#post-Hogwarts

[jomiddlemarch]

they two play out the game 

“Be honest—”

“What do you want me to say, Hermione? That I fell in love with you at school, when you loathed me, when you loathed me because I made you feel that way because I couldn’t bear your pity or worse, being beneath your notice, a shrug of your shoulders, an eyeroll? That the Amortentia I brewed in Potions smelled like ink and rose geranium soap and the bloody catnip you must have grown for your Kneazle in the greenhouses because you never would have nicked it from Sprout? That I envied Weasley for his family loving him and welcoming you, when my father wanted you dead and my mother refused to remember your name?”

Draco paused, lifted a hand from where he’d been gripping the railing and loosened his tie. It was dark blue, because they were no longer children, defined by Houses. He wore his robes open, like an Oxford don, and she could see the suit he wore was Savile Row, not Wizard-tailored. His brogues were polished to a shine short of a House-elf’s efforts.

“Should I tell you I’ve dreamt of you for years, in that periwinkle petal dress and on my ballroom floor, screaming for mercy, and in bookshops, in teashops, in the pub, laughing, smiling at Potter and Longbottom, making a face when you take a sip of your bitter? In the Wizengamot, at my trial, like a Fury. At all the other trials, demolishing their smug assurance, making them cower, making them see? Do you want me to explain how I told Astoria we would marry but I’d never be able to love her and she told me she already knew it, that she understood everything and that if I didn’t mind too much, she supposed we’d do well enough together? You want to hear how when my son was born, I wanted to Owl you, before anyone else, even though you’d have been baffled to receive any message from me, would have probably thought it was a prank from George Weasley, an overture to return to the Weasley bosom after you and Ron ended it ostensibly amicably, except that you’d left England and hadn’t been back in six years for more than a fortnight?”

He took a step nearer and Hermione resisted the urge to fold her arms across her chest or draw her robes closer in some nonverbal attempt at protection. He’d grown taller after the War ended and she hadn’t, not a whit, probably stunted by the stress and starvation of the Horcrux hunt, but he was still a few steps below her on the stairs, so he continued to look up at her, a supplicant. He was still giving her that power, that dominance over him which she hadn’t believed when he’d offered it earlier in words alone.

“Shall I tell you how I followed your career, the papers you wrote, the conferences you attended, collecting clippings like a lovesick groupie with his favorite Quidditch team? How I heard your voice when I taught Scorpius his first spells? How I told him the brightest witch I’d ever known was Sorted into Gryffindor and he was confused because his mother had been a Ravenclaw? How my wife fell in love with my best friend and I didn’t care, or rather, I was happy for her because Theo loved her back and it was nothing for me to look away and let them have the time they could? How I thought if you knew, you’d perhaps admire me for once, for not being selfish, for making some sacrifice, except that you’d be wrong, it wasn’t a sacrifice at all, not when I cared about them both in one way and not at all in another? You want to hear how I thought I’d seen you—at the train station and in the City, in the Prophet, your hair braided, that streak of white like a halo, like a queen’s ivory filet, your eyes, sweet Nimue, your eyes, Hermione—”

“I’m not a saint,” she put in.

He climbed another stair and now he looked directly at her. She could rest her hands on his shoulders if she wanted. She could raise a hand and stroke his cheek, graze the steel temple of his spectacles, the silver hair at above his ears. 

“I know. And I know why you don’t wear a glamour or charm your hair the color it was when we were young. You want me to tell you how my wife died and I wanted you to comfort me? To come to her funeral and hold my hand, to wear the veil for her and to let me fold it back over your head to face the truth? How I wanted you in my bed, fresh from your bath, in a nightdress you’d let me ruck up to your waist, naked beneath me, your skin like silk, arching up into my hands, gasping, laughing when I accidentally tickled your waist. Crying out when you felt my mouth on your breasts, suckling, when you felt my cock hard between your thighs, when I begged you? When I told you to spread your legs, love, when I praised you for being so good, my beautiful, darling, delicious witch I wanted to fuck all night, that there was no one else, there never had been, there never would be, only you, my darling with your dark eyes and your brilliant mind and your magic, your heart, your cunt—You want me to say that I love you, that I’ve loved you to the best of my ability for the best part of my life and that I don’t want you to go, not now, not ever, but I know that’s not up to me?”

There was a slight flush in his cheeks, a gleam in his grey eyes that might be tears, but his voice was steady, restrained, and there was space between them yet that she knew he would not breach. She used the effort required to cast tandem wandless in a duel to the death, more than she’d used when she was eighteen and expected to save the world.

“If it’s the truth—” she said.

“It’s the truth,” he answered. “There’s more, I suppose, but it’s much the same.”

“Then it’s what I asked for,” she said. She closed her eyes for a moment, part of her sure he would not be there when she looked again, a dream, a vision she’d conjured, Nimue and Merlin both, trapped within her desires while the world lived and grew around her. She opened her eyes and there he was, waiting. There was a shadow in his gaze, the expectation of rejection, abandonment. He was not a man accustomed to hope. She’d asked, though, and he’d answered.

“I’ve learned, as I’ve grown older, that I can’t hope for the best. Settle for what I’m given. I must take what I want, with both hands,” she said and reached over, up a little, to cup his face with her palms, her fingers touching the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck. He was very still, almost rigid, and she felt a frisson of fear, of being deceived, denied. 

“With both hands,” she repeated a little hesitantly. “Unless, you don’t, after all—Scorpius will not, and you have to put him first, of course—”

“I do,” Draco, beginning to smile. “And I was told not to come home without you, though Scorpius is willing to take my word for your arrival. He’s not waiting there for us.”

