#tatted weasleys

[kmt123whatsthetea]

Run, Rabbit, Run

Fred Weasley x reader

Requested by: @fuckyeahphelpstwins-blog

Request: “Fred Weasley with Playboy reader”

A/N: Thank you for the request! I didn't know whether to go down the ‘reader is a playboy model’ route, or the ‘reader dresses as a playboy bunny’ route. So I just thought “I’ll start writing and see where it takes me”. For one of my earlier twin shorts, I added ‘Bunny’ as a nickname given by George, but I think it's time for Fred to steal it.

T/W: Unprotected sex, Bathroom sex, Mirror sex

Being a businessman had its perks. After paying Harry back for the loan on the shop, the twins felt as if they were rolling in money. For the first few months, all they did was travel and enjoy the perks of having their first taste of freedom and a paycheck. They travelled across the south of England, showing their wares and merchandise to both the young and old, the rich and poor. They were even invited to have lunch with some of the big name toy companies to discuss branching out.

They didn't pay attention to the posters aligning the clubs walls, thinking it to be regular tat about prices and menus. But if they had, they would have seen the promotion of a ‘playboy party’. Maybe then they wouldn't have been so shocked to see various beautiful women strutting around the venue in skimpy leotards and bunny ears. They seemed to have taken the place of the wait staff, some were even flirting with the business men who drooled over their youth and beauty. The businessmen fawned over these young women like they were the first flowers of spring.

The hostess (also adorned with bunny features) led the twins to their booth where a gentleman sat in a crisp suit, a whiskey glass resting in his hands. The twins had had plenty of business meetings before, but this one felt contradictory. It was professional, yet the giggling bunnies that surrounded them felt almost like having a meeting in the middle of a themed strip club night. Maybe Fred would have kept his thought track on the business straight and narrow if you hadn't wandered over to his table.

That tight little black leotard and that irresistible pom pom of a tail just drove him wild. You even reminded him of a bunny. Innocent, tender. The picture of naivety that just called to him. Sure, you weren't dressed so innocently, but he could tell by that little glimmer in your eye that you didn't walk as big a walk as your heels suggested. Fred could hear your heels before he even laid eyes on you, and he fell hard.

You had always dreamed of being a model, to see your photo in the latest magazine or even on a big billboard. Some told you to dream on while others decided to open the door for you. Sure, prancing around in a bunny costume wasn't exactly modelling, but these were the type of people that could hand you your dream on a silver platter. And besides, flaunting never hurt anyone.

The ginger pair that came through the doors of the club didn't exactly look well to do. Their dull orange suits stood out in a sea of black pinstripes and navy linen. They didn’t scream money, but your legs carried you to their table before you could even stop them. You leaned down, your elbows on the table.

“See anything on the menu you like, gentlemen?”

While George and the potential investor gave their orders, Freds eyes stayed glued to you. Your eyes, your face, your curves, your legs. Anything that wasn't hidden was a feast for his eyes. He didn't need a menu to know what he wanted, but taking his order home with him would take some persuading. Fred’s eyes looked back up at yours only to find them looking right at him, an expectant look at your face. He kept his cool, a sly grin on his face.

“Well rabbits not on the menu, but i'm sure a pretty bunny like yourself wouldn't mind making an exception if I fancied a little taste”

Although you were used to comments like these, they made you blush every time. You let out your usual giggle and brushed your hand against his arm.

“Oh stop it or you’ll make this bunny blush”

Fred knew how cliche this was. He was no better than a hound dog. But instead of barking at this bunny, the bunny was driving him barking mad. He watched you saunter off, that fluffy little tail on your leotard capturing his attention. When the round of drinks came out a moment later, he couldn't believe his eyes when he lifted his glass only to find a note tucked into the fold of the napkin.

‘Meet me by the bathrooms X’

Now that was an offer he couldn’t turn down. Fred excused himself and left George to discuss business. The sight of you leaning against the wall beside the women's bathroom made his smirk widen. He pushed the door to the women's room open and gestured inside, following you in after.

Luckily for the both of you, the door had a lock. Meaning that no tiny bathroom stall was needed. As soon as that lock clicked, his hands went to your waist to lift you onto the sink counter. No words were needed as your lips found his. Red lipstick smeared and transferred, painting his own lips. Your hands snaked around his neck to pull his face closer. You wanted to see just how many lipstick kisses you could leave on his skin.

Fred pulled back and lifted you from the counter to turn you around and bend you over, your face inches from the mirror. Your hair was slightly messed up but your lipstick took the most of the carnage. Fred really couldn't help himself as his hands massaged their way up your thighs. That soft little bunny tail was just sitting there, he couldn't not tug on it.

The tight leotard fortunately wasn't too tight around your crotch, meaning that he could pull the gusset to the side and give himself access to the thing he craved most in this moment. Considering you had people fawning over you every day, he was honoured to find you wet for him. Fred’s fingers trailed through your folds, collecting your juices like a man finding water in the desert. He brought those fingers to his lips and sucked your sweet juices from them. This little bunny was sweeter than strawberries and cream.

He unbuckled his belt and pulled his throbbing cock out before his hands returned to their natural place on your hips.

“Maybe if you beg nicely, little bunny, I’ll give you a nice big cock to hop on”

Fred may have been just as eager as you were, but he just knew you'd sound so pretty if you begged him to fuck you. He wanted to hear you say his name…which he had yet to tell you. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, his breath hot.

“Beg Freddie to fuck your little bunny cunt and I’ll let you cum before I go”

He could hear the soft whine that slipped from your lips, making him chuckle and press his lips behind your ear. He had to hold himself back from sliding deep inside of you. Good girls begged for what they wanted.

“Please fuck me, Freddie. Fuck my little bunny cunt until I soak my little cotton tail”

Fred’s eyes lit up when you did as he asked. How could he refuse such pretty begging? He lined his tip up with your eager entrance and thrust in with such force, you nearly kissed the mirror screwed to the wall before you. It was hard to stop the moan that was threatening to escape your throat, one that could alert any passing patrons to your unprofessional activity. There was most likely a queue already forming outside of the ladies room.

His cock pummelled your insides, making more of your juices coat his shaft. His grip on your hips was tight while his other hand tangled in your hair to pull your head up.

“Look at that pretty face. I bet you wouldn't let those other guys smudge your lipstick. You wouldn't bend over the counter for them, would you bunny?”

You looked at him in the reflection, trying to keep your eyes from closing in bliss. Every thrust of his hips made it hard to talk in anything other than whines and moans. His cock pulsed inside of your tight hole.

“No, just you, Freddie. No one else. Please, I need to cum”

Fred chuckled and gripped your hair tighter, using it to fuck himself deeper.

“Well, well, well, turns out my little bunny is actually a minx. You wanna cum on my cock, you’ve gotta be a good girl and look at me while you make a mess”

Your eyes stayed glued to his, watching every expression that crossed his face as he pummelled your insides. The way his brown eyes glazed over and his mouth fell open with every squeeze of your walls. His grip on your hip tightened before he came, his cum painting your insides as your own orgasm hit. The scent of sex permeated the air, the sound of your panting bounced off of the tiles.

Fred pulled his cock out of you before readjusting your gusset back into place. He was determined to keep a little piece of himself inside of you while other men undressed you with their eyes. He smirked at the sight of your face. Your mascara had started to run from just how good it felt. He stroked his hand along your hips, holding you up as you came down from your high. He tucked himself back into his trousers before pulling something out of his pocket and stuffing it into your bra.

With one last wink, he left you in the bathroom. You pulled the item out of your bra to find the napkin you gave him earlier. Flipping it over, you found something that made you grin.

A phone number, followed by ‘Call me, Little Bunny’

[jadeshifting]

🫀 SHIFTMAS

day 14. WHAT’S YOUR DR CHRISTMAS SHOPPING SPREE LIKE? do you wander through twinkling markets, sipping mulled wine and picking out thoughtful gifts? or are you hitting luxurious boutiques, wrapping up extravagant surprises? 

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

★⋆. — the holiday shopping spree kicks off like a Black Friday fever dream—except with much better outfits and zero elbow-throwing

★⋆. — accompanied by Pansy, Millicent, Astoria, and Daphne, i strut into Diagon Alley armed with galleons, a vague gift list, and zero restraint

★⋆. — first stop? Twilfitt and Tattings, where we swipe cashmere scarves for Theo, dragon-hide gloves for Mattheo, and emerald-studded cufflinks for Draco—though i “accidentally” add a velvet cloak with silver embroidery to my own pile

★⋆. — Pansy spots an enchanted clutch that whispers compliments to its owner and grabs one for herself and Daphne, who immediately starts testing its sass

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

★⋆. — Madam Primpernelle’s is our next stop, where we pick up up monogrammed skincare sets for Millicent’s mum and stumble across a perfume so intoxicating that i splurge on a bottle “for my mother,” but everyone knows it’s for my own vanity table

★⋆. — Millicent, ever the practical one, snags charmed self-heating teacups for her cousins

★⋆. — Astoria picks up delicate moonstone earrings for her sister and a rose quartz charm for her favorite professor

★⋆. — Daphne? she’s busy commissioning custom quills in every color imaginable at Scribbulus, slipping in a glittering emerald pen for herself because why not?

