly by the ropes.

“Think, idiot,” he snapped. “You know exactly who I mean. You’re just too arrogant to consider he’s capable of betraying you lot.”

Sirius frowned. It was hard to remember his friends, let alone their names. James. Lily. Remus—

“Peter?” A laugh bubbled in his chest. “You think Peter’s got it in for us?”

Suddenly the man stood, clenching his fists and glowering down at Sirius.

“Look at you,” the man said sneering. “Too conceited to think that anyone isn’t clever or charming could possibly outwit the great Sirius Black. Never stopped once to think that the little sycophant might turn around and stab you in the back. Never considered Peter would stop worshipping you long enough to whisper in Voldemort’s ear, did you?”

“Who are you?”

Yet as soon as the question fell clumsily from his mouth, it hovered between them, lingering like something ugly as if the truth were too obvious and too ridiculous to look at directly. Those pale eyes were so like Sirius’s. The man knew him—knew him too intimately, as if he’d crawled into his skin and lived as Sirius for a time.

Sirius shut his eyes. No. No. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

“No…” Sirius moaned. “What’re you—what’ve you done?” He was slurring, but his mind was waking up. “You can’t do this—can’t change things—”

“Why not?” the man said mildly.

“Because…” Sirius let the 's' drag as he searched for an answer. “Because…you’re not supposed to change the past…”

“You know, I used to think the same thing,” admitted the man. “In fact, when I arrived here a few weeks ago, I did my best to stay hidden. I thought I could remain in the shadows—I’m good at that now—but I realized: I can’t go back. I don’t know how to go back. I think I must have died. I did try to return but there really is no way. So I thought, if I’ve been sent here, maybe I’m meant to stay.”

Sirius tore his eyes from the man’s face, understanding now that it was his own. The ropes were too tight. He tested them again. Was this future self here to kill him? Was he here to take over his body?

Somehow, facing the man he would eventually become filled him with the sort of fear he should have felt when facing a fully-grown werewolf. The Sirius Black that towered over him was dangerous—perhaps even desperate. It had been wise of him to tie him up otherwise, Sirius would have killed him for being so stupid. He glowered up at the man.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the man said. “You’ve got no clue what the future looks like.”

Sirius sneered as his eyes flickered up and down the person who bore very little resemblance to himself. “I think I’ve got some idea. What do you want?”

“I only came here to warn you not to repeat my mistakes.”

“That can’t be all.”

The man shrugged. “Why not?”

“It’s selfish,” said Sirius.

“A bit,” said the man. “But it’s not really about me—or us, rather. Although I don’t wish my past to become your future, your decisions in the coming weeks will destroy more lives than your own. By November, James and Lily will be dead, and Harry will be sent to live with Lily’s sister in Surrey.”

“You’re lying,” Sirius spat. “Who are you, really?”

But the man wasn’t interested in convincing him, and Sirius didn’t need him to anyway. He had already revealed enough—enough to change the future.

“Untie me,” Sirius demanded.

The other man lingered, staring at him with narrowed eyes. Then, without a word, he turned around and took several decisive steps to cross to the door. Sirius snarled at him to come back, but the man would not look at him. The man dropped the wand he’d been carrying on the floor, wrenched open the door, and disappeared as the door slammed behind him. The footsteps faded.

Sirius snarled furiously, shouting after the man to release him, but the man did not return.

It took ten minutes to inch across the flat towards his wand, and he was cursing his future self as he wriggled over the floorboards. But in those minutes, he was piecing together the warning, and realizing with dawning horror the gravity of his mistake.

It’s Peter. It’s Peter. It’s Peter.

#sirius black #my fics #one shot

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sweet-s0rr0w · 1 year ago

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Microfic: I Must Be Lonely

A late birthday microfic, written for the wonderful @getawayfox (look, it balances out @wolfpants' gift which was a couple of weeks early, alright? That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.) Happy happy birthday to fandom's loveliest quadruple threat (writer, artist, reccer, beta/cheerreader). I hope you had a brilliant day! <3

T, 1.8k, no warnings. @drarrymicrofic prompt Simple. Thanks to @tackytigerfic for Irish picking and usual brilliance. This one is also for everyone else who hates night shifts!

Another night shift at the Ministry security desk. If boredom doesn’t get you, the vampires probably will, Draco thinks, sourly. That’s at least half exaggeration, though: Sanguini and his colleagues are always impeccably behaved, hurrying between meetings with barely a glint of incisor on show. But the boredom: now that part’s no joke. Nothing much happens in the Ministry after hours – by midnight, even the most dedicated workaholics have reluctantly ducked into the Floo, leaving Draco to his books, or his fantasy Quidditch, or (briefly and unsuccessfully) his crochet. Sometimes he gets lucky – a disaster necessitating the presence of the on-call Mishaps and Maladies team at the Ministry, perhaps, or an international visitor who’s messed up the time difference – but for the most part it’s lonely work.

Every night, Draco watches as two of the house elves work their slow, methodical way across the Atrium floor from either end, mopping and polishing and casting anti-slip charms until they meet just in front of his desk, some time around five o’clock. Things always get better after that, with the sun rising in the charmed windows and the slow downhill slide until six-thirty, that blessed hour when Draco mumbles his greetings to the day staff, pulling the hood of his robes up to cover his tired eyes, and slopes off towards the Floos.

Midnight until five, then, that’s the difficult time. That’s the hungry but nauseous time, the clammy but shivery time, the grumpy, gloomy, desperately weary time. Helpfully, it’s often the time the morons from the DMLE show up, high on adrenaline and testosterone and god knows what department-approved stimulants, and often, inexplicably, looking to chat utter rubbish.

“Hey! Everyone, look, it’s Malfoy!” bellows Finnigan, his voice rattling through Draco’s skull after three hours of total silence. He marches up to Draco’s desk, at the head of a group of what might appear, at first glance, to be drunken teenagers, but which Draco knows is actually made up of fairly senior Aurors. “How’re things, Malfoy? Ministry treating you well, I hope?”

Draco straightens his robes, shoving his folded up copy of the Prophet out of sight.

“It’s been a good day, Malfoy,” Finnigan continues, clearly not interested in waiting for Draco’s response. “A bloody good day, you know?” His grin is wide and toothy as he thumps his clenched fist against his chest and flings his head back. “Another victory in the fight for truth and justice, and all that’s―”

“Alright, Seamus,” says a voice from the back of the crowd. “Leave him alone, yeah?”

“Hey! Harry! Here’s the hero of the hour! C’mere.” Finnigan tucks a firm arm around Potter’s neck, pulling him forwards, until he’s shoved up against the front of the reception desk, smiling apologetically. “See,” says Finnigan, and his pupils are barely visible when he leans closer, “another bunch of Muggle-hating scumbags behind bars, and it’s all thanks to Hazza here. Good triumphs over evil again, and the world—”

“—hang on Seamus, isn’t that stuff classified?” cuts in Longbottom – who, as far as Draco can tell, is still every bit as much fun as he’d been at school.

“Oh, give over, Neville,” Finnigan spits, mercifully turning away from Draco, “I didn’t say who it was, did I? Classified would be if I’d said oi, Malfoy, d’you know they’re running a Muggle fighting ring out the back of the Reaper’s Arms—?” There’s a collective groan. “What?”

“You’re such a twat, Seamus,” says a short-haired witch next to Neville, folding her arms.

“Oh, I’m a twat, am I?”

“Yeah. You are.”

Then someone else starts up, voices crowding over each other in an unbearable racket. Draco rests back in his chair, closing his eyes, his tired mind picturing the little yapping Crups that Mother’s friend Verity used to bring over; the ones Mother pretended to coo over even while they left puddles of piss on the Persian carpet.

A shadow falls across his desk: it’s Potter, leaning forwards, blocking out the harsh glare of Lumos off the wall tiles. When Draco blinks and looks up, he finds that Potter’s shivering a little, his hair damp and stuck to his forehead. “Sorry about that lot,” he says, softly. “You know how they can get.”

“It’s fine,” Draco says, tightly. “Nice work on the, er, Muggle fighting stuff. Sounds pretty impressive.”

“Oh, cheers,” says Potter, with a shrug. “Just doing my job, you know how it is.”

Draco looks down at his desk: the bonsai yew that reminds him of home, his stupid cheap silver-plated letter-opener-cum-emergency-vampire-repellent, the battered copy of Birdsong he’s been slogging through for two months straight. “Not really,” he replies, shrugging.