“No?” Hermione said, feeling terribly warm, terribly, wonderfully desired. Needed. Accepted.

“No, I shall have you all to myself,” he said. He finally put his arms around her, very carefully as they were still on a staircase and perhaps he was a little unsteady now. “D’you suppose, before we go, I might kiss you?”

“Here? Where anyone might see?” Hermione asked, though the hallway had been deserted for the past hour and the charm on the wall sconces needed to be recast. Though she had let herself look at his mouth, the curve of his lips. Let herself admit her own appetite had gone beyond any curious hunger, to craving, the sweet she had been forbidden for so long.

“Yes. Be honest, would that bother you?” he said.

“Do you think I will say it would? Do you expect me to tell you no when I’ve just said you’re what I want? All that I want?” she said, echoing him. Making him grin, a hint of the smirk she first remembered seeing on his face as a young boy, now subsumed into such tenderness she felt nearly overwhelmed.

“Is it the truth?” he said.

“Yes,” she said and then she didn’t say anything else because they were beyond needing any other word than “Home—” the Side-along as easy as a breath, as waking from a dream into the day.

They named their first daughter Verity, explaining it was a family name.

[severussnapedamagedlove]

Caught in a Lie {Dramione} NEW!

[short story] [post-war] [post-hogwarts] [hidden relationship] [hidden pregnancy] [forced marriage] [draco malfoy X Hermione Granger] [quidditch] [possessive draco malfoy] [piereced and tatted draco] [weasley family] [pro weasley]

READ AND COMMENT PLEASE ❤

[hsvh-hp-ficrecs]

Title: Lovesick Author: corvuscrowned | @corvuscrowned Pairing: Draco/Harry Rating: Teen Length: 7.6k Genre/Content: Amortentia, Banter, EWE, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Post-Hogwarts Warnings: none Summary: People keep spiking Auror Harry Potter with love potions. Healer Draco Malfoy keeps having to pick up the pieces. But it's getting harder and harder for Draco to watch Harry fall in love with everyone except for him.

What I enjoyed:

It’s funny and sweet, with the perfect dash of mutual pining. I love Healer Draco, and Harry without a lick of sense. Harry being stuck waxing poetic about each new great Love of his Life™ until the antidote to Amortentia kicks in is just hilarious. Draco has the patience of a saint to put up with him.

The last scene, when Harry kicks the Amortentia on his own is just. . .so good. That pining resolution just hits so perfect.

Read it here!

[kneecoal-mooma]

Some Percy doodles I did instead of going to sleep

[xeline]

An alcove led to a classroom, led to a last encounter at a seedy establishment that'd forever change Hermione's life.

Eleven years later, she finds herself in an impossible situation when, despite her best attempts to disappear from the limelight and Draco Malfoy's life, an inevitable meeting at Platform 9 ¾ threatens to undo all of the precautions surrounding the fact that her tryst with Malfoy left her with more than fond memories about a good shag.

A multi-chapter continuation of the Dramione Laws of Attraction series by Lucidlucy / Xeline.

(READ ON AO3)

[tacotimewriter]

My sister found out I write on ao3 and requested I write a Harry x Daphne fic. Enjoy! https://archiveofourown.org/works/53071630/chapters/134275873

[matrixaffiliate]

Linger

New Story! FFN and AO3

Sometimes, all Harry and Ginny need to do is linger in the moment together. A post-Hogwarts Harry/Ginny fluff story. For the fabulous deadwoodpecker, I hope your day is as wonderful as you!

Linger

Ginny basked in the sun, settling further into her pool chair as the cruise ship floated atop the waves. Her wet hair clung to her skin but she refused to move the twelve inches for her wand hidden in her bag. It was Harry's turn to entertain their children and her turn to sit poolside and enjoy the warmth for the week they'd have it.

The Potter's had vacationed enough with their children at this point to have a system, trading off so that they each managed to have a bit of a vacation from the vacation. Those years leading up to their system taught Ginny to not waste one second of that precious time.

So her wet hair clung to her back, likely tangled in her bikini tie, and Ginny chose not to care.

She drifted off for a much needed kip.

At some point, strong arms wrapped around her and she curled into Harry's embrace as he shifted them to share the chair.

"The children decided to go with your parents to see some of the game rooms."

"Good." Ginny yawned. "They can keep Dad out of trouble."

"Who's going to keep us out of trouble?" Harry nuzzled the side of her head.

Ginny tilted her head so that she could look up at him. "We have a suite, love."

"Not that I'm not willing." He brought his lips close enough to speak against her. "But I'm rather happy right here."

He pressed a soft kiss against her lips and Ginny melted into him, into the laziness of his pace, into the smell of sunscreen and chlorine and overpriced fizzy drinks.

"Me too."

"Good."

Harry shifted, bringing his hand to cup her cheek, his green eyes holding hers for a long moment before he leant in again. His lips caressed her, slow, savoring, as if he never wanted it to end. Ginny brought her hands to rest against his bare chest, sliding against his skin until her right hand found the beat of his heart, slow as his kiss. Harry's hand drifted from her cheek, meandering against her skin, tracing her, till coming to rest on her hip.

Their kisses slowed, the sun grew warmer, and before Ginny knew it, they both fell asleep.

Their children managed to find them and get them moving so dinner would not be missed. Showered and changed, children fed and currently raiding the dessert buffet with her parents, Ginny leant into Harry's arm around her shoulders.

"This was a good idea." She smiled up at him.

"I think the good idea was bringing both our children and your parents. I'd be far too tense to bring your parents on a Muggle cruise with only the two of us. And letting the kids run loose on their own isn't a good idea just yet. But having the five of them stick together lets me relax."