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

★⋆. — Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor has been decked out with garlands, so naturally, it’s our lunch break locale

★⋆. — we sip hot chocolate topped with glittering peppermint shavings and nibble on spiced ginger cookies while debating whether to brave the chaos of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes

★⋆. — (spoiler: we do, and walk out with a bag of prank sweets we’ll 100% regret later)

★⋆. — i splurge on a tiny enchanted snow globe at a hidden Knockturn Alley shop—it’s said to predict your future snowfall, which feels too chic not to buy

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

★⋆. — by the time the day winds down, Daphne’s heels are clicking slower, Pansy’s arms are full of satin gift bags, and i’m sipping on a frothy peppermint cream latte while we recap our “selfless” gift haul

★⋆. — naturally, there’s a consensus to head back tomorrow for more “last-minute things”—because, really, what’s Christmas without a little excess?

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[ellecdc]

padvix moodboard 🙏😩

awwwweeee kk!!

should I explain some of the features?

I liked the image of perhaps the readers pinky (sorry, everyone on Pinterest is white apparently??) inching closer to Sirius who obviously is freaking out inside but he's letting her approach him // we have a pic of vix x pads ;) // Padfoot with his bright eyes <33 // the picture of the girl with a book made me think of vix hurting her hand after touching a cursed book after being specifically told not to touch anything // siri and vix stargazing back at Hogwarts // Sirius & his boots as reader stands on her tiptoes to (idk? kiss him probs) // Sirius' tatted arms (I saw him far more masculine, broad, daunting in CBBH) // a book about legillimency // vix smelling a flower and smiling about it // two hands reaching out to one another gently // shadows of a couple dancing // Vix's denim jacket with pins like the kind Moony would buy for her <3 // how I pictured padvix standing in part three outside of the Weasley's safe house on the coast watching the horizon // how I pictured Vix's favourite sweater (little bit darker colours and zippered in my mind)

and of course, our favourite quotes from the series 😭

[severussnapedamagedlove]

Caught in a Lie {Dramione} NEW!

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

READ AND COMMENT PLEASE ❤

[wolfpants]

10 smutty dialogue scenes/quotes

I was tagged by the lovely @tenthousandyearsx to share 10 smut/pre-smut dialogue scenes! You can read her delicous selection here!

Rules: pick any ten fics, select some smut or pre-smut dialogue, and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, feel free to share anyway!

Some of these are quite chunky, my guys don't always do a lot of talking. A lot of bossing around though 👀

Mix of pairings, listed next to the quote.

Click for satan

From: Romp and Circumstance Drarry

Harry swallows hard. “McLaggen doesn’t seem like—”

“The submissive type? Potter, you judge too hastily,” Malfoy breathes, rolling his hips. Harry’s hard cock rubs up against the inside of Malfoy’s tightly clothed thigh, an aching throb that makes Harry feel like he has a hand around his throat, cutting off the blood supply to his head. 

Merlin. Sixth year Malfoy, eighth year Malfoy, this Malfoy. 

This is the Malfoy that’s been hiding himself away for so long?

What a waste, Harry thinks helplessly, swallowing back the bitterness of having to hand this over to McLaggen when their agreement is over.

Purred, “I could turn any man into the submissive type.”

“Yes, you could,” Harry breathes.

-

From: Tiny Home Dronarry

“Does Harry do this to you?” Draco asks him, licking his lips.

Ron tries to nod—Draco can feel the minute movement of it—but when he realises he can’t do it properly, he huffs his acknowledgement instead. 

Warmth pools low in Draco’s belly at the image; Harry, perhaps behind Ron, a fistful of his hair as he pushes into him, strong and good—so fucking good, Draco knows this—Ron’s back arched, his cheeks flushed strawberry-pink as he’s fucked to within an inch of his life.

“I forgot to cut it.” Draco repeats Ron’s words back at him, his tone darkly playful. “Sure, Weasley. You forgot.”

“Fuck,” Ron breathes. “Draco.”

-

From: Under Giant Mountains Drarry

Malfoy tilted his head to look at him, breathless, his lips pink and shiny with spit.

“Potter?”

“I—”

Malfoy wrapped his hand fully around Harry’s prick, stroking slowly. Harry had to grit his teeth to stop himself from coming on the spot, had to bite down on the words poised to leave his throat.

I’ve never—

There’d been no one since Smith, that last spring at Hogwarts.

Malfoy pushed his hands against the bench and stood up in one fluid motion, until their faces were barely an inch apart. He grinned at Harry, rubbing the tips of their noses together. Harry puddled, at his mercy, and gripped the edge of the bench harder when Malfoy lifted his hips and helped him out of his pants and joggers fully. He spread Harry’s knees with strong hands, hands that then came up to brace Harry’s throat, to cup his skull and hold it like it was some delicate thing that needed all of his careful, seemingly expert attention. Harry’s chest ached, and he closed his eyes, focusing instead on the heat throbbing between his legs.

“Do you want this?” Malfoy asked him, biting his chin.

“Yes,” Harry hissed, and they kissed again, sinking into it, hot and deep and slow. Malfoy tasted like ale and fresh air.

-

From: If You Show Me Yours Drarry

“You didn’t knock,” Draco says, curling his fingers into the sheets beneath him. He’s still hard, achingly so, his cock tenting his Y-fronts and leaking against the white cotton.

Potter puts a hand on the door, his fingers spread. His other hand, hanging limply by his side, disappears from Draco’s view.

Draco swallows.

“I’m getting revenge,” Draco adds archly once he’s found his voice again. “Tit for tat.”

Tat for tat.

“That’s a low blow, Malfoy,” Potter breathes. 

-

From: All Hues in his Controlling Drarry

Draco spins Harry around and presses him against the wall in the hallway. It’s covered in rich green wallpaper he’d picked out carefully from Liberty of London, ensuring it complimented the drapes just so. 

Harry moans, cheek pressed against the wall, hips tilted back, arse perfectly positioned against Draco’s crotch.

“Do you feel that?” Draco murmurs, one hand on Harry’s waist, the other digging gently into his thick curls on the crown of his head.

Draco rubs himself over Harry, dragging his clothed cock up and down, back and forth, slowly, slowly. “I’m going to have you riding this like a seasoned whore by the time I’m done with you.”

-

From: The Hollow Remus/Draco

“Fuck… Draco, I—ah—” 

Remus continues to grip Draco’s waist in his other hand, sliding it down to his hip, sharp beneath those heavy, restrictive layers.

Draco Malfoy, prim and proper and buttoned up to the wrists and jaw, pulling him off with painful, sublime precision.

It’s obscene. It’s incredible.

“No talking,” Draco is saying, gripping Remus tighter, stroking him faster.

“You—don’t, ah—mean that,” Remus says dizzily, his body curving.

“No talking.”

-

From: Enterrement de vie de garçon Riktor, Drarry, Deamus

“We get like this. Sometimes,” Ron admits.

“Ah,” Viktor says, his eyes roving over Ron’s chest where it peeks out the water, his red hair gone dark with it. Viktor’s ponytail is sagging even more now, loose strands of hair curling at his throat. He is extraordinarily handsome. “I like it. It’s fun.”

Ron swallows. “Yeah.”

That’s all it takes, really. They’re kissing after that, relearning each other’s mouths after five years, and it’s—surprisingly easy.

-

From: The Night Before Drarry

Draco clears his throat. “Hi,” he says, eyes still closed.

Harry bites back a grin. “Hi.”

That thigh inches closer, now rubbing against his own, and Harry groans as it brushes against his hard cock, the erection he woke up with.

“Hi,” Draco says with a low laugh, cloudy grey eyes opening a slit.

Harry snorts. “Hi.” He shuffles closer, any anticipated awkwardness melting away between them. Draco slides a hand over his side, pulling Harry half atop him.

“My breath smells,” Harry says. 

“I don’t care,” Draco murmurs, and he lifts his head to kiss him with impossibly warm lips.

-

From: Obedience Drarry

“Are you nervous about being hard in front of all these people?” Draco asks him hotly. “And not being able to do anything about it?”

“No,” Harry says, swallowing.

Draco hums. “You’re so good for me.” He drops his hand from Harry’s chest. “You’ll meet me outside after. Immediately.”