“Ah, you’re not missing much. Five minutes of excitement, tops; I’d take a good Seeker’s game over that any day. But, you know—” he glances back over his shoulder, “—truth, and freedom, and all that rousing stuff from the superhero films Seamus watches. How’s your shift going, anyway?”

“Not bad,” Draco says, sitting up taller, sliding the Prophet back into view. “By the way, who’ve you got down for third Chaser? I’m stuck between Lyons and Campos.”

“You should go with Beni, definitely. Ollie’s been raving about his form all summer.” Potter leans over even further into Draco’s space, pushing his glasses back up his nose as he squints down at the page. “You got Chang down for Keeper?”

“McFarlane.”

“McFarlane?” Potter laughs, incredulously. “Seriously? Bloody Magpies fans. Completely deluded, the lot of you.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Well, Potter, I guess we’ll see.”

There’s a scuffle in the background, followed by cheers. “Coming, Harry?” Finnigan calls, wiping blood from his lip. “Hey, Malfoy, we’re heading out after this. It’s House night at XPulso; they’ve got three for ones on Rusty Nails, and we’re going to get Harry here laid.”

Harry stiffens, his eyes widening. “Er—”

“Yeah, I’ve got your back, mate. Maybe we can sort Neville out too, if anyone’ll have him.”

“I’m married, you knob!”

“You should really come along, Malfoy. It’ll be a laugh.”

Potter, still with his back to Finnigan, makes a faint choking sound.

“Sadly, Finnigan,” says Draco, trying to avoid Potter’s eyes, “I’m afraid I’m stuck at this desk for the foreseeable. But you lot have a great time. It sounds… memorable.”

Finnigan just shrugs. “Ah, your loss. C’mon then, boys.”

“Boys?”

“It’s just an expression, Davis, what d’you—”

They’re off, finally, all backslaps and hooting laughter, and no-one’s looking at Draco anymore, which is a small mercy. Potter reaches down to steal a crisp from the unopened packet at the back of the desk. “Anyway,” he says, mouth full, breath salt-and-vinegar scented, “’s been good to see you, Dra – Malfoy.”

“Yeah,” says Draco, glumly, and he hates himself for envying them all. “You too.”

***

Draco tries not to think about Potter, he really does. It’s hard, though, not to wonder what he’s doing – who he’s dancing with, where he’s sleeping – when all you’ve got for the night’s entertainment is Miffy and Jinks, a dodgy alarm on Level Five, and yesterday’s Prophet. He dithers for a while over his Fantasy Quidditch choices, trying to pretend he doesn’t care what Potter thinks, then Diffindos the completed page carefully out of the newspaper and tucks it into his pocket. Both house elves make it across the floor without incident. Through the window behind his desk, Draco watches the sun begin to rise over Salisbury Plain, as slowly, grudgingly, night gives way to day.

“You off?”

It’s his replacement; showered and shaven and far too bright. Draco nods grimly at him.

“Anything to report?”

“Nothing.” He gets to his feet, rolling his shoulders and renewing the Protego on his tree, grateful, as always, for the speed and convenience of the Floo. Five minutes from desk to bed, via blackout charms and a good Silencio; that’s the way to do it.

Something’s off today, though – Draco can tell, as soon as he lands, drained and unsteady, on his hearth. The heating’s already on, for one – he can’t see his breath in the air, which is a welcome change – and hang on… is that the smell of bacon? His nausea evaporates, instantly, as he follows his nose, half in a dream, only to find—

“Morning.”

Potter’s standing by the hob, grinning, and the flat’s a little more smoky than usual, but there’s eggs frying, and sausages on the grill, and just then the toast pops up and, well, Draco could just about kiss him right now.

So he does.

“Oh my god,” he says, when Potter pulls away, popping a crispy bit of bacon into Draco’s mouth instead.

“Good?”

“Oh my god,” Draco says again, salt flooding his mouth. “But what – what are you doing here?”

“Well, I was up all night too. You’re sleeping today, I’m sleeping today – I thought, well, this way at least we get to sleep together properly for once. And I know how hungry you get after night shifts. Here.”

Dizzy with tiredness, or the cooking fumes, or possibly something else entirely, Draco takes the ketchup over to the table, then slumps down hard into a chair. Potter brings over the plates, pulls his own chair in close.

They eat in comfortable silence, and it’s only once Draco’s blissfully full of sausages and buttered toast and beautifully seasoned egg, that he finally works up the courage to speak. “So Seamus’ efforts failed, I take it?” he says, lightly.

Potter snorts. “Shut up,” he mumbles, through a mouthful of beans. “Seamus passed out after the second round of shots. The rest of my night was spent escorting him back to his cousin's house on the Knight Bus. Why,” he says, grinning, “were you actually worried?

“Of course not,” Draco replies, too quickly, then sips his orange juice to try and disguise the lie.

“That’s good. Because I want to tell them, Draco.”

Draco freezes, glass in hand.

“No, I mean it,” Potter says, dropping his knife to take hold of Draco’s forearm. The Mark aches like a bruise, but beneath Potter’s fingers, the pain’s almost sweet. “Look, you know what those shifts are like; you know how they make you feel. The raid, and then getting everything wrapped up, and then seeing you at that bloody desk – the last thing I wanted was other people’s hands on me, Draco. All I could think about was how sick I am of acting the part, of pretending I’m interested, when what I’m really interested in is…” He gestures at the room, at their plates, then, finally, at Draco. “This. You.”

“I—” Draco begins, and if his voice is a bit wobbly, well, he can blame that on the tiredness, can’t he? Beside him, Potter's resumed blithely eating his bacon, eyes heavy-lidded, as though nothing he’s said was at all out of the ordinary. Draco swallows. “They’ll say you’ve lost your mind,” he says, pressing his socked foot against the knob of Potter’s ankle.

Potter nudges him back. “Well, maybe I have. Working nights will do that, after all.”

#drarry #ss writes #happy birthday el!#god i am shit with deadlines #forgive me please

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ellecdc · 2 months ago

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Heyyy! I’m usually a silent tumblr warrior but omg I keep coming up with so many different Au’s in my head. 🙈 Also I love your writing it’s godsent. 😏

Tonight I was thinking of Model!Reader x photographer!Remus 😖💔. Who are like totally obsessed with each other and are always supporting their careers. Remmy getting sooo many candid photos of reader and using them in his portfolio. Along with them both going to each others viewings/ runway shows. I just can’t omg so many possibilities ..🥲

~🪼

this is so. stinking. cute. the second I received this I had to send it to @maladaptiveescapism (my muggle AU queen who gifted us all the beautiful, beautiful man that is chef!sirius) and she came up with the SWEETEST meet cute. thank you for sharing this prompt, lovie!! I hope I did it justice <3

Remus Lupin x fem!reader who ends up being Remus' big break [2.6k words]

CW: fluff, swearing, reader has a dog and he's adorable, meet cute, fame

Remus needn’t look in a mirror (or one of the windows of the shops on the street) to know that his nose was pink; he had always been very sensitive to the cold, and it was only exacerbated by his love for it.

It was his favourite time of year; waking up in the morning when the ground was still covered in shimmery frost before turning into a misty fog as the sun poked its way through trees and buildings. The trees and grass were still grasping desperately at the shades of greens that it usually wore, but the leaves - determined in their journey - insisted on turning various shades of oranges, yellows, reds, and browns.

Remus loved them.

He also found that people were perhaps their most beautiful when cold - he hardly ever left for his morning walks without his camera, which also meant he left for his morning walks without a pair of mittens or gloves which might impede his ability to control the lens and shutter - and there was something about the cool air that brought out the most beautiful colours in not only the trees, but also of the people.

And Remus yearned to capture it.

He’d found a beautiful elderly man enjoying a mocha outside a small coffee shop who he chatted with for a while before he asked him if he’d be okay to take some pictures. Every crinkle near the corners of his eyes was evidence of laughter and joy, every wrinkle between his brow a testament to years of consideration and thought, every divot around his mouth was a story he shared, a kiss he gave, a meal he enjoyed.

Every deep line on the man’s face - Albus had been his name - told a story, and Remus was lucky enough to have captured even a fraction of it with his camera.

Remus’ fingers were struggling to thaw out in his pockets as he took the long way home - traversing through the quiet park in the centre of the city which was slowly becoming more lively as the morning wore on and the sun rose higher, though it was still quiet enough for Remus to enjoy.

Some days he had more luck than others, not because there was a lack of beautiful people - because there was surely no shortage of that - but rather nothing that inspired Remus to create.