Ginny nodded, letting her eyes linger on the way his hair was getting a little long, the crinkle of skin around his eye as he smiled down at her, his green eyes shining behind his black rimmed glasses.

She leant into him, her kiss brushing his lips, her eyes fluttering close. Harry pressed forward, deepening the kiss, but not increasing the slow pace that had followed them from the poolside.

"I like you relaxed." She said, speaking each word between the brush of lips and teasing slides of tongue.

"I like you relaxed." His arm around her shoulder pulled closer.

"Ew! Mum! Dad! Gross!"

Ginny sighed and looked over to see their kids returning from the dessert buffet.

"Jamie, it's only kissing." She gave him the glare she'd learned from her mother.

"Doesn't mean you have to do it where I can see it." Jamie huffed and sat down in his seat.

"Where you can see what?" Arthur sat down next to him.

"Mum and Dad being gross." Jamie said around a mouthful of dessert.

"I was kissing my husband." Ginny rolled her eyes at her dad.

Arthur chuckled and winked at her.

"Well, I think I can help with that." He stood and pulled out Molly's chair for her as she helped Al and Lily with their plates. Once the two youngest were settled, Arthur pulled Molly into him and kissed her soundly.

"No!" Jamie cried and covered his eyes. "Not you too, Grandpa!"

"Is he going on about kissing again?" Molly laughed when Arthur released her.

"Seems to think we're scarring him." Ginny nodded.

Molly ruffled Jamie's hair. "One day when you're all grown, you won't mind kissing."

"I wish Teddy had come." Jamie looked back down at his plate, face nearly as red as Ginny's hair.

Ginny laughed, Teddy had already promised Vic he'd spend the Easter hols with her when the Potter's invited him on this cruise, and if things went the way Ginny thought, it would only take a year or so more before Teddy would be kissing a specific blonde haired, blue eyed niece of hers.

"We'll hold off for the sake of your sanity." Harry chuckled and squeezed Ginny's shoulder.

She turned to give him a bit of a pout. She had no intentions of stopping.

Harry kissed her nose.

"You reminded me earlier that we have a suite."

Ginny laughed and rested her forehead against his.

"Yes, I suppose we do."

They entertained their family for a few hours more before leading the children to bed and sending Arthur and Molly to watch the musical playing that evening.

Finally shut in their room, Ginny crossed the massive expanse of their bed to curl around her husband.

"Well, hello." He smiled down at her.

"You owe me kisses, Mr. Potter." She pouted.

Harry laughed. "Really? And how many kisses do I owe you, Mrs. Potter?"

"Well, you fell asleep by the pool."

"After you had already fallen asleep."

"And then you put off kissing me to appease our son."

"Which made the rest of the evening significantly more enjoyable for everyone."

"And the whole time we've been all alone in our room-"

"All five minutes."

"You've yet to resume kissing me."

Harry moved so fast, Ginny didn't see it coming. One minute, she was on her side wrapped around Harry, the next she was on her back with Harry looming above her.

"I don't care for debts." He smirked and slowly brought his lips within a breath of hers. "I think I'll pay you in full, plus a good amount extra."

"Then I'd be in debt to you." Ginny slipped her hands beneath his shirt and slid them along his chest.

"I'll be happy to have you pay me back when I'm done."

He brought his lips to hers in a kiss that stole every ounce of air from Ginny's lungs, and cut off any snarky remark she might have thought of before he claimed her with his kiss.

[stephentomwest]

Chapter 2: Unseen Wounds

The silence of the Gaunt family estate was suffocating. Even with the absence of Dementors, the cold here felt just as unrelenting, seeping into Ominis' bones like a poison. The tall, ancient walls of the estate loomed around him, their grandeur masking the decay beneath—both in the stone and in the bloodline it housed. This place was no home. It was a cage, as much as Azkaban had been. Perhaps more.

Ominis stood in the grand hall, his sightless eyes open but unseeing, his other senses alert to the faint echoes of footsteps that reverberated through the cold marble floors. The estate always seemed too large, too empty, the void filled only by the heavy weight of the family’s past—his past. The same past that had drawn him into the darkness he now feared.

His mother had said nothing when he’d returned. She had simply placed a cold hand on his shoulder, murmuring something about his “inevitable return” before retreating into her chambers. There had been no comfort in her words, just a reminder that he could never truly escape the Gaunt legacy. And now, after what had happened in the Forbidden Forest, he felt that legacy wrapping around him like a noose.

The memory of that night haunted him. He could still hear the crackle of dark energy, feel the earth trembling beneath his feet, sense the raw power that had surged between him and Sebastian. That power had been intoxicating—terrifying—but it was the aftermath that weighed on him the most. The creatures they had hurt, the sheer force they had unleashed, the way the forest itself seemed to recoil from the magic they had summoned. The Ministry had responded quickly, too quickly, and they had barely managed to escape.

But the worst of it wasn’t the spell. It was the look on Sebastian’s face afterward. The thrill. The hunger. Ominis could still feel it, lingering in the back of his mind like a shadow.

He shifted uncomfortably, tightening his grip on his wand, using it as a guide to navigate through the hall. Each tap of the wand against the marble floor echoed louder than the last, the rhythmic sound a stark reminder of the growing distance between him and Sebastian.

But it wasn’t just physical distance that had grown between them. It was something deeper, something Ominis had been trying to ignore for too long. He could feel Sebastian slipping away, being pulled deeper into the darkness that had always hovered around him. And Ominis… Ominis was terrified of being dragged down with him.