“Yes,” Harry says.

“Do you belong to me, Harry?” Draco asks, a soft whisper.

“Yes,” Harry breathes.

He spares Draco a quick glance. His grey eyes are alight, his cheeks rose-pink. 

Draco presses a single, gentle kiss to the corner of Harry’s lips. “Break a leg, darling.”

-

From: Nightcall Drarry

“I’m on the tip of Skye looking at the North Atlantic. I’m very alone. I can’t even remember the last time I saw a tree.”

“Then,” Draco huffs gently—an inhale, a sharp exhale, the sound of his shoes clicking against pavement. He’s walking through the hedge maze. “Fuck you.”

Harry licks his lips. “Yeah?” He cups himself over his leather trousers. Slides his thumb over the shifting head of his cock as it grows closer towards his hip.

Draco hums, deep and smooth. Harry tilts his hips up in a slow simulated fuck against his own fingers, heat spreading, sharp and singular, between his legs. “God I want you,” he rasps.

Tagging @lumosatnight @danpuff-ao3 @oknowkiss @sweet-s0rr0w @tackytigerfic @thehoneybeet and anyone who wants to share really!!

[carewyncromwell]

🌙 for Carewyn and Jacob? [ellie-e-marcovitz 😊]

🌙- Does this oc have any unusual hobbies?

LOL, Jacob is an eccentric scholar type, so he's all about trying out weird and unusual things at least once. While traveling the world, I see him going out of his way to take classes on weaving silk in Japan or chocolate making in Switzerland. One of his favorite things is solving puzzles -- even since the end of the Second Wizarding War, Jacob has loved being able to attend the Muggle World Puzzle Championship whenever he can, and he also collects different kinds of puzzles when he travels and keeps them both in his flat in London during the War and in his portable office-in-a-suitcase. Another weird thing Jacob's been very passionate about is potioneering, with a focus on researching various magical poisons so as to create cures. In that aforementioned office-in-a-briefcase, Jacob has his own mobile Potions lab and with the help of Magizoologists like Barnaby Lee, Charlie Weasley, and Sarahi Silvers @dat-silvers-girl, he's helped create tonics for different kinds of magical creature venom.

As for Carewyn...hmm. She's honestly such a workaholic that she often doesn't have time for she often doesn't have a lot of time for hobbies, even things she enjoys like singing and broomstick flying. I guess one thing Carewyn likes doing that is kind of unusual is thrifting -- she's always loved fashion, especially vintage fashion, and since she grew up poor, Carewyn isn't always comfortable with going into designer stores, even now that she's more financially independent and stable. And since in her line of work, it behooves her to always look her best, Carewyn really loves it whenever she can find dress robes as well as Muggle clothes that fit her aesthetic and not pay an arm and a leg for it. She's never gotten to the point that she'll completely make something by hand since she isn't talented enough at sewing or designing, but Carewyn will work hard to track down specific pieces second-hand and sometimes even recruit her Best Fashion Friend Forever Andre Egwu to help her magically alter them to make them exactly what she wants. One of Carewyn's favorite finds at a Muggle thrift store ended up being a very old and moldy leather jacket with these wonderful sharp silver studs on the shoulders. Although the leather ultimately was too badly damaged for Andre to fix it, he did help Carewyn salvage the studs by transferring them onto the shoulders of a set of black silk robes Carewyn had bought on sale from Twilfitt and Tatting's. Carewyn ended up wearing these modified dress robes (which Carewyn mentally dubs her "Punk Prosecutor" look) before the Wizengamot several times, including when she served as the prosecutor of Dolores Umbridge's trial after the Second Wizarding War.

Emoji Ask!

[dhr-ao3]

Caught in a Lie

Caught in a Lie https://ift.tt/r3bokch by ravengabrielle Hermione Granger is living her best life until she attends a dinner party with a past flame, Draco Malfoy. Her world comes crashing down when the story of her past that she's told them is shattered to pieces...and Draco is there holding the hammer. He claims what is his. Including her. [short story] [implied sexual references] [dramione, duh] Words: 12605, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry - Fandom Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, James Sirius Potter, Ron Weasley, Lavender Brown, George Weasley, Angelina Johnson, Fleur Delacour, Bill Weasley, Percy Weasley, Audrey Weasley Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley Additional Tags: Community: Dramione FanFiction Forum, Facebook: Dramione Fanfiction Writers, dramione - Freeform, Forced Marriage, Forced Relationship, Single Parent Hermione Granger, Protective Draco Malfoy, emo draco malfoy, Piercings and Tattoos, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Good Friend Ron Weasley, Tatted Draco Malfoy, Insecure Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Post-War, Post-Canon, hidden pregnancy, Adult Hermione Granger, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Trauma, Recovery, Quidditch, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Quidditch Player Angelina Johnson, Professional Quidditch, Possessive Behavior via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/mvfg5aF August 08, 2024 at 03:42AM

[katherinewilliams221b]

Our Time To Bloom

Chapter 7: The Serch Bythol

<Previous Chapter  - All Chapters - Masterlist

Summary: Two months after the war, the couple is more distant than ever. Kate  accompanies her grandfather on a trip to Ireland, where her past and  present will collide in unexpected ways. Charlie stays in Romania with a decision to make: will he follow her and uncover all unsaid things? Romance/Drama /Mystery

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Charlie Weasley/Kate Williams (hphm mc, original female character) established relationship

7th, July, 1998

Hours later, after dropping off Kate at the station, Charlie perched himself against a wooden fence at the dragon sanctuary. Lost in thought, he observed as Soule, an older Romanian Longhorn, stretched its wings in the air. The dragon flew in circles, pirouetting through the clouds with the bravest birds joining in its dance.

What a coward you have been, mate, not to join in. And what a fool! You wanted to go! You still do... Bernard has both great humour and profound wisdom, maybe he was the right person to talk to. If you want to talk... Simply trying to pronounce Fred’s name out loud makes your throat close up.

Soule walked past the Sun creating his silhouette in the wind for an instant.

A twinge in his knee made him hiss, and suddenly the smell of smoke invaded his nostrils.

‘It’s normal in the sanctuary,’ he reminded himself, but he couldn’t help but find himself on Hogwarts’ ground, lying on the stones and feeling that same smell.

He clung tightly to the fence, unable to move. The image of the man appearing out of the fire, distorted, only his silhouette visible when lit from behind, slipped into his mind without permission. He had hit him in the knee, fortunately, but at that moment, helpless on the ground, he knew the stranger would not miss a second time.

He struggled to steady his breathing and with difficulty set his sights on the mountains in the distance. He imagined waterfalls and rivers, crystal-clear lakes and the reflection of clouds in their waters, paths overlooking the valley, patches of flowering bushes.

He managed to shake off the vision of his near-death by trying to imagine himself flying, soaring through the skies on a dragon. With the wind in his face and breathing clean air, seeing the world disappearing and getting smaller and smaller and smaller and smaller...

“You’re making my dragons nervous...”

A light tap on the shoulder accompanied the voice, which was just enough to make Charlie flinch and turn away from Sonia, bringing his hand to his hip unconsciously reaching for his wand.

“Sorry.” She said with sincerity in her eyes before leaning against the fence.

Charlie brought his hand to his hair, briefly massaging his head and undoing the small ponytail he wore. He leaned back against the wood next to his group leader.

They both stood in silence for a while, just watching the sky. Charlie’s heart started beating normally again, and he was able to take a deep breath. Still, he brought his hand to his opposite arm and started stroking his inner elbow with his thumb.

“Nervous?” Sonia asked without looking at him. “The lists go out the day after tomorrow.” She added at the look she saw out of the corner of her eye.

“A little.”

“The grant is yours, I have no doubt. And Razvan’s too. You are both very capable.” She said with a small smile.

“We’ll see if the folks at Apuseni feel the same way.”

“I’m sure they will.”

Absently, Charlie continued to make circles on his skin.

“Cool tat,” Sonia commented, looking at the pale skin on his arm. “I haven’t seen it on you before.”

“Oh...” He pulled his hand away to reveal the symbol he wore inked in black. “We only got it done last year...”

Sonia raised her eyebrows.

“Kate and I.”

“Damn. That’s bold. I don’t think I could get matching tattoos with a boyfriend. It’s usually contraindicated.” She laughed, coaxing a small smile from Charlie.

“Yeah, well, they’re not permanent. The guy who did it to us can take them off, too.” It dawned on Charlie that this was the first time anyone had noticed the symbol he was wearing, and that no one but Kate knew of its existence. Not even Razvan.

He moved a little closer to her, extending his left arm so she could see better, and began to follow the lines with his pinky.