Some days it frustrated him, and some days he was able to remind himself he was really doing this for fun and not being paid for his portraits save what small income he made through creator perks on various social media platforms.

How nice it would be to get paid for his portraits, though.

Remus had paused in his walk to bend over and pick up a disposable coffee cup from the sidewalk to put it in a rubbish bin when he spotted the perfect picture.

There was a wrought-iron and wooden slat park bench a few paces away from the footpath in the park sitting in a lone ray of sun that managed to force its way through the treetops as if some deity had placed a spotlight on it to ensure Remus would notice it.

The patch of grass that the sun was kissing was melting into its usual green whilst the grass surrounding it was still its unique combination of dark sage, green, and silver courtesy of the autumn twilight.

A senior looking dog - a border collie, if Remus guessed correctly - attached to a simple red lead seemed to have found himself a good stick for chewing as he basked in the sun, the lead looped gently around the wrist of his person who sat on the bench with a ratty looking paperback in their hand.

You were ethereal.

You had one hand shoved into a knitted mitten whilst the other held your book, though a second mitten sat ready should you no doubt decide your free hand was too cold and needed to switch. You had multiple layers on and a comfy pair of shoes. Clearly out for a walk yet knowing that your dog did less walking now-a-days and spent more time in sunny spots with a nice stick, you came prepared with a novel to enjoy the transitionary season much the same way Remus did.

And you were stunning.

You looked like a sip of warm apple cider, like the trees had parted their branches just to give the sun somewhere to direct its warmth and light, like the sun came out only for the chance of seeing you.

Remus actually took a look around him to see if anyone else was seeing what he was - nothing short of a masterpiece - but the masses appeared wholly unaware that they were in the presence of something hallowed.

He lost his nerve more times than he could count as he tried to convince his boots to take him in your direction, to start up the conversation the same way he always did with every other stranger he stopped on the street to take their picture. But this felt different, you were different, you-

…were looking over at him; your dog ceasing to chew on his stick in favour of staring intently at Remus alerting you to the fact that you had an admirer (at best, or a stalker at worst).

To avoid looking like the latter, Remus forced his feet to bring him to you, smiling at you as you marked your place in your book and closed it before offering him a wary smile of your own.

“Pardon me, I’m terribly sorry to intrude, but, erm, well-” sodding son of a bitch, stick to the script, “my name is Remus and I’m a street photographer, I uhm, I take portraits of people I pass on the street and post them to my socials.” He offered awkwardly as he pulled out his phone - numb fingers nearly dropping it as he raced to try to prove to you he wasn’t some creep with a long-distance lens on his camera hanging around public parks - wincing as the end of his sentence lilted up in the form of a question.

“I couldn’t help but notice you and your dog, here,” he pushed on, said dog still watching him carefully and tilting his head at the end of every one of his sentences, “and you look beautiful- or, rather, it makes a beautiful picture! I, well, I guess I was wondering if you’d mind if…I took your picture?”

And by some absolute twist of fate, you had the good graces to simply smile at him like he wasn’t some awkward bumbling fool which only served to make you even more beautiful as you handed him his phone back.

“That’s really cool, Remus,” you offered, sounding as though you were testing how his name felt forming from your lips as you made eye contact with him, “thank you. I’d be happy to be your model.”

“Brilliant.” Remus let out with a breath of relief. “Now are you and…” he paused as he gestured toward your companion.

“Ziggy.”

“...Ziggy a package deal or should I ask him his rates?”

You let out a bubbly laugh which encouraged Ziggy to sit up - albeit slowly due to his age - and cock his head at you.

“What do you say, Ziggs?” You asked the canine who cocked its head the other way. “Do you want to model too?”

As if the dog knew you were waiting for a response, he let out a polite bark before laying back down.

“Well there you have it, Remus; we’re all yours.”

The picture returned to its previous perfection; between you returning to your novel sans one mitten and Ziggy’s focus back to his treasure, Remus was able to capture you exactly how he wanted. You were wearing a soft smile which only grew when Remus nearly bumped into a jogger in an attempt to get a different angle.

You held your book to your mouth to hide your laughing as he called a hasty apology to the girl who barely slowed down on his account, and he shot a cute picture of you like that, too; your eyes full of mirth and crinkling at the corners in a quiet laugh at his expense.

Remus was infatuated.

It felt blasphemous in some way, but Remus had to admit he was very chuffed to have an excuse to join you on your alter bench, pretending as though you leaning into him - for warmth or for a better view of his camera screen, he wasn’t sure - didn’t make him feel like his heart was trying to exit out of his throat as you sung your praises for the pictures.

“Remus.” You hissed as if you really couldn’t believe your eyes. “These are really good! Oh my god…”

Remus chuckled awkwardly as you brought the camera closer to you, ultimately forcing Remus to breathe your air as the camera strap pulled his body closer to yours.

“You’re very talented.” You added earnestly before looking up at him with something akin to awe. “Do you have a portfolio?”

“Erm, well,” he mumbled, suddenly very aware that he was nearly on top of a relative stranger in this public park at about 8:30 in the morning, “I…sort of? I mean, I have my socials.”

You nodded at him and looked back down at his camera before passing it back to him. “Are you going to post these?”

“I’d very much like to, if you’re okay with that?”

“Please do.” You agreed readily. “Do you tag people in your portraits?”

Remus nearly snickered as he thought of Albus this morning who seemed completely perplexed by the phone in Remus’ hand let alone by the concept of social media. “Sometimes; not everyone I photograph is online. Would you like to be tagged?”

“Yes please.” You beamed at him; Remus’ fingers itched to lift his camera back up to capture you like this, too. Fuck, you were beautiful. “My mum’s always saying she doesn’t have nearly enough pictures of me.”

“Well we can’t have that.” Remus chuckled as he pulled out his phone and opened the notes app so you could add your Instagram handle.

“It was very nice meeting you, Remus.” You offered, and Remus felt something close to shock at how truly sincere you sounded. “You should be charging people for that.” You added, gesturing to the camera hanging from his neck.

“I could always start now.” He offered in jest, and he was rewarded again by your bubbling laugh; Remus felt nearly torn at having to leave, every shift of your face and expression begging to be photographed, and every muscle in his body begging to do the photographing.

But when he offered you a smile and a slightly awkward wave as he walked away - the sound of your laugh still echoing in his mind - he wondered if maybe, in some universe out there, there was a version of him that got to commit every expression that crossed your face - to memory or film, either would suffice.

𓆱𓇢𓆸𓆱𓇣𓆱𓇢𓆸𓆱𓇣𓆱

The following day, Remus couldn’t escape the office meeting quick enough; his phone buzzing incessantly the last twenty five minutes of the forty five minute planning session - that he was supposed to be taking dutiful notes throughout - burning a hole through his trouser pocket and into the muscle of his thigh.

35 missed calls from Sirius.

12 missed calls from James

Sirius: answer the fucking phone, you sod!!

Sirius: when the fuck did you take these!?!? (4 attachments)

Sirius: Lupin I STG

James: Lily is freaking out!!! Did you get an autograph??

James: who am I kidding. You had no idea, did you?

“What the fuck…” Remus murmured under his breath as he scrolled through the notifications on his lock screen, blushing something fierce when a coworker brushed past him reminding him he was supposed to be being professional which generally meant not swearing.

The second Remus stepped onto the pavement outside of his building, his phone started ringing again.

“What the fuck is going on?” He answered instead of saying ‘hello, Sirius; alright?’.

“What the fuck is going on!?” Sirius barked back. “How about you tell me when the fuck you met Y/N L/N!?”

Remus felt his eyebrows cinch as he pulled his phone from his face when another text came in.

Lily: I’m so fucking jealous right now!

Lily: also, I should probably say congrats; I’m sure this is going to be great for your career!

“Remus!”

“Christ, Sirius, I’m here.” Remus muttered as he brought the phone back to his ear. “But I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Son of a bitch.” Sirius muttered on the other end of the line. “The pictures you posted yesterday!”

“Of the man? Or-”

“The bird! Remus! Y/N L/N!”

Remus suddenly realised why the name sounded familiar; it had been your instagram handle.

“Oh! Do you know her?”

“Do I know her? Mate, she’s fucking famous.”

“What?”

“She’s a sodding model! She’s been in Sports Illustrated, walked in New York Fashion Week and Paris Fashion Week, she was in a music video recently; fuck who was the artist…”

“Wha- what the fuck? How did I not know this?” Remus asked dumbly.

