#potter stinks || asks

[g1rld1ary]

I feel like you’d eat up this idea so much but Camp Counselor James Potter!!

Where its semi frenemies to lovers after James unexpectedly becomes head camp counselor alongside reader, thus forcing them closer as they have to work together. I’d imagine James as a sports/swim instructor who the campers adore and reader as an arts and crafts teacher who James has liked for years since they met at camp (even before they became counselors.)

summer friends - camp counselor!james potter x camp counselor!reader

wc: 2816

cw: swearing, implied fem!r but i don't think any pronouns, alcohol, throwing up (once)

part TWO

first of all thank u so much for the compliment anon i hope i am doing it justice!! i actually love this idea and so there's gonna be more parts because i have so many fun lil camp ideas already HOWEVER we don't rlly have summer camps where I'm from so if u wanna see anything specific (activity/trope etc) please request!!! love u xoxo

It was stinking hot already. The clock in your car was broken so you weren't sure exactly what time it was, but you were sure it was too early to have sweat dripping from your brow. Nine, maybe. Still, nothing could bring down your present mood, not the sweat, not the early morning on a weekend, not even that your Fleetwood Mac CD kept skipping during The Chain. No, you were in the best mood you'd been in in a while and nothing could ruin it.

You were headed back to camp. Your camp. It was your first year as head counselor at the camp you'd grown up in and you were filled to the brim with excitement and drive to make this summer as magical as the ones you had growing up. Pulling into the dirt parking space you sighed contently, glad to be back where you belonged.

It was weird to see the camp almost empty. You'd been a general counselor before so you'd seen the camp without kids, but being one of the first there in the morning was peaceful. You waved cheerfully at one of the cooks who'd been working since you were a kid, laughing as he tried to return the gesture over the boxes he was hustling into the kitchen.

You broke into a jog to catch up with the camp director who you needed to meet with, smiling widely when he greeted you. You made small talk as he led you around the camp, giving directions to some of the staff setting up in between his extended spiel explaining your duties. You really were trying to listen but you couldn't help your eyes darting to each movement in the corner of your vision. The other head counselor should have been here already, and it wasn't like him to be late. Michael was one of the many kids you'd grown up with through summers, and he was just as devoted to camp as you were, so it wasn't surprising he also made head counselor, but it was surprising that he was now late.

"Where's Michael?" You asked when the director took a breath. He turned to look at you, one eyebrow raised slightly.

"Didn't we tell you? Michael had a health scare, he can't work this summer." You could feel your mouth hanging open. The two of you had been talking about this for years, dreaming of becoming the head counselors.

"So who's—"

"Nothing like the fresh air, is there?" Your shoulders tensed just by the timbre of it, you could recognise that voice anywhere.

"Potter," You turned to greet him, ponytail swinging behind you.

"No need for last names, love, I saw your braces phase," James retorts and you huff, rolling your eyes dramatically.

"Yeah, yeah, and I've got pictures of your acne. So you're really my partner this summer?" James didn't bother replying, his cocky grin saying it all. You felt the director's eyes on both of you and refrained from another snip in fear of it undermining your leadership, but still shot James a dead-eyed smile to let him know you weren't done.

You were dismissed to settle in until the other counselors arrived for briefing after a few other business matters (for which both you and James stayed civil and responsible) and all but ran to your car, eager to get the moving in part over with as quick as possible.

After so many years of making camp your home away from home, you'd pretty much nailed the routine of packing and unpacking, and your part of the four-girl cabin was taking shape very nicely if you did say so yourself. You even had time to stick up the photos you'd printed out, which usually took at least a week to happen. You were just wiping the sweat off your face with the hem of your t-shirt when someone cleared their throat. You didn't need to guess who it was.

James was leaning against the doorframe, looking unfairly unperturbed by the heat.

"Sorry your dream boy couldn't be here," He said and you couldn't quite tell if he was joking.

"Michael and I—"

"Relax, I was talking about your real boyfriend, remember?" You paused at his statement, studying your painted fingers intently.

"We broke up," You said quietly, not daring to look at James in fear of him teasing you about it. You consequently missed the flash of curiosity (and maybe relief) that passed across his features.

"Sorry," He said awkwardly, still under the doorframe.

"It's fine. He's a dickhead."

"I could have told you that last summer!" He laughed, then slapped a hand over his mouth as he realised it might have been too far. You managed a small laugh yourself, if only to make him feel better about his misstep.

"Yeah, yeah. Last summer you also thought swallowing gum would fuse your insides together."

"And I stand by that! You should just learn to listen to me," He crowed, eyes sparkling with mischief. You rolled your eyes again, pushing yourself off the bed to reapply your deodorant.

"If I ever start listening to you, take it as a sign I'm losing my marbles," You said, ducking under the arm James had stretched across the doorframe, "Now come on, everyone'll be arriving." You don't stop to see if he's following, marching out of your cabin and toward the dining hall where the counselors would convene. James watched you go for a moment with a soft grin before jogging to catch up and bother you some more.

The dining hall was already buzzing with energy and noise and the campers hadn’t even arrived yet. You smiled as you watched the counselors meet and mingle, some of them being kids you’d grown up with almost your whole life.

“Everything the light touches is our kingdom,” James’ whisper appeared from behind you.

“You are so lame.” You don’t bother looking at him, convinced you knew exactly what face he’d be pulling. “Now make yourself useful and greet everyone.” You might have been a little rude, but it was clear to you that this job wasn’t nearly as important to James as it was to you. Head counselor was something you’d been working towards since you’d started at camp, and you would like to keep the gig through college if James didn’t ruin it for you.

A booming noise silenced the room, and you were surprised to know it came from James. He started off the address for you outlining all the boring housekeeping notices you could recite in your sleep. They were almost exactly the same every year, except for James’ insistence on being the funniest in the room and making jokes after every other statement.

“As you know if you find any contraband in the camper’s belongings report it to the camp director, especially if it’s an illicit substance, as there may be serious discipline. However, if it’s alcohol, slip into into my cabin ‘coz god knows I’ll need a drink after dealing with the kids and this one.” He gestured over to you, receiving a ripple of laughter throughout the room. You grit your teeth, trying not to react and be the bad cop of camp.

“Just so we’re all clear,” You faked a laugh, “None of the campers or counselors will be ingesting or posessing alcohol while at camp. Right guys?” You locked eyes with the camp director, trying to bring him down from the conniption he was on the verge of. It worked, mostly, and you took over from James, shooting him a warning glare as you rushed to finish listing off the timetable for the coming evening and next day as campers arrived.

In his defence though, James wasn’t exactly wrong. Although the camp director could never ever find out for the sake of all your jobs, there was definitely a stash of alcohol that all the counselors contributed to and had access to, though strictly when there was no risk of campers or higher ups finding out. Like tonight. Every year before the campers arrived the counselors held a campfire right out in the forest; far enough away that there was almost no risk of the adult-adults finding them, but close enough that drunk walks back to the cabin weren’t quite impossible.

That brought you to the campfire. You’d been stuck in meetings and doing last minute admin all night and you really needed the break. You could only look at schedules and spreadsheets for so long anyway, add James to the mix and you were going absolutely crazy.

You’d snagged a spot next to Lily, hugging her tight as you reunited.

“I can’t believe you’re stuck with Potter,” She said, taking a sip from some ungodly drink one of the counselors had mixed. You laughed as you pulled away and greeted Remus quickly, taking the can of cider he offered.

“I’m just thanking my lucky stars it wasn’t him three years ago.” You shook your head resolutely, “At least now I’m sure he’s human. I just hate that he’s gonna make me bad cop all summer.” Remus cocked his head in confusion and Lily asked for clarification so you continued.

“You know, James is always the funny one, James is always the chill one. I’m the one who’s gonna have to spoil the fun and enforce the rules.”

“That’s not true though, you might be the one sticking to the rules but you’ve been here just as long. Everyone knows and loves you, and you’ll have just as much fun even if you aren’t quite as go-with-the-flow,” Lily said, a comforting hand resting on your arm.

“Prongs might surprise you,” Remus said, clearly taking a different approach, “I think when it matters he’ll step up to the plate.” You looked at him for a moment, considering his philosophy. You chanced a glance over at James to see him halfway through a game of beer pong — losing badly in fact, and sighed. If he, the head sport and swim counselor, was losing at a game consisting of throwing then he must’ve already been smashed.

He caught your eye at just the wrong (or right) moment and waved you over with such excitement that you excused yourself from the conversation to see what he wanted.

“Sirius needs a teammate,” He said simply, gesturing for you to go over and play. You shook you head furiously.

“So you’re asking the arts and crafts leader? I have zero coordination.”

“Yeah, and? You’re competitive and that’s all that matters. Consider it our head counselor bonding time.” You looked at James for a moment, weighing out the pros and cons in your head. You figured it couldn’t be that bad even if you embarrassed yourself, and you really didn’t want the other counselors to think you had a stick up your arse after getting the position. So, you reciprocated the high five Sirius had offered and got in position.

The game went shit, as could have been assumed. You really didn’t have an ounce of coordination, your throws missing most of the cups. Sirius was better, making your team at least not totally hopeless, but the two of you were no match for the machines that were James and Marlene — though both significantly worsened by their inebriated states. You were providing the trash talk though, which seemed to keep everyone entertained

“Ok new game!” James clapped after you’d downed the last drink, “Sirius, switch with me.”

“What! But I like my partner!” You high-fived Sirius again at his declaration, now sufficiently buzzed from the shitty beer you’d been using.

“Yeah, we’re doing just fine, Potter. Worry about yourself.” It came out a bit louder and more aggressive than you intended, but James didn’t seem to mind — none of you were sober enough to be picking up on the intricacies of human communication. James mimed a stab to his heart dramatically.

“You kill me,” He groaned, leaning on the folding table in despair. You laughed loudly, holding up your hand in the shape of an L to rub it in. After rubbing it in for a moment you conceded, stomping your way to his side of the table, patting Marlene on the shoulder as you swapped places.

“Alright, Potter, let’s get this round over with so I can kick your arse again.” James’ grin was practically blinding as he brightened up, getting ready to play another match. You might’ve been getting a little too competitive, but it was camp and you were drunk, so everyone around the table was matching your energy tenfold.

“Are you actually capable of getting a ball in a cup? You’re genuinely so terrible at this,” James laughed as he said it but you took it personally, shoving him aside.

“Piss off, dickhead. Just because you’re a big shot athlete or whatever.” You must have finally struck a nerve in James as he was quiet for the rest of the game, still much more skilled than you but his energy significantly dampened. Even when you won, he only offered you a weak smile and a pathetic high five. You felt bad for a moment and opened your mouth to apologise, but your inebriated brain was distracted by music playing, running over to Lily to ask her to dance.

You were at the stage of being drunk where everything was perfect. The day’s heat had mellowed out into a dreamy summer night, a soft breeze rustling the leaves above you all as you danced and drank, reuniting after a long year apart.

You might’ve overdone it slightly though, which found you a little ways away from the rest of the party, emptying your stomach into a bush where hopefully none of the campers would stumble across it. Looking past your unfortunate accident you caught a glimpse of a dark shape on the bank of the river. Narrowing your eyes you tried to make out who it was, but settled on getting closer instead. You hesitated when you made it out to be James.

“Hey, Potter. You alright?” You called awkwardly, a little unwilling to get too close.

“Hm?” He looked back at you, voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Yeah, fine.” You sighed. He was clearly upset about something and you couldn’t just end the conversation there, no matter how much you didn’t want to have a DnM with James Potter on night one of camp.

Reluctantly you got closer, taking a seat next to him. You watched the lake for a few minutes, black except for the silver from the moon. It was peaceful when there weren’t so many people around, it was one of your favourite things about camp, just being outside and disconnected from the rest of your life.

James broke the silence first.

“Do you… Are you mad that I’m co-head counselor?” You chanced a glance at him, surprised at the vulnerability in his voice. James wasn’t usually one to get sappy or personal like that, especially not with you.

“No?” You replied, “It wasn’t what I imagined, obviously, but it’s not like I hate you. You’re just mildly infuriating like 80% of the time.” James snorted, and you got the feeling he’d intended to wallow a bit longer. But James was James and he couldn’t stay moody for too long, it wasn’t in his nature.

“I can work with that.” He smiled his blinding grin, and you could have sworn you could see it reflecting off the water.

“We have to be a team though,” You affirmed; now was as good a time as any for you to address it. “I know that your whole bright and lively class clown thing is effortless for you, but I don’t wanna be the bad cop all the time, okay?” James was deep in thought for a second, then a cheeky grin crept onto his features.

“You think I’m bright and lively?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes, but you weren’t sure you weren’t returning his smile. “Come on, let’s get to bed. Neither of us can afford to be hungover when the kids get here.”

You and James wandered back towards the cabins, both hazy and giggly from the lasting drunkenness and the (at least temporary) smoothing over of your tenuous relationship.

PART TWO

[persephone-writes]

A Diviner's Guide to James Potter

Chapter Eighteen: Innamorati

James Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Chapter Seventeen - Chapter Nineteen ☆ Series Masterlist

Description: Presents, dueling practice, and parties, oh my!

Word Count: 8.8k

Notes: I know that drinking games are more of an american thing, but I am simply choosing to ignore this fact because they are fun and no one can tell me they aren’t 

James had made his decision and it was final. Instead of getting drunk in the RoR to celebrate his birthday, he’d go out looking for the map once again. Unwilling to hear out any arguments, you all headed back to the tower, though not without some complaints from Sirius.

In the meantime, you waited with Lily and Marlene as the others went into the common room after dinner to check if Zephyr was there. You had insisted that it was fine if he was, given that you’d have to see them all eventually, though it made little difference. Luckily, the coast was clear, allowing you all to sit by the fire and celebrate in peace.

“Does it smell like fish in the Slytherin common room?” Marlene whispered to Remus, who was sitting beside her on the sofa. 

He shrugged. “Not really, no. Why do you ask?”

“Isn’t it half under the lake?”

You laughed, even more when she turned to you in confusion, her brows furrowed. “Even if it did, I’m sure it’d be charmed to take away the smell.”

James looked up from his spot on the floor where he was playing a game of exploding snap with Peter and Sirius, his face contorted in disgust. “Even if it’s charmed, it still stinks.”

You rolled your eyes. “It could smell like roses and frankincense and you’d say it was like a pile of hot rubbish.”

“It’s hurtful you’d even suggest—”

“We’ll skip you if you don’t stop flirting,” said Sirius, his arm propped on his leg as he smiled in that evil way he seemed to save only for your torment. 

Your ears went hot, your eyes shooting over to Lily in the armchair, still engrossed in her book. She did not look up, turning a page as James said something disparaging to Sirius. He turned back around, still bickering as he flipped over his card. A pop went off, a small explosion erupting in the middle of their circle. They all jumped back, the smoke lingering in the air as they hollered. 

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

You cringed as the floorboards squeaked under your feet, the early morning sunlight a shimmering yellow where it filtered in through the diamond window panes. No one sturred in their beds, not that you could hear, anyway. You continued towards the bathroom, only half awake and wishing you were still tucked underneath your blanket. Even the day after his birthday, which should’ve been spent sleeping in after a night of fun, James wanted to practice. 

“Tomorrow, six am. If you’re not at the staircase by then, I’ll figure out a way to come up.”

“Why six? Can’t we do it at seven or—”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I have practice at eight-thirty, then I have to actually start doing some schoolwork or I’ll flunk the N.E.W.T.s. And I meant it about figuring out a way up.”

You got ready as quickly as you could, fussing far too much over the way you looked given that you were seeing a friend under entirely unromantic circumstances. Still, you couldn’t help but stare a little longer in the mirror than usual, feeling as though you needed a cold shower. 

Beating away your nerves, you brought your bag with you, James’s birthday present safe inside. This would be the only time you’d get him alone today, and the thought of giving it to him in front of the others made your stomach drop. There was something that seemed too intimate about doing it in the company of anyone else, as if it would give you away, as demure as the gesture was. It was just a birthday gift, completely ordinary. 

Just as he said, James was waiting for you at the bottom of the girl’s staircase, twirling his wand like a drummer. He had tried to teach you how to do it once, though you never got the hang of it, always sending it flying across the room. 

When he heard you coming down he smiled, raising his brows at your tired eyes. 

“It’s not that early,” he said, putting his wand back in his pocket. “I could’ve made you get up at five.”

“They call it a holiday for a reason,” you groaned, though it only made him laugh. He led you to the portrait, holding it open for you as you stepped out. “Did you have any luck last night?” you asked. 

He shook his head, his smile leaving. “No, the door was locked. We couldn’t figure out a way to break it open. I think he got Flitwick to charm it, probably thinks we’ve been rummaging around in there.”