The door to his father’s study creaked open, and Ominis stepped inside, his heart heavy with a familiar dread. The scent of old parchment and dust greeted him, the heavy curtains blocking out whatever little light might have pierced the estate’s gloomy interior. He didn’t need to see his father to know he was there, sitting in the same stiff-backed chair, cloaked in his usual air of authority and disdain.

“Ominis.” His father’s voice was like a cold wind cutting through the room, filled with the same unyielding control that had shaped Ominis’ entire childhood. “You’ve returned at last.”

“I have,” Ominis replied quietly, his voice steady but lacking the strength he wished he could muster. He felt like a child again, standing before his father’s judgment, the weight of the family’s expectations pressing down on him.

There was a pause, and Ominis could hear the faint rustle of papers being set aside. His father’s presence felt larger than life, a towering shadow that filled the room. “And what have you brought back with you, Ominis? Trouble, I assume.”

The question lingered in the air, more accusation than inquiry. Ominis clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stand straighter, though his sightless eyes remained focused on the floor. “Nothing worth mentioning.”

“Nothing?” His father’s voice hardened, disbelief dripping from the word. “I find that difficult to believe. The Ministry was at our door this morning. Azkaban destroyed. A dangerous criminal on the loose. And you, Ominis, caught in the middle of it all. I warned you, did I not?”

“I didn’t—” Ominis began, but the words faltered, his throat tightening. He hadn’t wanted any of this. He hadn’t wanted to be dragged into Sebastian’s plans, into the darkness that seemed to follow him like a shadow. But how could he explain that? How could he justify his part in it?

His father stood, the creak of his chair echoing in the heavy silence. “You are a Gaunt,” he said coldly, stepping closer to Ominis. “Our bloodline is pure, strong. We do not consort with… dangerous influences.”

The implication was clear, and Ominis felt his chest tighten. Sebastian. His father had always hated Sebastian, had warned him time and time again to stay away from his friend. But Sebastian had been the only one who ever saw Ominis for more than just his family’s name, more than just a Gaunt. He had seen the person behind the bloodline, the one struggling to break free from the chains of tradition.

But now, even Ominis wasn’t sure who Sebastian really was anymore.

“You must end this,” his father continued, his voice low and commanding. “Cut ties with Sallow. He is dangerous, Ominis. He will destroy you.”

Ominis flinched at the finality in his father’s words. There was no room for argument, no room for doubt. His family had always seen the world in black and white, in purity and corruption. And to them, Sebastian was corruption.

“I won’t abandon him,” Ominis said, his voice softer than he had intended, but firm.

His father’s hand gripped his shoulder, tight enough to make Ominis wince. “You will do what is necessary. Your loyalty lies with your family, not with some misguided fool playing with powers he does not understand.”

Ominis swallowed, the guilt and confusion swirling in his chest. Was that what Sebastian was? A fool playing with powers he couldn’t control? Ominis wanted to believe otherwise, wanted to believe that there was still something good in Sebastian, something worth saving. But the memory of that night in the forest haunted him. The darkness had been so real, so tangible, and Sebastian had seemed… consumed by it.

“I’ve warned you once before, Ominis,” his father continued, his voice low and dangerous. “You will not bring shame to this family. Not again.”

The pressure on Ominis’ shoulder increased, and he knew the conversation was over. His father’s word was final. There was no room for debate, no room for negotiation. Ominis was expected to do what was right for the family. What had always been expected of him.

And yet, as his father released him and turned back toward his desk, Ominis stood frozen in place, his heart pounding in his chest. His family’s expectations were suffocating, pressing down on him with a force he couldn’t escape. But so was the loyalty he felt to Sebastian.

How could he choose between them? How could he sever the bond that had kept him tethered to the only person who had ever truly seen him?

As he left the study and made his way back to his chambers, the weight of his father’s words echoed in his mind. “He will destroy you.”

Ominis knew, deep down, that his father wasn’t entirely wrong. Sebastian was dangerous. His obsession with power, with breaking the rules, with pushing the limits of magic—it was all spiraling out of control. But Ominis couldn’t just turn his back on him. Not after everything they had been through. Not after the choices they had made together.

But if he didn’t… he feared his father’s warning might come true.

The estate was quiet as Ominis sat on the edge of his bed, his mind racing with the weight of it all. The Gaunt bloodline was a curse, binding him to a legacy of darkness and pride. But his friendship with Sebastian was its own kind of curse, pulling him deeper into a shadow he wasn’t sure he could escape.

And as the night stretched on, Ominis realized that no matter which path he chose, part of him would be lost forever.

[enigmaticemperor]

I started this off wanting to make it angsty, but sometimes (all the time), the fic and characters just have a hold over you.

Prompt #8: Ginny vs Dursley

The front door clicked open, and Lily came running into the living room and jumped into Harry’s lap, prompting him to drop the newspaper and go, “oof!”

He caught her so she wouldn’t fall off and asked, “Did you have fun with Mummy, Elle?”

Ginny and the kids had a ‘Day with Mum’ today. He didn’t know how they were able to manage three kids on these ‘Day with Dad’ and ‘Day with Mum’, but it was a fun and tiring day for one and a completely relaxing one for the other.

“Yep,” she popped the ‘p’ and went on, “we had waffles and then went to Uncle George’s shop. Jay and Al were running around, trying out everything, while I didn’t do anything. I was a good girl.”

“I’m sure you were, Lily,” he nodded along with her, “You didn’t trick Uncle George into giving you a few wheezes.”

She smiled guiltily but said, “Yes, I didn’t.” She placed both her hands on her father’s cheeks and patted.