“God, you’re thick. Did you not notice the fucking blue checkmark next to her name on instagram when you tagged her?”

Remus was so glad Sirius couldn’t see him right now; he always felt properly chastised when it was Sirius handing his ass to him, but this felt bigger somehow.

“Well… I don’t know, I’m verified too but that doesn’t mean anyone knows me!” He argued half-heartedly; he really hadn’t noticed…

Sirius snorted. “Yeah well, everyone’s gonna know you now, mate.”

“What do you mean?” Remus asked sternly.

“I mean” Sirius started theatrically “that she’s shared your original post to her story and posted your pictures to her page and tagged you as the photographer. She only posted it two hours ago and it already has almost 70,000 likes. Have you not looked at instagram?”

“Sirius, I work in a fucking corporate office, I can’t be on my phone all of the time.” He spat rather petulantly.

“Bully for you.” Sirius muttered in response. “Check now then.”

Remus stole himself as he closed the call screen that simply consisted of a terrible picture of Sirius before opening up instagram.

The notification tab simply read 100+, but when he moved to view his profile he realised he had gained nearly 10,000 followers just since leaving for work this morning.

“Jesus…” Remus breathed out slowly.

“You might want to put a portfolio together, mate.” Sirius offered, tone still slightly teasing, though the edges were softer and Sirius’ pride was nearly palpable even through the phone. “This might finally be your big break.”

All because Remus had noticed you - a beautiful girl - in the park with a book and a dog sitting in a lone ray of sun that managed to force its way through the treetops… as if some deity placed a spotlight on it to ensure Remus would notice.

And of course he noticed you; how could he not?

I'd be happy to be your model. Do you have a portfolio? You should be charging people for that.

This might finally be your big break.

Little did either of you know that you would end up being Remus’ big break.

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mxlfoydraco · 2 years ago

Note

do you know any fics where harry is jealous of blaise cause he and draco are really close and/or touchy friends?

Thank u 😩

I can give you jealous Harry in general, adding on to this list Jealous Harry

Jealous Harry

Around You Moves by ignatiustrout (29k)

Harry knew Draco was gay when he invited him to move in. He’s never had a problem with this. So why does he feel so weird about Draco bringing men home all of a sudden?

Here’s The Pencil, Make It Work by ignatiustrout (49k)

Harry thinks “Why is Malfoy working in a coffee shop in muggle London?” is a much simpler question than, “Are you going to accept that auror offer and, if you don’t, what will you do?”

keep it down by warmfoothills (13k)

Malfoy’s an inconsiderately loud roommate and Harry’s over it.

If It Takes All Night by @tackytigerfic (10k)

It’s not the first time Harry’s been the victim of a botched curse (that’s one of the reasons he doesn’t like crowds), but he feels bad that Malfoy had to get caught up in it too. So they’re bonded. That’s ok, they just have to make sure to be touching at all time. No problem. Because Malfoy smells so nice, and has such lovely shiny hair, and his skin is so very warm. But this isn’t going to be a problem for their friendship at all. Is it, Harry?

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (61k)

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is. And it really doesn’t seem fair that Draco Malfoy is back in Harry’s life, all of a sudden, and even though he’s wandless, and living with Muggles, and making his mother cry with his lifestyle choices, he’s happy. So what’s he doing right, that Harry isn’t? Because things don’t really change, do they? And if Harry can’t be happy, he’ll settle for a good night’s sleep, some posh antiques, and the opportunity to find out what Malfoy has been up to for all these years. And that’s what starts it all.

Make This Leap by @oflights (118k)

Harry owns a struggling restaurant which is running out of money, and his Head Chef has just handed in notice. He's at a bit of a loss as to what to do until Narcissa Malfoy presents an obvious solution: bring in Draco Malfoy as Chef and part owner. Harry does.

Who we are in the shadows by @quicksilvermaid (99k)

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise? Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life. When he comes across Draco Malfoy in the criminal underbelly of Wizarding London and in need of protection, Harry figures bringing him in to face the Ministry’s justice is his ticket back to everything he’s lost. But nothing is exactly as it seems. Not even Harry himself. And as he gets drawn further and further into Malfoy’s world of honour and deception he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew—about his childhood nemesis, the Ministry job he misses so much, and most of all, about himself. What happens when you’re forced to see that you were wrong?

Grounds for Divorce by Tepre (122k)

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter. A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

Two of Us by @sorrybutblog (5k)

The gang goes to a gay bar. Or: five times Harry accidentally pretended to be Draco’s boyfriend and one time Draco told him to put out or shut up.

You Know the Feeling by @sorrybutblog (12k)

Harry waits, but the hex never comes. In the mirror, Malfoy’s eyes dip shut, and he lets out a soft sound that goes right through Harry, heat rising in his body, pushing out against his chest. Malfoy turns slowly, careful not to dislodge Harry’s hand. He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, then speaks, his voice low. “Don’t start something you won’t finish.” *** Harry’s not sure why he’s started hooking up with Malfoy. Boredom, or the heat of the summer, maybe. Whatever it is, it’s nothing too complicated. Right?

He Comes Like a Thunderstorm by @korlaena (140k)

Draco is doing his best to balance the life he wants to live and the life he’s forced to live. He’s nearing the tail-end of a long, post-war probation when Harry Potter crashes back into his life with all the grace of a charging Erumpent, breaking through his carefully constructed rules and routine. Caught up in a whirlwind of sex and lust, Potter unwittingly shows Draco that his life as an Incubus doesn’t have to be as lonely and unfulfilling as he thought, but how long can it last?

Scaredy Cat by GallaPlacidia (53k)

Google drive link by @geesenoises

Draco is cursed and starts uncontrollably turning into a kitten whenever he's stressed. There is, of course, only one logical solution: he must move in with Harry until they figure out how to break the curse.

The Nightmare Club by @diligent-thunder (85k)

Hermione and Ron are going back to Hogwarts to do N.E.W.T.s, Ginny isn't. Harry hasn't decided, until he has, in front of the Wizengamot and now he's responsible for Malfoy as well. A tale of enemies who learn to get along, get it wrong and get it on. Everything is purple, some things are on fire and no-one is sleeping properly. But don't worry, there's tea!

The Arrangement by @thegertie (65k)

It's worked for years. Why change it now?

Under Giant Mountains by @wolfpants (33k)

Harry doesn’t know where he’s going. Everyone else has their life paths figured out; he doesn’t even know where his map is. Who’d have thought Draco Malfoy bathing in a Norwegian forest would be the guidepost Harry needed? In which Harry’s trip to Norway to visit dragon-wrangler Ron introduces him to hikes from hell, mysterious natural magic, foraging, magical bathing, a new and bizarre friendship, and the frustrating, heady allure of his former nemesis turned sexy globetrotting field researcher.

Hook(Up) by @keyflight790 (5k)

Harry wasn't jealous. Not at all. He just wishes his damn assistant would focus on his fucking job rather than flirting with Zabini.

Title of Their Sex Tape by @cibeewastaken (12k)

What are the Wizarding world's most elite law enforcers doing when they aren't catching criminals? It seems Auror Malfoy is often caught throwing food into Auror Potter's mouth when he's mid-yawn. This story isn't about Draco throwing food at Harry. What it does have is: Undercover! Heists! Draco pining for Harry! Harry being oblivious, but also can't help noticing how good Draco smells! Banters and jokes! That's about it.

Graceless Heart by @orange-peony (132k)

Harry is lost and broken after the war. He has gone to countless funerals, broken up with Ginny, moved back into Grimmauld Place—which feels darker and dirtier than ever before despite how much he tries to fix it. He feels lonely and desperate, but he won’t ask for help, and he still can’t cry. When he agreed to help the Aurors at Malfoy Manor over the summer, he thought that he would be breaking dark curses. Harry never thought that he would actually spend his days sorting out dusty books with Draco Malfoy, or teaching him how to cook. Little by little, as they begin to navigate their life post-war, Harry and Draco become intimate…in more ways than Harry could have ever expected.

Two to Lie and One to Listen by @fluxweeed (84k)

It’s weird when Hermione announces that she and Ron have broken up. It’s weirder when this is followed by the revelation that she’s already moved on—and the new object of her affections is Draco Malfoy. Things only get worse from there.

All the Small Things by @bafflinghaze (12k)

Harry didn't know why, but when he saw Ginny and Draco together being so friendly, he had these feelings that he just couldn't understand.