“The one time he’s a step ahead,” you said with a bitter chuckle. 

Filch always seemed to be well aware when they were up to something, though it was rare that he was able to catch up in time. It had been dumb luck he found the map, though there was little way he’d get anything from it. As James had once explained to you, “It knows who’s safe and who isn’t. It lets you in because we like you, same with Lily and Marlene and Dorcas. If anyone else tried to crack it, they’d better be marauders at heart.”

“Isn’t Remus good with locking spells?” you asked.

“Yeah, you should try to open his trunk. The things sealed like a vault at Gringotts,” he said, his smile slowly peeking through again. “We’ll get it back, it just might take a little longer than we hoped.”

James stopped at the tapestry while you jogged down the corridor to check if anyone was coming, a routine you had quickly gotten into over the course of the week. He began to walk back and forth, glancing back at you as the door appeared. 

“Maybe we’ll try bombarda next time,” he continued, pushing it open. “I doubt they accounted for that.”

You shook your head at him, holding the strap of your bag a little tighter as you entered the RoR. You stood still for a moment, building up your courage, pulling out the small package with a deep breath. You had wrapped it in scarlet paper, a tag with James’s name carefully placed in the corner. With a sheepish smile, you handed it to him before your anxiety got the best of you. 

“Happy birthday,” you said, your heart racing as you watched him consider it. 

He lifted his face, his eyes meeting yours. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

You knew he was being honest, though you weren’t sure you could take a back and forth with him. You tried to smile through your nerves, motioning to the present. “Nonsense. Now, open it.”

He sighed, ripping off the paper and tossing it on the floor beside him before opening the box. The joy in his expression grew as he took out the small transistor radio, experimentally pulling up the antenna. 

“It’s a muggle one,” you explained, fidgeting as he flipped it over in his hands. “My cousin is married to a muggle, and he’s a pretty good curse breaker, so he’s also decent at overriding some advanced charms. He’s been trying to figure out a way to make a radio pick up muggle stations at Hogwarts. He tried to explain how he finally did it in his letter, but I only understood about half of it,” you laughed, biting your lip as you watched his eyes widen.

“This will pick up muggle stations?” he asked, his voice on the brink of exclamation. 

You nodded, his excitement infectious. 

He quickly turned it on, raising the volume as he flipped through the stations. After a bit, he stopped on one playing an advertisement for carpet cleaner, looking more happy than anyone in the world upon hearing a sales pitch. 

“Turn it to something good,” you laughed, moving to stand beside him as you watched the needle move along the display. 

He flipped through the stations again, stopping every once in a while when the static cleared. He settled on one playing an old song, the piano slow, the singer even slower, his smooth voice pouring from the little speaker just before the trumpet came to replace it. He was singing about love, maybe his own, but it felt like it was about yours. 

James seemed to settle into something more tranquil, though not completely without his usual energy. He set the radio down, holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers as if he had any need to entice you. 

You knew you shouldn’t, that being close to him was a surefire way to get you a flustered, nervous mess, though you didn’t care. You rolled your eyes as if that would make it better, letting your bag fall from your shoulders and onto the floor. He took your hand, pulling you closer to place his other on your back. You couldn't help but laugh, ignoring the way his shoulder felt beneath your hand, the way he swayed you back and forth, leading you where he wanted to go. He’d always been a good dancer, though you’d never danced with him like this, the way you’ve dreamt of a hundred times before. It was better than a dream, for in your dreams you hadn’t felt his warmth or seen the look on his face so vividly as he pushed you back out to spin you. 

“I take it you like your present?” you asked, desperately needing something to say. At any moment you thought your heart might explode, filled with a deep, gnawing pain. 

“You should keep it,” he said, not letting you go even as the song changed. “Your cousin gave it to you. I don’t think it’s right for me to have it.”

Your feet moved faster with the new beat, more swinging this time, upbeat and less breathy. James’s moves became sloppier, though you suspected it was on purpose. 

“It’s your birthday present, I gave it to you to keep,” you said, “I have one at home, anyway.” 

“Not one that works at school,” he argued.

“Just say thank you and keep it,” you said, watching as he paused to listen to the song.

“I like this one. Who is it?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” you said, a noise of surprise leaving you as he pushed you out again, grabbing your other hand to pull you towards him, your back against his chest. He poked his head beside yours, laughing at your reaction. You swallowed, your fear that he could feel your racing heart becoming stronger and stronger the longer he held you. “Where’d you learn to dance?” you asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice. 

“Call me a natural,” he teased, spinning you again so you could dance normally. 

You tried to act nonchalant, letting go of his hand as you took a step back. You went over to the radio, switching it off, the RoR falling back into silence. When you turned to him, he was still chuckling, an acknowledgment that you could get each other to do things that you would normally fight against tooth and nail. You wondered how much would change if he knew it was because you loved him.  

“We should get on with it,” you said, checking your watch, “we’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Ouch. Tell me how you really feel.”

You went to the other side of the room, hitting his arm as you passed him, the smell of his hair still fuzzy in your head. 

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

To prevent it getting confiscated by McGonagall, Filch, or any other Hogwarts killjoy, you and James decided to keep the radio a secret between you and the others. When James presented Sirius with it in their dormitory after quidditch practice, he told you with quite the smile that, “you would’ve thought I was showing him the philosopher’s stone.” Thus, it became the talk of the day, or rather the week, all of you lamenting the fact that Dorcas wasn’t there to share in the glory of your gift. 

However, not all was well. There was nothing you could do to avoid your villainous classmates, so you went on the best you could. Zephyr had been ostracized by the entire student body of Gryffindor due to his being a part of some scheme with the Slytherins to harm you. No one knew the details of Zephyr’s involvement, though you assumed it didn’t take much more than the scene in the common room to connect the dots, as well as his sudden increase in time he spent with the Slytherins instead of his own house. 

The memory of Mulciber’s previous attacks and general odiousness towards muggle borns, or just those who sympathized, was fresh amongst your house-mates, making Zephyr’s friendship with Mulciber more than enough to brand him a traitor. Mulciber and his gang had accepted him fully into their ranks, roaming the corridors with him by their side as if he had always been there. Since Monday, the common room grew dead quiet whenever he walked through the portrait hole, slithering back to the staircase with his eyes cast down to his feet in a useless attempt to hide himself from view.

Just as James had said, you practiced dueling every single day for the remainder of the Easter holiday. You weren’t sure where he got the time, though he always had some spared for you. On Sunday afternoon you and James headed to the RoR, savoring the last of your free time before classes began again. 

“Let’s see what you got,” James said, grinning wickedly from across the room.

You were already in your position, your feet moving on instinct as you made the first move. “Bombarda!” James leapt out of the way of the explosion, giving you another chance to attack before he’d counter. “Relashio.”

James’s wand whipped in front of him, unaffected by your spell. “Oscsusi!”

You blocked it, shaking your head at him. It was a charm to seal the opponents mouth, his way of telling you that you weren’t practicing your non verbal spells enough. 

You wordlessly cast the binding charm, the ropes momentarily winding around him before he said the counter curse, dashing like a bolt of lightning to the other side of the room. You were getting rather good at the shield charm, blocking his next spell just in time. 

You could see him moving again, so quick you could barely think. In your panic, you reverted back to your old ways of low level hexes and jinxes, “Locomotor mortis!”

Just as James’s legs buckled beneath him, he flicked his wand again. “Flipendo!”

You heard James cast Arresto Momentum as you flew backwards through the air, though he was too late. You landed hard on the floor, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Your ears buzzed, the sound of him shouting your name muffled by the high pitched ringing. Pain radiated from the back of your skull as you tried to sit up, the initial shock fading as you remembered this was meant to be a duel. You attempted to look around for your wand, though you were soon distracted by James running towards you. He threw himself onto the ground, his hand coming to cradle your head as the other arm wrapped around your back. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, the words pouring from him in a frenzy. “Godric, I didn’t mean to, I tried to stop you—”

“It’s okay,” you croaked, the cobwebs beginning to clear. 

You rubbed your aching temple, James’s face no longer blurry in your vision. His brows were pinched, his mouth ajar as his eyes darted down over your figure, searching for injuries. 

“What hurts?” he asked in the same manner. “I’ll take you to Poppy—”

“I just got turned around, s’all,” you began, moving to stand. “I’ll be fine in a second.”

He gently held your shoulder down, not allowing you to get up. Before you could protest, both his hands came to the side of your face, leaning in closer to peer into your eyes. You held your breath, frozen as you saw your reflection in his glasses. 

“Look at me,” he said softly, maneuvering your face towards him. His eyes continued to stare into yours, looking for what, you did not know. 

“What’re you doing?” you asked, barely able to bring yourself to speak. You hoped he didn’t feel the warmth of your cheeks, blazing as he touched you. 

“Checking your pupils,” he answered with a frown. “They’re huge, you might have a concussion. I’m taking you to the Hospital Wing.” 

“They’re just like that sometimes. They’ll be normal in a minute,” you said, pushing his hands away. You were weak, though he allowed you to remove them, still in a state of anxiety.  

“I’ll wait five minutes,” he said firmly, “and if they’re not back to normal by then, we’re going.”

You buried your face in your hands, rubbing your eyes. “What will we say happened?”

“You could have a concussion and you’re worried that Poppy might catch onto us?”

You placed your hands onto the ground, swaying a bit as the pain continued to throb. “You’ve never been nervous enough.”

He paused, watching you so intently you were convinced your pupils would never return to normal, nor would your heart. You looked down to escape his gaze, though you could still feel it, heavy like lead. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he said again, ignoring your earlier implication. 

Your name on his lips was a welcomed sound, even if it meant you had to get thrown to the floor. Your eyes drifted back to his, though you knew it was a mistake, his expression so full of dread it made you question if you had blood pouring from your nose. You rubbed it just to make sure, though your sleeve came back clean. 

“It’s really all right,” you began, “I just wasn’t quick enough. Call it good practice.”

“You’re mad,” he sighed, his hand coming up to touch your shoulder, stopping just short. “What hurts?”

“Just my head,” you answered, not knowing if you were dizzy from the fall or from his face, perfect right in front of you. 

He touched your shoulder, warm even through your shirt. You felt his fingers flexing as they held you, making you feel as if you might faint at any second. After just a few moments it was too much, the realization that you were alone more frightening than it ought to have been. You had thought you were better than this, that you had things under control, though now you were worse than ever before. 

“I’m feeling better all ready,” you said, hoping, praying he’d take his hand off of you. 

James was unconvinced, his mouth still tight. “What’s thirteen times nine?”

You groaned, “I’ve always been bad at arithmetic.” When he gave you another serious look you rolled your eyes, taking a deep breath as you thought. “A hundred seventeen”

He seemed pleased, at least for the time being, taking his hand from your shoulder so you could stand. You relished in the distance, though what you really wanted was some fresh air, crisp in your lungs. The pain was lessening, the throbbing mostly gone. James held your arm as you steadied yourself, letting it go as you thanked him softly. He didn’t chastise you for saying it, another act of mercy. 

“Let me check,” he said, forcing his face in front of yours. 

Perhaps to repay him, you didn’t fight, letting him look into your eyes. 

“You’ll be all right,” he said, stepping away. “No concussion for you.”

“Maybe next time,” you joked in a feeble attempt to lighten the dull mood that had settled around each of you. 

He didn’t laugh, going over to pick up your wand which had rolled away.

“I’ll give you a day off,” he said, finally smiling a bit as he handed it to you, “but we’re back here on Wednesday after classes.”

You swallowed down something, whether it was pride or fear you did not know, allowing your gaze to be selfish. James’s sleeves were pushed up, a lovely, cherished sight. You found yourself settling on his hands, always busy, tapping on desks, fiddling with his wand, brushing through his hair. You drifted over to his lips, barely curled upwards, just for you. Did the fondness in his expression, the tender way his hands touched you mean what the cards seemed to point to, what Marlene had been telling you? Was Remus right? 

“C’mon, let’s go back,” he said, opening the door for you. You followed, walking with him down the empty corridor towards the common room.

“Thank you again— for helping me get better at dueling,” you said, though the words seemed to drift away from you, swirling toward the high ceilings.

He turned to look at you with a smile, soft and small but no less touching. Something flashed across his eyes, a ray of blinding, beautiful light. Then, it was gone, leaving only a crushing affection, an impossibly excruciating ache. 

“Anything for you.”

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

Peter gave you a supportive nod as you walked into History of Magic on Monday morning, knowing who’d already be at his desk. Wilkes, who you had only seen here and there about the castle over the holiday, turned around as you and Peter went to your seats, his eyes dark as they followed you. Professor Binns’s corpeal figure was floating two and fro in front of the chalkboard, muttering something to himself. You tightened your jaw as you forced your eyes to remain ahead, pulling out your things from your bag.

A few more students filtered in as class began, Binns scribbling something onto the board before he spun around, continuing his leisurely pace about the room with little attention paid to his class. 

“The history of Dai Ryusaki’s amulet prior to his death is largely unknown, though there have been a host of theories explored by both the Ministry and independent researchers…”

You rushed out of class when the bell rang, ready to make a mad dash down the corridor before someone grabbed your arm, spinning you back around. Sirius had caught you, standing beside James, Remus, Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas. Your eyes widened, catching the expletive that had been caught in your throat. Unlike yourself, Peter noticed the group lingering just outside the door, looking just as confused as you were. 

“What’re you all doing here?” he asked. 

James’s gaze darted towards Wilkes, walking out of the classroom with a menacing glance in your direction. James narrowed his eyes, Wilkes turning back around with a smug smile.

“I told you I’d be all right,” you said, crossing your arms. 

“We were going this way anyway,” Lily said, though she’d always been a bad liar. 

You sighed, spinning on your heels to walk down the corridor towards the Great Hall. “C’mon, let's go to lunch.”

“Shouldn’t you be going that way?” James said, motioning down in the opposite direction. 

You shook your head. “McGonagall told me this morning I could eat in the Great Hall again.”

“No, no, no, wait.” James grabbed your shoulder, forcing you to look at him, seemingly utterly outraged at the suggestion. “Are you mad? You can’t eat in the Great Hall with them walking around.”

Lily sighed, “James, if McGona—”

“I agree with him,” Remus interrupted, giving Lily an apologetic look. She didn’t seem to take it very well, her lips pulling to one side as she eyed him.

“I’m eating in the Great Hall, end of discussion,” you said with a final glance at the others. James, who was still extremely hesitant, was not at all swayed by your words. “Lily’s right, it’ll be fine,” you said to him.

He took his hand from your shoulder, slumping as he allowed you to continue towards the Great Hall. 

“I go away for two weeks and everything goes to shit,” Dorcas huffed, breaking a period of short, tense silence. 

You smiled, unsure if it was from joy or misery. “Tell me about it.”

Walking into the Great Hall felt odd. It was as if you hadn’t been there in years, the endless clinking of silverware a long forgotten chorus that used to fill your ears three times a day. Instinctively, you looked towards the Slytherin table, scanning it to see if any of the conspirators, as Marlene had so aptly named them, were there. Severus was sitting with his back to the door, though you’d recognize his hair anywhere, stringy where it hung at his neck. Wilkes was just going up to the table to sit across from him beside Mulciber, the rest of their gaggle already digging into their food. Regulus was one of them, smaller compared to the others, not unlike Snape in his countenance. You wondered when the last time he and his brother had spoken, given that they had not lived in the same house for two years now. 

Fearing Mulciber would look up and catch you staring, your eyes shot away, continuing down the aisle towards a free spot at the Gryffindor table. 

James watched on warily as you put food onto your plate, fidgeting when you went to take a bite. “I don’t like this,” he said suddenly.

Startled, you lowered your fork, staring at him across the table. He was glaring at your food with an intensity that seemed to suggest that he knew, for certain, it had been tampered with. 

“I’m sure Dumbledore took care of it,” Lily whispered to him.

He took his own fork, leaning forward to take a mouthful of your food. Before you could react, he was sitting back down in his seat, chewing as his eyes darted this way and that, trying to determine whether or not he’d drop dead in the next few seconds. You all sat with bated breath, frozen until he swallowed. 

“I feel fine,” he said, though not without another uneasy glance towards your plate. 

You let out a sigh of relief, even though you were quite sure it was perfectly fine to begin with.

“Now, what if it had been poisoned?” Lily chided.

He shrugged, looking rather proud of his own bravery. “I would’ve been a hero, probably have gotten an award.”

“Dunce of the year,” Remus mumbled, snickering into his glass.

Sirius snorted, turning to James with a smirk. “If you drop like a fish within the next forty-eight hours, I’m not reviving you.”

“He’s not going to ‘drop like a fish,’” Lily said, entirely unamused.

“He might do that on his own,” Dorcas chuckled.