“Then we had ice cream and went to the park, and then we had lunch and went shopping! Look, Daddy, I got you something,” She pulled out a fancy-looking quill which had a dragon on the end from her bag and handed it to him. 

“Thank you!” He smiled and kissed her on the cheek, his beard scratching her, which caused her to giggle.

“James Sirius Potter! Put that down right now! And you too, Albus Fleamont Potter! Wait until we get inside!” Ginny could be heard from the entrance.

Lily leaned over to whisper in his ear, “Mummy’s angry.”

“Why?” He whispered back.

“I don’t know,” she looked at him with big hazel eyes. “We didn’t do anything!”

He kissed her forehead and said soothingly, “I know you didn’t, Elle. Let me talk to Mummy, ok? You go put those in your room.”

She jumped off his lap, took her bag, and shouted, “Ok, Daddy!” and ran towards her room.

Ginny came in with the boys and told them to put their stuff in their rooms before placing three more bags on the coffee table. She walked towards him and plopped down on the sofa, her legs in his lap. 

He decided she wasn’t close enough and pulled her into his lap, saying, “Lily told me you’re angry.” He buried his face into her hair.

She was silent for a moment and then said, “I saw Petunia and Vernon.”

Harry’s arms tightened around her, and his face went pale.

She ran her hands through his hair, and they sat in silence for a moment before Harry asked, “Where? What happened?”

“At the mall. Why do you assume something happened?” She countered defensively.

He sighed wearily, “I know you, Gin. They must have said something to set you off, and you shouted at them.”

“He called Jay, Al and Lily ‘little freaks’,” she said darkly.

“What!?” He said indignantly.

“I almost hexed him there but I settled on shouting at them. I didn’t want to make a scene.”

“I wouldn’t have minded this time.”

“They deserved it last time too,” she placed a kiss on his cheek.

“Did the kids hear it? They didn’t give any sign of it,” he asked worriedly, his hands restlessly playing with the straps of her sundress.

She shook her head and he sagged against her in relief. “They were too preoccupied with the toys section.”

“They shouldn’t have to hear that. Anything like that,” he said firmly.

“You aren’t a freak either, you know,” she forced him to look at her and placed a light, feathery kiss on his lips. “You shouldn’t have had to hear that too.”

“So my wife tells me,” he said, pulling her closer. She looked into his eyes and found that he was a little shaken by the memories, but that he wasn’t as affected as he used to be. It was comforting to know that he was slowly, but surely getting rid of the hold the Dursleys’ upbringing still had on him.

“Smart woman.” She kissed him, washing away the painful memories of his childhood. He was loved now. He had an amazing wife and three wonderful children and -

“Muuuuuum! Lily isn’t sharing the Lego set with me and James!!” Al whined.

“Lego set, huh?” He smirked, his green eyes twinkling in amusement.

“Oh, hush,” she smiled, “You got them that train set last time.”

“Muuuuum!” This time it was James.

She slid off his lap to go talk to their kids. “Coming!”

Yes, he couldn’t have wished for anything better.

Read the rest of my fics for November Hinnyfest 2k22 on ff.net!

[marauderfic]

by wildestranger

Summary:

The challenge: Dark!Sirius is using gay!Remus for sex. Remus (one way or another) decides to leave him. Sirius finally decides that he truly does want Remus.

Cliches are what you make of them.

Comments:

Don't be fooled by the AO3 publication date, this fic was actually posted on LJ in 2005 and let me tell you, it's been a permanent resident in my brain ever since, to the point where I forgot the title and the author but remembered everything else.

I think the main reason why this fic is so relevant to me is because Sirius is dark but not caricaturesque or plain evil. This isn't your typical Gryffinwhore!Sirius with Remus pining pathetically. It's much more complex, more interesting and more real. Sirius is a flawled young man who has private internal struggles with himself and with what his world is turning into. He's someone Remus could love even if he doesn't want to. It's an accurate depiction of a difficult relationship.

The present tense and the way the POV is executed enhance everything. It feels like a nightmare, with the depiction of the war and all it's horrors contrasting the mundane events of everyday life. I love how we learn from what Remus tells himself explicitly but also with what's implied: the emotional complexity and character insight, the restraint after extremely dramatic events, the fear of vulnerabilty...

Illustrative quote:

Remus is different from Moony. Moony is a prankster, he can be coaxed into things he pretends he doesn't want to do. Remus is serious, and holds his delusions higher.

[jomiddlemarch]

I loved and guessed at you, you construed me

It was not that he was waiting for her as much as that he was most often in the faculty sitting room at this hour and so was she and the staff knew to leave out a full tea service and also a magically chilled bottle of very dry amontillado, the color of her eyes. And then to tell anyone else that the room was occupied and that they were not to be disturbed.

It wasn’t that he was waiting for her, but he did look up when she came into the room, letting the ancient, rare and precious book he held slip out of his hand, an instinctive, wandless spell keeping it from clattering onto the floor.

“You cut your hair,” Draco said. 

Any pretense to eloquence, savoir-faire, or intellectual rigor associated with achieving his Potions Mastery and Mwandamizi kemia had been decimated by the four words, uttered in a tone of complete shock, which given his Pureblood upbringing meant flat, with a hint of scorn. He had spent the past twelve years working to convince Hermione he wasn’t that man anymore, the one who would have meant the scorn, the fault-finding appraisal, cold and superior and not terribly clever underneath it all.

(The one he’d felt doomed to become before the chandelier fell in his family’s ballroom. Before she’d testified to keep him out of Azkaban. Before she’d returned his formal letter of apology with a brief addendum You were a child, Draco an absolution he didn’t deserve.)

