#ogden's old firewhiskey

[talesofadragon]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

Summary: In the aftermath of the war, Draco is caged in an unrelenting spiral of distaste and distrust. The pervasive tendrils of hatred threaten to incinerate every aspect of his existence, edging ever closer to Y/N. A breakup seemed like the wisest choice. But a few bottles of Firewhiskey later, Draco is faced with something more daunting than his mind’s distorted illusions—a glimpse into his future. 

Warnings: Allusions to sex

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Genre: Angst | Fluff  

Word count: 4K

All Masterlists | Draco Malfoy Masterlist

𝐈𝐟 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐤, the weight of guilt would have long since dissipated, evaporating into the vast expanse of time.

But tattoos, Draco had come to learn, lived on a polarizing spectrum—either itched by hope’s gentle caresses or marred by despair’s morbid claws. He liked to call them insignias because he knew that, either way, those brands never faded away. And even if, by Merlin’s stupendous power, their ink were to vanish, the tales behind them would eternally reverberate through the most somber corridors of time.

The choices made and the sacrifices offered in their creation were intricately woven into the curvatures of each tattoo, amplifying the weight of these indelible brands.

“Mate, I have never seen anyone treat Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey so foully.” 

Draco’s silver eyes were unyielding in their pursuit of the black snake that slithered into his pale skin. He refused to look away, not when he heard Theodore Nott’s voice and not when he reached out blindly for the silver goblet, determined to drown the lingering traces of Firewhiskey within it.

As the scorching pace of the liquid coursed through his veins, his heart constricted, and his eyes stung. Yet, he paid no heed to the discomfort, having endured far greater pains in the past.

“Maybe if you weren’t a lightweight then you would have known that the whole Slytherin House and half of the Gryffindors treat it with indignation,” Draco retorted.  

Theodore's arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze narrowing as he observed his best friend. Draco's weariness was evident, more pronounced than even during the days of the Dark Lord. 

Letting out a sigh of resignation, Theodore settled in the chair by Draco's side. Taking the goblet from his hand, Theodore filled it with some more Firewhiskey. “Not that I am unhappy to host you, but isn’t it time to go back home, Draco?”

Draco’s fingers tightened around the goblet. If he thought the Firewhiskey was testing his endurance, then clearly he hadn’t anticipated the words that came out of Theodore’s mouth. 

“I don’t have a home.” 

“But you do.” 

“No. I do not!” His voice ricocheted against the walls, pained echoes pushing against the boundaries that confined them. Draco’s voice shook, the rage in his words dissolving into meek submission. “Not without her.” 

“Mate.” Theodore watched helplessly as Draco swung his head back to gulp down the entire goblet of Firewhiskey. He violently slammed the empty goblet against the marble of the kitchen bar, gaze stuck far ahead. “This is killing you.” 

“Let it.” 

“Draco—”

“I should’ve died long ago in that war, Theo. Maybe this is retribution for everything I did.” 

“What retribution, you imbecile? Dooming everything you’ve both built after the war?” 

“Do not mention her,” Draco seethed. His bloodshot eyes matched the color of his soul, a violent red that overwhelmed every one of his senses. He’s hated the war for so long—he failed to realize how much it seeped through his soul until he became one himself. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

Theodore scoffed. He reared back, placing his weight on the back of the chair and studying Draco’s hunched posture. “I‘ve known you since we were brought into the Wizarding World, Draco. I know that you didn’t come here to escape the fray.” 

“What finally tipped you off, oh brilliant Rowena? Was it the way I shut down every mention of her name? Or perhaps my defensive stance and guarded demeanor?” Draco mocked.

With an air of indifference, Theodore replied, “You don’t run away from battles, Draco. You wage them.” 

“That was the old me.” 

"If that were truly the case, then why did you declare war on Y/N? What suddenly woke you up, making you realize that you couldn't bear to be with her for another second?"

A flash of irritation crossed Draco's face as he interjected, "I told you not to mention her name."

Ignoring the warning, Theodore continued with a pointed intensity. "Her name itself is a battle, Draco. One you’ve ignited because of the conflict that rages within you, fueled by your selfish desires."

"Selfish?" Draco roared, his anger escalating. In the heat of the moment, he flung the empty goblet against the wall, the sound echoing through the room. His nostrils flared as he struggled to control the tempest brewing within him. "What part of letting her go for her well-being is selfish? She deserves better, Nott. So I gave her better!"

"Better, is a subjective notion.” 

"It's the only notion," Draco countered, his composure slipping as he struggled to rein in his emotions. The veneer of false placidity he had tried to maintain for days proved futile in containing his anger. "You have no idea the price I have to pay for the blood that rests on my hand. For the mark that’s refusing to die with time.” 

“I know,” Theodore whispered breathlessly. 

Draco's head shook with a heavy burden of remorse. "No, you don’t. Because being a Death Eater's son and being a Death Eater are two separate realms. I would trade anything, everything, to return to a time when I was feared and hated. Because now, I have to watch the world extend their animosity to the only woman who was brave enough to try and pull me out of the Dark Lord’s dominion.” 

Theodore pushed himself off the chair, his movements purposeful and determined. With each deliberate stride, the distinct click of his shoes echoed against the ground. "By pushing her away. By hurling venomous words at her. By replicating the very path the world forced upon you, dragging her through darkness and uncertainty."

“She deserves better! Better than a semi-stable man who was a servant of darkness. Better than a wizard whose father is serving a sentence in Azkaban and whose mother is a victim of delirium. She deserves better—”

“Than a man who is stripping her of her choices the same way his lineage stripped him of his.” 

“No.” Draco negated. If only he hadn’t drank this much Firewhiskey, maybe his breath would have come out steadier and his words wouldn’t have grappled with conviction. “I left for her.” 

“You left her,” Theodore corrected. It always amazed Draco how Theodore Nott, the epitome of reticence, became a forceful and impassioned defender when it came to matters close to his heart, including Y/N. “You left her because you’re selfish. Because you craved your twisted path of redemption. Retribution, as you have so masterfully termed it, should not come at the expense of hurting Y/N. She fought for you with everything she had. And if you are so keen on being a masochist, Draco, then have the decency to leave her out of your descent into madness!”

With a final venomous glare, Theodore took a step back and began to march away from the room. Draco, caught in a state of disbelief, felt his hands instinctively fall upon the cool marble surface of the kitchen counter. He pressed his palms firmly against the chilled stone, desperately seeking solace from the tumultuous emotions raging within him.

In an abrupt intrusion, Theodore burst back into the room. Draco barely had a chance to meet his gaze before Theodore snatched the bottle of Firewhiskey from the counter and swiftly left. There was no doubt in Draco's mind that he must have also cast a spell to lock the cellar to deny Draco access to any and every liquor stored in the Manor. 

In that moment, Draco's vision was void of any specific color—not a glimpse of red, black, or any hue in between. His rage transcended ordinary perception, defying quantification by any shade or measurement. All that existed in his awareness was a hazy fog enveloping his sight, a world imploding upon itself.

With venomous intent, Draco's fingers slithered through his hair, viciously tugging at the strands. Curses and fury spilled from his lips, weaving a tapestry of disaster, painted with every twisted emotion inhabiting his soul.

The shattered glass before him mirrored his fractured heart, and the disarrayed furniture reflected the homelessness of his wounded spirit. If he excelled in wars and battles, then he might as well transform this space into a battleground.

He persisted for hours, tirelessly wreaking havoc until Theodore's once-familiar abode became unrecognizable. Yet, the knowledge that a mere flick of his wand could undo this chaos only fueled the flames of his fury even more.

How ironic it was that he could demolish a meaningless space in mere hours, only for his magic to effortlessly restore it in seconds. Yet, the home he had reduced to ashes remained irreparable, defying any spells he cast upon it.

With a heavy heart, Draco sank to the ground, embraced by the unforgiving coldness of the stone beneath him. Leaning back against the chilling marble, he stared vacantly at the ceiling of Theodore's dwelling. It was no longer the familiar dark maroon he had once known, but a mosaic of melancholic hues. It was in that moment, as the taste of salty tears brushed against his lips, that he realized his own hollow gaze had been the architect all along.

As his shuddered breaths gradually calmed, and the twitching of his fingers ceased, Draco couldn't help but feel his heart, exhausted from its rapid sprinting and relentless pounding against his ribs.

Standing up, he reached for his wand. "Scourgify," he commanded. Instantly, his magic eagerly clung to every surface in the room, diligently working to restore order and mend the damage he had caused.

While his magic busily repaired what he had broken, Draco made his way to the kitchen, intending to pour himself a much-needed goblet of water. As he approached the marble counter, his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of a mysterious black box neatly resting there.

“What in Merlin’s name?” It must’ve been hidden somewhere amongst the furniture because even in his stupor Draco would’ve recalled coming across it. 

Gingerly, he pulled the lid up. What he found inside was something akin to a Time Turner, along with a couple of notes. Knowing well that all those magical devices had long been destroyed, Draco’s curiosity peaked. He reached for the notes, eyes trekking along the lines of Theodore’s handwriting. 

“Temporal Surger, experimental prototype number five,” Draco read aloud. He briskly skimmed across the pages, absorbing more and more information. “Contrary to the Time Turner, the Temporal Surger springboards the wizard forward through time. Though the exact destination remains unpredictable, prototype number five provides a ten-minute window for the wizard traveling into the future.” 

Draco discarded the notes in favor of picking up the device. It didn’t look any different from the Time Turner with an hourglass in the middle and golden outer rings surrounding it. Yet, when Draco tried to nudge the hourglass, it didn’t budge. He raised his brows, eyes narrowing down to investigate the object. His fingers lingered on the rings, the pad of his index finger tracing the surface. 

Inadvertently, his fingers slipped, and the outer rings turned on themselves. Draco paid them no heed, though it became increasingly hard not to notice them when their momentum increased as they followed an unfamiliar rhythm. Draco didn’t have enough time to panic before a bright light emanated from the center of the Time Surger, engulfing him whole. 

When the light weathered, Draco immediately sprung out of his seat. Taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, he blinked twice. At first, he thought it was his broken heart playing yet another trick on him till it became evident that the Time Surger had, in fact, transported him to another place.