Time Will Tell by @digthewriter (6k)

Harry needed a place to crash and hide, Draco provided that and eventually, he provided more than just a sofa to sleep on. Harry found a way to Draco's bed, but will he ever be able to find his way into Draco's heart?

Constellation Prize by @andithiel (12k)

Harry’s been pining for his friend and Auror partner for almost a year. But despite what his friends say, he and Draco aren't an old married couple...Draco has a boyfriend, there's no way he'd ever be interested. Right?

Break-Up Sex by @gracerene (2k)

Harry doesn't miss the bond, but he does miss Draco.

Head in the Game by @samyistrying (16k)

Harry and Malfoy shagged. But it’s fine, Harry doesn’t have feelings for him or anything. Yet he isn’t too thrilled when Malfoy gets hired as a Sports Therapist for Harry’s team – Puddlemere United. Of course, he gives massages. And of course, Harry has to bear witness to Malfoy making player after player groan in pleasure.

The Matchmaker's Spell by @kbrick (20k)

Thanks to a spell cast over all of wizarding Britain, Draco is forced to marry Harry Potter, who still hates him. But Draco refuses to live a cold, sexless existence, choosing to fill the emptiness in his life and his bed with a parade of lovers. And while Harry may not be able to stand Draco, he despises seeing him with anyone else.

Historians by @oknowkiss (29k)

It’s the Dumbledore’s Army Reunion Holiday, and Harry’s found himself in hot water with his friends once again, after telling them he has a boyfriend he definitely does not have. In an attempt to fix things, he’s made it his colleague on Level Nine, Draco Malfoy’s problem too. Featuring a ski chalet in Switzerland, a pair of bunk beds, and an agreement that should’ve been simple, were it not for all the bloody feelings getting in the way.

Intention by @the-sinking-ship (6k)

Harry really ought to listen to whatever Ron is saying, but it becomes impossible to focus when a familiar figure across the pub curls his fingers around another man’s tie. And when that man leans in with a wolfish smile, Harry sees red, and all he can think is mine.

Peeking behind the Curtain by @wellhalesbells (23k)

Draco sees things he really, really wishes he didn't. If only to get out of all the homework that comes with it.

Take the Air by dysonrules (51k)

Someone or something is attacking Muggles and leaving them for dead. Auror Harry Potter is assigned to the case, but with his usual partner unavailable, he is stuck with the most annoying Auror ever to walk the halls of the Ministry.

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry fic rec #drarry reclist #draco malfoy #drarry fic recs #my recs #fic recs #hpdm #harry potter #jealous harry

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drarryspecificrecsdaily · 1 month ago

Text

2024.10.25

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. My Turn! by Ace_Phoenix [E, 2k]

Harry wasn't thinking when he angrily stormed into the eighth-year showers after losing to Malfoy because of some cheap tricks, and was thinking even less when he approached Malfoy after his own shower, set on putting Malfoy in his place as he should have done years ago. He hadn't expected Malfoy to like it, though.

2. tears will fall, dear by @thisisformyfanfiction [E, 1k]

Harry starts crying during sex, and Draco’s reaction is not what he would have expected.

3. We've Been Here Before by @lilyflxwers [G, 2k]

He had one request when he’d joined the Aurors straight after the war. Freshly eighteen and supposedly single-handledly saving the wizarding world – a load of rubbish, he had joined up with one request. He was the boy that lived, the boy that saved the world, and he had bled with only one request; He would not hunt Draco Malfoy, no one would.

---

Fest/Exchange

1. taken for another spin by Anonymous [G, 2k]

They met again, for the first time after all that ugliness, on this very train. They have been meeting here since. On their train, where nothing else is real. Outside of this—the train and the invitations and the drinks—they don't exist. ★ 2024 H/D Muggle Fair | @hd-fan-fair

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #daily list #2024 #2024.10

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sitp-recs · 7 months ago

Note

hi! please feel free to delete this! but i read through your rec list (and found some amazing fics, ty!!) but i was wondering if you had any recs for fics where harry is helped by draco after the war? like he’s struggling with PTSD and being a public figure and going through it emotionally and draco takes care of him and helps him and they become closer for it and harry learns he doesn’t always have to be this Savior he can just be Harry with Draco! thank you in advance and sorry to bother you!

Not a bother at all, anon! I definitely have some recs for you. Some are set in the immediate post-war, some are set years later but they all explore Harry struggling with war/childhood trauma, fame, loneliness and the unbearable weight of having to find your way when no one else is telling you what to do anymore. Such a relatable feeling tbh. I hope you enjoy these!

Unseen by astolat (M, 11k)

When he wasn’t wearing it, he got jumpy, always waiting for someone to come at him wanting something—and now they did it even more urgently, if they ever saw him, because most of the time, nobody did.

Holly and Hawthorn, Thistle and Thyme by bryoneybrynn (T, 31k)

After the war, Harry can’t shake the feeling that something is very wrong with him and he has a terrible feeling he knows what that “something” might be. He has a terrible feeling Malfoy might know, too.

Expecto Patronum by @writcraft (E, 35k)

As Draco Malfoy negotiates his feelings for the wizarding world's brightest star, he becomes increasingly attached to Harry and unravels the secrets he keeps hidden from the rest of the world.

(Un)wanted by @aibidil (E, 36k)

Ginny's pregnant, then she's not and Harry's single. Harry, again with no family, doesn't know what to do with this turn of events, or how to find a new life—post-war, post-Ginny, post-abortion—in which he belongs. He doesn't expect that life to include dancing to the Backstreet Boys with Hermione and Draco Malfoy. A story of finding belonging in the unexpected.

He Who Must Not Be Normal by lettered (E, 41k)

Potter has fame and fortune and posh clothes and all he wants is a simple life. Draco has a flat and a cat and a steady job and all he wants is a complicated life. Which makes you think this story has something exciting like body-swapping, but it doesn’t.

Unseen by RenVeree (T, 47k)

Harry Potter finally has the chance to leave England and its expectations for The Chosen One behind for good. All he has to do is survive one Auror training conference overseas with Draco Sodding Malfoy.

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (E, 61k)

The Way Down by lettered (T, 65k)

Harry is overwhelmed by his own power and fame and angst, so he's become a hermit. Draco Malfoy is tired of the melodrama.

Harry Potter and the elusive day off by pleasebekidding (E, 71k)

Auror Potter needs a fucking break. He is wiped. He is exhausted. He probably didn't intend to put himself into a magical coma but these things happen. And who cares, really? He is comfortable in a house where he has hidden away all the shit he can't deal with.

I Am Not Who I Became by mab_di (E, 93k)

Draco left England after the trials and has travelled the world meeting wizards and Muggles from different cultures and with vastly different relationships to magic, each other, and the natural world. Now he's a fisherman in Finland on commercial vessels. Harry has been struggling since the war and has become a recluse while trying to write his autobiography.

Who we are in the shadows by @quicksilvermaid (E, 100k)

A Sword Laid Aside by korlaena (E, 128k)

When Draco’s cover is blown during a deep undercover operation and the Ministry is compromised, Ron takes Draco to the only safe place he can think of—Potter. Hiding out with a taciturn Harry Potter, who has been missing from the Wizarding World for almost two decades after a shocking fall from grace, is nothing like Draco thought it would be

By the Grace by lettered (T, 140k)

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

where all the veins meet by @saxamophone (E, 146k)

It's the summer of 1998. The battle is over, and Voldemort is dead, but Harry still has more questions than answers. Who is he without a piece of Voldemort's soul in his head? What is he supposed to do now?

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #Draco helps Harry heal his trauma

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sassy-cissa · 8 days ago

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Claiming my H/D Muggle Fair fic

Title: There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact. Pairing: Draco/Harry Rating: NC-17/Explicit Word Count: 33.7 Tags: Muggle Private Eye Harry Potter, Ex-Auror Harry Potter, Worried Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Unspeakable Hermione Granger, Head Auror Ron Weasley, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Post-Second Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry Potter), Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mystery, Getting Together, Case Fic, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Hand Jobs, Lost friends, Broken Hearts, Banter, Happily Ever After Summary: Draco seemed to be the only one who found the circumstances surrounding Pansy's disappearance to be strange. When several days pass and attempts to convince the authorities to take action have failed, he seeks out the services of a little-known PI...