The group erupted in laughter, other than Lily, who was still in a twist over James’s continued recklessness. 

“Thank you,” you said to James as the ruckus died down, “but if you do that again, I’ll poison you myself.”

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

With your scarf wrapped tightly around your neck, you once again sat squished between Lily and Marlene in the Gryffindor quidditch stands, waiting for the match to begin. This time around, James, Sirius, and Dorcas were in front of you, each hoping for Hufflepuff to kick Slytherin’s butt into oblivion. Corey Luxfire was back in play, meaning that they actually had a shot this time. 

Each team came flying onto the pitch, the Hufflepuffs roaring as Corey whizzed beside their stands. Even the Gryffindors went wild when their seeker, Poppy Dunwood, did a loop around the goals, circling back towards the center. 

However, you all went quiet as the Slytherin team passed by, Regulus swooping down in front of his house's stands, met with enthusiastic roars. His hair was black like his brothers, though cut far shorter, clean and crisp as every proper young wizard’s of the twenty-eight should be. Sirius turned away as he flew by you to the pitch, hovering above his team across from Poppy. 

Below, Monsieur Button started the game, the players flying off when the quaffle was tossed into the air. 

Instantly, Regulus went for the snitch, whipping around to chase it towards the grass, Poppy hot on his trail. The Ravenclaw’s all craned their heads up as Regulus flew over, circling their tower before he came back down again into the pitch. In the meantime, a Hufflepuff chaser was in possession of the quaffle, throwing it to Corey who took it under his arm, weaving through the Slytherins towards the goal. 

Regulus shot by the Gryffindor stands, losing sight of the snitch as it disappeared past the crowd. 

“Score for Hufflepuff, ten to nothing!” said Atticus Bundleby through the speakers.

The Hufflepuffs erupted in cheers, their banners and flags waving in the air. James, Sirius, and Dorcas stood, hollering as the Slytherin keeper threw the quaffle back into play. The others were not much better, particularly Marlene, who had begun cursing out specific members of the Slytherin team. Lily knocked her shoulder, scowling at her poor behavior. 

“What?” Marlene said, seeing no problem with her choice of language.

Lily shook her head, wrapping her coat around her tighter as she turned back towards the game.

It was a while before Poppy and Regulus spotted the snitch again, nestled near the base of the Hufflepuff tower. Poppy flew underneath a scuffle, a bludger nearly throwing her from her broom. A beater swooped it, blocking it from hitting her in the nick of time, sending it hurling back towards a Slytherin chaser. 

Regulus moved ahead of her, dashing towards the snitch as it went off, zigzagging up towards the students. He flew higher and higher in pursuit, soon becoming small in the face of the sky. This time, Sirius spun around to watch, Poppy flying past in an attempt to catch up. 

“Slytherin scores! It’s one-hundred twenty to eighty, Hufflepuff!”

Poppy was just behind Regulus, inching closer and closer, the snitch near enough to catch. Suddenly, Regulus moved to the side, slowing down just enough to make Poppy jerk back, spinning out and nearly falling off her broom. 

“Dunwood’s falling from her— she’s back up! Black is gaining on the snitch!”

The entirety of the student body had turned away from the pitch to watch the seekers, Regulus following the snitch with odd, random movements as it made it’s attempts to lose him. You glanced at Sirius, his eyes still locked on his brother as his hands curled into tight fists. 

Dorcas was shouting, waving her hands in the air, “C’mon, shake ‘em you hunk of metal!”

“Slytherin scores again! One hundred twenty to ninety, Hufflepuff— Looks like Dunwood’s back in the game!”

“C’mon Poppy!” James called, nearly jumping up and down. He grasped Peter’s shoulders, shaking him silly in his exhilaration. You remembered a time not too long ago when he was praying for her failure, though he’d wish for just about anything if it meant Slytherin would lose. 

Poppy made a valiant effort to catch up, nearly beside Regulus, though she was too late. He grabbed the snitch, holding it up in the air in his triumph. Sirius’s fists loosened, his fingers splaying out for a split second before they returned to their normal, relaxed state. 

“Black captures the golden snitch! Slytherin wins two-forty to one-twenty!”

Dorcas threw her arms down with a groan, “Motherfucker!”

Regulus flew back down towards his team, who surrounded him with cheers of their own. You tried to pick out his expression, though he was too far away, only a vague blur of green robes and dark hair. You watched him for as long as you were able, soon pulled away by Lily as you all went to exit the stands. 

“Two-forty, do you think you can make that up?” Peter asked as you made your way towards the castle over the lawn.

“Yeah, but we’ll have to hustle,” James said, turning to Dorcas and Sirius. “You hear that? I want you two all in these next few months. Their defense is still weak, but Regulus is good.”

“Are you doubting my skills?” Dorcas said, raising her brows.

“You did miss two weeks of drills,” Sirius teased. 

Dorcas scoffed, “I don’t need drills.”

James went to argue, though Marlene’s dramatic, drawn out groan cut him off. 

“This party’s gonna be such a drag,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “I hate it when Slytherin wins, it puts everyone in a bad mood.”

Dorcas threw an arm around her shoulders, smiling down at her. “Don’t say that. We might be able to get James pissed enough to dance.” 

Everyone started snickering, though James only grumbled to himself, his cheeks growing a little more red. If anyone were to point it out, he’d say it was from the cold. 

You leaned against the doorframe of the lavatory, watching Marlene coat her lashes in Madam Wink’s Miracle Mascara. Lily and Dorcas had already gone down to the common room, though Marlene had insisted someone stay with her as she did the long, laborious task of getting ready. 

“How many coats was that?” you groaned, watching as she pristinely applied what seemed like the twentieth. 

She put the wand back in its tube, smirking at you through the mirror. “Why? Do you think I need another?”

“No.”

She still had a look of mischief on her face as she pulled out her lip glass and applied it, far too proud of whatever she was about to say. 

“You and James have been pretty cozy,” she began, raising her brows. “How has your training been?”

You made a noise of disgust, your lip curling in a vain attempt to hide your embarrassment. “James teaching me how to duel is totally, completely platonic and you know it.” 

She turned to face you with a sentimental, sickly sweet expression, completely ignoring your assertion. “He’s been so worried about you like you’re already married. It makes me want to be sick,” her tone could not have been more different from her words, genuine in her happiness for you. 

“What a lovely image, Marls,” you said, full of dry sarcasm.  

“Do you know what he said to Sirius the other day?” she said, her eyes sparkling with the joy of someone who knew something of a scandalous nature. It made your palms itch. “James told him that you’re an excellent dancer.”

“Do you and Sirius talk about me behind my back?” you asked, less offended than you were horrified. 

She shrugged, throwing her lip gloss back into her bag. “Not often.”

You shook your head, trying to forget the frightening new information that Marlene and Sirius were gossiping about you and James. You could only imagine what sorts of conniving plans they were coming up with. 

“Anyway, that's a lie like no other,” you scoffed. “Are you sure he said ‘excellent’?”

She didn’t reply, brushing past you to retrieve her wand on her bed. “One galleon he asks you to dance tonight.”

“Only one? You can’t be that confident.”

She rolled her eyes, motioning for you to follow as she headed to the door. “Come on, let me make you one of my masterpieces.”

Well into the night you were nursing one of Marlene’s concoctions, red and vaguely shimmering, tasting of cranberry and something else unplaceable though undeniably good. The music was playing, some new single they’d been looping all week on the wizard radio stations. In front of you, Sirius, Dorcas, Remus, and James were playing Sparks, a game originating in the twisted mind of Remus Lupin. You and Peter took to watching, Lily and Marlene spinning around with a group of equally drunk students by the speaker. 

The rules of Sparks were ever-changing and increasingly complicated, though it mainly consisted of flipping a coin, shooting sparks from your wand if it landed heads, with the slowest having to drink. However, if there were four tails in a row, the first person to shoot two sparks could choose someone to take a shot of firewhiskey. Remus usually came out just fine, Dorcas did not. At least they weren’t doing shot for shot. 

“I’m going to kill you, Lupin,” Dorcas gritted, moving to pour herself a shot. 

Remus smiled as she grimaced at the taste. “Wanna quit?”

“Never.” She slammed her glass down onto the table, steely as she stared at him.

Unprompted by the game, James downed whatever was left in his glass, looking around at you all expectantly. “All right, who’s dancing?”

“Is it that time already?” Sirius taunted.

James, likely too buzzed to take notice, waited for someone to answer his call. Peter, who you were pretty sure never danced a day in his life, did not move an inch, nor did Remus.

“I’m finishing this even if it kills me,” said Dorcas, her wand still in her hand, ready to take action. 

“Don’t make me go out there alone!” James whined. 

Sirius smirked again, devious and unnerving. “I’m sure Y/N wants to,” he drawled, turning to you. 

Your head, fuzzy and light, swarmed with the memory of two Tuesdays ago, the sound of the muggle crooner in the RoR, the weight of his hand in yours. You could hear Sirius’s guitar, Carly Simon, the sight of James's crooked glasses, feeling the rush as he dipped you. 

You chuckled nervously, shrinking into yourself. “I don’t know…”

“C’mon, you’re my favorite, remember?” James said, slouching forward. 

You thought you might die. “Okay, just for one—”

James put his glass down onto the table, taking yours and doing the same before he led you towards the group that had clustered around the radio, charmed to play louder than designed. He was burning up, the heat rising up to your shoulder and well into your chest, hammering as you neared Lily and Marlene. You wanted to run, for there were too many people, too many possibilities to make a fool of yourself. 

When Lily noticed you two she squealed, having breached that point in the night where almost everything made her delighted. She did some silly, twirling move as James spun you not unlike he had before, pushing you out only to pull you back in again. His curls, wild from the long night, caught the light in a way that made your knees feel like jelly. You noticed Marlene watching you with a cocky smile, a precursor to all the “I told you so’s” you’d have to hear whenever she got you alone. 

“I don’t need spells, I don’t need charms, I just want you in my arms, you’re the greatest witch that I have ever seen…”

It was a cheesy song, perfect for dancing and not for listening. Through the noise, a few Gryffindors called to James the way only he received, a liquor fueled affinity for the way he effortlessly charmed the world. He was James Potter: Head Boy, quidditch captain, the life-breath of every shindig who seemed to be known and adored by everyone (other than the Slytherins). But you, you were his favorite, at least to dance with. You weren’t sure how much you could trust his words given the state he was in, though you took them to heart anyway, holding to them as if they were gospel. I’m his favorite. 

Slowly, you relaxed, giving way to the unserious manner in which James danced, a thousand different styles melded together into something entirely his own. Lily took you away after a few songs, shouting the lyrics as she danced. You did the same, mumbling half of them and not caring how your voice sounded. It was drowned out by the music and chatter anyway, blocked by the muffliato charm at the door. 

As you spun around with her, James took both your hands, tugging you back with a laugh. Marlene took your place with the same look as before, watching as James led you in a quasi-swing dance, messy steps that barely went with the song. Your perception of time was warped, the music melting into one great, endless ballad. You could’ve been there for ten minutes or ten hours, lost in its false infinity. 

Just as James pulled you closer, ready to sway with the funky beat of a new song, he stiffened, stopping completely as he glared across the room. You glanced behind you, unconsciously squeezing his hand tighter as you saw Zephyr walk inside, weaving through the crowd. Students whispered to one another, looking at him sideways as he passed, heading towards the staircase. 

James’s eyes shot back to yours, filled with concern as he leaned in closer to speak into your ear, “Want to go?”

All you did was nod. 

You didn’t feel drunk enough for this. In fact, you were less than tipsy, your head far too clear to handle the way everyone seemed to turn away from Zephyr towards you and James leaving the huddle of dancers. Lily and Marlene each called out your name, though you only glanced back, hidden from their sight by the crowd. 

As soon as James got you out of the common room he pulled the cloak from his pocket, throwing it over you both. Any other time you would’ve questioned why he was walking around with the cloak at a party, as well as the fact that it seemed as though everyone had illegally charmed their pockets but you. You were also surprised he was taking you out after curfew without the map, though you didn’t question it, lest he change his mind. 

“Where are we going?” you whispered, trying to ignore the way your shoulders pressed together. 

He didn’t try to hide his worry, his brows pinched as he looked at you in the low light. “Where do you want to go?”

You thought for a moment, though the need to get away from Gryffindor Tower was greater than you desire to pick the perfect spot. The piles of dust covered furniture in the Room of Requirement was entirely unappealing, as were any of the passageways you’d sometimes hide away in. 

“The Astronomy Tower,” you answered finally.

James smiled softly, beginning to walk down the corridor towards the main castle. “Exquisite choice.” 

You peeked out of the cloak upon arriving at the tower, saying the password given to all N.E.W.T. level Astronomy students so they could access the viewing deck for study, “Six hundred eighty-five thousand over pi.”

Once inside, James threw off the cloak, shoving it back into his pocket as he stared at you in confusion. “What’s the password mean?”

“It’s the equation for how long a parsec is in meters,” you said, chuckling as he continued to look as if you were speaking a different language. 

“What’s a parsec?”

You kept your laughter down the best you could as you continued up the steps, the ceiling twinkling above you. “A little over three lightyears.”

You didn’t reach for your wand when you made it up, relishing the cold air on your bare skin. Instantly, being there made it seem as if the common room was halfway across the world, the noise gone, Zephyr just a distant memory. James followed as you went to the railing, your head craned up to look at the stars. It was nearly the new moon, leaving the sky naked of its usual, vibrant glow. Still, the milky way was painted pale pink and purple, fading out into dark blue, sprinkled with a million stars like specks of glittering paint. 

You each stayed there unspeaking, suspended in the hazy hours of Sunday morning, a time in which all things either felt entirely lovely or entirely awful. This moment was the former. 

James’s pinky brushed yours, though he pulled it away before you could savor it. Swallowing, he briefly glanced at the side of your face before looking away again. 

“I’ve always been bad at constellations,” he said, soft as if to slowly break the silence, little by little. “I know Orion and Ursa Major, but that's about it.”

“At least you paid attention in first year Astronomy,” you said, your smile growing without you realizing. You pointed towards a star, radiant amongst the others. “See that one?”

James followed your line of sight, poking his head beside yours. 

“That’s Regulus, the lion's heart. If you follow it up, it’ll make the Sickle, which is Leo’s head. Back there is Denebola, the tail. April is a good month to see Leo.”

When you looked back at him, you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to look away again. 

He smiled, more lovely than any constellation. “How do you remember them all?”

“I don’t know,” you began. “It’s like remembering spells. If you use them enough, after a while it becomes second nature. I’ve always liked the muggle stories, though. They help.”

His eyes brightened. “What’s the story for Leo?”

“Lots of questions,” you teased. 

He bumped your shoulder, glancing back at the sky. “Is it a crime to be curious?”

You rolled your eyes, still studying his profile. “You know who Hercules is, right?”

“Big strong guy?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Long story short, Hera didn’t like Hercules, so one day she made him go mad and murder his wife and children. Hercules was ridden with guilt, so to atone for his sins he went to serve his cousin, King Eurystheus, for twelve years. Once he did this, he’d be rewarded with immortality. At first King Eurystheus gave him ten labors to do, but it actually ended up being twelve in the end. Again, long story,” you paused, trying to regain your train of thought.

“Anyway, the first of the labors was to kill the Nemean Lion and bring back its fur. At first, Hercules tried to shoot it with arrows, but they bounced right off. So, he blocked off one entrance to its cave and snuck in the other, strangling it with his bare hands. But, when he tried to skin it, knives couldn’t cut through. Athena came and told him to use its claws, which worked. After that, he wore its skin throughout the other labors because it was stronger than armor. Then, y’know, he did all the other labors and became a hero.”

“Think I could strangle a lion with my bare hands?” James asked with a laugh. 

“No,” you said, pretending to think it over. “Maybe a toad or something.”

He leaned his arms on the railing, hanging his head as if you’d ripped his heart out. “You’re so awful to me.” 

“You’ll forgive me,” you said, used to his dramatics after all this time. 

After a beat he stood back up, shivering as a gust of wind blew past the tower. 

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked, placing his hand on top of yours, running his thumb over your knuckles. He took it away too soon for your liking, leaving you longing for the feeling of his palm.

“No, the cold feels good,” you said, your head growing light again as he turned to face you fully. You were filled with an inescapable desire to confess, spurred on by the way you felt halfway in a dream, as if anything you said now only existed here, safe from consequence. But, even if you did speak, what could you say? How could you possibly word it, a thing so simple yet so unbelievably complicated? I love you, I think I always have. 

James spoke before you had a chance to take the plunge, though part of you wished he hadn’t, “You’re a good dancer, you know,” he paused, his smile like the sun, illuminating the night. “And you’re the only one that’ll humor me.”