“Merlin’s beard, Theodore is going to murder me,” Draco said aloud. He immediately clamped a hand over his mouth when it dawned on him that he didn’t even know where he was or who was in the same vicinity as him.

Draco hardly had a moment to register his distaste for the petrifying yellow curtains and cream-colored kitchen walls before he caught the sound of leisurely footsteps approaching from his right.

He sprinted across the room, his entire body whirling around itself until he spotted, what he hoped was, a door that led him to the pantry. He rushed in but left it slightly ajar, enough for him to peek through. A crease etched itself in the middle of his forehead when his eyes met a tall man with platinum blond hair tied into a bun. 

The man was shirtless, tall, and well-built. His back was littered with scars, some seemingly thinner and more recent than the others. He moved seamlessly around the kitchen, without a wand in sight, opening draws and cabinets to prepare some food. Draco tried peering closer to catch a glimpse of his face when the sound of someone apparating startled him. 

“What is Master Malfoy doing here?” a squeaky voice asked. 

Draco’s eyes bulged out of their sockets, rivaling the size of the round plates that man had been filling with fruits. He bristled, the gears in his mind rushing to concoct an explanation. But how was he supposed to explain that he’s acquired a, possibly illegal, prototype of a Temporal Surger created by none other than his best friend?

“What does one do in a kitchen?” Draco heard himself say in a mirthful tone. He sighed in relief at the plausible answer, but his relief proved to be ephemeral when he realized that it wasn’t him who spoke. 

He widened the door a bit further, revealing a house elf standing in the kitchen, gazing up at the shirtless blond wizard. With the man's face now visible, Draco was taken aback by the striking similarities between them. The man was a slightly older version of himself.

“Blinky serves the House of Malfoy. It’s Blinky’s job to prepare breakfast for her master.” 

The house elf, Blinky, attempted to pry the spatula out of the Malfoy Patriarch's hand. He didn’t relent, keeping a firm grip on it and flipping whatever he was cooking in the sizzling pan. 

“Thank you, Blinky. I do appreciate your efforts,” he said over the elf's loud huffs. “But I wanted to cook my wife a special breakfast myself.” 

A loud gasp reverberated in the narrow space of the pantry. Draco stumbled even closer to the door, almost pushing it entirely open. His eyes widened, intently studying the Malfoy Patriarch's hand. And sure enough, a silver band adorned his ring finger, glistening in the light. 

“Mistress Malfoy has woken up?” Blinky asked in her tiny voice. They must’ve not heard Draco’s shock over the sound of whatever it was that was cooking. 

“Hmm,” the Malfoy Patriarch hummed. He had picked up a goblet from the cupboard, filling it with pumpkin juice. “Blinky, could you please get the Mistress’ favorite flowers? I’m sure she’d appreciate the gesture.” 

Squealing in excitement at fulfilling a task for her masters, Blinky apparated out of the kitchen immediately. By the time she came back with some orchids in a small, round vase, the Malfoy Patriarch had already prepared a full assortment of food. From French Croissants to Quidditch Quaffles, he set them all on a tray and merrily exited the kitchen.

Using a disillusionment charm, Draco quietly followed after his older self. He noticed that the house, or rather cottage, was significantly smaller than Malfoy Manor, yet a million times more alluring. It had a cozy and welcoming atmosphere, adorned with bright colors and pictures from his Hogwarts days. Every decorative piece, whether a vase or an ornament, seemed to have been picked with care, making it evidently known that this house was not of his choosing. Whoever his future wife was, he was sure she had to be the one to decorate the house so quaintly and delicately because he could never fill any space with such beauty.

With careful steps, Draco ascended to the upper floor, his attention fixed on each stride. The walls, still adorned in their creamy hue, now bore intricate engravings of an evocative design. The sight of verdant trees and lush bushes lining the hallway welcomed him, instilling a profound sense of tranquility within him.

The Malfoy Patriarch pushed open one of the doors and casually entered. Fortunately, he left it open, making it easier for Draco to hurry inside. He found an equally charming interior, where sunlight streamed into the room, casting a beautiful glow, while the books on the bookshelf created a colorful display like a rainbow.

In the center of the bed, a woman laid peacefully under the covers. Her entire back was exposed, making a pink tint hug Draco’s cheeks. 

The Malfoy Patriarch offered a winsome smile at the painting before his eyes. He placed the tray aside and walked to the bed, letting his thumbs trace the woman’s back.

“Angel,” he called in a soft voice. “Wake up for me.” When the woman didn’t give up her sleep, the Malfoy Patriarch bent down to plant soft kisses on her arm. They were featherlight and soft caresses as if coming out of a dream. 

She sighed heavily, turning on her back. Draco watched his older self laugh, taking this as a chance to kiss his wife’s lips. 

“Draco,” she whined. And Draco had to brace himself against the wardrobe to stop himself from falling to his knees. "Please, five more minutes."

“Y/N Malfoy, you know denying you anything is physically impossible. But I really need you to get out of bed and eat something for me. Now, my love.” 

He heard Y/N say, “Don’t want to.” And Draco’s heart squeezed in his chest because he knew that she was pouting beneath the covers, and most importantly, she was wide awake but trying to get Draco to give her a few more minutes of his attention. 

The Malfoy Patriarch pulled away, surprising Draco. He walked to the tray he had placed aside, grabbing the goblet of pumpkin juice. Y/N opened her eyes when she noticed her husband’s ministrations came to an abrupt end. She hugged the sheets to her naked chest, pouting when she saw her husband against the wall, sipping from the drink.

“This is delicious,” he teased. Y/N made a face. 

“Give it.” She held her hands out, opening and closing her palms in anticipation. Her husband diligently took the whole tray to her side, positioning it on the bed. “I hate you,” she huffed while dipping one Quidditch Quaffle in honey. 

The man in front of her beamed, shaking his head. “You must hate me fiercely, angel. Your ardor set my soul ablaze a million times over yesterday night. And I've got marks on my back to prove it.” 

Both Y/N and Draco choked at the heat that permeated the air. Y/N’s gaze meandered across the room, trying to escape the heat of her husband’s scintillating eyes. 

“Well, you set mine ablaze a million times over every day, Draco! Go put a shirt on instead of teasing me!” Y/N grunted while reaching for the goblet. 

The Malfoy Patriarch’s laugh roared within the four walls of the room, and even Draco had to cover his mouth to avoid laughing at her retort. 

“Is my wife looking forward to dessert already?” 

Y/N let out a sound that was both a whine and a sigh. She pushed the tray aside and reared back, burying her body in the pile of pillows on her bed. Her husband laughed, studying her pout. Her hands rested on her stomach, and if Draco hadn’t been shocked to his core before, he was baffled at the sight of Y/N cradling a very noticeable baby bump. 

“Draco, please.” 

“Please what, angel?” 

“Not that! You know if we do that now we won’t get out of bed for another three hours!” 

“Would it be such—”

“Yes!” Y/N interjected. She looked like an angry little pixie with her narrowed eyes and pointed glare. “It would. Because we have so much to do today.” She went on to explain that she and Narcissa were supposed to meet for tea in the afternoon and that Draco had to finish setting up the nursery. Y/N kept on listing everything they had to do while her husband intently listened without saying a single word. Instead, he watched her, letting one of his hands wander to her stomach and cover hers. “What are you thinking?” Y/N finally asked, coming to grasp with the realization that her husband had zoned out. 

He didn’t answer at first, noticeably lost in his wife’s beauty. “I’m not thinking. I’m feeling.” 

Y/N let out a semi-laugh. “What are you feeling, Draco?” 

“You,” he replied solemnly. He interlaced their fingers together, keeping their intertwined hands on her belly. “Time and time again, I only feel you.” 

“Dray.” Y/N’s expression softened. She tugged on her husband’s hand, and even though she had lamented that they couldn’t stay in bed for long, she let him pull her to his chest while he made himself comfortable on their bed. “I love you.” 

“I love you so much.” It was Draco who said it. With teary eyes and a battered soul, he surrendered to the images of his older self caressing Y/N’s lips and her cheeks. 

“I love both of my girls. And I only hope our little princess can learn to love me despite all my flaws.”

Y/N shot her husband an indignant look, her gaze filled with disapproval. However, a hint of tenderness softened her eyes, conveying a complex mix of emotions. 

“She does.” 

“How do you know?” 

“She's currently expressing her displeasure at your words by stirring up a commotion inside my belly.” 

“Oh, yeah?” the Malfoy patriarch laughed. He tightened his hold on Y/N and pulled her even closer. One hand on her belly and the other in her hair, he peered down at her and locked his silver eyes with hers. “She’s a tornado, like her mother.” 

Y/N chose not to respond, embracing a peaceful silence instead while staring at her husband. He arched an eyebrow in a silent question. “I’m feeling,” Y/N spoke out. “Time and time again, I only feel you.” 

While her husband's gaze fixated on her lips, inching closer to his own, Draco's attention was abruptly seized by the Time Surger stirring once more. His eyes dropped downward, observing the rings spinning autonomously. 

Torn between stealing a final glimpse and safeguarding the precious moment, Draco reluctantly withdrew from the room. Hastening his steps, he hurriedly exited, stealing one last glance at his future self tenderly pulling the sheet away from Y/N's body until a blinding light dissolved the scene. 

The curtain fell, and he found himself back in Theodore's living room. 

Draco struggled to catch his breath, hurriedly placing the Temporal Surger back inside its box. His restless eyes darted across the room, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions surging through him, dragging him deeper into the abyss. Gasping for air, his head whipped around, desperately trying to make sense of his surroundings.

His eyes landed on the box, the notes still outside. Future, he read in Theodore’s perfect handwriting. 

“Nott, you knobhead. If you were here right now, I would have kissed you with such intensity time would stop. And even your stupidly brilliant Temporal Surger wouldn’t have worked.” 

The numbness of his heart dissipated, and the crippling guilt roaming across his forearm vanished. Draco breathed deeply, embracing the placidity around him. Maybe Theodore’s walls were grim compared to the ones his future self occupied. Yet all Draco could feel was the warmth of Y/N’s voice and the tranquility of the mornings they were yet to share. 

He rushed to Theodore’s fireplace, not bothering to fix himself up. Tossing a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace, Draco finally spoke aloud. “Take me to Y/N Y/L/N.” 