Blaise always said he was his own worst enemy. Theo always nodded and offered a glass of single malt Scotch. Neville always shrugged and tried to reassure Draco, meandering through some nonsense about how they’d all had to grow up too soon, let down by the adults, forced to experience trauma that they’d been lucky to survive and a plate of buttered toast would soon set him to rights.

Luna changed the subject and talked about some possibly fictional chimerical creature to take his mind off his shortcomings. It never worked but he appreciated her effort and consistency.

“I suppose that’s better than ‘Bloody hell.’ And “Holy fucking Christ.’ Harry reverts to Muggle obscenity when he’s really surprised,” Hermione replied. “You only told me what I already know, as I didn’t accidentally fall into a Mongolian silver scissor-bush.”

“Is that a thing?” Draco asked. 

He had to keep talking but there was a lot to take in, the startlingly gorgeous line of her bare neck, the angle of her jaw, how her eyes looked enormous, luminous. How her chestnut hair was swept across her brow and came to a delicate little point on the nape of her neck, all these hidden aspects suddenly marvels revealed. Suddenly, astonishingly breath-taking and erotic and also heart-breaking, because he’d wanted so to run his fingers through her loose hair, to stand behind her and draw a brush through her curls. Watching her eyes get drowsy in the dressing-table’s looking-glass, resting a hand on her bare shoulder and feeling the tickling silk of her hair. He’d wanted to cast the spell that ended the charm securing her chignon, to pull out the jeweled pins she used to keep her braids in the coronet around her head. 

“No. It sounds like something Luna would mention though,” Hermione shrugged. It was as if he’d never seen the gesture before.

“It’s a lot to take in,” he said.

“It’s actually not. It’s both literally and figuratively not,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Snape being a double-agent in love with Harry’s mum was a lot to take in. Any Sunday lunch at Molly Weasley’s table is a lot to take in. War and Peace in the original Russian without a translation charm is a lot to take in. I took off a few inches—”

“A few inches?”

“Fine, I got the first professional, Muggle, haircut of my adult life because I was fed up with my hair and charms and Sleekeezy and glamours, so many glamours, and you would think I have announced I am Grindelwald’s secret lovechild,” she said in a tone of complete exasperation, pursing her lips in a matching moué he felt an impossible urge to kiss very thoroughly and until she was gasping his name. 

He was fairly certain that action would not be requited, not now, and potentially not ever.

But definitely not now.

She was now almost glaring at him, waiting for a response.

If this was ever to become something beyond hopeless pining, if he were ever to be allowed to call her sweetheart and coax her back to bed, he couldn’t get the next part wrong.

“Are you happy with it?” he said. It was a gamble, saying anything would have been a gamble, but there was a chance he’d gotten it right.

He’d surprised her, that he could tell instantly, though her face changed very subtly. It meant no one else who’d seen her had asked and considered she might be. No one else had thought about why she’d done it, only what they thought of it. Evidently, both Weasley and Potter had indicated a negative response, Weasley likely driven by his own unrealized Pureblood upbringing, where all witches wanted the long hair associated with power and Potter never wanted her to be anything other than she’d been in their youth, when her unruly hair was her most obvious signifier.

“Yes, I think I am,” she said. 

“That’s good. That’s what matters,” he said. He was supposed to reference the book he’d been reading or follow-up on their most recent conversation about geopolitics or whether Chopin was a Squib or at the very least offer her something to drink, the tea first and then, when she demurred, the sherry. But all of those would require him to look away from her and he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Not quite yet.

“I ought to have done it a long time ago,” she said. She spoke without her usual forthright confidence, but also without any of the regret the statement might have implied. She sounded hesitant, as if she wanted something from him she felt she shouldn’t. Or shouldn’t ask for.

It was tempting to make some sort of declaration, offer reassurance or an argument. But he’d gotten this far by asking her a question.

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. It would have been a way to move on. Grow up. Make my life easier, decide it for myself,” she said. She was watching him very closely as she spoke. She liked that he’d asked, though she wasn’t smiling. “It wouldn’t have been grief or some kind of, I don’t know, unhinged trauma response.”

It would very much have been a response to the colossal trauma she’d experienced if she’d hacked it all off after being tortured, and it wouldn’t have been unhinged when one considered the myriad extremely risky alternatives she might have chosen, but Draco wasn’t about to ruin everything. Even as his own worst enemy, he could keep from doing that.

“It could have been just something you do when you’re in your twenties, trying something out. Like, going to the Maldives or studying Norn. Learning earth magic from tribal elders in Namib.”

“Only you would saying learning earth magic in Namib is something you do in your twenties,” Draco said wryly. “Most people just go to the pub and fret a lot.”

“You didn’t,” she said.

“I think it’s well established I’m not most people,” he said.

“No. You’re not. You’re the only person who didn’t tell me cutting my hair was a terrible mistake,” she said. “As if it could even remotely compare to the other terrible mistakes I’ve made.”

“It’s not a terrible mistake,” he said. “And you’re the person I know best whose made the fewest terrible mistakes in her life and we can sit here drinking sherry talking about it because of it.”

“My parents wouldn’t agree,” she said.

“Neither would mine. I wonder how people grow up when they don’t have to discover their parents were deeply, entirely wrong about something absolutely crucial to survival,” Draco said.

“We could ask Blaise Zabini,” Hermione said after very clearly Thinking About It, a little crease appearing between her eyebrows.

“Too risky,” Draco replied. “It’s only the husbands people talk about but people have a way of disappearing when they ask questions about his mother.”