You looked at him as if he had gone insane. “How drunk are you?”

“Practically sober.”

Something about his reply reminded you of his animagus form, as if he’d sprout antlers at any moment. You studied him with great suspicion, noting his ruddy cheeks, though it could’ve been from the chill. 

“I mean it!” he said, growing more impassioned. “My last drink was an hour and a half ago, and I wasn’t that bad then. Didn’t want to get too pissed with Zephyr running around.”

“I thought you only danced when you were drunk,” you challenged. 

“I danced with you two weeks ago when I was sober,” he paused, his features softening. “How about you?”

“Stone cold,” you said, perfectly honest. “Don’t tell Marlene, though. She made me a dozen drinks, but I kept pawning them off onto Remus.”

“I won't,” he chuckled, pausing after a moment to lick his lips, gone dry with the wind. “Anything for you, remember?”

Of course you remembered, you had thought about it every day since he said it. You wracked your brain for a suitable reply, though all you came up with was “I love you”. 

“James, I,” you trailed off, heady with the sight of him, his words, the way he seemed to take you in.

For a moment you really did think it was a dream, because he was looking at you the way you had caught him in the courtyard, endeared to you like no other. Now, however, it wasn’t going away, remaining as he took a step closer, his hands coming to your cheeks. He touched you just as tenderly as he had in the RoR, his fingers brushing along your ears, his gaze bouncing from your eyes to your lips. You stared back up at him, perhaps with the same expression.

In a split second he closed the distance, the world blooming as he kissed you. He moved his hands down to your waist, yours finding their way across his shoulders, towards the nape of his neck where they threaded through his hair. He held you fervently, delicate as if you were a rare, treasured gift. Deep within you something stirred like a gavel striking, a single word ringing out in place of a bang: finally. It was perfect, better than all the times you had imagined it, greater than any book you’d ever read. 

As soon as you parted, your head rushing and your heart swelling with absolute bliss, the realization felt more like being struck with an anvil. You just kissed James.

“Mother of Merlin,” you gasped, still staring into his eyes. They were blown out and beautiful, though it didn’t stop you from taking a step back. “You absolute tosser,” you mumbled to yourself, the world spinning all around you, dizzying in the worst way. You felt like you were going to be sick. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his expression pained and rather awkward. “I’m sorry, I thought you wanted—”

You paced back and forth, adrenaline coursing through you. “No, I did. That's the worst part.”

“I have to say, I’m a little offended,” he said, looking at you as if suffering from a dull, ever-present injury, more annoying than it was excruciating. 

“That’s not what I meant,” you sighed, preoccupied with the stark juxtaposition between your immense happiness and equal regret. 

Flabbergasted and obviously unsure how to proceed, he slowly neared you again, forcing you to meet his eyes. “What is it? Is it something I did?” he asked carefully. 

Your lips still tingled, your stomach buzzing with the aftermath of your most folly, foolish wish come true. You loved him, and at the very least, he fancied you back. 

“Lily,” was all you could say, her name coming out broken and shameful. 

He furrowed his brows, his mouth ajar. “What about her?”

“Lily,” you repeated, attempting to convey the seriousness of your crimes, though it did not seem to have the intended effect. “You and I, we can’t, not when—” you cut yourself off, huffing as you brought the heels of your hands to your eyes. 

“You think because I dated Lily we can’t be together?” 

You nodded, your fingers blocking your sight of him. You couldn’t bear to look, not when he was everything you ever wanted. 

He gently held your hands, saying your name as he brought them away. 

“Of course we can,” he began, ducking down so you would have to look at him. “She won’t care, not a bit, not when,” he faltered, shaking his head as he reached up to touch your cheek. “She can’t be upset with a man in love.”

You soared. “You’re in love with me?”

“Of course I am,” he began, smiling wider. “I’ve told you before.”

Elation washed over you, the stars seeming to shine brighter over you both, dazzling in their celestial waltz. In an instant, you forgot about all the reasons why you shouldn’t, only able to recall why you should. 

Breathless, you lifted the weight that had been upon you for far too long, “I love you too.”

“Thank Godric,” he chuckled, rubbing a thumb along your temple. “I was getting nervous for a minute.”

“You love me,” you whispered, mostly to yourself, as if trying to cast it in stone. 

“Please let me kiss you again, or I think I might die,” his voice was ardent, bursting at the seams with a nearly theatrical plea for your attention. 

You rolled your eyes. “So dramatic—”

He cut you off, pressing his lips to yours. He was careful with you, nearly chaste, cradling your jaw as your noses bumped. You fisted your hands in his jumper, no plans of letting go.

Chapter Nineteen

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

Tag List: @floverisland @ilovejamespottersomuch @googie-jeon @tvnile

[greyeyedmonster-18]

Five Times Sirius Black Fucked James Potter and One Time He Didn't

(so @arliedraws posted something along the lines of "Five Time Sirius Fucked Someone in James Potters Life for Revenge and One Time He Didn't" as part of her slytherin sirius AU etc like a million years ago. and i uh...misread that upon first read and ran with it anyway. so here's a little fic no body asked for that seemed appropriate to post on @impishtubist day of birth.

if you've been here for a bit, you may recall when i would post little dribbles as "series", so here is...part 1/5.

please enjoy xoxo)

--

James Potter’s entire body was burning from the inside out. Despite the fact he had just been naked and in several compromising positions moments before, he was now hurrying to dress himself, all too aware of the cool air brushing against his exposed ankles.

Socks. SOCKS. Where in the world did his socks end up?

He grabbed his trousers from the heap on the floor of the Quidditch changing room and tucked in his white uniform shirt. Perhaps too hastily, realizing it was caught beneath the waistband of his briefs, but he could worry about that later. And the wrong buttons on his shirt. And his socks.

It felt obscene, shoving his bare feet into his oxfords.

“I have an extra pair of socks.”

“It’s fine,” James said quickly, running a hand over his hair, debating whether or not to choke himself with his tie.

“You’ll stink up your shoes.”

“It’s f—”

“Stop being a prat, Potter, and just take the bloody socks.” James felt something bounce off the back of his head, and he finally turned around, face hot. Entirely bothered. And Sirius Black, Slytherin Prefect was smirking. Looking all too comfortable leaning against the wall of the changing rooms—the Gryffindor changing rooms, a place he shouldn’t have even been in the first place, but there he was—dark curls falling effortlessly over his cheekbone. Robes folded neatly into the crook of his arm. The pair of socks that he had just thrown on the floor to the left of James’s feet.

“I’ll bring you a pair tomorrow…” James mumbled, sitting down on the bench between the lockers, and taking his feet out of his loafers. Pointedly avoiding eye contact and looking at Black at all.

“Keep them.”

“I don’t want to owe you.”

“Owe me?” he scoffed, “I’d rather have something—”

“No.” James cut him off, pulling up one of Black’s grey socks so far and hard it came up to nearly his knee. The threads tugging at one another between the seams of the cuff. Two neat green stripes on the top, the only tell tale sign that they had been borrowed at all. James could hear Sirius push off the wall, practically hear the eyeroll, watching, waiting for him to come closer. And he did. Expensive, bloody posh, black polished shoes appearing in James carefully averted eyeline. The floor had been such a safe place to look. James steeled himself.

Black always had the unique ability to get the best of him.

Or the worst.

Since first year. When Sirius was sorted into Slytherin and James swore, to this day, he made eye contact with the haughty boy in the Great Hall and something ignited inside of him. An unspoken rivalry with no clear starting point, for either of them.

It was almost instinctual. The desire to get one up on Sirius Black.

Sirius performed well in Transfiguration and James made sure to earn points in Charms.

Sirius was made prefect their fifth year, and suddenly James’s biggest dream was to become Quidditch Captain just to have some kind of badge to show off.

Sirius had more OWL’s than James.

James was better at Quidditch.

Now in their seventh year, James was Head Boy and Quidditch Captain, finally feeling victorious, only to discover that having more badges didn’t quiet the flames as much as he hoped they would.

And one ups turned into meet ups, turned into…

“And here, I thought you had a good time. Did I get that wrong, Potter?”

“I have a girlfriend,” James hissed, though he knew Lily was back up at the castle with everyone else. Celebrating Gryffindors win, no doubt. Where James was supposed to be, with his teammates and his friends, and his girlfriend that he definitely had, before he was rudely interrupted by Black. Stupid Sirius Black and his stupid cheeky smile.

He hated that Black waltzed around Hogwarts like he owned it. Hated that Black stepped foot into Gryffindor territory without a second thought.

Wanted to say congratulations is all, Potter.

He hated his tone.

But Merlin, did James like the way Sirius said congratulations.

“Oh, I see,” Sirius nodded in mock understanding. “Now you have a girlfriend.”

“I mean, I did…before to, I’m just…” James exhaled and stood up.

That was better. Though Black was still taller. And they were so standing so close to one another, James could make out the beauty mark beneath Sirius’s left eye, and the small scar on the top of his forehead, just before his hairline started.

“This was the last time.”

“Alright,” Sirius shrugged casually.

“I mean it.”

“It would mean more if I had not heard it before…”

“That was different,” James said, “That was…” But he couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough to stop Black from smirking further. It wasn’t different. Not at all, but Black didn’t have to be so damn smug about it.

“Mhmm. Alright,” Sirius repeated, with his stupid smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Sirius shifted, hands moving to James’s tie, deft fingers undoing the poorly done knot and retying it carefully. “Just, you know, if I had known it was going to be the last time, really, actually the last time, I would have stepped it up a notch for a proper send-off.”

“Stop talking.” James swallowed, trying to stop his chest from rising and falling so rapidly. Trying to stop for repeating history and going back on his statement all too soon.

Because the last time had to come eventually.

Sirius laughed shortly, aligning James’s tie under his collar and straightening it out. “Enjoy your victory party, Potter.” One of Sirius’s hands cupped James’s jawline, his thumb brushing over James’s bottom lip, wiping away any remnants that they had once kissed.

Touched.

Dissolved into one another.

“Let me know if your girlfriend needs some pointers. I’m happy to—”

“She doesn’t,” James responded, indignantly, cocking his chin upward.

“Alright,” Sirius said with a wink, his shoe making the tiniest squeak on the floor as he turned on his heel, “See you next time.” And Sirius walked out of the changing rooms, leaving James with his heart pounding in his chest.

go to part two

[frost-queen]

The sirens task (Reader x Theodore Nott)

Requested by: anon ,Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22 @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn

Rain tapped gently against the glass. Staining it as drops slowly dripped down. The room silent. Mattheo stood by the window watching his own blurred reflection in the glass. When focusing on the outsides, he saw the black lake. Lorenzo sitting on his bed fidgeting with his fingers. On the bed across from Lorenzo’s laid Theodore down.

Staring mindlessly at the ceiling. Lorenzo glanced at the golden egg positioned on Theodore’s nightstand. The egg that contained the sirens song. A song from deep below the surface. It’s warning clear as day. Theodore would have to venture into the darkest depts of the black lake. To retrieve something stolen from him.

Normally Lorenzo would be the one boost up his confident. To strike his ego with overconfidence that Theodore would win the second trial with his eyes closed. Yet it wasn’t the case. He had no words of confidence. No smugness inside of him to gloat. Nothing. Not even a silly comment to make the boys laugh.

The Triwizard tournament was no joke. It all became clear after the first trial. Theodore barely made it out alive. His dragon vicious and out of control. Burning and scorching the place. It’s fiery breath brewing a warmness in the arena.

The second task awaiting at his door. He felt like going up an endless stairway. Where each step felt like taking him back. Each step a plunge in the darkness, hoping their would be another step. Hoping the stairs would go on before he’d miss a step and fall into nothingness. The sirens song clear in his head. Echoing warningly. He barely made it out alive the first task.

He took a deep breath with a heavy weight on his chest. Mattheo wiped his hand hard across the glass. Spreading out the dew that had formed from the coldness outside trying to creep in their room. His action made Lorenzo look concerned up to him. Mattheo looked daringly at him, daring him to say something about his behavior. Theodore exhaled loud rolling over to his side.

Mattheo and Lorenzo catching it. – “It’s…it’s just another task…” – Lorenzo spoke trying to sooth it. – “In the bloody black lake!” – Mattheo cursed at him. – “Whatever the task is Theo will succeed!” – Lorenzo called out moving his posture up. – “He’ll curse any creature trying to come his way.” – Mattheo laughed mockingly.

Lorenzo’s cheeks bloated with anger, ready to spew his words out. – “Enough.” – Theodore sighed out. The two of them stared, keeping their tongue still. Mattheo moved to his bed, getting under the covers. With one final blow, he blew the candle out, darkening the room.

━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Theodore looked over his shoulder while going up the hill. – “What’s the matter?” – Lorenzo asked curious. – “Nothing…” – Theodore responded looking back forwards. – “I… I just thought to see Y/n… I haven’t seen her all morning.” – he spoke with a deep sigh. – “I’m sure she is already up ahead.” – Mattheo spoke walking at his left. – “You’ll see.” – Mattheo grabbed Theodore by his shoulders, pushing him slightly faster up the hill. – “Good luck Theodore.” – a girl expressed while running past him.

Theodore only provided her with a half hearted smile. The boys in front of them turned around hissing like a snake to show their support. It made Mattheo roll his eyes. Up ahead were Durmstrang boys cheering loudly for Victor. Behind them he could hear girls chatter in French, the beauxbattons. – “Potter stinks!” – a boy shouted as he came running past Lorenzo. Lorenzo laughed loud.

Theodore sighed deep at how ridiculous that was. Up the hill he noticed Professor McGonagall stand by some boats. – “Oh mister Nott.” – she called out, hurrying him over. Theodore broke free from his friends, walking over to her. Harry was already sitting in the boat with Victor and Fleur. – “We’ll see you in a bit.” – Mattheo spoke with a warm hand on his shoulder. – “Knock ‘em dead.” – Lorenzo whispered encouragingly before leaving with Mattheo.

Professor McGonagall gestured at the boat as Theodore got in. He sat himself beside Victor, rubbing his sweaty palms over his knees. – “Nervous?” – Victor chuckled out. – “No.” – Theodore responded hiding his hands. The boat set off on it’s own. Professor McGonagall standing at the shore with a pained expression. As if she knew something. Theodore lifted his head up to try and look over Victor.

Slowly the passing students on shore grew smaller and harder for him to recognize. Yet he still wanted to make sure if he saw you. It was unlike you to not wish him well on his second task. Perhaps Mattheo was right, and you would be waiting at the platform for him. Cheering by their side waiting for him to dive into the water.

The boat came to a slow stop at a platform in the midst of the water. Fleur got taken out first, then Harry, Victor and last him. He immediately noticed Mattheo and Lorenzo amongst the crowd of watchers. Mattheo locked eyes with Theodore shaking his head. Still no sign of you. Theodore sighed lowering his head a bit. Something felt wrong or out of place, but he couldn’t place his finger on it.

Somehow he felt unlucky without getting a ‘do well’ from you. It was the only thing he was anticipating. Desiring to have. Some good words from you and a kiss against the cheek. That was all he wanted to feel invincible. Now he felt vulnerable and already at defeat. He took his place waiting for the mark to jump in the water. Bang! The shot was fired as Victor and Fleur dived into the water.

“Theo jump!” – Lorenzo shouted seeing how his friend hadn’t moved. Theodore shot awake, diving into the water right before Harry got pushed in. The water clasped around him like a cold shock before settling to warmth. Limbs floating he looked around. Nothing but seaweed and his vision clouded from the water. Theodore started swimming going deeper than he ever thought he would go.

He avoided the seaweed knowing it could strap him. Keep him in place to fail this task. The eerie silence of the lake made him feel tiny. Nothing but endless waters around him. Letting his hand ripple through the water, he could feel the gentle current. Diving deeper between cliffs filled with coral. Looking behind him he saw a school of fish swim with him. Surpassing him with the current’s flow. The water darkening the deeper he got.

He reached an area filled with seaweed he couldn’t go round. The last of the school of fish separating behind him. As if scared to go through. Theodore had no choice but to go through the seaweed. Gently he moved the plants aside feeling the roughness of them. At this point it wasn’t clear which way he needed to go. Furrowing his brows he heard the soft sirens song.

Guiding him like a beacon through the darkness. He swam further through the seaweed keeping a mindful eye behind him. From the corner of his eye he saw something. Causing him to stop briefly and see. Another person swimming through the sea of seaweed with him. Narrowing his eyes he saw that it was Fleur. She looked frantically behind her. Almost as if she was being chased.

She stopped and slowly turned. Then back again as he noticed something among the seaweed. Bubbles escaped Theodore’s mouth when he had opened it in shock. Fleur suddenly being dragged under as a stream of bubbles marked her absence. Hearing sudden noises made him look behind him. Only to be surpassed and knocked over by a siren. She swam so quickly by him it made him roll under water. Her voice screeching loud.