He finally realized that whether time turned or surged, he and Y/N Y/L/N were bound by a string of fate that was unyielding in its war against the Sands of Time.

------------------

Draco Taglist:

@imabee-oralizard@ameliaphoenix@arcana-greenleaf@dittos-blog-dylanobrien

I have been wanting to write this one for a while! Feels good to be writing again for our favorite Slytherin!🪄

Let me know if you would like to be moved/removed from my taglists.🤍

For those who want to be tagged in my Harry Potter/Marvel works, head over to “The Owlery” section on my profile and send me a message!

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine

[ephemerasnape]

I hope to be knee-deep in mods in a day or two, so let me get some things off my plate. 1/2

Some cute, slightly inaccurate Oswalds.

Which one is the cover for WQ (Wizard's Quarterly)?

YEOW!

I thought he'd look cool in a church for some reason..

A young Ernie in what appears to be a hotel..

"My kitty!"

I have to admit his did not turn out as well as others. His brother either.

"Hold your thestrals, fellas. We can't ALL go first."

Apparently Ernie has backup dancers.

Love is indeed a battlefield..

I'll have to try him again. It's possible that OpenArt was just in a mood.

Although the girl is floating, and doesn't look sufficiently like me, I like this one. I especially like his portrait. LOL

Caption this.

I love them cocky.

Daddy looking incredulous.

"Man in the Iron Mask" jk this is just a horror I didn't ask for

Daddy with the whiskey glass for Ogden's Olde Firewhiskey.

Dang, I'm out of space and I'm not finished.

[nonscathingbullets]

💚A Safe Shade of Green💚

(AN: Please see my OC page for character description!)

🐍 (This is set a couple of years after the second wizarding war. It's slightly AU as it is set at a fictional Wizard college called HogsDen, where the students continue their magical education. Houses still exist.)🐍

⚠️WARNING: Insults related to body image ⚠️

Part One:

I poured myself a glass of Ogden"s Old Firewhiskey and sat at the desk in the far left corner of the Uni slytherin common room. The whiskey provided a much-needed buffer between me and my potions exam score. The word 'Poor' scribbled at the top of the page in Professor Findley's dreadful quil writing. I grumbled, disheartendly.

"I won't pass at this rate." I stated in frustration. A familiar chuckle came from behind me, causing me to jump.

"You're right about that! What a horrible score!" Theo laughed, spotting the chicken scratch at the top of the page. I snatched the paper from the desk and clenched my fist irritably, causing creases where my fingers were.

"I'm so glad my incompentence is amusing to you, Theodore", I grumbled. "I just don't get it...potions should not be this difficult. I even pulled an all-nighter studying this tripe! How could I get 'poor'?! I half yelled. Theo grabbed the paper from my hand and began reading through it. "Hey!" I snapped, slamming my glass down on the desk and leaping up from my seat to face him. He burst out in a fit of laughter as he realized just how horrible i actually was at potions.

"No wonder!" He exclaimed before lowering the paper to where we were both looking at it. "See, you put here that the first ingredient in an Elixir to Induce Euphoria is boomslang skin!" I stared at the page blankly. "And here!" He pointed, "You put that sopophorous beans should be pulverized with an elvish rune hammer!" laughter was, once again, threatening it's way passed his lips.

"Well, I don't know!" I yelled as I snatched the paper back from him. I didn't remember the correct answer, so I just put what I thought sounded more elaborate..."

"Come on, Corellia. This is sixth year Hogwarts stuff." I sighed, looking up at him. His look, becoming more sympathetic.

"I know." I picked up my glass and took another sip. "I just gotta try harder." Theo placed his hand on my cheek softly and stroked it with his thumb, causing me to wince slightly.

"You're a smart girl, Cora. You're great at practically everything else that matters", he assured me with a small smile that I neglected to return.

"Thanks", I mumbled, his words providing me with at least a small bit of relief as I knew he was correct. He gave me a small "mhm" before placing a quick kiss on the top of my head.

"Goodnight...and try not to drink yourself silly", he stated before heading to his dorm room.

"Whatever", I grumbled, taking an even bigger swig of my drink. My cup eventually ran dry, and I had debated filling it up again, ultimately deciding to put it away and work on my DADA paper for Professor Wedbell. Luckily, DADA was something I excelled in quite well and had no trouble flying through the rest of my work before bed.

The next morning, I had decided to blow off steam with some recreational quidditch. Seeing as our college didn't have any professional teams, me and a rag tag group of other students had to make do with what we had. It was still pretty chilly outside, so I opted for my quidditch sweater. I threw it on along with my pads before heading to the pitch where I had met up with Harry and Ron. To my dismay, Cormac McLaggen had also elected for some quidditch at this hour.

"Morning chubbs", he greeted with an abbhorent smirk. I simply scoffed at his insult.

"Piss off McLaggen", I retorted simply, shooting Harry a look.

"Sorry, Cora. We already don't have enough players as it stands, and he offered", Harry replied with a sympathetic shrug. I looked over towards Ron, who was giving me the same sorry expression.

"Well...can he even play?"

"Of course I can play. And I'm certain I would fair better than you, Weight... I mean, Wraith", he spat my last name back me as if it were poison. My blood began to boil.

"Oh, shove off would ya, McLaggen?" Ron shouted.

"It's fine, Ron. He's, obviously, never seen me play before. Or seen any of my awards for 'Best Beater' back at Hogwarts." I looked over at Cormac with a haughty grin plastered on my face. Just as he had opened his mouth to hurl another insult at me, I noticed a familiar Hufflepuff make his way onto the pitch. "Zach!" I shouted with excitement.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the bludger on a broomstick!" He responded, giving me an enthusiastic pat on the back. "Hopefully, no one leaves with any scars today," he added with a small chuckle.

"Oh, come on! It can't still be that bad, can it? You were given dittany almost immediately after the match!" I responded with a laugh.

"Not quite quick enough," he pointed to the faint pink line above his eyebrow.

A few more players joined us on the pitch, and we all mounted our brooms. I looked around, confused. "Wait...where is Draco?" I asked, confused. Even Cadwallader had shown up today, and we hadn't played with him in months.

"Harry invited him, didn't you, Harry?" Ron brought up.

"Yeah. I did. I just don't think he's quite ready... you know, given everything that has happened," Harry replied. I couldn't help but feel empathetic towards Draco. He seemed to have mostly shut himself off since him and his family managed to avoid imprisonment in Azkaban. While I would, occasionally, see him talking to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, he would make a habit out of avoiding most of the student body. I could only imagine the massive amount of guilt he must be feeling.

"Posistions!" The Ref called out, and we all flew up in the air, taking our places. She blew her whistle and released the quaffel, signaling the start of the game. I was on fire, hitting bludger after bludger with unrelenting force the whole game. Ron was, of course, playing hype man, especially when I had nearly knocked McLaggen off his broom. Safe to say, it did its job to help take my mind off potions. My bludger backbeat also did well to confuse Cadwallader, causing a massive influx of points for our team. Harry had cast a simple spell that had changed everyone's quidditch uniforms to either orange or purple to distinguish the teams from one another.

After another hour and Cormac nearly taking my head off with his beater's bat, Harry, to know ones surprise, caught the snitch, ending the match and causing us to win the game. "Hell yeah!!" I yelled before landing my broom with everyone else and joining my team in a small celebration of our victory. Mclaggen walked over to me sheepishly.

"I guess you're a pretty decent beater, Wraith," he admitted. I was shocked at his complete 180.

"You're not so terrible either, McLaggen. Just work on not trying to kill me next time, eh?"

(Author's note: Thank you so much for reading part one!! Part two will be coming very soon!! Please go easy on me as this is my firstish fanfic. I've written like 2 chapters of a durarara fic like 6 years ago lmao. I apologize for any spelling or punctuation errors! Feedback and cunstructive criticism is very much appreciated and encouraged!!)

[kay-elle-cee]

Rec a fic you wrote or posted in 2023

Hey! Thanks for sending this in! I'm opting for a shorter one and I'm going with A Thrill Divine, Down My Spine!

It's quick, it's flirty, it's fun!

“Oh shove it, Potter. I’m just saying. You’re like…a really nice glass of Ogden’s Old,” she says, eyeing a bottle of the spirit and signaling to the barkeep. A little lost for words, James stares at her. “How strong was that drink?” “You know what I'm getting at — like a really good thing personified. Take a compliment Potter, God.” She turns on her stool to face him, sliding one of the firewhiskeys his way. Or: Two totally platonic friends get drinks after a rough day.

End-Of-Year Writer Asks

[jilyarchive]

hey, do y’all have a list of no voldemort au’s?

We don't unfortunately! It's a difficult thing to tag as its sort of a negative tag when we (and lots of authors) generally use a positive tagging system, i.e. we only tag for stuff in the fic.

A lot of the Quidditch player!James fics are no voldemort AUs. The following are also no voldemort fics but I'm sure our followers have other/more suggestions!

Title: once upon a dream Author: arianatwycross Rating: M Genre(s): Romance, Smut Chapters: 1 Word Count: 2,279 Summary: Lily has a wet dream resulting in an odd sequence of events.

Title: A Thrill Divine, Down My Spine Author: kay_elle_cee Rating: T Genre(s): Romance, Fluff Chapters: 1 Word Count: 2,358 Summary: “Oh shove it, Potter. I’m just saying. You’re like…a really nice glass of Ogden’s Old,” she says, eyeing a bottle of the spirit and signaling to the barkeep. A little lost for words, James stares at her. “How strong was that drink?” “You know what I'm getting at — like a really good thing personified. Take a compliment Potter, God.” She turns on her stool to face him, sliding one of the firewhiskeys his way. Or: Two totally platonic friends get drinks after a rough day.

Title: The M Word Author: orphan_account Rating: G Genre(s): Romance, Fluff Chapters: 1 Word Count: 2,946 Summary: “Lils,” James asked, an amused smile pulling at his lips. “What in Merlin’s name is a MILF?” In which Harry punches a fifth year, his parents are summoned to McGonagall’s office on his first day of school and Lily is forced to explain a rather different M word than her favourite Hogwarts professor and her husband are used to.