“It is, in theory, a Celtic symbol made of two Trinity knots flipped to the side and fused together.” He traced the intricate lines from the horizontally pointing tips to the central circle. “The three points of the knots represent the soul: mind, body and spirit, as well as the circle of life. The two knots maintain their individuality, but when intertwined, they create a perfect circle, symbolising the endless unity between two souls.” He recited as he had been told. He focused on the dragons again, less solemn, remembering with a smile the tale they were told when that man was tattooing Kate.

“It’s really just one interpretation, there’s no factual information about it that we know,” he chuckled" but we loved that story so much we adopted it as our own."

When Sonia didn’t comment on it, he kept going,

“It’s called a Serch Bythol. In Celtic Welsh language, serk means Love, and beeth-ohl means everlasting.”

“I wouldn’t have imagined in a million years that you two were corny as hell!” They shared a laugh at her teasing. Charlie was grateful that she took the weight out of his words.

“Oh, come on, be easy on me, boss, I’m opening my heart for you here.” He said half-joking.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” They chuckled again, watching as Soule landed on a tree. “I don’t suppose you got it one night completely smashed in some dude’s basemen…”

“No! Of course not!” He laughed.

“Right…”

“No, we…” he tapped it again absent-mindedly, “it was purely for practical reasons, I assure you.”

He stared at the black ink, praying for it to stay black.

“When the other is in danger, it glows red.”

A look of understanding erased the smirk on Sonia’s eyes. She avoided his stare, focusing on the landscape ahead.

“I always wondered how you knew… That you had to leave Romania that day.”

It scared me so much, the way it burned, he thought. I didn’t know where she was until I received her letter. It didn’t have an envelope or a seal. I couldn’t even recognise her handwriting.

He nodded.

A moment of silence passed between them and left Charlie contemplating his future, his plans. Seeing Soule come down from the sky to take a nap by the rocks made him realise he wasn't meant for anything else. This was the life he hoped for in his teens, and the life he wanted to cultivate. If not dragons, what else? But did it need to be in Romania?

These mountains were his dream since he was a child and he was comfortable here, perhaps too much. He wondered if leaving this place, this group of people he could now call friends would feel like a betrayal. To them and himself.

But then he thought of her.

She had worked as hard as him to get into St Mungo’s hospital as a mere apprentice. And she left for him. To follow him here. She got far as a healer in Bucharest’s hospital. And she left for a cause she believed in. She had been offered a position as a herbology teacher once. And she declined for the same reason. 

Maybe it was time to return the favour.

Perhaps, after the Apuseni program, if he was chosen to go, it could be the last thing Romania could offer him and that dream he had as a child wasn’t the end of the line but the beginning.

Before the war, they hadn’t discussed much about their plans for a future away from this place, they both had secure positions, a home and they were content with that. He never dared to dream further from that.

Then the war happened, and they were forced to do things they never imagined they could be capable of. And that tranquil life they had shattered along with their possibilities.

Now that it was over, he thought, after everything that they went through, it was time for new dreams.

Kate was in the picture, he used to be sure of it. Now, he hoped.

“Sonia…”

“Hm?” She began putting on her fireproof gloves.

“May I get… some time off?”

The dragon tamer stared at him with an unreadable expression. She seemed to be registering his question as confusion appeared on her face.

“You shouldn’t. Not right before the program starts.”

“After that, it may be too late.” She kept silent and continued to secure her gear. “I think,” he insisted, “I could catch up later, I’m sure. I’m a fast learner. Two weeks tops.”

“Two weeks!”

“Sonia, please. I never take breaks, you know this. I never even quit when all of that happened,” he added, referring to the war. She sighed.

“I know. I just don’t want you to lose this opportunity.”

“I won’t.”

She thought for a moment and then clicked her tongue. “At least stay until the first day.”

“Of course!”

“Hey!”

Both dragonologists turned at the sound of Razvan’s voice, who flew towards them with a frown.

“Am I the only one who works around here or what? We’re supposed to start the scouting in three minutes!”

“Yes,” Sonia added with a nod towards Charlie, “let’s go.”

--

Muddy and sweaty, Charlie apparated in front of his house after an afternoon in the forest. He took off his boots before entering the cabin and made his way to the bathroom for a warm and much needed shower.

After cleaning himself, he stepped out of the bathtub in time to hear scratches on the other side of the door.

“Just wait a moment, Grimoire!”

Charlie imagined the condescending expression of Kate’s cat as it sat in their bedroom.

He opened the door with a towel around his hips just so the animal would stop the assault at the door.

“When Kate’s not here, you become an insufferable pain in the ass.” He accused, changing into a shirt and tracksuit bottoms. Grimoire mewled, clearly letting him know that the sentiment was mutual.

After satiating both appetites, Charlie left the cabin and, using a ladder, checked the rooftop for any sign of Whiskey.

He found the owl sound asleep in the small wooden house he had built for him. The redhead frowned and checked his watch. It was late.

While climbing down, he reminded himself that it meant nothing that Kate hadn’t sent a letter. She was probably having fun with her grandpa. Right?

“Yes. She arrived safe and sound.” He said to Grimoire as he entered again.

He made his way to the kitchen counters, hoping that the routine of putting a kettle on would calm his nerves. He instantly felt better as soon as the tea touched his lips, but the nervousness of what would he say to her and, most importantly, how would she react to seeing him there, remained.

Stopping the spiralling train of thought, he gasped.

Her birthday!

He used to be more thoughtful than that, he thought, but the stress of the war and going back to tons of work at the reserve had left him with no energy to think about presents.

The incorporation to the Apuseni program, if that ever happened, would leave him no time to search for something appropriate. He only had tomorrow to figure it out.

Against all odds and without warning, Grimoire jumped on the seat next to him and, tentatively, rested his head on Charlie’s thigh.

“I know,” he sighed, scratching behind the cat’s ear, “I miss her too. You’ll be fine here on your own? I guess you must. Razvan will come, you know him, to check on you.”

He paused, sipping his tea.

“I don’t even know where to start with her…”

He would get to… Cobh? But where exactly? And even if he found her, how would he manage to put in order the things he should say?

Eyeing the coffee table, he saw some random papers scattered around. With a flick of the wrist, a quill and inkwell floated towards him as he set the cup down. With a determined breath, he started writing.

My dearest,

I don’t know if I will have the courage to show you this letter. Maybe I’ll burn it after I’m finished, maybe I will hide it until I’m ready, or maybe I will be able to speak my mind to your face. You deserve as much, and so much more.

My heart stings every time I come home at night. I watch the lights on the tower where you hide from me and I feel as a failure for not being able to reach you. You’ve closed your mind, only to me? Do I hurt you so that you’ve kept your thoughts to yourself?

I talk to Razvan sometimes, about you and I, about what happened, about Fred if my voice doesn’t betray me. He listens, he tries, and I’m grateful to have found a little solace in his friendship, but he is not the person I burn to reconnect with again.

I miss my best friend, my companion.

Is it because I remind you of your own brother, Jacob, that you can’t find it in your heart to speak to me?

I hear you cry some nights. I know about your nightmares. Often I hold you, selfishly hoping you will wake and hug me back. I don’t know what haunts your dreams, I can imagine, but it feels strange in my stomach that you can’t trust me how you used to.

I guess I’ve been guilty of that too, but for different reasons. There is no one else I would trust with my life but you, but I’m afraid I’ve become a burden to you. I find it difficult to know where I stand, where the limits are, how I should act around you.

But I’ve learnt today, the hard way, after seeing you part from me for the umpteenth time and after observing the creatures that roam these mountains, that my approach has been completely off.

You are not a dragon. Never have been and never will. They come and go or they don’t, they can fly, spit fire, the most absolute chaos can burst in any second, destroying everything around them. To be on good terms with them again, you need to sit still and wait. Make yourself as little of a threat as possible.

But you, my love, you are a feline, and cats can sense when one is not confident enough to handle them. So they scurry away. A change of attitude it’s what’s needed or you’ll just see their tails as they leave the room.

All of this to say I hope you will forgive me.

Once I told you, as you lay in my arms, I whispered to you it would be only fair to follow where you lead.

And now I intend to keep my promise, because it was one, whether you know it or not.

Although I should have been quicker to say it,

I accept your offer, if you’ll have me, and I’ll reunite with you in Ireland if I manage to find where you are.

If after these weeks you still seek a life away from here without me, at least I’ll know that my last decision regarding you wasn’t a disappointment or one that I’ll regret.

But for all it’s worth, I want to start dreaming with you again.

With all the love I can possibly keep in my heart,

Charlie.

Before folding the letter, and with utmost care, he drew with his quill a Serch Bythol at the end of the page, hoping she would understand the meaning behind it.