Notes: Thank you to my "team" – to oldenuf2nb who once again pulled this story out of the rubbish bin and made it readable, to timothysboxers who listened to me whinge about this fic for the last three years and offered brilliant advice, and finally to lettersbyelise who also listened to me bitch and moan while writing this and encouraged me to keep going when I wanted to quit. This fic was started in 2021 and fortunately fell right in line with this fest, giving me the push I needed to finish it.

The title is from The Boscombe Valley Mystery - a Sherlock Holmes Short Story.

#drarry #drarry fic #harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry fanfic #fic by sassy cissa

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waywardxrhea · 4 months ago

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Part of Your World - George Weasley

Chapter 1

pairing: George Weasley x fem!Muggle!reader (no use of y/n)

installment list / next chapter

word count: 5,571

content: fluff, first meetings, sleazy ex-partner, humor, protective friends.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

Do you ever think you know exactly how your life is supposed to turn out? What you’ll do when you get out of school, how you’ll spend your free time, your perfect living space? As your last year of secondary school was coming to a close you thought you had all of that figured out. You thought you would be a full time performer spending your time rehearsing with your best friends in your spunky flat in Camden. That was until one fateful day when you met a fiery redhead named George Weasley.

One Saturday evening you were sitting on a blanket you had strewn across the soft grass at Regent's Park. You got so lost in your own little world playing your guitar and singing that you didn’t even notice a pair of redheads mystifying a crowd of onlookers with their magic. The redheads in question of course were the Weasley twins, Fred and George, being their usual almost reckless selves and dancing on the edge of breaking the rules of the Wizarding World. To the onlooking Muggles, these twins were simply wonderful at sleight-of-hand magic. In reality though, they were using very basic vanishing spells they had learned in their fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as well as testing out some products for their joke shop: Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

Why were the Weasley twins on the outskirts of London performing magic you may ask? Why for fun of course! While the two got to run their dream joke shop every day, they too needed to let off some steam sometimes, and entertaining Muggles around the London area had become their favourite pastime in the evenings. Well, that and the fact that they could stick it to the Ministry by coming close to breaking the Statute of Secrecy, but never quite revealing their true powers to the onlooking Muggle crowds.

When George was talking the crowd up as he passed the performance off to focus on his brother, he looked beyond the immediate faces and saw a beautiful girl strumming a guitar. Now, while George didn’t believe in that whole love at first sight rubbish, seeing this young lady was the closest thing that’s ever come to changing his mind. Without a moment’s hesitation, George whispered under his breath, “Accio beautiful girl,” while motioning his hidden wand in your direction.

And just like that, you stopped your strumming to the song White Horse by Taylor Swift and got the inexplicable urge to go see what the now large crowd was watching. You flipped your guitar around on its strap so it would rest on your back as you made your way over to see what was happening. When you arrived, you saw both of the twins juggling items between one another, making it seem like they somehow disappear when they hit one twin’s hand and reappear in the other’s! All the onlookers surrounding them craned their necks to try and see one of them slip up and accidentally reveal how they were pulling the trick off, but none could figure it out.

You looked on in pure awe, your mouth slightly ajar at the sight in front of you. You were so transfixed on the spectacle that you almost didn’t notice when one of the twins motioned you forward until someone nudged you lightly and pointed in his direction. “Me?” you asked quietly.

“Yes you, the beauty with the guitar, step right up for the finale,” George said with a warm smile as he extended his hand to you while the crowd parted. When you were face to face and his eyes locked with your sparkling ones, his usual confidence wavered for a moment and his heart skipped a beat. He shook it off quickly though and asked, “And what may your name be?”

A bit flustered, you managed to stutter out your name in response to the question. He smiled warmly and said your name like he was testing it out. “How do you feel about being a part of the finale?” he asked with a wink that made your heart flutter. The wink and the guy’s good looks rendered you speechless, so all you managed to get out was a nod in response which earned a cheer from the crowd. George smiled a contagious smile at you as his brother pulled another young woman from the crowd as well.

“Hello,” the other girl said with a small smile as you both stood in front of the twins.

The crowd waited with bated breath to see what the finale would be and the anticipation rose as George asked his brother, “Ready Fred?”

“Ready George,” he replied before the two of them seemed to pull flowers out of thin air! The crowd applauded the feat as the twins took their bows before handing the flowers to the girls they pulled from the crowd.

“So your name’s George, huh?” you asked as the crowd began to disperse.

“It is, but you can call me yours,” he replied with a wink and a kiss to your knuckles before handing you the flowers.

“Wow, I uh- wow,” you stuttered out, feeling heat rush to your cheeks in response to the words. It had been years since anyone had flirted with you so you forgot what a rush it was.

Before you could regain any semblance of words to say back, Fred wrapped his arm around George’s shoulders and said, “Oi Georgie, you oughta take her out to dinner first I reckon!”

You giggled before finally gaining your confidence back and saying, “Your brother seems to know what’s the crack. Can I have your number so we can make dinner plans, Georgie?”

George panicked for a moment because of course he didn’t have a Muggle phone or anything, so he smoothly replied, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Oh, playing hardball I see?” you asked.

“I just like the chase,” he replied with a wink.

“So do you two do this for a living?” you asked to keep the conversation going.

“Somewhat,” George replied vaguely.

“We mostly do this in the park for the love of it though,” Fred replied, steering the conversation away from their career path.

“Well you two are quite impressive! I’d like to see what else you can do,” you told them. Before you could say anything else, your cell phone let out a notification tone indicating that your friend Abbie was texting you. You read the message and quickly said, “Well hey I gotta go, I��m about to be late for rehearsal. Maybe I’ll see you around again?”

“I’ll look forward to it,” George replied with a smile that you returned before turning away to pick up your blanket and head off to the school for one of the now typical evening rehearsals for the upcoming musical. Throughout the rest of the night, you couldn’t keep your mind from drifting back to George. There was just something special about him, something truly magical…

Over the next week, George and you made your way to the park in hopes of seeing each other, but you were just shy of seeing one another every night, spinning around like two sides of a coin. That was until the next Sunday when you were playing the backing music to one of your songs from the upcoming musical and singing along while looking at your score to make sure you had every note down just right. As you finished up the chorus, you were startled by a voice saying, “Practically perfect indeed.”

You looked up to see George approaching, his hands tucked into the pockets of his stylish coat with a smile on his face. You smiled back and said, “Hey you.”

“I haven’t seen you the past few days,” he told you.

“I haven’t seen you,” you countered with a laugh. “I’ve been here every night running my lines and songs with a couple of friends.”

“In hopes of seeing me?” George asked, a teasing tone evident in his voice. You felt heat rush to your cheeks yet again and failed to come up with a witty comeback to his flirting before George offered out his hand as he continued with, “Either way, I’m glad I had the time to get the nerve to ask this: would you want to go out on a date? I had some time to think about what Freddie said and decided why not.”

“Oh wow, uh sure, when?” you stuttered out.

“No time like the present I reckon,” he replied before helping you up and placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“I’m not so sure I’m exactly dressed for a date, I mean look at you!” you replied while gesturing at his posh outfit, suddenly self conscious about your casual one.

“Nonsense, you look beautiful,” George countered with a warm smile.

“You really are a charmer, huh?”

“I just go after what I want,” he told you with a wiggle of his eyebrows that made you laugh. He paused for a moment before asking, “So what do you say? We can start off slow with getting a spot of tea.”

“Tea sounds nice,” you replied with a nod. “I know this really good place just up the road if you want to go there.”

“Lead the way,” George told you before he helped gather all of your things into your oversized bag, hooking it over his shoulder and carrying it for you despite your protests. “A lady shouldn’t have to carry a heavy bag like this when she’s in good company,” he said. You rolled your eyes and laughed in response, finally giving in and letting him carry the bag.

Once you two sat down at a table outside a small tea shop, you held the warm cup in your hands as you asked, “So do you want to play an ice-breaker game?”

Not exactly confident in his knowledge of Muggle ice-breakers, George replied, “Sure, you go first,” in hopes of gaining an understanding of the custom once you started.

“Let’s start off easy, do you have any siblings?” you asked.

“If I get a point for every sibling I have then I’m definitely winning this game,” George replied with a laugh.

“You have a lot?” you asked, your eyebrows raising as you took a sip from your cup.

“Five brothers and a sister to be exact. Might as well count my youngest brother’s mates as another brother and sister too,” he told you.

“Wow! Holidays must be… chaotic in your family,” you replied in disbelief.