[ao3feed-scorbus]

In Spiritus Veritas

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/hBrnNo9 by lightofdaye Scorpius celebrated just a little too hard and woke up in Al's bed. Words: 201, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 27 of 31 Days Of Weasleys 2023 Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Scorpius Malfoy, Albus Severus Potter Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alcohol, Love Confessions, Ogden's Old Firewhiskey read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/49664101

[tiberius-ogden]

Tiberius Ogden is open for plots!

Please the read the rules before hand.

You can like this post or message me to start plotting.

También en Español.

[bettercallwillow]

sorry i spelt that wrong. subby james and siri.

pairing; sub!james potter x dom!reader x sub!sirius black

summary; you come home from running errands to find sirius and james playing with each other without your permission

warnings; dom!reader, sub!james, sub!sirius, poly, punishment, orgasm denail, p in v, riding, degrading, praise, everything is consensual

word count; 1.4k

sorry this took so long!! hope you enjoy it despite the wait :)

Sighing in relief, you closed the front door, thankful that you were finally out of the cold. It was a cold, rainy day in London, the perfect weather to curl up next to the fire with your boyfriends and a good bottle of Firewhiskey.

Since the two were way too lazy to accompany you to the shop, you had gone on your own, picking up a bottle of Ogden's Old and a pack of smokes for Sirius.

"I'm back!" you shouted down the empty hallway, not too loud as to not disturb the portrait of the hag they called Walburga Black. You didn't get a reply, a small sense of worry washing over you.

Shaking off your coat and hanging it next to the door, you made your way towards the lounge, the flimsy plastic bag still in your hand, "Boys?"

You heard a panicked gasp and the small sound of shuffling from behind the door, turning your worry into suspicion as your hand gripped the handle, turning it.

You were met with the sight of James on the couch, frantically trying to hide his leaking cock from your sight, Sirius on his knees in front of him. Your brow furrowed and you dropped the bag, "Really?"

"I told you not to tease," James whined, a red flush washing over his cheeks, "Now she caught us,"

"Shut up," Sirius glared at him, wiping his mouth from the leftover spit and pre-cum.

You scoffed, making your way towards the two and folding your arms, "You can't go ten fucking minutes without needing attention?"

"I-I'm sorry, mommy," James pouted, his head down, "I was hurting and Pads wanted to help,"

"You asked me to,"

"Pads, will you shut up?" You spat at him, making him whimper. They both knew they were in for it.

"You know what happens when you're naughty, don't you?" you asked them, now beginning to unbutton your pants. Sirius nodded, his eyes moving from yours down to your hands, "We get punished,"

"So you knew what would happen and you did it anyway," you had finished unbuttoning your trousers, now working on shuffling them down your legs, "I expected better from you two,"

"Said I'm sorry," James' voice was quiet, his eyes joining Sirius' as they locked onto your now bare thighs. You tutted, shaking your head and making your way over to the bespectacled boy, letting Sirius move out of the way so you could stand in front of him.

"You wanted to cum, right?"

James nodded sheepishly, his cock twitching as his eyes moved up to your clothed cunt, settling on the growing wet patch, "Y-yes, mommy,"

"Well naughty boys don't get what they want," you stepped back, James letting out a frustrated whine as you now faced Sirius, "You're gonna watch while I ride Pads, and if you don't touch yourself, I'll let you cum,"

Sirius felt himself harden impossibly more at your words and he moved so he was leant back, his hands now working at removing his own pants. You leant down, taking his chin into your hand, "Does that sound alright, puppy?"

The animagus nodded almost immediately, not bothering to fully pull of his trousers and leaving them around mid-thigh, his boxers in place with them. He was already hard from sucking off James, his cock straining against his lower stomach and the tip red, "Of course, mommy,"

"Good boy," you smiled, kneeling down so you were on his level, "See? You can be obedient at times,"

Sirius lit up at the praise and you looked towards James, who was breathing heavily as he watched, "You should learn a thing or two from him, maybe then you wouldn't act like such a fucking whore,"

The degrading only made James want you more and he bit his lip, groaning as it took everything in his body to stop himself from fisting at his cock, "M-mommy.. please,"

"I said I'd let you cum after this, didn't I?" you straddled Sirius, not taking your eyes from James, "Stop being so fucking needy,"

Returning your attention to the boy beneath you, you lifted your hips slightly, snaking a hand behind you to wrap it around his cock. Sirius moaned at the little contact, a clear sign that he had been worked up for a while, "Poor baby, did Prongsie get you all flustered and not help out?"

Sirius nodded, a whimper rolling off his lips as you pushed your panties to the side and ran the tip of his cock through your folds; lubricating it a small amount since you really didn't need that much help. These two always made you wet enough.

Without warning, you positioned him at your entrance and slammed your hips down, both of your moans harmonizing with eachother, "Fuck, puppy," you closed your eyes, your mouth hanging open, "So fucking big,"

James was just itching to touch you, his knuckles turning white as he grabbed onto the couch below him, "So pretty, mommy,"

"Flattery won't make me give you permission to touch yourself," you spoke, your breath hitching as Sirius' cock twitched against your cervix, "Be good for me and wait, yeah?"

The bespectacled boy huffed, shuffling in his seat as impatience filled him.

Once again, your attention was back on Sirius, your hand coming down to stroke his cheek. He leant into your touch, a small smile settling on his face at the comfort of your touch.

After a few moments, you finally began to move, raising your hips until just the tip of his cock was inside before falling back down, a loud moan sounding from you as he rubbed against your sweet spot, "Pads.."

Before long, you had set a steady rhythm, one that had the poor animagus falling apart under you, "Mommy, y'feel so good," he moaned, his hands moving to grab at your hips, "S-so tight,"

"Oh yeah?" You cocked your head to side, grinding your hips particularly hard, "You wanna tell Prongs how good I feel wrapped around you? How much he's missing out?"

Sirius nodded, turning his head to the side so he was facing James, "S-she feels so good, Prongsie, so warm,"

"Not fair," James whined, his hips bucking. You let out a chuckle, making eye contact with him, "Now you know how it feels to be left out, don't you?"

"Y-yeah, mommy, I'm sorry," he pouted, genuine sadness on his face that made your heart twinge slightly, "I promise I'll be good, please let me cum,"

You sped up the speed of your hips, drawing loud whimpers and moans from the boy underneath you, "G'won then, darling, since you've been so patient,"

James didn't need telling twice, his hand darting to wrap around the base of his painfully hard length, "Thank you, mommy," he breathed out when his hand set a steady pace, his thumb occasionally rubbing against the tip.

"M'close," Sirius mewled from under you, his fingers digging into your hips, "C-can I, mommy?" Just the sight of him under you had you dangerously close to your high too, his red cheeks and open mouth sending sparks rushing through your body, "Can you be a good boy and wait for me, pup?" you asked, your eyelids heavy from the amount of pleasure you were recieving.

Sirius nodded bashfully, biting at his lip to stop his from crying out as you slammed your hips down particularly hard. James was a moaning mess beside you both, his head thrown back and his thighs twitching as all his pent up sexual frustration unravelled, ropes of cum shooting from his tip and landing on his shirt, staining it. 

"Now," you leant down to whisper in Sirius' ear, biting his earlobe softly in the process. As he felt you clench around his cock, he cried out loudly, shouting your name as he released his load against your cervix. The feeling of the animagus filling you up pushed you over the edge, your hips coming to a halt as you gushed around him, your nails practically digging into the boy's chest as your orgasm hit you hard.

"That was so hot," James muttered, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. You let out a soft chuckle, planting a kiss on Sirius' forehead before lifting yourself off him, holding out a hand to help him up, "I'm with you on that one, Prongs," he smirked. 

"You two gonna learn how to behave when I'm gone?" you asked, falling down onto the couch next to James. Sirius joined the pair of you, snuggling up into your arm, "Yeah, mommy, promise,"

[hinnyfied]

Pass the Bottle

@hinnyfest Day 16: Sharing Firewhiskey

Summary: Ginny and Harry sneak away during Percy's wedding rehearsal, bottle of Ogden's Old in hand.

Read on AO3 here or continue below the cut!

Ginny all but ran up the stairs of the old manor that had been rented for the occasion, clutching a bottle of firewhiskey in one hand and dragging Harry with the other. She marched down the hallway determinedly, opening door after door until she found not a closet or a bathroom, but an unoccupied bedroom.

“Perfect,” she said as she pulled Harry inside, closing the door quickly behind him.

She fumbled with the bottle’s stopper as she sat down on a bed adorned with a pink, frilly quilt. Harry leaned against the nearest wall, rubbing his eyes in an exhausted fashion.

“Can you believe–” he started.

“I know,” Ginny interrupted as she unstoppered the bottle with a faint pop. A little dribble of the drink fell onto her green velvet dress. She could not possibly have been bothered less if she tried at that point.

“It’s insanity down there.”

Ginny took a long swig from the bottle of Ogden’s, ignoring the burn in her throat as best as she could. The label indicated that it had been aged for 15 years. She neither knew nor cared what that meant, simply savouring the way it temporarily eased the stress of Percy’s wedding rehearsal.

Bill’s wedding had somehow managed to be less stressful than this, even with the whole imminent threat of war thing going on. The sheer absurdity of that fact nearly made her laugh. She took another swig and passed the bottle to Harry, who took an equally long drag and sighed.

“You’d think the decisions were life and death the way he’s carrying on,” Harry said as he handed the bottle back to Ginny.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked with mock sincerity. “Is it not absolutely critical to our survival that when one orders ten inch candlesticks, they are ten inches in length, not eleven?”

Harry snorted.

“Promise me ours won’t be like this,” he said with an exasperated laugh.

It wasn’t as though it was a surprise to Ginny that they’d get married one day, but they had never actually spoken the inevitable aloud before. The casualness with which Harry referred to their wedding day made her heart flutter.

“Ours?” she asked with a playful smile.

Harry, having finally realised what he just said, seemed torn between embarrassment and satisfaction, the tiniest grin starting to form on his slightly flushed face. As he opened his mouth to retort, however, the door banged open once more, and a harried Hermione and Ron entered the room.

“Oh excellent,” said Ron with relief, snatching the bottle of firewhiskey from Ginny’s hand. “That git is driving me mad.”

“He just wants his wedding day to be perfect. It’s quite sweet, really,” Hermione said sympathetically, though she, too, took a hefty swig from the bottle. “He’s a bit – overly enthusiastic is all.”