His heart felt lighter, somehow, having put into words his intentions and motives and, he realised as he lifted the quill, that he hoped for her to read it. When the envelope was closed, he placed a kiss on it.

With Grimoire’s head resting on his thigh and a steaming cup in hand, he stared out of the window, watching the trees sway with the wind. He took a deep breath and enjoyed for the first time in months a quiet afternoon in solitude.

--

A/N. A short one but very much needed, if anyone still cares :) It’s hard writing these days

Next chapter >

[sailtomarina]

“Shhh! Keep your voice down.”

“Is she here?” Ginny craned her head around in an exaggerated display of curiosity. She couldn’t wait to tell Harry. He’d want to know every single detail of the encounter, down to the colour of Dolohov’s cloak and the way he clenched the fabric of it within his hands.

“She’s at Twilfitt & Tattings–”

“So you’re basically on your own.”

“–which she insisted on visiting once she found out I was heading to Diagon Alley–”

“You’re a terrible liar, just like she is.”

“Yes! And since I am also terrible in the kitchen, I decided it best to come here to her favourite bakery and choose a cake, but I, I–.” He breathed heavily, his lungs catching up now to the slew of words that had flown out of his mouth.

“You aren’t sure what to get her.”

He nodded vigorously, one hand motioning towards her as if encouraging her to continue speaking.

Read the rest of Overcaked on AO3 here.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Antonin Dolohov & Ginny Weasley Characters: Antonin Dolohov, Ginny Weasley Additional Tags: Background Antonin Dolohov/Lavender Brown, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Facebook: Dolohoes: Antonin Dolohov Supremacy, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, He just wants to buy a cake, Married Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Antonin Dolohov and Ginny Weasley Friendship Series: Part 11 of Lyubimiy, Part 4 of Dispelled Summary:

It's Lavender's birthday soon and Antonin wants to get her the perfect cake. The only problem is that he doesn't know which one to get her. Enter: Ginny!

[keto-keyes]

Soft Boy - Weasley Twins imagine

Summary: Being the Slytherin best friend of the infamous Weasley twins is stressful, especially when no-one else in their family likes you.

Warnings: A bit of angst, Hermione being a little gossiper

*Use of y/n*

*reader is gender neutral*

To y/n, the Weasleys felt like home. Of course they did, they'd been going there for the holidays since first year. Except now there were more kids in the house, kids who didn't like Slytherins.

That's right, y/n was a Slytherin, and an outcast. They had almost no friends beside Fred, George and Lee Jordan. And now that the 'Chosen One' had joined them at the Burrow for the holidays, the sanctuary they'd felt disappeared almost instantly.

Ron knew them, and Ginny did too, but to Harry and Hermione, it was a shock to meet a Slytherin upon their arrival at the Burrow. Those two were like the extra son and daughter Molly Weasley never needed but welcomed with open arms and warm smiles.

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

"Harry, Hermione, this is y/n," Ron said with a half-hearted shrug in y/n's direction, "they're a friend of Fred and George."

"It's nice to meet you."

Y/n offered a hand in greeting, but neither took it, so it eventually dropped to their side. Hermione stared. Harry tried to say something, but failed. And Fred had to disperse the tension with a casual wave and squeezy side hug in Harry's direction.

"Are you a Slytherin?" blurted Hermione suddenly, "I mean, Ron told me on the way here, but I didn't quite believe it until now."

"Mione-" Ron tried to intervene before it got more awkward than it already was.

"I..." Fred looked at y/n out of the corner of his eye, watching their face crumple slightly from the sudden confrontation.

"Cos I heard there was one Slytherin who was different to all the rest, but I wasn't sure who it was. Who're your parents?" Hermione pressed.

"My mum's a muggle, and my dad works for Twilfitt and Tattings," they murmured softly, "They don't get along well. I... don't live with either of them."

"Oh, well, I heard there was a Slytherin close to some of us who was telling Voldemort where we were," Hermione sniffed, not noticing y/n's shocked look, "And I guess not having supportive parents is reason enough to find your own. So, what are you going to tell him now? Apologise for being found out already, I suppose. And then what? Try and kill us?"

It was at that moment that George appeared in the room as if by magic, apparently tuned in to his best friend's emotions and stress levels. He practically scooped y/n off their feet and flew them up to his and Fred's room, plopping them unceremoniously on his bed with a huff.

They could hear Hermione's outraged snapping mixed with Ron's doomed attempt to get her to say sorry slowly dying as Fred also entered and placed a silencing charm on the walls.

"You ok?" he asked, crouching to their level.

y/n shook their head slowly, eyes down, but didn't say anything.

"I didn't... I would never..." they muttered slowly.

"We know. Hermione just doesn't trust you yet. She's probably not used to being in the presence of THE COOLEST person ever," George said, placing a hand on their shoulder.

They nodded and chuckled softly. Then they looked up and the twins could see the tears brimming in their eyes like glitter rain.

"I should probably get some water," they sighed.

George reached up and wiped their eyes before holding out a hand so they could stand up. He walked them down the stairs, past Hermione and her judgemental glares, and into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

"Oh look, they needs a little escort to feel good about themselves," Hermione sneered.

"Nahhh I'm just keeping them from casting the killing curse or something," George said with a devilish smile.

"Ooooh look out Granger~" y/n giggled, finally feeling better after some water, "I might just cast the new hex Ginny taught me. You know, the Bat Bogey Hex!"

The two friends snickered, alerting Fred to their mischief-making. He rushed into the kitchen to see Hermione's ghost-pale face and burst into open-mouthed laughter that seemed to fill the space.

"I don't know what you said, but good job," he wheezed between chortles, "She looks like a dementor sucked out her soul!"

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

I'm looking for a window to another world, where I don't feel as lost and bored I just don't wanna be a soft boy anymore, I wanna be yours.

[froggyinaspen]

Between Comfort and Chaos: CH 4

Link to the Previous chapter below!

Also Available on AO3/Wattpad

OminisxMC- Slooooowwww burn, Angst

Word Count: 3,241

CH 4- Magical Mishaps

Lessie POV

Garreth Weasley was at it again. His cauldron had the faint aroma of candied apples and was spewing forth a cloud of the most vibrant green smoke I had ever seen. To be honest, I found it quite impressive. Never had I witnessed someone so innovative. There were, however, others that did not appreciate his pioneering abilities.

“Honestly, Professor I did follow the recipe I promise!” His tone came off as less than trustworthy. This would be the 10th time this excuse had been used in the span of a month. None of them convincing.

“Mr. Weasley, I am beginning to suspect that you not only lack the ability to comprehend the meaning of that word but also lack the facilities to read as well. It seems that detentions are not sufficient, maybe a discussion with the Deputy Headmistress may be in order. Hmm?” A black brow raised quizzically.

“NO! No, please. I think I know what went wrong I can explain!” He backpedaled and I couldn’t help but shake my head.  

I looked across to my tablemate Leander and he smiled at me knowingly, his blue eyes lighting up with mirth. We had a running bet on if Garreth would make it to the end of the semester or if Professor Sharp would transfigure the boy into a toad. So far, the results were out, but it appeared to be leaning in my favor.

Professor Sharp on the other hand was past the stage of rebuke and was trying to have the Weasley boy walk him through the process step-by-step of how this could have possibly happened. His irritation was becoming more apparent with every word Weasley spoke. We were supposed to be brewing a simple Erudus potion, and it only contained two ingredients. Two! How could he possibly think Sharp wouldn’t notice? The two potions looked nothing alike and a misstep this vast could only be caused by someone tampering with it or Weasley himself experimenting, which was likely the case. Neither option would play out in his favor.

Leander leaned over, whispering “At this rate, I am going to have to buy the whole of Honeydukes for you.”

“Yeah, maybe.” My voice came out a bit despondent.  

I would normally be laughing right along with the rest of the class, but I had been worried about the fact that our third tablemate, Ominis had not shown up for class. He was never late, let alone skipped. More so than not he was always the first one here. The only other time this had happened was when Leander hid his wand in the girl’s lavatory towards the end of 5th year. Ominis, with his gentle nature, had simply refused to go after it stating something or other about propriety. We had all matured since the incident, so I didn’t suspect bullying. Plus, the culprit was right across from me laughing. Leander had matured since then and I counted him among my friends. His past snobbery forgotten.

“Is there something on your mind? Usually, you’d be one of the first to crack a joke at Garreth’s expense?” Leander asked with concern as he handed me a shaggy gray mass.

I gave him a shrug and took up my scissors, cutting off a patch of mongrel fur from a hide we were sharing. It was softer than usual as I had taken extra care to prepare it well with the help of our groundskeeper. The man was a genius with hide preservation and fresh ingredients were always best after all.

“I suppose you could say so. I find it rather odd that our third hasn’t shown up to class.”