Theodore saw the last of her disappear between the garden of seaweed before the water stilled again. Knowing he was losing time, he started to swim again. Making his way out of the garden of seaweed. Before him in the darkened water emerging a gateway. Unknowingly he saw over to it, not knowing what to expect. He swam through the gateway coming at the ruins of a once lost palace. Sirens left and right watching him carefully.

Theodore’s eyes widened seeing four bodies float in the midst of the ruins. It made him hurry over wondering who they were. The closer he got, the more he recognized. His heart was already feeling it while his brain couldn’t follow yet. Till it finally caught up with him. His eyes wide in horror at the floating people. Amidst them you. Theodore screamed loud, air bubbles leaving his mouth. Moving his hands to the side of his face, he shuddered.

The sirens watched him as he screamed again in agony. His heart bleeding. He quickly swam over to you, holding his hands against your cold cheeks. – “No…no… please…” – he called out feeling an urge of anger. He turned around expression hardened. He pulled out his wand blasting at the ruins out of hatred. – “I’ll kill you!” – he shouted blasting at another ruin that crumbled into pieces. The sirens screeched loud as one came swimming over to him.

Pointing her trident against his throat. – “Stick to the task.” – she called out with a screech. Theodore turned his head seeing Victor swim over to Cho, taking her with him back to the surface. Theodore pushed her trident away swimming back to you. He fired a spell at the seaweed around your ankles, freeing you. Wiping his tears underwater he took a hold of your arm, pulling you up with him.

A small sea creature swam his way. Before it could reach him, had he cast a spell at it. With determination and anger he swam up to the surface. The second his head shot up from out of the water, he gasped loud. You gasped as well awakening from your slumber. Mattheo grabbed the bar with wide eyes. – “Is that Y/n?” – he called out.

Lorenzo joining his side to see for himself. – “Y/n!” – Theodore called out, wrapping his arms around you. You coughed loud wondering why you were in the water. Mattheo and Lorenzo had run down to the lower platform to assist Theodore and you out of the water. You swam with Theodore to the platform.

Mattheo hoisted you up as Lorenzo threw a blanket around you. Theodore got passed a blanket as well. Professor McGonagall approached him as he was more concerned with you. – “Congratulations on second place, Mr. Nott.” – she spoke as Theodore moved his arm around you.

“Piss off!” – he shouted at her, pulling you along with him. Mattheo and Lorenzo shooting her a glare. – “Theo… is the task already over?” – you asked getting led into a corner by him. – “I’m sorry I have missed it.” – you continued. – “Missed it?” – Theodore freaked out. – “Y/n you were the bloody task!” – he outed startling you. You instantly started to cry connecting the dots.

Professor McGonagall asking you over. The boat ride all alone with her, Ron, Hermione, and Cho. Then your mind was blank till you resurfaced with Theodore. He came closer wiping your tears away. – “I want to curse them all for doing this to you. For doing this to me. Y/n when I saw you down there… I lost it. I wanted to kill everyone.” – he confessed.

You jumped at him, pressing your lips against his. Theodore kissed your lips tenderly relieved to have you with him again. – “I’m right here.” – you whispered. – “Now never leave.” – he whispered back before kissing you once more.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[nyxshadowhawk]

A Retrospective on Harry Potter

Why did I like it in the first place? What about it worked? Where do I go from here?

I have decided to give up Harry Potter.

J.K. Rowling’s reputation now stinks to high heaven. At this point, she is quite indefensible. And even if that weren’t the case, she is not someone that I would want to associate with anyway. Meanwhile, the internet has not only turned against her, but against Harry Potter itself. An innocent question on Reddit, about which Hogwarts Houses the ATLA characters would be in, got downvoted to oblivion. Innumerable Tumblr threads insist that fantasy fans should get into literally anything else (suggestions include Discworld, Earthsea, The Wheel of Time, and Percy Jackson). And now that Harry Potter is no longer a sacred cow, there has been a recent slew of video essays that rip it to shreds, attacking it for its poor worldbuilding, unoriginality, and the problematic ideas baked into the original books (like the whole SPEW thing), etc. Those criticisms always existed, but now they’re getting thrown into the limelight.

It pains me to see such an ignoble downfall of Harry Potter’s reputation. If Rowling had just kept her damn mouth shut, Harry Potter would have aged gracefully, becoming a beloved children’s classic. I'd still plan to introduce it to my own kids one day (after Rowling dies and the dust settles). It’s not surprising that not all aspects of it have aged well, since it’s been more than twenty years since its original publishing date, and everything starts to show its age after that long. I acknowledge that most of the criticisms of the series that I’ve seen lately are valid, and I’ve read plenty of better books. And yet, when I return to the books themselves, even with the knowledge of who JKR really is inside my head, I still really enjoy reading them! There’s still a lot about them that I think works!

None of the other things I’ve read have had as collossal of an impact upon my identity, my values, and my own writing as Harry Potter. It’s hard to move on from it, not just because it’s something I enjoy, but because I have to literally extract my identity from it. I don’t know who I’d be without Harry Potter. I don’t know what my work would look like without Harry Potter. I don’t know how to carry it with me as just another piece of media that I like, as opposed to a filter for who I am as a person. So, with all that in mind, I have to ask myself why I liked Harry Potter so much in the first place. If I’m going to move on from it, then I have to be able to define and isolate the things about it that I want to keep with me. Something about it obviously worked, on a massive scale. So what was it?

It’s not the worldbuilding. The worldbuilding is objectively quite terrible, especially in comparison to that of other fantasy writers who knew what they were doing. At best, it’s inconsistent and poorly thought-out, and at worst it’s insensitive or even racist. Is it the characters? The characters are, in my opinion, one of the stronger parts of the story. But I felt very called-out by one of the many online commentators, who said that anyone who identifies with Harry is too cowardly to write self-insert fic. (I do not remember who said it or even which site it was on, but I distinctly remember the phrase, “Reject Harry Potter, embrace Y/N.”) The reason why people get so invested in Harry Potter’s characters is because they’re easy to project upon, and it’s possible that my love of Harry comes more from over a decade’s worth of projection than anything else. The incessant arguments over characters like Snape, Dumbledore, and James Potter ultimately stem from the fact that these characters do not always come across the way Rowling wanted them to. As for the writing itself, it’s decent, but not spectacular. Harry Potter is something of a sandbox world, with less substance than it appears to have and a crapton of missed opportunities, making it ripe for fanfic. For more than ten years, I’ve been doing precisely that — using Harry Potter as a jumping-off point to fill in the gaps and develop my own ideas, some of which became my original projects.

So what does Harry Potter actually have that sets it apart? Why are people so desperate to be part of Harry Potter’s world if the worldbuilding is bad? What, specifically, is so compelling about it? I think that there’s one answer, one thing that is at the center of Potter-mania, and that has been the underlying drive of my love of it for the past decade and a half: the vibe.

Harry Potter’s vibe is immaculate.

You know what I mean, right? It’s not actually a product of any specific trope, but rather a series of aesthetic elements: The wizarding school in a grand castle, with its pointed windows and torches and suits of armor, ghosts and talking portraits and moving staircases, its Great Hall with floating candles and a ceiling that looks like the night sky, its hundreds of magically-concealed secret doorways. Dumbledore’s Office, behind the gryphon statue, with armillary spheres in every single shot. Deliberate archaisms that evoke the Middle Ages without going as far as a Ren Faire: characters wearing heavy robes, writing with quills and ink on parchment instead of paper, drinking from goblets, decorating with tapestries. Owls, cats, toads. Cauldrons simmering in a dungeon laboratory. Shelves piled with dusty tomes, scrolls, glass vials, crystal balls, hourglasses. Magical candy shaped like insects and amphibians. A library with a restricted section. A forbidden forest full of unicorns and werewolves. That is the Vibe.

There are five armillary spheres just in this shot. They are unequivocally the most Wizard of tabletop decor.

There’s more to it than just the aesthetic, though. The vibe is present in something that writers call soft worldbuilding.

There’s a phrase that writers use to describe magic systems, coined by Brandon Sanderson: hard magic and soft magic. Sanderson’s first law of magic is, “An author’s ability to solve problems with magic is directly proportional to how well the reader understands said magic.” A hard magic system has clearly-defined rules — you know where magic comes from, how it works and under which conditions, how the characters can use it, and what its limitations are. Examples of really good hard magic systems include Avatar: The Last Airbender and Fullmetal Alchemist. If the audience doesn’t understand the conditions under which magic can work, then using magic to get out of any kind of scrape risks feeling like the writer pulled something out of their ass. It begs the question, “Well, if they could do that, then why didn’t they do that before?”

You may come away from that thinking that having clearly-defined rules is always better worldbuilding than not having them, but this isn’t the case. Soft magic isn’t fully explained to the audience, but that doesn’t matter, because it isn’t trying to solve problems — its purpose is to be evocative. Soft magic enhances the atmosphere of a world by creating a sense of wonder. If your everyman protagonist is constantly running into cool magical shit that they don’t understand, then the world feels like it teems with magic, magic that is greater and more powerful than they know, leaving lots of secrets to uncover. Harry Potter, at least in the early books, excels at this. The soft magic in Harry Potter is what got me hooked, and I think it’s what a lot of other people liked about it, too.

The essence of soft magic is best summed up by this scene in the fourth film, in which Harry enters the Weasleys’ tiny tent at the Quidditch World Cup, only to find that it’s much bigger on the inside. His reaction is to smile and say, “I love magic.”

That’s it. That’s the essence of it. You don’t need to know the exact spell that makes the tent bigger on the inside. You don’t need to know how Dumbledore can make the food appear on the table with a flick of a wand, or how he can make a bunch of poofy sleeping bags appear with another flick. You don’t need to know how and why the portraits or wizard cards move. You don’t need to know how wizards can appear and disappear on a whim, or what the Deluminator is, or where the Sword of Gryffindor came from. You don’t need to know how the Room of Requirement works. Knowing these things defeats the purpose. It kills the vibe, that vibe being that there is a large and wondrous magical world around you that will always have more to discover.

One of the best “soft magic” moments in the books comes early in Philosopher’s Stone, when Harry is trying to navigate Hogwarts for the first time:

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk. —Philosopher’s Stone, Chapter 8

Many of these details don’t come back later in the series, which is a shame, because this one paragraph is super evocative! It establishes Hogwarts as an inherently magical place, in which the very architecture doesn’t conform to normal rules. Hogwarts seems like it would be exciting to explore (assuming you weren’t late for class), and it gets even better when you learn about all the secret rooms and passages. The games capitalized on this by building all the secret rooms behind bookcases, mirrors, illusory walls, etc. into the game world, and rewarding you for finding them. The utter fascination that produces is hard to overstate.

Another one of the most evocative moments in the first book is when Harry sees Diagon Alley for the first time, after passing through the magically sealed brick wall (the mechanics of which, again, are never explained). This is your first proper glimpse at the wizarding world and what it has to offer:

Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, “Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad....” A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium — Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand — fastest ever —" There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon.... —Philosopher’s Stone, Chapter 5

What works so well here is the magical weirdness of wizardishness juxtaposed against normalcy. Eeylops Owl Emporium is just a pet shop to wizards. A woman makes a very mundane complaint about the price of goods, but the goods happen to be dragon liver. Broomsticks are treated like cars. All of these small moments contribute to the feeling of the wizarding world being alive, inhabited, and also magical. It gets you to ask the question of what your life would be like if you were a wizard. What do wizards wear? What do they eat? What do they haggle over and complain about? What do they do for fun?

In Book 3, Harry enjoys Diagon Alley for a few weeks when he suddenly has free time, and we get to experience the wizarding world in a state of “normalcy,” when he isn’t trying to save the world. He gets free ice creams from Florean Fortescue, gazes longingly at the Firebolt, and engages with delightfully weird people. He’s a wizard, living a (briefly) normal wizard life among other wizards in wizard-land. And that is fun. It’s so fun, that people want that experience for themselves, enough for there to be several theme parks and other immersive experiences dedicated to recreating the world of Harry Potter.

One of the greatest things about Universal was its phenomenal attention to detail. You can hear Moaning Myrtle’s voice in the women’s bathroom, and only the women’s bathroom. The walls of the Three Broomsticks have shadows of a broom sweeping by itself and an owl flying projected against the wall, so convincingly that you’ll do a double take when you see it. Knockturn Alley is down a little secret tunnel off of the main street, and that’s where you have to go to buy Dark Arts-themed stuff. It’s really well done.

Another thing that contributes to the vibe, in my opinion, is that the wizarding world is slightly macabre. They eat candy shaped like frogs, flies, mice, and so forth, and they have gross-tasting jellybeans. In the film’s version of the Diagon Alley sequence above, there’s a random shot of a pet bat available for purchase. In the third film, when Harry is practicing the Patronus Charm with Lupin, the candles are shaped like human spines. In the first book, this is Petunia’s description of Lily’s behavior after she became a witch:

Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that-that school, and came home every holiday with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! —Philosopher’s Stone, Chapter 4

I remember reading this for the first time, and it just kind of made intuitive sense to me. I suppose it fits into the “eye of newt and toe of frog” association between magical people and gross things, but somehow it works. Unfortunately, this is retconned later with the knowledge that wizards can’t use magic outside school, but before that limitation gets imposed, the idea of Lily amusing herself by turning teacups into rats seems like an inherently witchy thing to do.

That association between magic and the macabre shows up elsewhere, as well. In The Owl House, Luz’s interest in gross things is one of the things that marks her as a “weirdo” in the real world. When she goes to the magical world of the Boiling Isles, weird and gross stuff is absolutely everywhere. That world’s vibe leans more towards the macabre than the whimsical, but it works because you sort of expect the gross stuff to exist alongside the concept of witches, and that they would be an intrinsic part of the world they inhabit. You don’t question it, because it’s part of the vibe.

(The Owl House is one of the few things I’ve encountered that has a similar vibe to Harry Potter, but it’s still not the same vibe. In fact, The Owl House outright mocks the expectation that magical worlds be whimsical, and directly mocks Harry Potter more than once. The overall vibe is much closer to Gravity Falls.)

The Harry Potter films utilize a lot of similar soft worldbuilding with the background details, especially in the early films that were still brightly-colored and whimsical. For example, the scene in Flourish and Blotts in the second film has impossibly-stacked piles of books and old-timey looking signs describing their subjects, which include things like “Celestial Studies” and “Unicorns.” When Harry arrives in the Burrow in the same film, one of the first things he sees is dishes washing themselves and knitting needles working by themselves, taking completely mundane things and instantly establishing them as magical. In that Patronus scene with Harry and Lupin, the spine-candles and a bunch of random orbs (and the obligatory giant armillary sphere) float around in the background. One small detail that I personally appreciate is the designs on the walls above the teacher’s table in the Great Hall, which are from an alchemical manuscript called the Ripley Scroll:

It’s all these little things that add up to produce The Vibe.

Obviously, much of the vibe is expressed very well in John Williams’ score for the first three Harry Potter films. The mystical minor key of the main theme, the tinkly glockenspiel, the strings, the rising and falling notes that mimic the fluttering of an owl, the flight of a broomstick, or the waving of a wand. That initial shot of the castle across the lake as the orchestra swells, as the children arrive at their wizarding school:

If you grew up with Harry Potter, just looking at this image gives you The Vibe. The nostalgia hit is definitely part of it, but The Vibe was already there, back when you were a child and you didn’t have nostalgia yet.

In my opinion, only Williams’ score captures this vibe — the later films, though their scores are very good, do not. But the soundtrack of the first two video games, by Jeremy Soule (the same person who did Skyrim) absolutely nails it. This, right here, is Harry Potter’s vibe, condensed and distilled:

This is why I feel invalidated by the common advice “just read another book.” I have read other books. I’ve read plenty of other books, many of which are wonderfully written and have left an impact on me. But there’s still only one Harry Potter. To date, there’s only other book that has filled me with a similarly intense longing for a fictional place, and that is The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. That book deliberately prioritized atmosphere over everything else in the story, and actually lampshades this in-universe. The Night Circus has a plot and it has characters, but it’s not about its plot or characters. It’s about the setting and its atmosphere. It swallows you up and transports you to a fictional place that is so evocative and so magical that you just have to be part of it or you’ll die. And even then, The Night Circus has a different kind of vibe from Harry Potter. In this particular capacity, there’s nothing else like Harry Potter.