“Travel’s a bit easier than you might think,” he replied. “In terms of Christmas though, Mum always knits us sweaters with our initial on them. I don’t know how she’s got the time with how many of us there are.” He paused for a moment before smiling and adding, “Don’t tell her this because I have a reputation to uphold, but I secretly love getting them.”

You mimed, zipping your lips shut and tossed away the invisible key before you replied, “Your secret is safe with me.”

“What about you? How many siblings do you have?”

“Oh it’s just me, Mum, and Dad,” you replied. You took a sip of your drink and said, “Sometimes I do wish I had a sibling though.”

“If I could give you a couple of mine I would,” George told you with a laugh. “Not Percy though, he’s a prat,” he said with a roll of his eyes. Before you could ask about Percy because that would mean potentially letting something about the Wizarding World slip, he said, “I guess it’s my turn. What’s your middle name?”

“Louise,” you replied. You laughed lightly, embellishing your answer with, “Very, very common name, but it’s after my Gran so I love it.”

“I’s a beautiful name,” George told you with a smile.

“What about yours?”

“No middle name, but sometimes Mum calls me Fred. Other times Fred and I call ourselves Gred and Forge,” he replied with a chuckle.

You laughed at the remark before asking, “Do you have any pet peeves?”

George thought on this one before replying, “Getting in trouble for harmless pranks. At school or home Fred and I would always get scolded or detention for stuff that didn’t even hurt anyone. I don’t get the harm in pranks if they can make someone having a bad day laugh without being at the expense of others.”

“So you like to make people feel better when they’re having a rough go at it?”

“I try to at least. My philosophy is that if you’re laughing you aren’t thinking about the bad, at least for a moment.”

“That’s super sweet,” you replied as you tore off a bit of your pastry.

“What about you?”

“Well now my answer seems super prissy…” you said with a sheepish laugh.

“Oh don’t say that, I’m sure it isn’t that bad!” He paused for a moment before saying, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

You nodded, but were still quiet for a few seconds before finally telling him, “Well… I just hate when people chew with their mouth open, it’s disgusting and irks me so much!” As you were giving your answer, George had been putting a piece of his pastry into his mouth and smirked upon hearing the words. “Don’t you do it!” you exclaimed with a laugh while covering your ears and closing your eyes for a moment.

George finished his bite normally and respectfully before telling you, “And that my dear was my philosophy in action. You’re welcome.”

“Oh you think you’re so funny,” you said teasingly.

“That is in fact my reputation,” he replied. He took a sip from his cup before asking, “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done in school?”

You sat in silence for a few seconds before laughing to yourself and saying, “Oh gosh, last year I skipped school so I could get tickets to the One Direction concert at the O2. I told Mum that I wasn’t feeling well so I ran the hair dryer over my forehead and convinced her that I needed to stay home.”

George almost said something about the puking pastilles he and Fred had created for just that type of occasion, but bit his tongue. Instead, he simply asked, “Well did you at least get the tickets?”

“No!” you replied with a laugh. “The site crashed and by the time I got it back up they were already sold out! It wasn’t for nothing though because turns out Mum was on her computer that works much better than my cell and got us tickets for my birthday. It was the… best night ever.”

George got the hint that you made some sort of Muggle pop culture reference when you started laughing at your own joke, so he laughed along but didn’t understand why. If you’re going to date this girl, you’re going to need to get some more information on Muggle pop culture and traditions… George thought to himself. Maybe you can see when Harry and Hermione will be at the Burrow next and ask them…

“When’s your birthday?” George asked since you brought it up.

You told him yours before asking, “What about you?”

“April 1st.”

“You’re kidding! What are the odds that a funny guy like you who likes pranks so much was born on April Fools day?”

“I think that’s what got Fred and me into pranking honestly. Growing up, Mum and Dad would be a lot more lenient on our birthday so we could get away with all the pranks we wanted as long as we didn’t take it too far.” He sighed before taking a sip from his cup. “I miss those days. Now it’s all, ‘your brothers all have these prestigious jobs and were Prefects or Head Boy, what are you and Fred doing with your lives?’ And I mean it doesn’t bother us because we’re doing what we love and having a fun time doing it, but they don’t always take us seriously.”

“Oh I’m sorry about that,” you replied sadly. You couldn’t imagine having to live up to older brothers and the expectations that come with that.

George shrugged and told you, “We love what we do so we don’t let it get to us. Never did in school either.”

“That’s good. So then if you didn’t care about all these expectations, what’s the worst thing you’ve done in school?” you asked, now curious about all the pranks he and Fred have gotten up to in their lives.

You were shocked with how casually he told you, “Oh Fred and I set off some fireworks in the school, made a terrible mess of the place, and then dropped out,” that you almost spit out the tea that you had started to take a sip of.

“Come again?” you asked, wiping your chin off quickly from the dribble of tea.

George laughed before elaborating with, “We decided that our skill set was of better use outside the world of academia so we left school but not before making a mess of the place and trying to run off the horrible old toad in charge of the school. She was a tyrant!”

“That’s fair enough,” you replied with a nod, a twinkle in your eye as you laughed. “Did that steer her off?”

“It wasn’t too long ago, just a few weeks, but so far my brother tells me that the horrible woman’s still there unfortunately.”

“Well that’s a bummer isn’t it?”

“As long as I don’t have to deal with her I’m a happy man,” he told you.

He finished a bite of his scone before asking, “Do you have any pets?”

You couldn’t help the big smile on your face as you replied, “Yes! We have these two gorgeous long-haired cats. One is pure white and her name is Angel and the other is jet black and his name is Damian. They’re the sweetest cats ever and seem to know when you’re upset because they come and give you snuggles when you are. They’ve been my best friends the past few months.”

“What’s been upsetting you if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Oh I’ve just been having a rough go at it lately, I uh…” You paused, your mind flashing back to the incident.

It happened about two weeks after rehearsals started for the school’s spring musical: Mary Poppins. You had convinced your boyfriend of three years, Evan, to audition and he got the role of Robertson Ay, a small role, but it was huge for him to get anything more than ensemble with how little stage acting experience he had.

There were large portions of rehearsal time when he and Tori Ellington, who played his stage partner Mrs. Brill, would disappear for a while before returning to the rest of the cast for ensemble practice. Evan always cited these times of disappearance as running lines together in private until he felt more confident with himself to run them in front of the rest of the company. While this answer pleased you, seeing as you would do the same with the boy playing Bert, your friend Abbie was not so easily convinced. “He’s cheating on you, he’s got to be!” she would tell you as she watched the two disappear yet again into one of the far-off practice rooms.

You, however, continued to ignore the warning signs and remained loyal to your long-time boyfriend, trusting in him and your relationship fully. That was until Abbie told Jasmine to help prove their case one afternoon. Jasmine had always been the one unafraid of anything and was all in when it came to snooping about on Evan and Tori. That being said, she wasn’t quiet when it came to revealing the truth.

When Evan and Tori snuck off once again, she made it a point to take note of which room they snuck into. Talking loudly as the two of you went, Jasmine dragged you behind her while saying, “Let’s grab this room right here so we can practise our scene together for Brimstone and Treacle!” The loud warning seemed to have come across deaf ears of the occupants though, because when she yanked open the door, what was revealed to them was Tori wrapped in Evan’s arms, snogging like her life depended on it. Jasmine sighed and shook her head, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder as she said, “I’m sorry you had to find out this way…”

Your jaw dropped at the sight and you covered it quickly, whispering, “Evan? I… Wh- How could you…?”

“I can explain!” Evan said in shock, pushing Tori off of his lap quickly.

“Save it, she doesn’t need your excuses you tosser,” Jasmine told him before taking you off to a different room to practise the rather cathartic song together.

You took a moment and sipped your tea while deciding not to speak about the memory in full, not when the date with George was going so well… You instead settled on simply, “It’s been a rough few weeks and let’s just say that my friends wouldn’t exactly be thrilled to know I’m out on a date right now.”

Wanting reprieve from the sore subject, you quickly asked, “What do you look for in a partner?”

George took the change in subject in stride, replying with, “You know, I’ve never really dated too much. I took a girl to a ball at school, but it wasn’t anything serious. If I had to say though, I would say witty, caring, and spontaneous.” He winked before adding, “A gorgeous smile and beautiful voice are a plus.”

The last bit made you blush and you hid your face behind your sweater covered hands as you giggled. When you gathered yourself and finally looked up to see George looking at you with stars in his eyes, you told him, “You sir are such a flirt.”

“I just like seeing that cute little bashful side of yours,” he replied as he leaned back in his chair with a smile. “What about you, what do you look for in someone?”