“Overly enthusiastic? Is that what we’re calling it?” Ron asked incredulously.

“What’s he done now?” Ginny was almost afraid to ask.

“There was an issue with the linens.” Hermione grimaced.

“The linens?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

Ron straightened up, sticking his nose in the air and assuming Percy’s pompous demeanour.

“I specifically requested cream, and these tablecloths are clearly ivory. I have ordered floral arrangements that will complement cream, not ivory.”

Ginny’s mouth fell open.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She looked to Hermione, hoping to see some confirmation that Ron was exaggerating. Instead Hermione shook her head as if to say sorry, but it’s true.

“I don’t know how Audrey does it,” Ron said.

Ginny liked Percy’s fiancée very much, but it was true that Audrey was essentially the opposite of who she had imagined her brother would fall in love with. Audrey was the scattered to his organised, the messy to his neat, the spontaneous to his cautiousness.

“I give them another three weeks, tops,” George had said to Ginny after Percy had brought his new girlfriend to the Burrow for the first time. Yet, here they were years later, somehow drawn closer by the very opposite traits that could have easily driven them apart.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the door creaked open once more, revealing a smiling, entirely relaxed Audrey. Her black curls were pinned delicately up on top of her head, and she was positively glowing in her sleek navy rehearsal dress.

“The latest crisis has been solved,” she announced with a chuckle. “It’s safe for you to come out of hiding.”

“Sorry about that,” Harry said sheepishly.

“I get it.” Audrey shrugged, her smile widening. “Percy wants things just so, but tomorrow will be all the better because of it.”

Ginny’s affection for her future sister-in-law swelled.

“Cheers to that,” said Ron with a disbelieving smile, offering up the bottle of firewhiskey to her. Audrey laughed and took a sip.

“There,” she said with a shudder. “Ready to come back into the fray? We could use your help with the place settings.”

The four of them made to follow Audrey, but Ginny paused, tugging on Harry’s arm to hold him back as the others left the room.

When they were alone, she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, pulling his body as close to hers as she could, kissing him deeply as his hands found her waist. They stayed like that for quite a while before breaking apart, enjoying their peaceful moment.

Ginny looked into Harry’s eyes, grateful beyond words that they had each other. The fact that they, too, would be getting married someday, warmed Ginny to her core. It never failed to take her breath away – to think of the life that they were building together and the unencumbered future that stretched before them. This life had felt like an unattainable dream during the war – a farfetched fairytale. In some ways, it still did.

“I love you,” she said softly.

“Do you?” Harry asked very seriously, his brows creasing as he caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Even though I don’t care about linens?”

Ginny burst into laughter, but she was cut off by the sudden sound of Percy’s voice from downstairs.

“Honestly Ron, it’s like you’ve never set a table before. You’ve put the dessert forks where the salad forks are meant to be.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Should we go rescue him?” he whispered.

“Probably,” Ginny answered, suppressing a giggle and kissing him once more for good measure.

[ririreader]

Don‘t mind me I am just here thinking about fucking with Professor Lupin in our clothes because either we were too desperate to take them off or we don’t have enough time 🤤 or perhaps both?

Prepare for some thirst because shit was my mind wandering today in class 😀 Want his long, slender fingers so bad inside of me to the point where I would just openly tell him 🧎🏻

Honestly I’ve lost years of my life thinking of his fingers. I’m going to do this one first. Expect it in a day or so! :)

Summary: the request! Student is graduate age; I’m too old to be writing about teenagers. Keep the requests coming! Had fun writing this one.

Remus sat at the bar of The Three Broomsticks. He was four Dragon Scales deep. He had tucked himself away in the back of the bar, hoping to avoid any seventh years that may wander in during Hogsmeade hours. It was close to 10PM, and he wasn’t sure when their ground’s privileges ended. He sipped the dark beer, sighing as he slumped in his stool. What a week. And the full moon was rapidly approaching, only making his exhaustion worsen.

The bell above the door tinkled. Remus continued drinking, not bothering to see who it was.

“Firewhiskey, please.”

He turned to the voice. Of course. She sat in one of the stools a few seats down from him, cheeks tinged red from the cold. She started unwrapping a thick, black scarf with petite hands, revealing full, red lips. She hung a messenger bag on the stool next to her.

“Blishen’s or Ogdens?”

She scoffed. “Blishen’s, of course.”

The bartender chuckled, pouring her a shot. She quickly took it, setting the shot down with a hard clack as she sucked in a breath.

“Another, please, love.”

The bartender refilled the shot glass. Again, she threw back the firewhiskey with little to no effort. Remus had cocked his eyebrow at her. She hadn’t noticed him yet. He had been her Professor in the first term of her 7th year. Now, she was graduate level doing an internship with The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She was one of the only students to land such a prestigious role. Gethsemane Prickle had overseen her Apparation Final, and had quickly fallen victim to her charm. Remus hadn’t really seen her in months. She pulled off her coat, throwing it on the same stool that held her bag.

“Last one, on the rocks if you would.”

“Sure you shouldn’t slow it down?”

She flicked her eyes to Remus, a grin spreading across her face.

“Well hello, you.”

She smirked at him over the rim of her glass, sipping at her whiskey.

“Hello.” He smiled.

Her eyes roamed up and down, over his frame, a few times before she sucked an ice cube into her mouth and used her tongue to play with it. His eyes dropped to her mouth. With a blush, he looked away and sipped his beer. She used to tease him in class, too. It drove him mad. He had spent practically every night after classes with her with his cock in his hand. When she had accepted the internship he had been slightly relieved; perhaps he would be able to teach without getting hard for a change. He still thought of her, of course. And sometimes he wanted her so badly it felt like his whole body was throbbing. She always looked smug when she was near him, as if she knew how badly he wanted her and was just daring him to cross a line.

“Bad night?” She cocked her head at the three empty beer glasses.

“I could ask you the same.”

She bit her lip, giving him a pleased smile.

“Drama at the Goblin Liaison Office. Nothing new,” she said around the ice cube.

“Oh, very fancy and serious,” he mocked.

He had cocked his eyebrow and smirked at her. She returned his smile, considering him for a moment. She picked up her coat and bag, sliding her whiskey down with her as she sat in front of him. His eyes narrowed. She leaned into him, resting her head in her hand.

“And your excuse is better, is it?”

He loved her teasing. The two of them could banter for hours.

“Afraid not-- just wanted to be drunk.”

“No shame in that.”

She knocked back her shot, chewing some of the ice.

“Did you miss me?”

He leaned closer to her. His hair was messy and unkempt, and stubble covered his jaw and chin.

“Should I have?”

His eyes flicked to her lips, then back up.

“I missed you, Remus.”

“Professor.”

“Mmm. You’re not my professor anymore, darling.”

They grinned at each other.

“You still sleep in the castle. You still take classes. You’re still a student.”

“But not your student. I’m also employed and paid by the Ministry of Magic. I’m afraid I’m a bit more established than you’re giving me credit for.”

He said nothing, just tongued his cheek with a smirk. She set her hand on his, rubbing her hand along the wide back of his palm.

“I missed these hands. I think about them quite a bit when I’m alone in my office.”

His finger twitched, but he let her continue rubbing.

“Such nice, long fingers.” She commented.

His gaze darkened. He stared at her, eyes boring a hole into her. She traced his fingers with one of her own, full lower lip caught between her teeth. He stood quickly, mumbling something about needing the toilet and taking off toward the back of the bar. She grinned evilly, standing and quickly following.

He had just closed the door, and before he could lock it she pushed herself into the bathroom with him. He swore, backing himself into the wall.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” He was startlingly calm.

She pushed against him, hand reaching down to palm his erection. He groaned, throwing his head back against the tile.

“You left so quickly it made me wonder whether you needed the loo for the toilet or to hide this from me.”

His chest rose and fell rapidly.

“You’re a student.”

“Not your student, gorgeous.”

She worked him through his pants. She leaned in to kiss and nip at his neck.

“You’re out of your bloody mind, little girl.” His voice was hoarse.

She laughed against his neck and licked along his ear. She was rewarded with a shiver from him. He spun her around, pinning her back to his chest as one hand went around her throat. His eyes met hers in the mirror. He kissed her neck agonizingly slow.

“There are very few people in this bar, which means very little noise. It wouldn’t be difficult to overhear something illicit.”

He licked her neck. His cock was digging into her lower back.

“Furthermore, no more than ten minutes in here and people will get suspicious.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to be quiet, and you’ll have to be quick.”

His grip on her neck tightened. He was panting against her neck, staring at her in the mirror. He reached under her dress and yanked her panties down. She heard him unbuckling his belt, large hand still on her throat.

“You’ve not been quiet a day in your life, you horrible little thing.”

He hiked one of her legs up onto the sink, moving the hand at her throat to cover her mouth.

“Not a sound.” He whispered in her ear.

It was her turn to shiver.

“I quite like how you look in these heels. I’m going to enjoy this.”

He jerked her head to the mirror.

“Watch me take you,” he placed an open-mouthed kiss to her neck, “and I’ll even let you watch these fingers you like so much claim you.”

She whimpered against his hand, brow furrowed. She watched in the mirror as he snaked a hand around her waist, hiking her dress and rubbing her clit.

“Like how that looks?”

He slid his fingers into her, pulling them out to spread the wetness. Her legs had already begun to shake.

“Haven’t even done anything yet and you’re dripping for me. How pathetic, love.”

Her head fell forward with a whimper as she scrunched her eyes closed. He worked his fingers in her a few more times, loving that she was able to get even wetter still for him. Without warning, he pushed into her with a brutal shove. She screeched, muffled, under his hand. His mouth had dropped open.

“Feel how tight you are. You can’t take a cock this big.” He mocked.

Her eyes were set as she rocked her hips back into him, pushing him deeper. He grunted, tightening his hand across her mouth.

“Think you can take it, then? Fine. You have five minutes. Not a moment more.”

He shoved her forward onto the counter. He steadied himself, then began a punishing pace. Her eyes practically rolled back in her head. Every time he thrust into her he stretched her again, her body unable to adjust to his size in such a small amount of time. It was maddening; full and hot and unapologetic.

“Two minutes, love. Make a peep and you don’t come. I’ll leave you a muttering, soaking mess.”