Leander leaned over his cauldron to keep his voice to a whisper. “Ah, well I did see him while I was walking over here.”

“Did you now?” My eyes lit up and I leaned closer.

He flashed me a handsome smile that reached his eyes. “I did, and it’s all rather scandalous.”

“Oh, come now. Ominis and scandalous hardly belong in the same sentence. Where did you see him?”

“Uh-uh, tit-for-tat dear. I can’t tell you without the promise of a reward. After all It seems this is very valuable intel for you.”

I gave his shoulder a playful smack but leaned in closer, meeting his eyes.

“Alright, and what would you like in exchange?”

His hand reached out and tucked a stray curl behind my ear, never breaking eye contact. There was a shift in his gaze as his pupils constricted.

“I will have to think on that. Can’t say there’s much I could ask of you currently.”

“Very well. You can redeem it at your leisure. Now, where did you see Ominis?”

Leander let out a laugh as Sharp smacked a book on a desk by the Weasley boy.

“He was asleep, on the floor by the large atrium window.”

I nodded and we resumed our work. So much for precious intel, that was normal behavior on Gaunts part. He reminded me of the cats that roamed the school, always finding a little place to bask in the sun for a quick reprieve. I threw the ingredients into my cauldron and leaned back stretching looking over at Sebastian’s workstation. His potion was already neatly bottled and set aside. As always, he was one of the first done. His lips were upturned into a smirk as he relished in the delight of Garreth getting chewed out. We locked eyes briefly and he waved his hand, beckoning me over to him.

With a quick request for Leander to watch my potion, I got up and walked to the other table.

“Listen, I know I shouldn’t be asking you this since you have that date planned for later…”

My face lit up with a blush, “For the last time Sebastian, stop calling it a date. We are going to do a bloody Merlin Trail!”

“Right, right. Just a friend, who you are going on an overnight trip with… just remember that Ominis talks in his sleep. It can get kind of bothersome since he’s a clinger too, from what I remember.” He poked my shoulder playfully shooting me a cheeky wink.

I palmed my face in frustration before replying. “You and I have had plenty of overnight trips together. Yet here we are, just friends. Honestly, this isn’t the muggle world guys and girls can be just friends. It isn’t that deep.”

He frowned slightly at the first part but quickly corrected his features. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he was jealous. Surely not, we had spent nearly all summer together. He cleared his throat, eyes downcast. 

“You’re right it isn’t.” He took a breath and then looked into my eyes, serious demeanor returning. “I have a favor to ask. It shouldn’t take too long but I would greatly appreciate the assistance.”

The way he was dragging this out was starting to make me suspicious. Usually when he asked favors of me, they fell into two categories. The first, innocent and often simple things he could do on his own but just wanted company. The second, dangerous and deadly, often resulting in at least someone getting maimed or worse, dying. I was really hoping it was the first one as I wanted to start my weekend off on a high note.

“Spit it out!” I commanded impatiently, not wanting to face Sharps’ ire for being out of my seat. Luckily, he was still distracted with the disaster across the classroom. Garreth had begun to debate the benefits of experimentation vs. following recipes. I was going to win that bet.

“I was in the Three Broomsticks a couple days ago, just sitting in the corner next to the fire. Having myself a nice pint of butterbeer, listening to conversations like I usually do when these three blokes come in. Lessie, when I say they looked wild I mean it with every essence of the word! They were dressed head to toe in dragon skin. I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

“I mean I have,” I quipped with a smirk.

“Oh, hush we can’t all have whimsical childhoods.”

One of the downfalls of Sallow telling any story was that he had the disposition to turn into a bard, stretching out the tale and embellishing it to try and get your attention so you’d be eager to comply. It was a manipulation tactic that in the past I never really picked up on. I honestly just thought he was charismatic. He was, no doubt, but his voice often took on a specific undetectable tone when he was weaving in his desires for cooperation. He was hiding something, that much was obvious.

“Just get to the point, I don’t need the whole fairy tale.”

He furrowed his brows in annoyance giving a pout and then carried on, “As I was saying…...well turns out they’re dragon dealers, and not the sanctioned kind. They were due to unload some ‘cargo.’” He gave me a wink signaling that the cargo was in fact not merely cargo. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued with dismantling a poacher ring.

“After a few rounds they started talking about the Northford Bog and which cave would best suit their needs for this large cargo. They mentioned one just west of the hamlet.”  

He ended his commentary, and I waited a full 30 seconds, as we just stared at each other. Me thinking that he was about state his reason as to why this warranted my help and him thinking that I was mulling over the information. The gleam in his chestnut eyes were laced with mischief, had I not mentally grown over the summer spent with him I would have immediately agreed with no questions asked. However, based on the information, things weren’t lining up. I knew the boy in front of me like the back of my hands. Living in close proximity had given me insight to every nuance about him.

“What’s the reason you want to get involved Seb?” I crossed my arms over my chest looking down at him. He rearranged his face into a mask of innocence.

“I want to help the dragons?” It came out as a sarcastic question. I was wholly unconvinced but didn’t have time to respond before I felt a looming presence behind me.

Fuck.

“Ms. Aspen, it seems Mr. Sallow has already completed his potion and doesn’t require your assistance. I would recommend you follow suit unless you would care to join Mr. Weasley in detention.” Professor Sharp tutted before walking back to his desk. I scowled at Seb, mentally signaling that the conversation wasn’t over and we would discuss this after class. I walked back to my station and began hastily finishing my brew. 

Dragons?! What could he possibly want with Dragons?

I didn’t have long to wait as twenty minutes later the bells began to toll signaling the end of class and the beginning of what I assumed would be an eventful weekend. We handed in our potions and made our way out of the classroom. We walked in silence for a bit until finding a bench in one of the more hidden spots in the viaduct courtyard. Sebastian faced me, taking both of my hands into his and gave me a half serious pleading face. I couldn’t keep from laughing at the absurdity of it all. It looked like he was about to propose, not request my help.

“Go on Sallow, grovel.”

His demeanor became childlike in his attempt to placate my demand. One of his better qualities was how goofy he could get on occasion. It made my heart warm seeing him be able to act in this way after all the heartache. It was a sure sign of healing.

“Oh please, please Lessie you’re so strong and smart and amazing and I don’t know how I could possibly endure without your magical prowess assisting me!” At the last part he dramatically leaned back in a mock faint. I let out a mirthful laugh.

“I could see myself helping you, however the question still remains as to what exactly you plan on using that help for.”

“How do I put this…” He took a moment to pause and crossed his legs, face returning to a serious visage. “With everything that happened last year, and my uncle….” He gulped his Adam’s apple dancing in his thick throat as one hand absentmindedly began to twirl a lock of his shaggy hair. “My O.W.L.S were less than exceptional. Headmaster Black decided that due to the circumstances I could retake them over Christmas break since I would be staying here anyways….”

I had forgotten about the boy’s massive failure with the O.W.L.S with everything else that had been going on. Sallow was a brilliant wizard and it made sense why they would attribute the failure to the tragedy of his uncle’s passing. What I couldn’t understand was how dragons had anything to do with it… what use would stopping a poaching ring have in terms of studies?

None of this makes any sense!

My mind kicked into over drive trying to remember every potential use and spell for dragon anatomy. There was a lot to be honest, they were fearsome but very valued creatures for a reason. Albeit a tad misunderstood.

Eyes for prophecy…. Teeth for bravery…. scale for protection…... claw for endurance…. Wait, claws… there’s a dual purpose for claws, what was it again?

Like a wall of bricks, the realization snapped into place…. Sebastian didn’t care too much about stopping the poachers. He wanted the dragon…. Or at least a particular piece of the dragon. The poachers would just be collateral damage. I looked at the boy in front of me, unease and worry weighing in his features. He wants to make a potion. He wants to guarantee a solid score on these exams so as not to let down the faculty that had stood by him not knowing the full story of his downfall. Ever since day one, the most affronting quality about Sebastian Sallow was his unrivaled pride. His curse.

Oh Seb, why does everything revolve around pride for you?

He could see the conflicted look on my face and began to grasp for anything that might help him to get me to agree. He knew for a fact that I wasn’t stupid enough to go toe to toe with a beast who had probably been tortured to the brink of insanity, especially one as deadly as this.  

“I just need a few claws! Nothing more, I’m not stupid enough to think that we could fight a dragon!”

“Sebastian, is a potion that lasts for all of a few hours really worth putting not only my life, but your own at risk? Are you still so foolish? Have you learned nothing?” I didn’t mean to sound as annoyed as I was, however, he was doing what he did best, being a complete and utter idiot.