“No one would comment on her haircut,” Hermione said wistfully. “What a bloody icon.”

Draco laughed, startled.

“You’re enchanting,” he blurted out. Stupid, gauche, impulsive—he could go on (and on) about how ill-considered it had been.

“Well, I am a witch,” she said. She did not seem put off. In fact, she smiled at him, a little shyly.  “Goes with the territory—”

“You enchant me. Bewitch me,” he said, throwing caution to the winds. “You don’t want anyone to comment on how you look, so I shouldn’t but you’re exquisite—”

He broke off, fearing he’d broken it all. She was still in the room and he still had all his bits and bobs, when he knew she was a dab hand at wandless curses. It was rather late to decide discretion was the better part of valor, but better late than never.

“I didn’t do it for you,” she said.

“No,” he replied.

“I didn’t do it only for you,” she clarified. “But I was curious to see how you’d react.”

“Did you have a hypothesis? You usually do,” he said.

“Yes. You’ve exceeded it slightly,” she said. There was a gleam in those sherry-brown eyes and when she tilted her head to the side, he understood the vampire’s insatiable lust. 

“I can do better than slightly,” he said, half-dazed with the realization that she was requiting far more than he’d ever imagined. And that she’d imagined his response to seeing her bare neck, had wanted his admiration. He got up from his chair and crossed the room to her, standing close enough to take her in his arms. “I can do a wide margin. Prodigious. Overwhelmingly—”

“I like prodigious,” she said and he leaned in and kissed her parted lips softly, then deeply, one hand at her waist, the other cupping her cheek. The urge to possess her was tremendous, held in check only by an immense and constant tenderness, the moon that could pull the devouring tide back from the shore.

“Can I see overwhelmingly?” she whispered. “For comparison—”

“Of course,” he answered and moved to kiss her neck. He tasted the pulse of her carotid, sucking gently where he wanted to nip her. He moved back up to the hollow behind her ear, grazing her lobe with his tongue, then murmured,

“You cut your hair. I love it.”

[friendly-neighborhood-boricua]

What Do You Want To Be?

Summary: Sirius has a panic attack that takes a very sweet turn.

Notes: Harry Potter Universe, Sirius Black x gn!reader, modern AU or post-Hogwarts. I got the inspiration for this from a stand-up Netflix special, but I can’t remember the name of it. 

Sirius’s mind worked in a peculiar way. It ran at a million miles a minute no matter the situation, and although sometimes that was a good thing, it often worked against him. The smallest mistake could send his mind down a spiraling drain of anxiety and panic, and despite James, Peter, and Remus’s best efforts, it was difficult to fish him out again. Sometimes, the best thing the boys could do for Sirius was hold his hand and wait it out by his side.

Then, Sirius met Y/N. They were quite good friends from the very beginning (James loved to accuse Y/N of stealing Sirius away from him—all in good fun, of course), but Y/N had never seen Sirius’s descent into his own mind until the two started dating. Sirius had harbored a secret crush on Y/N since only a couple of days after they first met, and, much to his immense delight and utter relief, the feelings were reciprocated.

Now, nearly four years into their relationship, Y/N was the expert in keeping Sirius present and focused, even when his mind was trying to drag him down the drain. (It also helped that Sirius hadn’t had any contact with his mother or father in years, so he was much less prone to panic attacks overall.) James, Peter, and Remus had also gotten a bit better at calming Sirius’s nerves when necessary, but Y/N was still the best at it. 

Sirius smiled slightly at the sound of the door unlocking and took another plate from the sink, hoping to load the dishwasher quickly enough to greet her at the door. The sound of the door closing quickly erased that possibility, and Sirius’s shoulders sagged some; though he knew it wasn’t a big deal, he was a little more than disappointed that he wasn’t—

Sirius gasped sharply as arms encircled his waist, his own pulled tight to his chest in a defensive position. The next thing he knew, the plates in his hands were on the ground, shattered, and he was on his knees, apologizing and trying to pick up the pieces with shaky fingers.

“I’m sorry, ‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to—promise, I didn’t mean it—”

“Sirius.” Sirius’s head shook violently back and forth as if trying to shake away the soothing effect Y/N’s voice had on his mind, and apologies continued to spew from his mouth as he cut himself on the pieces’ sharp edges. “Sirius, love—look at me.” With a gentle but firm hand, Y/N held Sirius’s cheek and guided him to look away from the shards of plate in his bloody hands. 

“‘M sorry.” Sirius was tearful now as he looked into Y/N’s eyes, but they shook their head gently.

“Don’t panic,” they said simply. “What do you want to be?”

The first time Y/N had said this to Sirius was right after he had awoken from a nightmare. He had run away to the Potters’ house only days before, and James had invited Y/N over, knowing they would want to be with Sirius. The two had only just started dating, and although this aspect to their relationship was new, James was sure that if anything happened, Y/N would be able to calm Sirius with ease. Y/N was still awake when Sirius woke from his nightmare that night, and he barely had time to crawl into their arms before he began to shake and cry uncontrollably. And just as James knew would happen, with two simple sentences, Y/N had calmed Sirius’s mind from a racing whirlwind of anger and fear to a light drizzle of emptiness—an emptiness that was at least partially soothed by their presence. 

So on this particular afternoon on the kitchen floor, Sirius’s peculiar mind processed these two sentences very carefully. “Don’t panic” was easy enough; Sirius took a deep (if shaky) breath and forced himself to blink slowly, keeping his eyes on Y/N’s throughout. “What do you want to be?” was a little trickier, but his mind gave him a head start: a good friend, an auror, Harry’s favorite uncle … it was almost like a game, and it distracted his mind perfectly from the panic he was experiencing just seconds ago. And then, his mind threw another answer in his face, and it came flying out of his mouth without his permission.