She bit down on one of his fingers, feeling her release building. He shoved two of his fingers in her mouth. She sucked them hard. His hand on her hip went to her clit, fingers pinching and rubbing roughly. She came around him, clenching so hard he had to stifle a yell in her hair. Her grip on him was almost painful. He groaned into her skin, coming hard inside of her. She went to moan and he shoved his fingers in her mouth deeper, practically choking her. He twitched against her, finally falling with a huff against her back.

Their eyes met in the mirror. He removed his hand from her mouth, her lipstick smeared and her lips red and swollen. He kissed her cheek.

“Filthy little perfect wonder, you are.”

They grinned at one another in the mirror. He pulled back, situating himself in his pants. She straightened and pulled her tights back up. She turned to face him, breathing still erratic. With a smirk she kissed him hard.

“Love those fingers even more now.” She mumbled against his lips.

He chuckled.

“Come, darling. I’ll buy you another drink— you’ve earned it.”

[t4tdrarry]

last six(ty) lines tag

i was tagged by @ghaniblue @rainbees for six sentence sunday and @calypsotempete @softlystarstruck for last lines! thank u!! and it’s been a while since i’ve shared a wip snippet, since a lot of the current ones i’ve been working on have been anon so here’s a mash up of the two ft. a preview of a fun eighth year fic that’s been sitting in my drafts

Harry still feels high and reckless from breaking into McGonagall’s office when he delivers the Sorting Hat to Malfoy in the middle of the eighth year common room.

Malfoy takes one long look at his prize, eyes full of mirth and daring, and says, “now put it on.”

And it’s that remnant of burning exhilaration, paired with the lingering headiness of Firewhiskey, that fills Harry so fully unlike anything has since it all had ended, that has him complying. Harry meets the challenge head on, grinning wide as he scoops the Sorting Hat from the table and puts it on. Almost immediately, he is enveloped by the Sorting Hat’s familiar voice.

“Mr. Potter,” it greets within the hazy cloud of Harry’s mind. “Welcome back. We’ve met before, in another life. You have doubtlessly changed, but I see there are some things that stay the same. Sneaking into the Headmistress’ office and stealing me from under her nose? Still so bold and brave,” it chuckled. “Ah, but cunning, too. I still stand by what I first told you. Will you humor an old hat or will you fight me once more?”

Harry looks up and catches Malfoy’s eye. “Whatever you wish,” he says out loud, and it rings between them like a dare.

The answering, “Slytherin!” has Malfoy guttering back, eyes wide in disbelief. It sparks something in Harry to see him thrown off balance, something that feels like winning, and he laughs before plucking the Sorting Hat off his head. Harry sprawls down onto the couch opposite Malfoy, who is still silent and gaping, as whatever magic of Hogwarts involved with the Houses has Harry’s robes changing colour in front of Malfoy’s eyes. Red and gold slowly shifts until they both sit, mirrors of each other, in green and silver.

“Well, Malfoy.” Harry grins, picking up his discarded bottle of Ogden’s and raising it in a toast. “It’s your turn.”

not sure who has already done either last lines/six sentence sunday so no pressure!! @amorsindolor @corvuscrowned @jalesidor @phoebe-delia

[svjetllost]

“ Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey? Is that really the best you could have found? ” The fire was roaring in the fireplace as if to combat the raging storm outside. The howling of the winds across the pitch outside made it almost impossible to finish the practice, but they had no choice. The first match was against Hufflepuff and losing was out of the question, not that the notion of being less than anyone was EVER acceptable in the house of Slytherin. 

Draco had dragged himself into the locker room, uniform dripping and heavy. Wet, cold fabric clinging to every inch of skin. Everyone rushed to get under the showers and wash away some of the coldness that had seeped deep into the bone. It was hours later and he had still not managed to fully shrug off the bitter chill that had followed as he walked back to the common room. 

It wasn’t that late in the evening, but most students had found other places to be, or people to spend time with, even Crab and Goyle, and he was too tired to even pretend to care. “ I guess this will get me warmer. Are you drinking or are you going to chicken out as you tend to? ” 

@tnott​ liked the STARTER CALL / still accepting ! 

[ephemerasnape]

Victor Rookwood does a commercial for Ogden's Olde Firewhiskey

Transcription:

Introducing the new, limited edition, premium aged firewhiskey from Ogden's Best: Basilisk's Breath.

Damn, that'll kill you just by looking at it.

Basilisk's Breath by Ogden's Olde Firewhisky.

Wherever fine spirits are sold.

[kay-elle-cee]

Fic Author Self Rec

Fic authors self-rec! ✨ When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers ❤️

Thank you for the tag @charmsandtealeaves!

I think last time I was tagged in something like this I ONLY had five fics...so this is a bit harder 😅

Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting) — Angst, Rated M, 14k

The summer after fifth year is no one’s favorite summer. Sirius Black is ostracized from his friends, suffocating under the thumb of his parents and lashing out however he can. Lily Evans is grappling with the fallout of her friendship with Severus Snape, not to mention dealing with Petunia’s insistence of cutting Lily out of her life. James Potter is feeling the sting of betrayal and wrestling with what it means to forgive, while learning to take accountability himself. A chance encounter might be the key to turning the tides for everyone.

My heart, my soul, my baby. This was the idea that got me writing again. It took me a while to sort it out and actually write the damn thing, but man.....this one has such a special place in my heart for me.

2. A Thrill Divine, Down My Spine — Fluff, Rated T, 2.5K

“Oh shove it, Potter. I’m just saying. You’re like…a really nice glass of Ogden’s Old,” she says, eyeing a bottle of the spirit and signaling to the barkeep. A little lost for words, James stares at her. “How strong was that drink?” “You know what I'm getting at — like a really good thing personified. Take a compliment Potter, God.” She turns on her stool to face him, sliding one of the firewhiskeys his way. Or: Two totally platonic friends get drinks after a rough day.

This one came out of nowhere but I'm so pleased with how it turned out!

3. restless waves rise and fall — Pirate AU, Rated T, 37k (WIP)

In efficiency and general seafaring know-how, First Mate Evans makes up for what Captain Potter lacks. So she has to make up for a lot. Or: In which James Potter is a gentleman pirate and Lily Evans is his loyal but vastly more competent First Mate.

Originally thought up as a one-shot for Jily Week, this Pirate AU really took on a life of its own. This is my first multichap fic and I'm posting the last chapter next week and when I tell you Captain Potter and First Mate Evans have me by the THROAT I'm not joking. I love these two so gd much I'm going to miss them 😭

4. no, i could never give you peace — Angst, Rated M, 4.5K

James blinks. “Are you breaking up with me, Evans?” he jokes softly, resting his hand on hers. It’s a joke, but her body tenses and it immediately puts him on edge. The silence that follows is excruciating.

“I’m not doing anything.” Her nails begin to tap on the mug again—a nervous habit that James spots immediately. “I just think we should have a conversation.”

This was my first fic to publish when I got back to writing last year, and I'm still so, so pleased with it.

5. Echoes of a Love Lived — Microfic Collection, Rated T, 14.5 K

A collection of unconnected ficlets for Jilytober 2022 based on the 31 @jilytoberfest prompts.

I had so much fun challenging myself for this collection, and I loved being able to switch between angst and fluff at the drop of a hat.

Tagging @emeralddoeadeer, @possessingtheproperspirit, @sunshinemarauder, @alittlebitofeverything23, @wearingaberetinparis

[merlinsbudgiesmugglers]

Emoji Writer Thing, Take Two!

Oh wait, you did 🤩, but it showed up as heart eyes not star eyes so I got confused.

Scratch the last, and perhaps bless us all with 🎆 and 🏆?

haha oh my bad @turanga4 I answered the wrong question!!

🎆 What are you most excited to work on or share in 2023? I have more Tedromeda coming that will probably spill over into 2023 and I have plans for more fics.

I'd also really like to write more of Lily Luna and my OC Tom, I have some stuff finished for them already but I need to write a couple of fics first to help it make a bit more sense.

🏆 What kept you motivated? Completely honestly, my ADHD meds. Finally being diagnosed and getting properly medicated (as well as implementing ways to manage my ADHD) has made the world of difference to my life, including being able to actually sit and write stories instead of having them float around in my head and not being able to get them on the page.

(And for @celestemagnoliathewriter because I answered their ask wrong!) 😍 What's one of your favourite lines or exchanges you wrote this year? There are so many that I've really enjoyed, but I'm going to say it's this bit from Rubs and Disappointments.

“Well McLaggen’s been bragging about the bottle of Ogden’s he stole from his old man, but he’s such a twat he hasn’t realised that Kate Olney only snogged him to distract him while we nicked it.” 

Oliver laughed. “How long have you had this firewhiskey and why haven’t you been sharing it?” Katie just shrugged and shouldered his broom before turning to walk out onto the pitch. “Oi! Come on! I’ve just suffered a devastating defeat!”

This is the first little interaction that got stuck in my head and turned into the first fic I had written since I was a teenager, so I'm pretty fond of it. Katie and Oliver were my first HP OTP, and I still have such a love for them.

Ask Game Here

[missfiggy]

The Tablet

For dear @clare-with-no-i on her birthday!

I'm always vaguely working on some massively long marauder series for the last three years at Hogwarts but have never come close to finishing it.

Sharing a chapter from the never to be published work that takes place in the summer before Fifth Year. It features some of the architecture and floral and fauna of the beloved Potter House head canon we share, and it's about friendship, so I thought it appropriate for your bday!

Enjoy and happy happy day!

Rating: Probably PG-13 for language and subject matter

The Tablet

“James Potter, you are a bloody idiot,” muttered the boy to himself as he nervously ran his fingers through his unruly mop of black hair.

Standing in a dense oak woodland, James Potter clambered over a few jagged rocks and felled trees to reach his abandoned broomstick that lay near the riverbed of a spluttering stream. He gingerly picked up the gleaming broom handle and gently turned it over in his hands, examining it for any signs of damage. It was his brand new Nimbus 1500, a congratulatory gift from his father for being named captain of his house quidditch team. His brand new broomstick that he just ploughed into the thick old tree trunk.