“I know what you’re thinking, but can you really stand by and let these poachers get away with this. We may not mean to kill the dragon, but I know for a fact that they do. Plus, it’s not just one dragon…. Its… well they have hatchlings as well, Lessie.”  

The look he gave me sent chills down my spine. He knew the mention of hatchings would cause me to reconsider. When my parents had died, I had moved in with my Uncle Barnabas, a renowned Dragonologist who had a hobby of rescuing and taking in hatchlings. Making sure that they were big enough and strong enough before releasing them back into the wild. The years spent with him were one of my most cherished memories. Helping rear the small soot bags had allowed me to process the trauma in a healthy manner. Now it was being used against me and it left a chalky feeling in my mouth.

I was lost in thought, trying to figure out a plan to placate the man without it resulting in our deaths, and didn’t even notice the squealing in the bush behind us as a blur of blacks, yellows, pinks, and greens rose to the surface causing Sebastian to fall from the bench with an undignified scream. There in all her leaf covered glory was Poppy Sweeting, Puffskien cradled peacefully in her arms, as she launched into an excited flurry.

I came back from the shadow realm with a look of dread, realizing that I no longer had a say in whether I went or not. If Poppy had overheard our conversation, which I was 99% sure she had, I didn’t stand a chance of talking her down. The girl could be more ruthless than Sallow when magical beasts were involved.

“HATCHLINGS?! Real-life dragon hatchlings? Do you know which breed they are?” Her voice was shrill with excitement.

I groaned, raking my hands through my hair, and gave her a look of discomfort. Sebastian had managed to recover from the shock and was standing as if he had never been bothered, but with a knowing smirk on his face. He knew this was the key to getting the upper hand. I could see the gears turning in his head on how to spin his little web.

“Poppy, why in Merlin’s beard were you lurking like a matagot in the bushes?! How long have you been there?” I asked.

“There are more important things to discuss! SHHH!” She turned away from me staring down at our dark-haired friend. I was in shock. Never had I been told to be silent in such a manner.

“Hatchlings, you said Sebastian?”

Her focus left me and instead took in the Sallow boy, as a Cheshire grin lit her face. The Puffskien she was cradling looked unplussed, used to her exuberant behavior. I let out a frustrated groan. Of course, I couldn’t have a nice relaxing weekend. There was always something going on, someone who needed help, something that needed saving, and here I was incapable of saying no. The two went back and forth exchanging all the information relevant to this new ‘mission’. Sebastian occasionally flicking a glance my way to gauge my reaction. Finally in agreement they both turned towards me. It was like staring down a basilisk knowing full well I wouldn’t stand a chance.

“We have no time to waste, let me put Persephone back in her pen and we will set off at once!”  Poppy’s commanding tone brokered no resistance. My fate was sealed, and I had no say. She turned on her heel and started striding away. Sebastian threw his hands up as if stating he had no part in this. I scowled with obvious displeasure.

“Let’s go rescue a bloody dragon then.”

“That’s the spirit Lessie! I knew you’d come around!” He wrapped an arm around my shoulder as we turned to follow the short brunette out of the courtyard towards the beast pens.

Every damn time! One of these times Sebastian is going to get me killed.

The thought left a chill in my bones. I pushed it down and tried to focus on the task at hand. At least I was familiar with this type of beast. It should be quick work and maybe even a way to get back into Uncle Barnabas’ good graces. There was always a silver lining. 

[childrenbooksvulinh]

Mùa hè năm nay Harry và Hermione có kỳ nghỉ ngắn thú vị tại nhà của Ron, gia đình Weasley. Tuy nhiên cậu liên tục bị ám ảnh bởi những giấc mơ kỳ lạ và bí ẩn về Voldemort và Peter Pettigrew. Trước khi năm học bắt đầu Harry, Hermione và gia đình Ron cùng dịch chuyển tới địa điểm tổ chức giải đấu Quidditch Thế giới vô cùng hoành tráng. Tham dự giải đấu năm nay có ba đội: Ireland, Bulgaria và Brazil. Trận đấu đầu tiên giữa Ireland và Bulgaria diễn ra vô cùng gay cấn. 

Trận chung kết giữa Ireland và Bulgaria thu hút sự theo dõi của đông đảo khán giả, bao gồm cả Harry và các bạn. Victor Krum, thủ môn Quidditch xuất sắc của Bulgaria, là tâm điểm chú ý v��i kỹ năng bắt Vàng xuất thần. Ireland đã giành chiến thắng ngoạn mục, trở thành nhà vô địch Cúp Quidditch Thế giới năm nay. Trận Cúp Quidditch Thế giới kết thúc trong niềm vui hân hoan của người hâm mộ.

Xem thêm: https://thebookland.vn/blog/tom-tat-harry-potter-and-the-goblet-of-fire-tap-4

[hvstias]

random valorant headcanons part ii because.. i cant sleep

fade once brought rakia from turkey. sova is obsessed with it and she uses it to bribe him lol

viper can and will put poison in someone's food without them realizing it

yoru probably has a big ass dragon tattoo on his back

sova gives the best hugs in VP (no one is inmune to them not even fade or viper)

sage knows how to play various musical instruments

reyna is one of the best cooks in protocol but only cooks for herself lmao

raze practically lives in kj's room. no one questions it anymore

jett and yoru sometimes steal each other's knives

skye knows how to make amazing smoothies

astra despises chamber because of his weird interest in her metal arm (just like bucky and rocket from mcu lmao he just wants to steal it)

neon pierced her tongue bc of a bet

omen is like the mrs weasley of VP. he makes sweaters for all of them

some couples are terrible at hiding their relationships bc of how sappy they are and some couples are just completely unexpected

viper is obsessed with asian food because of sage and jett (also neon's adobo but its canon so)

breach is your local fresh out of jail fun uncle

phoenix uses british slang often and jett is living for it (++yoru too)

brimstone snores and it's so fucking LOUD

viper has a snake tattoo. big or small idc but that woman DEFINITELY has tattoos

sova too pls my man is definitely tatted you can't change my mind

omen and fade brought a stray cat after a mission and now he's an official member of the protocol. his name is lokum and he follows cypher e v e r y w h e r e

viper avoids social interactions unless it's urgent and this is why we only see her in dangerous mission cinematics and not in normal official arts, events etc

sova is the one who tells ppl to take care of themselves but usually tires himself out to DEATH

cypher actually takes off his mask often but no one recognizes him lmao they just see him roam around and think “i've never seen this man in my life.. must be a minor agent”

[chudleycanonficfest]

Washing Machine Heart

Day 22, Story #2 is by @rosequartzstarswrites​

Title: Washing Machine Heart Author/Artist: rosequartzstars - @rosequartzstarswrites (Because of Tumblr settings, this is posting from my main blog, but it’s me!) Pairing: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley (and background Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger) Prompt: 5+1 Rating: T (only for some strong language and non-explicit insinuations) Trigger Warning(s) (if any): none apply! 

“I can’t believe I’m going through with this,” huffed Hermione, struggling to keep up the brisk pace Ron was marking on the sidewalk.

“You never believed you’d have to, did you?” Ron said gleefully, seemingly unaware of just how hard his long-legged strides were to keep up with.

“You never told me you were that good at chess!”

“No, more like you never thought anyone could be better than you at anything!”

Despite only having been friends, close friends, with them for a semester, Harry had already become accustomed to the constant bickering between Ron and Hermione, to the point even of endearment. Coming from the Dursleys’, arguments and rebukes were something he was used to, but the undertone of friendship with which Ron and Hermione faced off was a welcome change (and a very entertaining one). Still, he tended to side quietly with Ron, and this particular time was no exception: part of him was delighted at the prospect of seeing Hermione get a tattoo.

This had all started from a ridiculous bet, born of boredom in the lounge of their dorm building. Ron had eyed the communal chessboard, battered and chipped from years of usage, and challenged Hermione to a match.

Hermione had scoffed: “Only if you want to lose, Ron.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Ron had said, exchanging a look with Harry as a sly smile crept onto his lips.

“I’m completely certain.”

“Certain enough to bet?” Ron had prodded her.

The competitiveness that, before becoming friends, was all Harry had known of Hermione had flared up in her eyes. “I’m listening.”

“When you lose—”

“If I lose, and I won't—”

“When you lose,” Ron had reiterated, “you have to get a tattoo of my choosing.”

Hermione had smirked. “Game on.”

In Hermione’s defense, Harry thought, she hadn’t ever considered she might lose. There really was no way of expecting how good Ron had turned out to be at chess, especially since —Harry thought— Hermione had based her certainty on how abysmal his grades were, against her own straight A’s, in their proofs-based mathematics class, which relied entirely on strength of reasoning. But, as it turned out, Ron was actually a master logician, if only somewhat lazy at his math classes, and this he had proved by absolutely obliterating Hermione with the fastest checkmate Harry had ever borne witness to.