“Well loyalty is a top priority for me,” you replied almost instantly. “And I guess someone who will let me nerd out about my favourite movies and musicals because I can get really annoying with those.”

“You, annoying? Never!”

“Oh just you wait til we’re on a date and I break out into song if I hear one of my favourite show tunes!” you told him with a laugh.

“So you anticipate going on another date huh? I haven’t run you off yet?”

You smiled before replying, “I hope to see you on a lot more dates actually, if you’ll have me.”

“I think I could make that work,” George said with a smile right back at you.

A comfortable silence filled the air before he asked, “What’s your dream job?”

You lit up as you began telling him how you dream of being on the West End or even Broadway in the States, citing that you’ve been doing musical theatre since you were a kid and just want to be able to be on stage for a living. In turn George told you that he’s living his dream of owning a joke shop with Fred.

You two went on for an hour longer, getting to know each other more and laying down the flirting just to see the other’s reaction. You laughed at George’s jokes and George listened on in awe as you sang quietly to the music playing from the cafe’s speakers. “You have a beautiful voice, really,” he told you once the song was over.

“Oh thank you! Years of voice lessons from my mum have gotten me here,” you replied. As you did, your phone went off with a notification from your mother. You read the text and told George, “Speaking of. I should get going, Mum is wanting me home soon.”

“How about I walk you home? It’s getting dark out and I want to make sure you get there safely,” he told you.

“Oh you don’t have to, I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” you replied.

“Spending more time with you isn’t a bother. Honestly, it’s been one of the best nights I’ve had…ever, and I just don’t want it to end,” he told you truthfully.

“You’re so sweet,” you said with a smile. With a final nod, you told him, “Okay, that sounds like a plan, as long as you promise it isn’t asking too much and that it isn’t too far away from home for you.”

“I live over in Westminster, no big deal,” George replied as he stood up, taking your bag in one hand and offering an arm to help you up with his free one.

“Gosh you’re a gentleman,” you told him with a smile as you took the offer.

So you two took the walk to your house in one of the spunky Camden neighbourhoods, George tentatively reaching down and lacing his fingers with yours on the way there. When he did this, you couldn’t help the giddy smile you got on your face, your hand fitting perfectly into his as you walked.

“Well this is me,” you said as you stopped in front of a quaint two story house with a large tree in the front yard. “When can I see you again? I am pretty busy this week with rehearsals, but I think this weekend I’ll be free again…”

“This weekend sounds great,” he replied with a smile.

“Thank you for walking me home.”

“Any time,” he told you, quickly making a note of the address so he could get an owl to you. “I had a nice night. Same time next week? We can meet at the cafe again.”

“I would love that,” you said with a nod.

“I’ll see you then,” he told you before walking you up the short sidewalk to the door. After he made sure you got inside safely, George started making his way down the street with a spring in his step.

When you got to your bedroom after a brief chat with your parents in the sitting room, you laid down on your bed with a content sigh, flipping over and grabbing your journal so you could write about the date in it. You couldn’t really put a finger on what it was, but you just had a good feeling about this one.

The next afternoon right before you were due back home from school, your mother was about to head out for her next voice lesson when she heard the post slot clanging shut as something was inserted. “That’s weird, usually he knocks…” she mumbled to herself as she walked to the door to see if they had gotten a new postman.

When she opened the door though she didn’t see a postman anywhere in sight, so she remarked to herself, “Must be in a hurry.” What did catch her eye, however, was a rather small but beautiful owl sitting on the fence nearby. “Well hello there little guy,” she called to it with a smile. She hadn’t seen an owl in so long that it was a welcome sight. On her way back inside, your mum leaned down to pick up the letter that had been delivered and saw that it was addressed to you.

A few minutes later when you arrived, your mum welcomed you home before telling you that you got a letter. “I got a letter? From who? I didn’t think that any unis were sending acceptance letters out yet.”

“There isn’t a return address on it so I couldn’t tell you,” she replied. She checked her phone and said, “Well I have a lesson across town, I don’t think I’ll be home for dinner, so you and Dad are on your own.”

“Oh no, what ever will we do without you?” you asked sarcastically, knowing that your dad would likely get the two of you Chinese takeaway when he got off that evening.

“Not have my amazing home cooking, that’s what,” she told you with a laugh before giving you a hug as she headed out.

“See you later Mum,” you said before grabbing the letter off of the counter and heading to your room upstairs.

After you hung your book bag on its hook in your room and put your shoes away in their cubby, you sat cross-legged on your bed as you broke the wax seal on the letter. You opened the letter and breathed in the warm scent of cinnamon and cranberry before beginning to read.

My dearest,

I just thought I would tell you again how wonderful our night together was yesterday. Even with Fred and I’s busy work day I haven’t been able to get you off my mind and can’t wait to see you again. I’m so glad that we met that day at the park and can’t wait to see where this goes.

Cheers,

George Weasley, your favourite jokester.

In another handwriting at the bottom it read:

P.S. Thank you for making my brother happy, but I’m gonna need him to stay focused at the shop, Fred.

You laughed at the last line and couldn’t help the smile on your face as you read the letter over and over again, completely taken aback by the gesture. You couldn’t believe the luck you’ve had with George so far. He’s funny, kind, chivalrous, a complete gentleman, and he was sending you a hand-written letter! Who does that anymore?

The next afternoon at lunch while you were waiting for your friends, you read the letter once more, lost in your own little world remembering your date with George. You were ripped from your daydream though as Jasmine snatched the letter out from your hands. She chastised you by calling out your name to get your attention before saying, “I have been calling you for the last five minutes asking you if you wanted anything to eat!” she told you with a laugh. Turning her attention to the letter, she asked, “What’s this we have here?”

“Oh it’s nothing,” you told her sheepishly while trying to get the letter back from her.

It was too late though and Jasmine began to read the letter out loud for Abbie to hear as well as they sat down at the table. You hid your face in your hands as Jasmine teased you, “And who may this George fellow be? Does he go to school here?”

“And is he why you weren’t on your game today in theatre class?” Abbie asked. She started unwrapping her food as she continued, “If we want to get into the theatre troupe of our dreams we can’t afford to be slacking this close to auditions. And you especially can’t be slacking with such little time until opening night of Mary! This is our last performance in secondary school, we can’t afford to mess it up!”

“I know, I know, and I promise that I will get right back onto my normal rehearsal schedule, I’m just…getting used to this new situation.”

“I didn't even know that you were seeing anyone, why didn’t you tell us?” Abbie asked.

“Well it’s fairly new. I met him at the park last week and then we kinda went on a date a couple days ago and then he sent me that letter yesterday. It’s not like I didn’t want to tell you two… I just…you’ve been a bit protective lately.”

“Isn’t it a bit soon after Evan?” Abbie asked, concern evident in her eyes.

“Proving my point exactly,” you said quietly as you unwrapped a sandwich you made for lunch. You shook your head and said in a more optimistic tone, “What happened with Evan sucked, yes, but I just had a little faith in the world and I found something great!”

“See Abbie? Evan is a thing of the past! She’s in loooovveee!” Jasmine said teasingly.

You rolled your eyes and told her, “Don’t be ridiculous Jaz, I haven’t even known him for a month!”

“And I haven’t seen you this head over heels since you fancied Drew in grade three!”

Abbie couldn’t help but giggle at Jasmine’s comment as she said in a high pitched voice, “Oh Drew, with his beautiful blue eyes and that Scottish accent that could make an angel cry!”

Jasmine laughed before adding, “The man of her dreams that little miss never made a move on, whomp whomp!”

“That is so irrelevant to this situation!” you told them while shaking your head with a smile, a sparkle of love for your friends in your eyes. The three of you shared a laugh together before you told them, “Okay, George and I don’t have plans to meet again until the weekend so until then I will be all business when it comes to rehearsing for Mary and also for the other auditions to get into uni and local troupes.”

“Oh so you already have another date set up huh?” Jasmine asked.

“We do! There’s just…something about him. Something magical. It’s like all of this is out of a movie and I just want to see what happens next!”

“So this is love,” Abbie and Jasmine harmonised before they dissolved into another fit of giggles.

a/n: and off we go! gosh i really love this pairing i can't wait to show off their relationship as they grow and get to know each other! also can i just say how much i despise evan? because it's an intense hatred even though i created him lol

ps: i plan on uploading once a week for this story!

xo, brooke <3

general taglist: @reidmarieprentiss

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley romance #harry potter fanfiction

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