The accident wasn’t his fault really. James thought back to all the times he whizzed through the forest without incident. His family’s house was situated on the edge of an ancient forest. Since he was a boy, James would run time trials through the trees. First, he’d set the course by hanging scarves over various branches on a winding path. Then, he’d slalom through the trees, retrieving the scarves as quickly as he could manage, each run through an opportunity to shave seconds off his best times.

If I hadn’t been distracted, he thought grimly. James knew that was neither fair nor accurate. He’d flown distracted dozens of times. In fact, he often flew specifically because he was distracted or upset. He knew the speed and the wind and the sky would chip away at his burdened mind until there was nothing left. Just him and pure flight. Still, a niggling memory bounced at the back of his mind, commandeering his thoughts and frustrating him endlessly.

The morning before, James awoke to a dry, high pitch scratching noise: the sound of a writing on a chalkboard. He knew immediately where the sound was coming from. He popped out of bed and stumbled over to his desk. He grabbed a small black slate rectangle upon which white words were appearing in a familiar script. The tablets had been his friend Peter’s idea. A way for James and his four best friends to communicate instantaneously, even when not together. The boys took four pieces of slate and charmed them so that what was written on one would appear on them all. The boys made a pact not to erase til all four of them had initialed the message, indicating it was received (exceptions, of course, were to be made when a slate was at risk of falling into the hands of a parent or a teacher).

Good sirs! Better bring that bottle of Ogden’s next week. I. Am. Now. A. Man. - SB

James knew immediately what his best mate, Sirius Black, meant by that. In their third year, when girls stopped being just slightly better smelling classmates and started becoming the most alluring, terrifying, and confounding creatures imaginable, James and his mates made a pact. If one of the boys ever plucked up the courage to talk to one of the girls, and in talking so persuaded said creature to snog, and in snogging so persuaded said creature to shag, then the other three boys were obliged to chip in and buy a bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey for the conquering hero.

Well then, James thought numbly, laying the slate back on his desk, there’s that.

As he thought back to that moment, James couldn’t account for why he hadn’t whooped with joy for his friend. Nor could he account for the sickening twisting feeling that had been growing in his chest over the last day.

James kicked a small rock, sending it careening into the stream where it landed with a satisfying plonk.

Of course Sirius would be the first. He was the oldest, even if only by five months. He also always seemed to be the one breaking new territory in their little group. Sirius was the first to get told off by McGonagall. He was also the first to discover how to get into the Hogwarts kitchens.

Now that James’s mind was on the topic of kitchens, he thought of the pasties Figgy was baking when he’d left that morning. They’d be golden and flaky now. Perhaps it was just hunger twisting his guts. With his broom over his shoulder, he turned to climb back towards home.

But Sirius isn’t always the first in everything, a bitter voice piped in from the back of James’s mind, ploughing over his theory that he was just hungry and not actually upset.

I’m not upset.

Still, James couldn’t help but search through his memory to recall times that he’d been the first to achieve a milestone. There was the first time he got detention...only Sirius had been there as well. James had been the first to be asked to Hogsmeade by a girl. Though even then, James wasn’t clear on whether that point would go to him or Sirius. It had been a very confusing affair. Elspeth Fitzgerald, one of the most popular girls in their year, asked James out, and then asked if Sirius would take out her friend Tamsin, too. Or maybe Elspeth was asking James to ask Sirius to ask Tamsin out, and James came along as the bonus date. He couldn’t be sure. Girls were confusing like that. Either way, James was definitely the first one to properly snog a girl. He remembers that clearly, because as Elspeth was shoving her tongue down his throat, Sirius was trying to get Tamsin to stop crying her bloody head off.

Of course, James conceded, his one time snogging session was not exactly the model of success. Sirius at least had a few follow up dates with Tamsin, and there were rumors all last year that they’d still occasionally snog. Elspeth and James produced about as much heat as a Chinese Fireball with a sore throat.

You were the first to make a house quidditch team, a defiant voice added.

That was right. James was the first, not just his friends, but of his whole bloody year to make a house Quidditch team. He made reserves for Gryffindor his second year and was a proper Chaser in his third. This year was supposed to be his biggest triumph yet. When his school list arrived earlier in the summer, James was honestly surprised to see the gold captain’s badge tumble out of the envelope. Quidditch captain! James could not think of a time when a fifth year had made captain. Even his father had never heard of it. And the Gryffindor team was an older team. There were several sixth and seventh year players who would have been just as deserving, maybe even more, but McGongall chose James.

He hadn’t even mentioned it to his friends yet. He reasoned that, surely, his good friend Moony would also be named prefect that summer. Moony never really got his fair amount of time in the spotlight, given how brilliant he was, so James was happy to sit on his own news until closer to school. He was planning on telling his friends this next week, when the three of them joined James and his father for their annual end-of-summer camping trip on the moors. Sirius’s latest news totally derailed that plan. With topics like shagging on offer, no one would want to talk about silly old Quidditch.

Is that why it bothers me? Because Sirius is going to be the center of attention? James asked himself, feeling a bit unsettled. He finally reached the edge of the woods, pausing to look out onto the grassy clearing that led up to his home. James stood there and tried to probe his own mind, his own feelings. Yes, he liked attention, but what fifteen year old boy didn’t? Did he like it enough to begrudge his friends their own turns in the sun?

Absolutely not, rebutted a vehement voice inside his head.

He was just thinking about how he’d given Moony the whole summer to enjoy the attention of being a newly minted prefect. And Sirius? James and Sirius were even better friends, brothers even. James didn’t resent Sirius because he’d gotten laid. That was ridiculous.

So why does it bother you?

James thought that over as he looked out on vista stretching out from his family’s land. In the distance, exposed rocks jutted out from the valley’s cresting hillside. A great pile of boulders on the farthest tor gleamed rosy pink as the sun sat low on the horizon. He really was fine with the fact that Sirius had been the first to lose his virginity. It was better really, James argued, that way Sirius could tell James what he had learned, and then James would have a better shot of not mucking things up his own first time. Though James supposed for that to happen, he would actually have to sit down with Sirius and talk about it. It wasn’t the sort of thing that could be explained in a letter.

Or on a slate, a nasty voice snorted.

As James turned as made his was towards the house, he was suddenly furious with that stupid little slate. As if all his friends needed all the same information at the exact same time. It was a ridiculous thought to have made them. Probably just Peter’s attempt to feel more included…

Stop that right now, James Potter, he chided himself.

This wasn’t about Peter (and his Gemino charm really was inspired). It wasn’t Pete’s fault James was feeling this way. It wasn’t even Sirius’s fault, James reasoned. Neither of them were responsible for his feelings. It was his own stupid feelings. They were just being unreasonable and running amok and making James feel ridiculous and hurt because Sirius didn’t tell James first.

There it is, James thought, as a bit of tension slowly eased in his chest. He was upset because Sirius didn’t write to him specifically. James and Sirius were not better than their friends, but they were better friends. For all their bravado and performed nonchalance, there was a level of honesty that James and Sirius shared, a closeness. And Sirius let James find out this really big news alongside everyone else, like he was just anyone else. That action did not feel particularly brotherly.

That still left the matter of James feeling ridiculous. He knew, logically, that Sirius progressing did not mean that James was regressing, but it still felt that way. As if Sirius’s new maturity made James by comparison more juvenile. James tried to reassure himself that Peter and Remus would be in the same boat, but even as that thought crossed his mind he questioned its veracity. Though, at the end of last term, Peter had developed a rather determined fixation on breasts. Size, shape, who had them, who didn’t, whose were the best in their year, whose were the best in Britain: Peter had an opinion about all of it. James thought he was taking things a little far, but maybe he’d just reached a maturity point that James had not. And while Remus did not talk about girls or snogging the same way the other lads in their year did but maybe that was a sign also a sign of maturity -- a sign he was even more mature than Peter’s mature. Kingsley Shacklebolt, a seventh year Gryffindor James thought was a cert for the captain’s badge, never prattled on about all the girls he dated. And he’d dated a lot. James worried that he might have been the only boy at school who spent more of the summer thinking about Quidditch than sex.

When James reached the house, he pushed the heavy wood front door open and walked through. The great hall of Hartscombe Hall featured dark wood-paneling that stretched three-quarters of the way up the grey stone walls studded with mullioned windows. There was a fireplace large enough that James could still stand comfortable inside it that stood facing a long wood table.

James stopped short. What his family's great hall did not usually feature was another attractive and black-haired teenage boy sitting at the end of said table. The very same black-haired teenage boy whose actions had sent James’s mind on a discontented tailspin.

“Sirius?” James inquired, as though there was a possibility his eyes were making a fool of him, too.

Sirius smiled warmly, jumping up from the table and throwing his arms around James.. He brushed the long fringe of his sleek black hair from his face and tucked it behind his ear. Sirius wore torn up denim trousers with silver pins running through the sides and a stiff leather jacket. James did not doubt that this was some new and absurd muggle fashion fad.

“Sorry for the surprise. I know you weren’t expecting me until tomorrow.”

“Mum and dad will be thrilled to see you, of course.” James said, as he released his friend from the warm embrace, feeling even sillier than he had before. “I’m chuffed too, of course, I mean obviously, but why are you here early?”

Sirius’s mood immediately darkened. “Too much Black family bonding.”

Sirius pulled out his wand and flicked it towards the massive steamer trunk he had brought. Evidently, he was all set to leave for Hogwarts directly from their camping trip. James took the cue, slinging his broom over his shoulder and motioning for Sirius to follow him up the front stairs.

“Was it worse than at Easter?” James asked, referring to the epic row Sirius had with his parents over his choice of friends earlier that year.

“Much,” Sirius said as he clomped up the stairs in his great black boots. “One of my idiot cousins is getting married, and Walburga let their whole family use Grimmauld Place as their London pied-a-terre. Apparently you can’t buy dresses in the country or some such nonsense! Parties and teas and a hen-do. It was a nightmare.”

After dropping off Sirius luggage in his designated guest room on the first floor, the boys continued on to James’s room with Sirius. Before Hogwarts, James’s room was on the first floor as well. A sprawling nursery that had its own playroom and connected to his nanny’s accommodations. Being older now, he’d moved himself up to the spacious second floor which had never been used by the main tenants. James loved the unpolished look of it. His bedroom, a converter storeroom, stretched along the end of the west wing. Old raw wood planks jutted out of the white plaster walls and arched up to meet along a central beam in the middle. James thought of it as the house’s ribcage, it’s structure laid bare.