The thing is, I don’t think Rowling was being as deliberate as Erin Morgenstern. (In fact, given many of Rowling’s recent statements, I question how many of her creative choices were deliberated at all.) She was throwing random magical stuff into the background without thinking too hard about it, which works when you’re writing a kids’ story, but stops working when you try to age it up. Actually, scratch that — soft worldbuilding is definitely not just for kids! The Lord of the Rings has a soft magic system, for crying out loud, and Tolkien is the original archmage of worldbuilding. Don’t listen to anyone who tells you that prioritizing atmosphere over meticulousness is bad worldbuilding. That is a valid way to worldbuild! Not everything needs to be clearly explained, not everything needs to make sense. The problem is that Harry Potter doesn’t balance it well. Certain things do have to be explained in order for the magic to play an active role in the story (and the setting of a magic school lends itself to that kind of explanation), but no rules are ever established for the kinds of magic that need rules. When you begin thinking about the rules, you’re no longer just enjoying the magic for what it is. At worst, you begin running up against the Willing Suspension of Disbelief.

It wasn’t actually the “aging up” of the story that did it in, per se, but rather, the introduction of realism. The early books were heavily stylized, and the later books were less so. A heavily stylized story can more easily maintain the Willing Suspension of Disbelief. That’s why, for example, you don’t ask why the characters are singing in a musical — you just sort of accept the story’s outlandish internal logic, and the inherent melodrama of it doesn’t take you out of the story. Stylized stories are more concerned with being emotionally consistent over being logically consistent. The later Harry Potter books changed their emotional tone, but without changing the worldbuilding style to compensate.

In addition to the more mature themes and darker tone, Harry Potter introduced more realism as it went, but Rowling did not have the worldbuilding chops to pull this off. There’s the basic magic system stuff: When you begin thinking about it too hard, something like a Time-Turner stops being a fun magical device, and starts threatening to break the entire story. Then there’s the characters: Dumbledore leaving Harry on the Dursleys’ doorstep in the first book is an age-old fairy tale trope that goes unquestioned, but with the introduction of realism in the later books, it suddenly becomes abandonment of a child to an abusive family. The exaggerated stereotypes of characters like the Dursleys become tone-deaf. The fun school rivalry of the House system is suddenly lacking in nuance. And then there’s the shift in tone: The wizarding world that we were introduced to as a marvellous place is revealed to be dystopian. You start thinking about how impractical things like owl messengers are, you start wondering if Slytherin is being unjustly punished, the bad history appears glaringly obvious, the quaint archaisms become dangerously regressive. Oh, and the grand feasts are made through slave labor! The wizarding world suddenly feels small and backward instead of grand and marvellous. J.K. Rowling’s bigotry throws it all into an even harsher light.

This is why I’ve always preferred the early books and films to the later ones. There’s a lot of things I like about the later ones, but they’re not as stylized — they don’t have The Vibe. Thinking about things too hard is just a necessary condition of adulthood, but it’s still possible to tell a dark, mature story that is highly stylized. I really think JKR could have better pulled off that shift if she was a more competent worldbuilder. But it is painfully obvious that she did not think things through, and probably didn’t understand why she had to. In her defense, she did not know that her story would end up being one of the most scrutinized of all time. As it stands, her strength in worldbuilding was in the softer, smaller, deliberately unexplained moments of magic that were there just to provide atmosphere. And there were less and less of those as the books went along.

Pretty much all the Harry Potter-related content released since the last film — including Cursed Child, Fantastic Beasts, Hogwarts Mystery, Hogwarts Legacy, Magic Awakened, and that short-lived Pokemon Go thing — have been unsuccessful attempts at recreating The Vibe. In fact, the only piece of supplemental Potter content that I think had that Vibe down pat was the original Pottermore, back when it was more of an interactive game. And of course that got axed. That was right around the time things started going downhill.

Some of the art from Pottermore’s original Sorting quiz.

So what now? Well, that’s the question.

I think I can safely say that The Vibe was the reason I liked Harry Potter. It’s the thing I still like the most about it. I’ve spent years chasing it, like an elusive Patronus through a dark wood. If I can capture and distill that Vibe, and use drops of it in my own work, then perhaps I won’t need Harry Potter anymore.

I'm gonna write the story that I wish Harry Potter was, and when I'm a famous author, I won't become a bigot. I'll see you on the other side.

[sweet-s0rr0w]

day 18 of @hprecfest - a fic that makes you laugh

Little Red Courgette, by @blamebrampton - T, 31k, 2009

Summary: When this season's purple courgettes are woefully thin, Draco Malfoy thinks it amounts to small beans. Next thing he knows, the Department of Standards is over-run with leeks, Brussels sprouts all sorts of legislative difficulties, and somebody appears to have put a roquette under Harry Potter. Can Draco seize a marrow victory? Or will his plans for peas be squashed?

All along, Kingsley Shacklebolt finds himself pining for the good old days, when, instead of governing, all you had to worry about were Dark Lords and imminent death.

Excerpt:

They each made it through a bowl of chocolate with sundry other flavours garnishing it. And three large glasses of wine. This was the only excuse Draco could find for the fact that he found himself asking Potter: 'So what's your game?'

'Quidditch,' Potter replied instantly. 'Or Exploding Snap.'

'Here. What's your game here.'

'I'm not with you.'

A part of Draco's brain screamed at him to stop, but the alcohol-soaked part, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Smythe's, encouraged him to go on. 'Are you working with Kingsley to enlist me as your pawn in a clean out of the Ministry? You were very quick to agree when I asked you to warn The Quibbler off, was it all a ruse?'

'I thought you were engaged in your own hands-on grass-roots Ministry reform, making the one department work well, with an eye to expanding in the future,' Potter rebutted.

'Well I am, so you needn't try making use of me in your nefarious scheme.'

'I don't have a nefarious scheme.'

'So is it all a complicated plan to take some highly personal and embarrassing revenge for the Potter Stinks badges? Because that was years ago. And although I feel a little badly about it now, they were excellent work for a wizard that age.'

'They were, I was impressed. I still have one at home, you know.'

'Really?'

'Yup. I thought you were a wanker at the time, but I have to say, that was a quality Charm.'

'Thanks. So what's left? You're in the hire of someone keen to assassinate the last of the Malfoys; it's all an elaborate if somewhat clumsy plan at seduction; or you're desperate for someone to talk to now that all your friends are getting married and having children.'

'Those are my options? I'll take two, clumsy seduction.'

'Really?'

Back in 2019 when I rediscovered the joys of fanfic after over a decade out, I started off the way any (less tech-savvy) millennial would, by googling 'Drarry fanfiction'. blamebrampton's works were some of the first that I found, and I was immediately entranced. They're such an incredible variety, from the Muggle World-set Doing the Lambeth Walk, to travel fic Beneath Boundless Skies, to wartime epic (and longtime @tackytigerfic obsession) And Save Me From Bloody Men. No matter what the topic, though, blamebrampton's sense of humour always shines through in her sharp observations and witty dialogue, and in Little Red Courgette she's able to showcase this to the fullest extent. It's a hilarious examination of government bureaucracy from the world-weary point of view of one Draco Malfoy, an employee of the Office for the Volumetric Standardisation of Edible Wizarding Greengrocery Produce. The veg related puns are numerous, and excellent, and both Draco and Harry are incredibly endearing. Big rec, for all her works!

If you read it, and especially if you love it, please do let me know! And as always, please do take the time to leave the author a kudos/comment <3

day 1 - first fic you remember reading

day 2 - a fic rated G

day 3 - a fic not on ao3

day 4 - a comfort fic

day 5 - a romantic fic

day 6 - a fic for a ship you don’t normally read

day 7 - the best of your OTP

day 8 - a fic that was recced to you

day 9 - a WIP

day 10 - a fest/event fic

day 11 - an underrated fic

day 12 - a fic from your favourite author

day 13 - a rare pair

day 14 - a fic rated T

day 15 - a fic over 50k

day 16 - a podfic

day 17 - a fic that makes you cry

[onehundredflamingos]

Graduation / 113 words

@drarrymicrofic

Harry could hardly believe he had survived all those grueling months of auror training, that he had actually made it to graduation day.

“I should have made everyone badges in your honor,” Draco said, plucking a bit of lint off of Harry’s dress robes.

“Potter stinks?” Harry asked with a laugh.

“Auror Potter stinks,” Draco amended, but he sounded proud, like he couldn’t wait to use his boyfriend’s full title: Auror Potter.

Harry grinned back at him, and found he was also proud of himself; it was the first thing that Harry had ever completed for himself.

There was no martyrdom, no world-saving — just him and the future he was creating.

[veryinnovative]

@jegulus-microfic | january 2, prompt: fire | word count: 1.575 featuring older ceo regulus black and younger intern james potter

“A truffle wagyu burger with hand-cut fries? What does that even fucking mean?!” James shouts into the receiver as he winds through the busy masses of bodies crossing the roads, the traffic light across blinking for him to hurry. “Can’t I pick up something for him from Burger King or something? You know, like a normal human being?” 

On the other end of the line, Barty snorts a derisive sound. “Yeah, you try feeding him cheap chain franchise slob and see how that plays out for you. The fucker thinks Versace is a low-class brand, James. He probably doesn’t even know what the inside of a Burger King looks like. Besides, that place is fire. They have good shit.”

Groaning, James picks up the speed and sets out for a sprint, having missed the bus to Howick and resorted to the most reliable way of transport—his two sets of healthy, always moderately trained legs. 

“Are you running? You better not be fucking running, Potter. You’re going to come back all sweaty and with creases in your cheap-ass button-up and then I’m going to be the one getting shit for not driving you and ruining the image of Regulus Black’s executive assistant—”

“Suck a dick, Barty,” James bites back after barely evading a car, its tires screeching at him in warning. He throws the driver an apologetic smile.

“I’m serious. You meal-prepped, Potter! Asked where the fucking office microwave is, are you out of your mind? Lunch is on company credit, for fuck’s sake. You’ve got an image to uphold now you’re working for Black Enterprises!”

“The cafeteria is too rich for my taste. Besides, I like meal-prepping. It’s calming.”

“Your fucking tuna stinks up the place.”

“Maybe that’s just your big bullshitting mouth.”

“Listen here, you piece of—”

“Oops, entering a tunnel, hear that?” James cups a hand over the receiver and makes a low, grating sound—mimicking the static rasp of a bad cellular connection. “See you!”

He tucks away the phone before entering Beauxbatons, the restaurant Barty had told him to go to because Regulus was craving his guilty snack, which, to James, sounded like an item right off a witch’s menu. Then again, he was a poor twenty-three-year-old who had just had a gap year fresh out of university, lived in a run-down apartment tucked in Southern London, and knew nothing of the expensive tastes a man like Regulus Black possessed. Thirty-something years old and not a single skin blemish. Must be all the fucking truffle and caviar and whatever Boiron guava puree he eats.

“Welcome,” one of the employees asks. Of course, all of the staff are also wearing pristine clothes and have perfectly sleeked-back hair.

“Hi,” James answers, now all too conscious of the developing sweat marks below his armpits and the dampness cooling on his back. “I’m, uh, here to pick up lunch? Sorry, I forgot my order so let me have a peek at my messages…”

The employee blinks like James has grown a second head. “Take-away? Sir, this is a dine-in restaurant.”

Good thing James has come prepared. He shuffles through the contents of his bag, phone in the other hand and tip of his tongue peeking out in full concentration. “Oh, that’s alright. I brought something to carry it with me. I also got some Tupperware if you don’t mind rinsing it beforehand.”

“No, sir, it’s not a matter of containers,” the employee starts, her lips pursed into a tight line. “We don’t do takeaways.”

James stops and frowns, bag half slung over his shoulder. “Isn’t this Beauxbatons?”

“It is.”

“My boss sometimes has people pick up his lunch here.”

“You must be mistaken… We do not lend any type of service like that.”

James sighs. Great. Amazing. Just what he needed. “Right. Do you mind if I make a call? I’m sorry, there must have been a mistake then.”

The employee, undoubtedly taking pity on him and his disorderly state that suggests he’s been running the past ten minutes, nods. “Of course.”

Heaving a sigh, James scrolls through his contact list and taps on ‘Regulus’, never mind that he has been firmly instructed to only call him during emergencies. But considering the sort of day he’s been having, he considers this one.

Regulus picks up after the third ring. “Potter?”

It’s been two weeks and he still won’t fucking call him by his name, going off on tangents about formal office conduct and etiquette. Potter this, Potter that, bridling when he’s called by his first name for a change in an environment that would kiss the soles of his feet if he’d ask. “Hi, I’m at the place you sent me the address of but they don’t do takeaways so I wanted to know what you want to eat. You cool with Wagamama?”

There’s a pregnant pause—all too telling of how Regulus is probably taking a deep breath and doing the thing where he either pinches the bridge of his nose or rubs his eyebrows. “Have you mentioned the takeaway is for me?”

“No, I haven’t.” What difference would it make, James wants to ask. But in a world where Regulus Black is pretty much revered, he is confident it would make a little difference at least.

“Do that, Potter.”

James rolls his eyes before returning his attention to the employee. “He wants you to know his name is Regulus, by the way.”

Her eyes widen. “Reg—Do you mean Mr. Black?”

James clicks his tongue. “That the one.” The employee doesn’t look convinced and James holds up his hand just above his chest. “About this tall? Curly black hair? Probably in one of today’s morning tabloids, not hard to miss. I could put him on speaker if you’d like?”

There’s the frantic wave of her hands, head shaking vigorously. “Oh! You should have told me from the start, Sir. Please, what would Mr. Black like to eat for lunch? I—I’m sorry. We are very exclusive in our service and are most honored Mr. Black has once again chosen our humble establishment—”

“Just,” James sighs, skimming over the menu laminated standing on an easel by the entrance, not possessing the energy to listen to someone go off on tangents about his boss again. Not like he does so internally at night, anyway. Absolutely not. “A truffle wagyu burger with hand-cut fries.”

“Not fries, a salad—” Regulus reminds him over the phone, but James has decided that he will just about eat whatever James decides on.

“Potter—” Regulus tries again and James flat-out hushes him. To his surprise, Regulus actually shuts up.

The employee nods, over-excited. “Oh, of course, an excellent choice. How would Mr. Black like it to be cooked?”

James shrugs. “I don’t know, on a grill?”

There’s a faint garbled noise coming from Regulus that James will definitely tuck away in his memory.

But the employee is too thrilled to be serving someone as pompous as Regulus to notice the lack of culinary terminology James possesses. “Oh, I meant the cook of the meat!”

“The cook of the meat?” James repeats. “I don’t know, whoever is on shift? Regulus, who do you want to cook your burger?”

The employee makes a high-pitched sound at the same Regulus sighs in a very exaggerated, exhausted manner. “Just tell them medium rare.”

“Medium? What is this, a video game difficulty?”

“Medium rare!” the employee chirps, her smile wry. Strands of hair stick out of the previously perfectly pulled-back bun like the situation has created plenty of static to dishevel her updo. “One medium rare wagyu—”

“Don’t forget the fries,” James adds, unable to fight off the grin cleaving his face. This, he loves most—fucking with rich people. ‘Who do you want to cook your meat?’ he’s a genius for that one, an absolute innovative mastermind. Make him head of corporate next at this rate.

“You had to call me for this?” Regulus asks him as James watches the poor girl scurry off to the back, undoubtedly to ring in the order and gush about the perfect, rich, hot-looking Regulus Black on the phone by the restaurant’s hallway.

“It was an emergency. I get you the wrong order and you, I dunno, bite off my head like Miranda Priestly.”

“I don’t know a Miranda Priestly.”

“No? Shame. Would’ve loved her, a real feisty woman that one. She works in the fashion industry, though.”

“Potter.”

James tries not to bark out a laugh. He can’t help it, Regulus is just too easy. “Yeah, I’ll get you your overtly expensive A3-grade cut of meat that could pay for my weekly rent. Didn’t take you for the type of man to get burgers, by the way.”

“That’s why I’m asking employees of a lower tax bracket to pick them up for me.”

Okay, that’s kind of funny. Regulus Black can be fucking funny if he wants to, he just rarely chooses to. James barely masks his snort at it. “Got me there, boss.”

“Get a cab back to the office. And stop calling me boss.”

“My bad, Sir,” James drawls, knowing that Regulus reacts particularly well to this specific formality. 

A second of silence that stretches on for a little too long. James clears his throat, wondering if the line cut off. “Regu—”

“See you soon, Potter,” Regulus speaks, faster than usual, almost like he’s flustered, and with a strange pitch to his words before he hangs up.

[messingwithmoony]

I know you're mostly marauders, but I was wondering what your tope ten characters from the main gen and top ten characters from the next gen would be?

Main gen like golden trio?

Top ten (number 1 fav -> 10 least fav)

1) would it be really cheeky if i said remus lupin (as DADA teacher Professor Lupin) hahah. I've loved him since I was a little kid, he took care of everyone so well 🥹

2) Sirius Black Post Azkaban - this man was so insane and I'm here for it. Also the fact he escaped Azkaban using his animagus form is so smart and honestly? Iconic.