“Your husband.”

The silence that followed Sirius’s words filled every crevice of the small London apartment. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, and Sirius’s mind, which had finally quieted for just a moment, began to refill with anxiety.

“Yeah?” Y/N said, and Sirius nodded slowly. They smiled. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

Y/N guided Sirius into the bathroom and cleaned his cuts with gentle touches, apologizing each time he winced at the rubbing alcohol. Sirius could scarcely believe what had just occurred. He had just proposed, right? Usually proposals were a surprise to one party involved—sometimes both parties had a sort of “game plan” before it all—but he’d never heard of a proposal that was a surprise for both people, so did this count? He didn’t even have a ring. Should he have gotten one by now?—

“Sirius,” said Y/N, and Sirius looked down at them. 

“Yes?” he whispered. They gazed up at him with soft eyes, and the stress that had built up in the last minute or so flowed away yet again. Y/N placed a soft palm on Sirius’s cheek, their other thumb rubbing circles over the bone of his right wrist. 

“You feeling any better?” they asked, and Sirius nodded twice. Y/N smiled at that, taking a curl that fell in front of his eyes and smoothing it back. “Did you mean to say that … earlier?” they asked, and for once, Sirius found a hint of anxiety in their eyes instead of his.

Biting his lip, Sirius shrugged. “I mean … I didn’t plan it or anything, and I haven’t got a … a ring, but …” he shrugged again, his eyes falling to Y/N’s where it lay over his bandaged hand. He bit his lip. “But I … I wouldn’t mind, as long as … as long as you’re … happy with it.”

Y/N grinned up at him, light and mischievous. “Do you want to marry me, Sirius Black?” they asked in a teasing tone, and Sirius groaned, leaning forward and burying his face in the crook of their shoulder and neck. 

“Don’t tease,” he murmured, lips pressed to Y/N’s collarbone as he spoke. 

“Well, you’ve got to give a response to my proposal, Mr. Black,” Y/N responded with a faux-innocent look. “D’you wanna marry me?”

Sirius peered out from his spot on Y/N’s shoulder and nodded, a fierce blush burning over his face. “Yeah, I wanna marry you,” he whispered against their lips, which curled up with a genuine smile. 

“We can go down to the courthouse later, if you’d like?” they whispered, and Sirius nodded, pressing a sweet, warm kiss to their lips.

[tomionefinds]

Hi! Trying to find a fic I remember reading about 2 years ago. Hermione is born in Tom’s time but is about ten(?) years younger and she meets him officially at a party in the 1960s. I remember Tom is described as a bit aged by this point. He also disappears for years at a time on mysterious travels throughout their relationship, and she learns to accept it. In the end I remember they retire to an island or something as an agreement. Would appreciate if anyone could remember the name :)

Hey Anon,

Thanks for the ask I'm pretty sure this is You Should Know by @phantomato, but I haven't read the end so not sure about the last bit.

You've reminded me I need to finish this fic. I started a ton of WIPs a couple years ago that are now complete, or updating again, that I need to get back to. -JD

You Should Know by Phantomato E/Ma | Complete | 75k Hermione, born in 1934 and Minerva McGonagall’s best friend, meets Tom Riddle, the boy whose scores were always just better than hers, at a wedding in the summer of 1961. She’s comfortable with what she wants from him, but he’s about to enter the next stage of his plan to take over the Wizarding world and test the limits of her acceptance.

AU where Hermione and Tom are contemporaries, but meet as adults during his rise to power. Older characters, not a darkfic, HEA.

[wolfstarshipping]

Let Me Get What I Want (This Time) by Sierra_Sitruc (69.878 words) Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, minor James Potter/Lily Evans Potter

magical AU, fix-it fic Summary: Sixteen-year-old Sirius Black begins having mysterious visions. Maybe this time, he won't make the same mistakes.

Comment: This was such an incredible fic, I loved it so much! Sirius starts having visions of how his and the marauders' future will unfold and he figures out how to change things, and fix them. I loved all the characterizations in this fic, and the premise and the whole plot, and the slow burn relationship, everything about it was just wonderful and so immersive and magical, and a very interesting way to look at all of Sirius's canon choices and just all the canon events and how things could have gone differently instead. Can highly recommend it, if you haven't read it already!

[feliphilia]

A Haunting Voice.

"Long time no see, Lyall."

He may not have heard his voice or seen his face for the past 5 years, but he'd recognize that voice miles away. Because that voice has been haunting him ever since he---

"Wow, you've actually have grown a little."

"Hey...Alphard. That's quite a nice way to greet an old friend isnt it?"

"Friend you say?"

"...yes"

Alphard cocked up and eyebrow in wonder at lyall's hesitation, at his nervousness and visible anxiety.

"I-- well..."

Lyall looked down on his feet and the words...well more like his hand slipped up to reveal a engagement ring on his finger.

Alphard stared at it for a few seconds.

"Is that a promise ring of you and Fleamont?" He joked

"No. No Alphard. I'm engaged."

There was a uncomfortable silence between them.

Tears were threatening Alphard. But he held them back and---

"Well congratulations lyall. Who's the lucky girl?"

Lyall's face jerked up at Alphard's comment. But, as expected, he saw the feeling of betrayal in his eyes. The same sight that had been taunting him in his worst nights

"Alphard..I'm sorry i-"

"Save your breath Lupin"

And the voice trailed off... the same voice that had been haunting him ever since he got engaged to Hope Howell

[ellie-e-marcovitz]