The design scheme, if it could be so generously called, of James’s room was mercurial. The walls were covered, predictably, with banners in the bright Gryffindor colors and drab Puddlemere brown, as well as a moving poster of all the Quidditch players of the last quarter century that James admired. He pilfered his favorite things from other guest rooms in the house to create a chaotic melange of furniture. He had a massive mahogany four poster bed that required a shrinking charm to get through the doorway. To this he added long bookshelves, a heavy armoire, mismatched couches, a dart board, and even a muggle table-football table. Of all these things, James was proudest of his desk. He assembled it himself by plopping an old barn door on top of empty whiskey casks. They still filled his room with the comforting smell of peat.

Sirius walked towards said desk still nattering on about the absurdity of wedding textiles. “Honestly,” he whinged, “I didn’t even know there were different kinds of lace. Since when do fabrics have sub-fabrics.”

“It’s completely ludicrous,” James agreed. “Hopefully, this week will make up for it. Just the lads, walking all day and sitting by a fire all night, I can almost guarantee no one will be talking about textiles.”

“You saw it,” Sirius said flatly.

“What?” James started, confused by the non sequitur. He turned to see Sirius looking down at the desk. Not at the desk, at what was on the desk. James had left his slate tablet out.

“Er-- yeah,” James said in a hearty voice not wholly his own, “Congratulations, or you know, good on you!”

Sirius laughed just once. It was a hollow, quiet sound. Time droned on and the distance between the two boys stretched with it. Sirius traced his hands across the edge of the tablet as he stared out the window over the desk. In addition to Sirius’s initial pronouncement, the tablet now included a loopy scrawl from Peter asking for more details, and in his untidy scratch Moony inscrutably asked, on behalf of a Mr. Kipling, whether Sirius had indeed run a full sixty seconds worth of distance. James felt unsettled. He knew he needed to say something to end this quiet but conjuring any actual words felt beyond his current abilities.

“D’ya mind?” Sirius asked without turning to look at James. He just held a gold pack of rolled muggle cigarettes above his shoulder.

“Go for it.”

Sirius leaned forward to open the window. James heard the familiar clack and swoosh of a lighter. As Sirius exhaled, James watched his shoulders slump forward, as if the expelled smoke had taken all of Sirius’s swagger with it.

“So, who was the girl?” James asked, breaking the silence. “You didn’t mention dating anyone in your last letter.”

“Well,” Sirius said as he turned, softening his stance and leaning back on the desk. “That could be because I don’t know if we were dating, not really…”

“How’d you meet? Is she a friend of your cousins?”

“Merlin, no!” Sirius sneered. “Though I suppose, I have them to thank for meeting her. Like I said, summer was a misery. Bella and Narcissa practically moved in. And Bella’s completely lost the plot. She’s marrying a Lestrange, but you’d never know it. All she talks about is Voldemort and how he’s bringing pride back to Britain. It’s fucking disgusting. I spent as much time as I could out of the house.”

“You said you were riding alone most days on the Get-A-Round…” James said, quoting from one of Sirius’s early letters.

“The Underground,” Sirius corrected.

James shrugged. He wasn’t taking Muggle Studies, so he’d really never need to know the name of the mad contraption that transports people underneath the streets. Merlin knows he'd never ride on it.

“Anyway,” Sirius continued, “I was riding around a lot at the start, but there’s only so many times you can go around the Circle line. Tried hanging around Diagon Alley for a bit, but it was just more of the same. I ended up just exploring. Few weeks ago, I was wandering around Chelsea. I stumbled into this clothing store on the King’s Road and that’s where I met Cyan--”

“Cyan?!” James interrupted.

“Well, it’s Sarah, really. But she dyed the ends of her hair blue, and she was trying to get everyone to call her Cyan.”

“Fair enough,” James said, “I guess, wizards aren’t really in a position to judge someone’s name. We have some pretty weird ones...”

“Hengeist,” Sirius

“Adalbert.”

“Sawbridge.”

“Wilburforce.” James looked at Sirius to discover they were both, finally, smiling at the same time.

“Well, anyway, I just started going to King’s Road on the days she worked. We’d chat and then meet up after her shift ended. Usually just for coffee, but then, well a couple days ago she invited me over to hers to listen to a new record… and well. You already know how that went.”

James did know, and he nodded sagely at the tablet. For all of James’s mental griping over that stupid note and the frustration it caused, he couldn’t help but be intensely curious about the whole affair. Did she just proposition him out of the blue? Or, were there steps leading up to it? Did he bring wine and candles? James heard a rumor that girls liked for there to be candles.

“You know, I don’t really know why I did this.” Sirius said, tapping the slate tablet quickly with the cherry tip of his cigarette. “I guess... the whole affair just felt like it needed a cap off, you know? A full stop. An exclamation point. Some sort of definite conclusion.”

“Hmm,” James mused, not entirely sure of Sirius’s meaning. “I mean. Did it not… did you not… erm… conclude?”

“That’s not….” Sirius started. He held the cigarette gently between his teeth as he stretched both his arms, clasping them behind his back and puffing out his chest. “It’s like yes. You have sex. And sex on one hand is just sex. Just a physical thing, mechanical even. And I know that. Logically, unemotionally, I know that’s true. I guess I just thought, with the way people go on about it… I guess I just thought there’d be something… more.”

“More than sex?”

“More than just the physical bits...yeah,” Sirius leaned over James’s desk and stretched his arm out the window, tapping the ash off the cigarette. “I just expected to feel something more afterwards. But I was just tired… and slightly sticky.”

James shifted awkwardly from one foot to another. He did not know how to answer Sirius as he had no analogous experiences to share. He supposed that, he too, approached the idea of sex at different levels. There was the fantastical element that he would often indulge in before falling asleep at night. In that realm, there was nothing to fear. Then there was the practicality of it. The fact that he didn’t actually know what to do or how to make it okay for the girl. That was terrifying. When he thought of a hypothetical first time it was just as something to get done.

“You could say something,” Sirius muttered.

“I guess, I just don’t know what to say,” James said honestly.

Sirius turned away to stare out the window again.

“I think that’s why I wrote to you all. There was this big thing that happened, and then I just went home and everything was still as it was. So banal. I sat next to Reg at the dinner table and ate mushy peas. It was like it didn’t even happen.” Sirius got very quiet and looked away from James. In a small voice he said, “Does that make me sound like a nancy?”

“What?” James asked. Until that moment, it really had not occurred to him that Sirius would be feeling anything other than elated and slightly smug. Looking at his best friend now, shoulders slumped, hair falling in his face, and staring determinedly at the tip of the cigarette as if making eye contact with anything else would physically hurt, it was clear Sirius was feeling anything but.

“Mate, no!,” James assured him. “Not at all. It’s supposed to be a very big deal. If it weren’t, we all wouldn’t go around talking about it all the time. And, like, look at what Pete and Remus wrote… okay not so much Remus, but he never makes sense anyway. You know Pete lost his mind over it. You know he won't rest until you give him a moment by moment account and draw him a topographical map of her tits.”

Sirius chuckled, and finally brought his eyes up to meet James’s. “‘S’pose we will all have to deal with that. Pete may be the first student to pursue ‘History of Breasts’ at the NEWT level.”

“He’s a trailblazer.”

“Icon.”

“Legend, really.” James laughed and sidled over next to Sirius, perching up on the text beside him. “Feeling better, then?”

“A bit, thanks. Just wish you’d been there--”

James’s eyebrows jumped halfway up his forehead.

“No! Not, there there,” Sirius explained with a chuckle. “Just afterwards, back at the house. I just never thought I’d go out, shag someone for the first time, then come home at three in the afternoon to see my cousins playing dress-up in the living room. It was too bizarre.”

“I ‘spect all the really big events in life are like that. Stranger and way more awkward than you imagined. We’re all just stumbling our way through life.”

Sirius pulled a face of mock shock and clutched at his chest. “What? No! Not even the great James Potter!?”

“Especially the great James Potter,” James insisted, throwing an elbow at Sirius’s ribs for good measure. “You missed a spectacular faceplant this morning after I ran into a hoar oak on my new racing broom. KAPOW- and the SPLAT! Broom went one way, I went the other…”

“Yeah, well, you’re too pretty anyway. Would do your face some good to bang it up. Let’s see this new broom!”

Sirius tossed the remnants of his cigarette out the window and walked towards the broom lying on James’s bed. He picked it up by its glistening handle, flipping it on end to observe the finely trimmed twigs in the tail.

“Pheeeeew,” Sirius whistled low. “That! Is a damn fine broom, my good man. What’d you do? Manage to intercept all of Minnie’s letters home last year or did you catch Monty snogging Figgy.”

“Gross, Sirius!” James laughed, “Neither. Actually--”

James scurried over to the nightstand next to his best and retrieved his captain’s badge from the uppermost drawer. He was so excited to finally show it to someone other than Figgy and his parents, he could not even find the words. Rather, he simply thrust the golden badge engraved with a large “C” into his best friend's hands.

It took Sirius a moment, though no more than a moment to realize what he was looking at. Joy overtook his whole expression, as his eyes shone and he smiled brightly.

“YES!” Sirius roared, raising a fist in the arm. “WE’VE DONE IT! Sweet Merlin! YES!”

He grabbed James and pulled him into another hug, patting him on the back for good measure. James’s heart leapt in his chest at seeing his friend's joy.

Sirius was laughing as he stood back and examined the badge closely.

“It’s not a fake,” James said, “Letter had my name on it and everything.”

“That’s not what I’m-- do you see this? What does that says?” Sirius asked, holding the badge up to James face.

James squinted through his glasses. He did not see anything in the area Sirius was indicated. Only a brightly polished, immaculate gold surface.

“It doesn’t say anything there, mate.”

“Yes it does,” Sirius insisted. “Right there. It says ‘I’m better than Shacklebolt”

James shoved Sirius playfully, but Sirius just held the badge higher as he insisted that his best friend would be the best Quidditch Captain Hogwarts had ever seen. From James’s heart burst forth a wellspring of gratitude and joy. Being an idiot wasn’t so bad, he thought, as long as your friends were idiots, too.