3) Luna Lovegood

Her character stuck to me for a long time (and still does now.) As an autistic person, I found solace in Luna as she seemed to stay happy even when the people around her constantly called her Loony. I wish that I had that kind of strength.

4) Hermione Granger

I've always loved her, may be stereotypical but honestly? I dont really care hahah. She is so much more than smart, I mean, this girl set up whole bloody campaigns to help the house-elves (even if executed a bit poorly..) She cares so deeply about her friends and that is lovely to me

5) Ronald Weasley (Specifically Book Ron)

He is just so funny in the books, but like Hermione, he cares so deeply about his friends, always defending them (like the "Unfortunately for you, pal, I'm also a Prefect!" When Seamus was being a git

6) The Weasley Twins

They're just too funny not to be put here - their firework show was always so fun to watch. But also, if theyre able to make all of these pranks, they're evidently smart (they just don't use it for the right purposes hahah) I want to know what happened to George after Fred's death though.

7) Cedric Diggory

I really respected Cedric's character - he tried getting his friends to remove their Potter Stinks badges, but also when Harry saves him in the maze, he's determined to let them both win at the same time (which kills my poor boy☹️)

8) Minerva McGonagall

MINNIEEEEEE my girl I love you - she's actually so fucking funny and no one appreciates that like I do hahah. "I've always wanted to use that spell" GIRL was too calm about the impending doom of Hogwarts.

10) Neville Longbottom

The love I have for this man is immense. He may not have been good at magic, but he cared so deeply about everyone around him and helped everyone when he could 💚💚

You may notice that Harry isnt on here. I love harry, bu I feel like I'd be regarded as having "stereotypical" favourites if he was on here - as he is the main character. I do love him though, and he'd probably come after Ron in this list.

The next gen is the kids that they have, right? Unfortunately I dont know too much about them to give you a proper detailed list like you deserve. I havent read The Cursed Child since it came out and I was rather young so probably didn't read it in detail and appreciate it at the time. I may find and re-read it once I've finished AGGGTM - Just pop another ask in in about a month or so :)

[panlight]

I.e. Bella not suffering any consequences: what I find even more annoying is that Meyer makes such a big stink about the books being about choice but only BELLA gets any big choices. Every other member of the Cullens was forcefully turned, either entirely against their will (Carlisle, Jasper) or to save their life (Alice, Edward, Emmett, Esme, Rose). Every shifter is forcefully turned due to the vampires; not even Jacob chose it in the end and actively fought against it. Imprinting is forced. Don't get me started on Leah. And even if Nessie wants Jacob in her life, the book heavily implies that she wouldn't have a choice either way. Also, she has to stay with her family because she'll never look old enough, isn't as invulnerable, etc. Literally only Bella has any choice over life-changing decisions (even Edward claims that he never had a choice in loving Bella). Bella chooses Edward (actively endangering herself and others), chooses to be a vampire (supposedly an evil, immoral life endangering others), chooses to give birth to Nessie (possibly an inhuman killing machine while endangering herself and others), and so on. And instead of ANY consequences AT ALL for what appear to be TERRIBLE choices (based on every single book except the back half of BD), she's ALSO the only one who gets pretty much everything she ever wanted while everyone else has to live with whatever crumbs of happiness they can eke out. It's infuriating if you care about anyone AT ALL other than Bella.

Totally agree! It's always been amusing to me that SM says the books are about choice. The apple being offered on the cover presents a choice: do you take it or not? Do you eat from the tree of knowledge of good and evil? Do you take the apple from the old woman who might be a witch or evil queen in disguise? And the original name of the book was "Forks;" obviously for the setting but also for the idea of forks in the road: which path you will choose?

But Bella's the only one with any real choices here. She actually has a lot more agency than a lot of people give her credit for. SHE chose to move to Forks. SHE chose to pursue a relationship with Edward. SHE chose the reckless actions in New Moon. SHE chose to ask Edward to sit out the fight. SHE chose to become a vampire. SHE chose to keep the pregnancy. She certainly suffers hardships, but they almost all come from choices SHE made for herself.

And the negative effects of those choices are temporary or unimportant to her specifically. Her scars from James are healed in the transformation; Emily's face is still scarred. The toll her pregnancy took on her body is erased in the transformation, but Esme is still 'rounded and soft' from her pregnancy, and Alice is 'thin in the extreme' from her malnourishment. Bella doesn't even burn for the full three days, only two! There's even a line where Edward literally says something like, "Renesmee's eyes are exactly your color, so that wasn't lost after all." She gets to keep Jacob literally forever (he has no choice) and she gets to keep Charlie when no one else got to keep their human families in their lives. Irina dies, but Bella doesn't know her so it doesn't matter.

I fully understand the main character is the main character for a reason; because they're special, because their journey is unique, etc. But this is also the reason I tend to find main characters annoying. This is not a Bella problem or an SM problem but a me problem. I feel similarly about Harry Potter and Katniss Everdeen as I do about Bella Swan. I like ensembles; I like when there are lots of narrators, or when there's no obvious 'main' character. And if there is a main character, dollars to donuts they aren't my favorite; I will 100% always sympathize more with the secondary characters and find them more interesting.

Bella gets to choose what she wants for her life and it all works out for her. Good for her! Genuinely! But it's a glaring contrast to the stories of virtually all the supporting characters and, to me at least, less interesting. Forever disappointed Bella being a newborn was such a non-event. I was looking forward to it for three and a half books and she just basically carries on her life like nothing has changed. Meh. The supporting characters not having many choices and making the best of things is personally more interesting to me.

[shiftermia]

— Sweet Nothings

James potter x gn!reader

Where you were just hanging out in your boyfriend’s room and you get one on one time with him.

a/n: it’s been months since I’ve last posted… oops! Here’s a James blurb to make up for it ( if I didn’t A would’ve killed me )

The Smiths latest vinyl played softly in the background as you lay on your stomach in your boyfriend, James’s bed, feet swinging gently in the air to the soft tune.

You were currently working on your Defense Against the Dark Arts homework, having to write about dark objects and their origins when the door opened.

Turning your head back, you were greeted with the sight of James tiredly dropping his bag onto the floor.

“Hey, Jamie,” you quipped, turning back to your paper and missing the sight of his soft smile and adoring eyes watching you.

“Hey, Poppet,” he said, crawling onto the bed and dropping his body weight onto you with a loud sigh.

You let out a groan, his weight knocking the breath out of you. “Ew, you’re all sweaty, James, bugger off!”

He chuckled as you moved underneath him, trying to push him off to no avail. “You can blame the bloody amount of stairs to the dorms for that.”

“You should go change,” you suggested, giving up on moving him and going back to your writing. “Or at least have a bath, you stink.”

“Ouch,” he playfully clutched his chest.

You let out a chuckle, “it’s true though, isn’t?”

James nodded and rested his head on your shoulder, watching your hand move rapidly. “That Slughorn’s work?” He asked, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“No, defense,” you corrected. He hummed in return and pressed kisses trailing up your shoulder to your neck, stopping after a moment with a content sigh.

“Missed you today, love,” he muttered, closing his eyes, nestling his face further into your neck. His glasses pressed into his nose painfully, but he ignored it.

You dropped your quill and brought a hand up to his messy curls, turning your head slightly, chin resting on his head lightly. “I missed you too, Jamie.”

It was quiet for a moment, the both of you simply listening to the Smiths song playing before you rolled over. James lifted himself so he hovered over you, admiring your pretty features before leaning down and pressing a tender, though firm kiss to your lips.

“Hi,” you murmured with a dopey grin.

James chuckled, lovingly pushing some baby hairs off your forehead. “Hi, my darling.” He pressed a few more short kisses to your lips before resting on top of you, hugging you tightly.

“What song is this by the way?” He asked with furrowed brows as you took off his glasses for him.

You stretched your arm out and dropped his glasses onto his bedside table as you answered, “It’s by The Smiths, that muggle band?”

It took a moment before pressing a chaste kiss to your collarbone. “Oh, yeah, you’ve got a crush on them, right?”

You chuckled, lightly swatting his head as he laughed tiredly. “Shut up, but it’s new, think it’s called Let me get what I want or something, I dunno.”

“Hmm, it’s nice.” James sleepily told you.

You let out a noise of agreement, gently scratching his head, fingers disappearing underneath the messy curls. It wasn’t often that James was so calm and sleepy as he was usually energetic, but you loved when he got like this. Clingy and muttering sweet nothings.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

In one of the HP analysis posts you mentioned that Draco doesn't have as much Slytherin in him as he wanted. Could you eleborate on that? Ty

Hi 👋

I think I mentioned most of it in the drarry post, but sure. I mentioned here how I usually go about sorting and thinking about who fits what house. And I will add the disclaimer that I'm not a Draco fan. I don't hate him, but I don't particularly like him either, so I am biased.

I always saw Draco as a character who was taught to value Slytherin house and its qualities. Who was taught that he should be cunning and ambitious. Who wants to be a Slytherin so bad, but just, isn't. Not really.

And the regular sorting questions I ask, kinda show him as someone who'd be sorted into Slytherin, but who isn't particularly ambitious or cunning.

1. Problem Solving - what is the go-to method of said character to solve problems in a situation that isn't a life-and-death threat. Both without a time limit and on a time crunch.

We don't see Draco problem-solve in a situation when he isn't in danger too much since his mission to kill Dumbledore came with the threat of death and torture looming over his head. But if we look at the sort of things he does to achieve his goals at school - bother Harry, for the most part, he has a clear pattern.

When Draco gets information/a situation he can use, and he uses it immediately. There is no waiting for opportune moments, no thinking ahead. It's all about immediate gratification.

We see it in how he sets up the fake duel, in how he bothers Harry over every Prophet article immediately after it's published. He isn't strategizing and coming up with good plans, he goes for the first thing he can, immediately.

He is bold, straightforward, impulsive, and employs zero cunning when problem-solving in a limited time (immediately). So he gets a Gryffindor point.

The dementor disguises at the Quidditch game in 3rd year, and the Potter Stinks badges, show the other method Draco has for problem-solving when he has more time — work his ass off.

It's kind of surprising that for all that he's spoilt, Draco is not lazy, on the contrary. I think he put a lot of effort into the Potter Stinks badges. He actually bought and charmed all of these badges just to annoy Harry. That's some hardworking dedication right there.

Basically, he's a Hufflepuff in the problem-solving when he has the time to work. He works hard and is surprisingly fair since he actually puts in all the effort. He works hard, not smart.

2. Problem-solving under threat of death - when the situation gets really dangerous, how do they deal with it?

When he is put under threat of death and torture, he tries to be Slytherin about his solutions. Sneaking around and slipping Dumbledore a poison is a Slytherin move. Buying a solution to your problem if you can, would be a Slytherin move.

If he could pull it off.

Draco's problem was that he wasn't clever or cunning enough to pull it off. He knew poison could kill a person, but he isn't a strategist. So he didn't come up with a good enough plan on how to get the poison to Dumbledore and it all fell apart. Same with the necklace.

His plans were so crap they harmed other people and he was lucky Dumbledore really wanted to keep him in the school.

The plan that finally did work for him, is the one Hufflepuff plan he had. He spent long hours working his ass off to fix the vanishing cabinet so someone else could help him. Getting help could fit all the houses (except Gryffindor) depending on the context, but the fact Draco didn't even foresee the Death Eaters attacking students and thought they'd only go after Dumbledore shows a lack of cunning on his part. His ability to work hard on something that seems futile is a Hufflepuff moment, and he makes it work.

He also lacks that Slytherin ruthlessness that even Harry possesses. Draco doesn't have what it takes to kill Dumbledore. And even when he's trying to save Harry, he can barely hold his lie together:

“Well, Draco?” said Lucius Malfoy. He sounded avid. “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?” “I can’t — I can’t be sure,” said Draco. He was keeping his distance from Greyback, and seemed as scared of looking at Harry as Harry was of looking at him.

(DH)

(He was also a bad liar when it came to lying about his arm being broken, this is consistent with his character and relevant to all his problem solving)

For the moment when he saves Hary's life (problem-solving under threat with a time crunch), I'll give him another Gryffindor point since it's bold and impulsive for sure.

3. What they aspire for - what do they want to accomplish for themselves. Be it an ambition towards a job or something they want to just be better at.

Draco doesn't have a solid ambition, as in, he doesn't have something specific he wishes to accomplish. I think he wants to be praised and be thought well of. He wants to make his parents proud and be admired by people in general — basically, Draco wants glory and recognition. Which could go either toward Slytherin or Gryffindor, so we'll give him a Slytherin point for ambition toward glory.

“Very good,” murmured Dumbledore. “So the Death Eaters were able to pass from Borgin and Burkes into the school to help you. ... A clever plan, a very clever plan ... and, as you say, right under my nose.” “Yeah,” said Malfoy, who bizarrely seemed to draw courage and comfort from Dumbledore’s praise.

(HBP)

He really doesn't really care where the praise comes from.

Though, I'd hardly call Draco Ambitious becouse these aforementioned goals, aren't really at the forefront of his mind when it comes to his choices and actions.

4. Motivations - why do they do the things they do? What gets them up in the morning?

As I mentioned above, I won't call Draco ambitious, because his ambitions rarely are what motivates him. Yes, he wants to be praised and admired by, well, everyone who's willing to say something nice, really, but it's not that he goes out of his way to pursue it. I mean, he peacocks around and brags about the stuff he has, but we don't really see him doing anything for the purpose of getting praise. Even in Potions, we don't see him raising his hand to get Snape's praise and attention like Hermione does. Draco's grades are probably good, but he doesn't go out of his way to be the teacher's favorite the way Hermione or Tom Riddle did. Sure, he loves the position of power of being a prefect, but he didn't exactly pursue it. He lost house points and got detentions, it's not that he has a perfect record.

Draco is mostly motivated by immediate satisfaction throughout the books (this changes post-DH, probably). And this makes sense. He is a rich brat, born to parents who probably gave him everything he always wanted. Hell, Lucius bought the whole Slytherin Quidditch team brooms for Draco. So it makes sense Draco acts for his immediate wants and what brings him joy/satisfaction in the moment.

Now, I'm actually not sure what house I would correspond with this behavior pattern, can go either Gryffindor or Slytherin, really. So, I'll add both points.

5. Defining trait - if you need to choose one trait to define them, what would it be?

This is a hard one. I don't feel like an expert on Draco's character, but I think I'd go with Hesitent.

Draco is cautious and weary. His self-preservation (especially in the early books) is his most Slytherin quality. But his hesitance goes beyond that.

He hesitates before killing Dumbledore, so Snape does the deed instead. He hesitates when fighting Harry in the bathroom because I don't believe Harry can say "Sectumsempra" faster than Draco can say "Crucio" unless Draco is pronouncing the spell as slowly as he can. he spends the entirety of Deathly Hallows in a state of indecisiveness. Not wanting to kill Harry, but then going with Crabbe and Goyle to capture him. He brags about being a Death Eater in HBP, but he spends the year crying in the bathroom. He speaks big game about violence, but probably went to throw up after being forced to torture Rowle.

I 100% believe that if Draco finished casting that Crucio on Harry, the spell wouldn't have hurt Harry at all because Draco didn't really mean it.

This hesitance actually is a Slytherin quality though. This desire to know what to do to get the best outcome so you're worried about making a move. That's Slytherin, so he gets the point.

6. Valued trait - if they had to pick their favorite trait about themselves, what would they pick?

I think, if Draco were to pick his best trait about himself, he'd probably say how clever he is, even though he's more book-smart and hardworking than cunning and clever in the Slytherin way. I think Draco is very wrong about his perception of himself throughout the books, and that at some point, post-DH, he'd figure himself out (he starts throughout DH).

But I will give this point to Slytherin since he really does value Slytherin cunning, even if he doesn't really possess it.

7. Values - what traits do they completely despise in others? What traits do they appreciate in others?

I think this one is another point to Hufflepuff, honestly.

There aren't many traits Draco really despises, I think, and if you ask him, he'd say something like: "oh, all these idiots who risk themselves for others, I mean, how stupid can you be,"

But we see him doing just that. Risking his own life for Harry and his parents. So, no, I think what Draco actually dislikes in people is shockingly the lack of empathy.

Draco is a very emotional and empathetic character. He hates causing pain or witnessing pain. He is surprisingly empathetic and is constantly stopping himself from being as empathetic as he actually is. He even warns Hermione in the World Cup in GoF (albeit in a mean and roundabout way, but still. If he really wanted her hurt, he wouldn't have told them to hurry along):

“Language, Weasley,” said Malfoy, his pale eyes glittering. “Hadn’t you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn’t like her spotted, would you?” He nodded at Hermione, and at the same moment, a blast like a bomb sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around them. “What’s that supposed to mean?” said Hermione defiantly. “Granger, they’re after Muggles,” said Malfoy. “D’you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around . . . they’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh.”

(GoF)

So, I think sadists who lack empathy like, say, Bellatrix, are the kind of people Draco actually dislikes the most.

8. And finally, which house do they want?

As I said in my previous house sorting post, the "what they want question" matters more about why they want a certain house and less about what house. Say, if they wanted Hufflepuff so they would appear more trustworthy, I'd send them to Slytherin.

Now, Draco wants to be a Slytherin so bad. He wants his parents to be proud so bad. Since, this desire is one born of an ambition, a goal he wants to pursue, and said goal is praise and glory, this point goes to Slytherin.

Tallying up the points:

G - 3, S - 5, H - 3, R - 0

When we tally it all up, he would clearly go to Slytherin, I can see why the hat placed him there. His sorting isn't a mistake, it is where he should go. And yet, he isn't particularly cunning, ambitious, ruthless, or resourceful. He is a Slytherin who isn't really a shining example of any of Slytherin house's traits.

[crackishincorrecthp]

Draco, to Pansy, 4th year: Harry Potter just thanked me and I couldn’t decide between “No problem!” and “No worries!” so I yelled “No worms!” to him as he walked away... Pansy, holding back a laugh: What did you do that he thanked you for? Draco: unbelievably he liked the "Potter stinks" badges I made...So he thanked me for them and even asked for a few! Pansy, laughing: Okay, but I think you should tell him you have a crush on him, 'cause the "no worms!" thing was very telling... Draco, blushing: It wasn't! Pansy: Yes, it was.

[moutainrusing]

Peter’s sorting

Brimming with nerves, Peter trembled as the brim of the Sorting Hat fell over his head. It was dark and smelled old, dusty and musty with the sweat of previous eleven-year-old heads; a heavy, built-up, rotten scent that made Peter scrunch his nose. His mother always said that if Peter had whiskers when he did that, he’d look like a rat. Peter always felt ugly then. He resolved to stop scrunching his nose, which only allowed the pungent odour to hit his senses full-force. It smelled like his father. His father was known for his obscene ability to sweat profusely in even the coldest of weathers, for the way his natural stench overwhelmed even the strongest of deodorants. Apparently when Peter grew into his manliness, he would smell just like that.

Peter didn’t want to smell like that. He didn’t want to be under this hat. He didn’t want to be sat in the centre of the Great Hall with everyone’s eyes on him; he wanted to go home, go home and never grow, never grow and never be ugly. Children weren’t ugly and children weren’t smelly and children didn’t have to be in the centre with everyone’s eyes on them.

He wondered if James was looking at him. James Potter, who would be next to sit under the hat, right after Peter Pettigrew, and what if James smells how bad Peter made this hat stink, what if James feels Peter’s sweat on his skin and winces in disgust, what if James never talks to him again? James couldn’t not talk to him again, James was the only reason Peter was doing this. McGonagall had called, “Pettigrew, Peter,” and Peter’s flight instinct had kicked in, telling him to run in the opposite direction and never come back. Enough time admiring the ceiling – Pettigrews were too ugly for pretty things anyway – now was the time to run away and hide his face and no one would see him grow old.

Except James had eagerly pushed him towards the hat, “Go on, Pete, my turn next! Be quick, will you? I can’t wait!” He’d been jumping with excitement, the giddiness emanating from his fingertips as they pressed into Peter’s arms, and now Peter raised his own fingers to those arms, to the same place where James had touched. His arms were too squishy, too much fat making them saggy, patchy red and awful to touch. He couldn’t believe James had touched them. Maybe James hated him now. Actually, James would definitely hate him now, because Peter was supposed to be quick, but he’d been under this hat for ages.

James was probably tapping his foot impatiently, glaring at the rolls of Peter’s stomach (Peter inhaled deeply to suck them in), thinking about how Peter was ugly and stupid and cruel. How could Peter hold up James’s time with the hat? How could Peter be before James in the register, when James was better, more deserving, more clever and kind and stunning?

“Are you finished?” a voice asked.

Peter startled. The hat was speaking to him. The hat had a voice. The hat had a voice, which was quiet and firm and not at all like a hat. If hats ever were to have voices, which would have never occurred to Peter to even imagine such a thing, then Peter would expect (even though he wouldn’t expect a hat to speak at all) the hat to sound creaky, ancient, out of breath, dying.

“Now that’s enough,” the hat said. It sounded like his mother when she rolled her eyes at him.

It continued, “Plenty of cowardice and fear, but those aren’t defining traits of any house. Perhaps you were right, Peter. You don’t belong in Hogwarts, you belong at home.”

Peter tensed. He didn’t want to belong in his home. His home was where his parents belonged, and he didn’t want to be like them. He just wanted to be… nowhere.

No, he didn’t.

He wanted to be with James. But he couldn’t have that. James belonged in Gryffindor, and Peter belonged nowhere.

“You are the opposite of a Gryffindor,” the hat stated bluntly. “You seem loyal to James, but not to your family, so you could easily abandon him too. So you are not a Hufflepuff.”

After a pause, the hat decided, “You are not a Ravenclaw.”

I could be smart, Peter thought. He could be. He noticed people.

“And then you use them.”

In what way did he ever use them?

“You’d cling to them. Like a leech. Feed off them, if you thought they’d help you survive. You’re clever like that. Clever in a cunning way, because you know how to survive, but you’d do it without giving anything away.”

When had he ever…?

“Why do you want James so much, if not for your own survival?”

Oh.

“And why don’t you like your parents? Do they help you survive?”

No, a very evil-sounding voice in Peter’s mind whispered. He didn’t know how to argue with it. Am I a Slytherin?

The hat seemed to think about that. “Would you want to be?”

Did it matter what Peter wanted? He was clearly evil. There was something inside of him that could make him turn against even the people he loved. Because he used to love his parents, but when society decided that his parents were ugly, he chose society over them. Like a leech, he’d cling to whatever that helped him survive. A chameleon, he’d blend in with the majority. He’d go home, but home always changed for him. Home was where the heart was, and Peter’s heart didn’t exist. His home was nowhere. His home was chosen by other people. If other people wanted him to be somewhere, he’d do it, in a heartbeat, a heartbeat of his non-existent heart. But only if those people could help him survive.

So maybe he did belong in Slytherin.

“I didn’t ask where you belonged, I asked where you wanted to be.”

You already know that.

“James Potter.” James Potter.

Was that evil of Peter to want? But how could someone stop their wanting?

“In Slytherin, the students would slaughter you.”

Peter wanted to laugh. Bitterly. They would, of course. What did it matter when he belonged there?

“You don’t care?”

I’m not allowed to care.

“They would bully you. Torment you, tease you, use you, belittle you—”

I know how to use people too. If you’re going to put me in Slytherin, then just get over with it.

“But Peter, why would I put you there when you don’t care?”

This hat really likes mind games, Peter thought, and he hated it.

“When you don’t care, it means you’re not scared. The Slytherins would make you bleed.”

My blood probably belongs with them.

“I can see everything inside you, Peter. You’re not scared. All you think is that you deserve it. A martyr?”

Therapy?

“I wish I could give that to you.”

And then the Sorting Hat yelled for the whole hall to hear, “GRYFFINDOR!”

[the-oblivious-writer]

Wanna Be Yours |1|

Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

Chapter One: Pranks & Fifth Year

Notes: Modern AU, Fem!SlytherinReader, any characters you don't recall from the Harry Potter universe are my OC's

Warning(s): None that I'm aware of

Prologue|Next Part

Y/n entered the train when a hand waved her over to a compartment. She entered the compartment where she saw familiar faces. Amelia and Leo were sitting across from each other, Y/n gave a quick 'hello' but then gave a confused expression.

"Where's Raine and Link?" she asked, Amelia rolled her eyes at the mention of the two. "Pranking the first years with Fred and George. Same as always."

Leo scooted closer to the window and left more room for Y/n to sit down. "Judging by the sudden silence, I'm assuming their plan is already in place." Y/n tilted her head back and sighed. "Merlins, do I even want to know what they have planned this time around?"

Leo chuckled slightly as he shook his head,"Why spoil it?" Just as those words left his mouth Lorraine, Fred and George came running in the compartment abruptly. They had their hands on their knees and were out of breath. "I'm assuming something went wrong" Y/n remarked.

Fred was peeking his head around every now and until finally shutting the door.

"Yeah..about that we uh kind of got the wrong compartment" Lorraine said as she took a seat, bunched up next to Y/n as Fred and George stood and avoided the window to the compartment door. 

"Wait-" Amelia started looking around, "Where's Link?" Fred, George and Lorraine suddenly looked at each other and back at the girl.

"He kind of decided to take his own road but he's fi-" before George could finish his sentence the compartment door opened. The three pranksters jumped but soon relaxed when they saw that it was only Link. "Merlin's beard, you scared us," Fred said.

"Sorry bout' that mate just had to wait for the coast to be clear before showing my face" Link responded, still taking heavy breaths. "Whose compartment did you get instead?" Amelia asked curiously.

"Draco's who was with Blaise and Theo. We ran before they could even leave their seats" Fred said, slightly laughing as he recalled the memory. "You should have seen their faces when the stink bombs went off" the four started to laugh.

"I swear one of these days, you're gonna get yourselves killed" Leo said as he shook his head.

—

They arrive at Hogwarts and separate when getting to the Great Hall to go to their house tables. Amelia and Y/n sat together at the Slytherin table, Link sat with the Hufflepuffs and Lorraine and Leo sat at the Ravenclaw table. Dumbledore made the same speech he made every year. It was their fifth year, they had gotten used to the same boring words he fed them at the beginning of every year.

Eventually it was time to eat and the Great Hall grew with noise. Y/n sat and ate silently as Amelia spoke with another Slytherin. Y/n wasn't one for making conversation, half the time it felt forced. She kept a small friend group and that was it. Y/n was an anti-social butterfly as her friend called her. 

Y/n poked around at her food but couldn't help but feel eyes on her. She looked up to see a Gryffindor girl staring at her, only for the girl to instantly avert her stare. Y/n felt heat rush to her cheeks from being stared at. The Slytherin stared back at her food as her mind kept trailing back to the girl.

Suddenly, Y/n felt a gentle nudge. "You alright?" Amelia asked the girl. Y/n only nodded and turned her head back at her food. Amelia looked at the girl skeptically but didn't want to push and left it at that.

—

Amelia and Y/n made their way to the dungeons when Amelia spoke. "I know you're always spaced out and stuff but you seemed a bit more than usual. Everything okay?" 

Y/n thought for a moment. "Yeah it's just..there was this girl who I caught staring and it just caught me off guard I guess." Amelia gave a little smirk which confused Y/n. "What?"

"I think I might know who you're talking about," Amelia replied. "And how is that?" Y/n asked curiously. "Just have a feeling it's the same girl who I've caught staring at you before" Amelia answered as she still held a small smirk.

"And who might that be?" Y/n asked, heat rushing to her cheeks. "Just some girl whom you’ve never spoken to but I have a feeling this year will be different. Considering this is the first time your clueless ass has noticed" Amelia remarked.   

Y/n rolled her eyes at the girl's last comment, "Enough playing blue's clues, I'm exhausted." The two girls entered the Slytherin common room and made their way to the dorms.

-----

A/n: Hope you enjoyed that first chapter! Exams are still going on but I'll try to work on a chapter whenever I can

Remember to stay hydrated folks, happy pride and good luck to anybody else who still has exams going on!

[veritas-scribblings]

doctor - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1,060

[in-universe: pride and then puddles | occurs before pride]

There are times when James wonders how his life got to this point. Where he’s at St. Mungos in the waiting room while another man is in the emergency ward with his partner and child. To be fair, if James is going to be rational about this (and he really doesn’t think he wants to be rational about it), Barty had been with Regulus and baby Elio when baby Elio had spiked a fever and started vomiting, and had immediately rushed the three of them to the emergency department.

Where James’s rationality stops is when Barty had apparently informed the healers that he is ‘definitely’ baby Elio’s other father. Because Barty is an absolute freak without any concept of boundaries and has decided that if Elio is Regulus’s child, he’s obviously Barty’s child too. It’s like Barty doesn’t comprehend that you can’t just lay claim to another human being. It doesn’t work that way. For fucks sake. If Barty wants a child so badly, he can go and get his own fucking child.

But now, James is stuck in the waiting room being refused entry because, he was curtly informed by the nurses, a child cannot have three parents. Not even a wizarding child.

The nurse at the desk glares at James as he scratches away at a sheet of parchment with a plain white hospital-standard quill. The nurse is a robust man, a little bit squat, the appropriate build for a strong beater, James thinks. James would have tried to strike up a conversation about quidditch, ask the man if he plays, had the man not solidified his role as James ultimate mortal enemy.

For the better part of an hour, he’s been watching James closely, having apparently deemed James a ‘nuisance’ after James had kicked up the world’s biggest stink in the middle of the waiting room.

James had argued and then screamed and insulted the man. He had even sent the man to go and speak with Barty and Regulus and rectify the situation, only for the man to return and inform James that Barty has rectified the situation and both parents are already with baby Elio. James is to patiently sit his arse on the chairs and wait for news.

And then, when the man had decided James wasn’t worth his time and had attempted to attend to another person, James had taken the opportunity to try and quickly make a break for it. Bolt through the doors. Search for his partner and child, and maybe murder Barty.

The man had not at all appreciated this.

So James sits. And he waits. And he makes angry faces at the man at the desk, because his fucking child, his own flesh and blood, is sick. James does not know what is going on. He can’t get any information. He can’t see him and he can’t hold him. He can’t even be with him. And he thinks he might be going out of his mind.

With a huff, James strides over to the man and slams his hands on the desk. Before he can speak, the man says firmly and tiredly, without looking up, ‘No news yet, they’ll let you know.’

‘Potter,’ James says. ‘His surname is Potter. My surname is Potter. He’s my child. For fucks sake, how stupid can you be?!’

‘James?’

James whirls around at the sound of Regulus’s voice. Regulus looks tired and stressed; there are dark patches under his eyes. James wants to rush forwards and sweep Regulus into his arms, but Regulus has turned away to speak quietly to a healer as he approaches. Two steps behind them is Barty. No sign of Elio.

James looks around frantically for baby Elio before finally noticing that Barty is cradling the baby to his chest. ‘Crouch,’ he growls, storming forwards. ‘Give me my—’

‘Sh.’ Barty glances up with a menacing smile. ‘Quiet or you’ll wake him. We just got him to sleep.’ He raises baby Elio a little bit higher to snuggle him. He’s definitely doing this to be a dick, because he knows that James will not punch him in the face if he’s holding James’s child hostage.

‘Give me my fucking baby, Crouch,’ James hisses. When he goes to pluck baby Elio from Barty’s arms, Barty quickly dodges his hands and scurries over to stand next to Regulus.

Sometimes it feels like Barty is an unwelcome squatter in James and Regulus’s relationship.

Look, James gets it. He really does. He’d brought Sirius into the relationship with him, and Regulus had brought Barty into the relationship. And between the two of them, there’s now four of them and that’s a lot of people in a single two-person relationship. The only difference is that while Sirius, for the most part, understands the concept of boundaries and can be reasoned with, Barty has not listened to another human being (besides Regulus and Evan) since he gained an inch of freedom and ran a mile with it.

James drapes his arm around Regulus and pulls him close, trying to keep his attention both on baby Elio and the healer, who is speaking.

‘I’m happy to send him home,’ the healer says, handing Regulus a slip of parchment. ‘Just give him children’s pepper-up potion; the infant range. Two millilitres every 4 hours. Keep his fluids up and monitor his temperature, and if his temperature rises too much again, definitely bring him back in.’ She leans over to peer at Elio, who is still slumbering in Barty’s arms. ‘He’s just being a little dramatic. Aren’t you, little one?’

The healer gives them a smile and a nod before departing.

James immediately tugs Regulus into his arms. ‘What happened? Is everything okay?’

‘Infection,’ Regulus says, relaxing slightly in James’s arms. ‘He was vomiting. A lot. He’s fine now. …I think. When did you get here? You should have come in.’

James blinks at Regulus, because…what? ‘Well, I tried, but…’ he trails off, noting Barty’s smug as fuck expression. Sighing, James doesn’t continue and instead just slowly runs his hand up and down Regulus’s back. He’s tired and stressed. Regulus is tired and stressed. James doesn’t have the energy for a round of verbal sparring with Barty.

And at least he knows that Barty will tear the world apart to protect his child. That’s some sort of consolation, right?