And that is how they had come to find themselves out on the streets of their little college town that night, wrapped in their scarves and their winter coats to battle the first of the December chill, walking to a tattoo parlor Ron knew in the area so Hermione could be forever reminded of her loss by a tattoo Ron would choose. And if Harry knew Ron well, and knew how much he relished teasing Hermione, the reminder would be a strong one.

“I didn’t even want a tattoo,” Hermione was mumbling, more to herself than at either of them. “I never wanted one— did you know that you might not be eligible to donate blood if you have a tattoo? I mean, not that it’s impossible, but it’s a factor against you, like your weight and your age. And my family has a history of needing transfusions— oh, God, what if my grandfather needs a donation, like, tomorrow? The three-month period of eligibility won’t have elapsed, and my father can’t donate, and– and–” She froze in the middle of the sidewalk. “Oh, God, have I killed my grandfather?”

“Relax, Hermione,” Ron said, throwing a fraternal arm around her shoulders and squeezing her half in an attempt to get her walking again. “You’re halfway across the country from home. You wouldn’t be able to fly out on such short notice anyway.”

Harry had to stifle a laugh at how Hermione gaped at Ron then, a billion other dire possibilities to worry about racing through her head now. Ron, however, was less successful at keeping down a chuckle. “I’m kidding, Hermione. Besides, a tattoo will make you look badass.”

“I don’t want to look badass!” Hermione squeaked shrilly. “I’ve never been remotely interested in looking badass!”

“Well, interested or not,” Ron said as they came up to a dark brick building with a neon sign reading LOVEGOOD’S flickering above the door, “it seems like you don’t have much of a choice, because we’re here.”

Hermione let out a noise that sounded somewhere between a gasp and a whine as she looked up at the storefront that, to her, was synonymous not only with her doom but apparently that of her grandfather.

“Ron, please?” she said meekly.

Ron, however, looked gleeful and would not be deterred. “A bet’s a bet,” he declared, grabbing her wrist and beginning to march her up the three or so stairs that led up to the door of the tattoo parlor from the sidewalk. Harry lingered behind for an instant, watching the backs of his two friends as they waddled up the stairs, smiling as he listened to Ron debate whether he would make Hermione get a skull or a sailor’s “Mom” arrow-pierced heart, and Hermione pleading shrilly with him not to do either of those things. Watching them, Harry’s smile widened. He was lucky to have them as friends, that much he knew, despite the short time he’d spent knowing them. Why he hadn’t found them his freshman year was beyond him— but now, now that he had these wacky outings and constant bickering to enjoy, he felt overwhelmingly lucky that they had found him.

“Harry, are you coming in or what?” Ron beckoned him. He had stopped on the topmost step and was still gripping Hermione, whose face was a mask of pure, crystallized terror.

“Absolutely,” Harry said, hurrying up the steps with a little hop. “This I’ve got to see.”

Ron pushed open the door to the parlor with a little too much gusto, and Hermione cringed at the metallic sound of the chimes above the door as they tinkled with the announcement of their entrance. The front of the shop, sealing off the rest with a counter that had seen better days, was empty, the backroom separated by a beaded curtain.

“Hellooo?” Ron called into the backroom, marching right up to the counter. “Is anybody here? We bring a very eager customer!”

Hermione began to protest, but just as she did, an employee came out of the backroom to stand behind the counter. Catching a glimpse of her, Harry felt as if the wind had been knocked out of his chest: she was stunning. She was tall and slender, her toned arms visible through the ripped-off sleeves of her vintage Hole tee, with a curtain of straight orange hair pulled back into a long high ponytail. Her bright brown eyes glimmered atop a button-like nose that matched her small, round mouth perfectly, the pale fine face finished by a spattering of freckles. Even before she had spoken a single word, Harry felt the confidence coming off of her in waves, simply by how she propped her elbows up on the counter and eyed their party somewhat playfully. He was frozen to his place with the sight of her, hoping his jaw hadn’t dropped as low as it had felt in the wake of his awe.

Upon seeing her, however, Ron had had exactly the opposite reaction. “Ginny?” he said incredulously.

“What are you doing here?” the woman —Ginny— said without any greeting, returning Ron’s frown.

“I thought you weren’t working today!”

“I’m covering a shift for Demelza, she had a gyn appointment today.”

“Well, if I knew that, I wouldn’t have come in,” grumbled Ron. The tips of his ears were beginning to pink, a sign Harry had learned to recognize as a hint of extreme emotion in his friend.

“Well, you’re here now, so… what can I do for you?” Ginny said. “I mean, you can’t possibly be the one getting inked, Ron. You’re too much of a wimp.”

“Shut up, or I’m telling mom you got your helix pierced. That’ll make for a fun Christmas greeting when we’re back home, I’ll wager.”

Then the similarity became apparent to Harry: the freckles, the aggressive red of their hair, the same glint in their eyes… Ginny was Ron’s sister. Somehow, he didn’t know whether that was something he should feel good or bad about.

“Tattletale,” Ginny said, swatting at him. “And it’s called an industrial piercing. Not that you’d know.” Only then did she seem to remark on the rest of the party.

“Harry Potter,” she said, and Harry gulped as she crossed her muscular arms over her chest and leaned back, surveying him. “Come to get a sixth tattoo?”

“A sixth— how do you know?” Harry said, befuddled. Out of all the opening lines he would’ve expected her to use, this had not been one of them.

“You can credit the rumor mill at school,” Ginny shrugged, still eyeing him with interest. “You’re a topic of interest. Or at least among the soccer teams.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Romilda swore you had a griffin tattooed on your chest, but I told her I’d heard it was a dragon. Much more macho, I thought.”

“Thanks,” Harry said dully. What else was he supposed to say?

“Don’t mention it,” Ginny gave him a conspiratorial wink. “And if I were you, I’d find out who on the boys’ team has been giving you the eye in the shower enough to count your tats. I bet it’s Ron.”

“It’s not!” Ron said angrily, the red from his ears bleeding out onto his cheeks.

“I bet it is,” Ginny mouthed to Harry, giving him another wink. “But it’s not you?”

“Pardon?” said Harry, for whom the ‘it-is-it’s-not’ exchange had grown somewhat confusing.

“For the tattoo?” Ginny said, and Harry felt like an idiot. “It’s not you who’s getting it?”

“No, ah, actually— it’s Hermione,” Harry was knocked back into his senses as he gestured toward Hermione, who had stood, utterly baffled, throughout that whole exchange.

“Hermione Granger?” Ginny said, and Harry was almost glad when she turned her gaze away from him and toward Hermione. “As in, Scamander Fellow Hermione Granger?”

“The one and only,” Ron declared proudly, happy to be back off a topic that bothered him (teasing Ron) and back on a topic that delighted him (teasing Hermione).

“I wouldn’t have chalked you up to the tattoo type,” Ginny said.

“Oh, she’s not,” Ron said, his face lighting up as if Christmas had come early.

Ginny’s eyes darted between the dismal face of Hermione and the cheerful face of Ron, her eyebrows rising as she took it in. “Okay, I’m not going to ask about whatever this is. What am I doing on you?”

“I’m designing it,” Ron said brightly. And if Harry had thought that Hermione’s face couldn’t get more desolated, he’d been wrong.

“Christ, Hermione, what has he got on you?” Ginny said, already opening a drawer on the counter to pull out a sketchpad and a pen.

“I’m such an idiot,” Hermione grumbled.

Ron pored over the sketchpad, shielding the paper from Hermione’s eyes as he sketched. When he was done, he handed it to Ginny with a quick flick of the wrist that, much to Hermione’s dismay, ensured she couldn’t even catch a glimpse of what was on it. Ginny looked over whatever it was Ron had drawn and then looked up at her brother with a frown.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay, then,” Ginny shrugged. She lifted the counter to open a gap through which Hermione could walk. “Follow me.”

Looking like a lamb led to the slaughter, Hermione looked up to heaven as if making one last, futile plea before scrunching up her nose and following Ginny through the beaded curtain to the backroom. Because yes, she hated the idea of getting a tattoo, but she hated the idea of letting Ron hold one over her even more.

Ron watched her leave delightedly, relishing in the jangle the beaded curtain made as it swallowed Ginny and Hermione into the backroom. “This is going to be good,” he said, rubbing his palms together. “Oh, this is going to be so good.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister?” Harry blurted out all of a sudden. He startled himself as much as Ron when he said it, though he was glad he’d been able to pare down the question from what was actually swirling around in his head: Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister that looked like THAT?

Ron looked at him and shrugged. “I don’t know. It never came up.”

“You told me about every other one of your five brothers, but not the sister.”

“Nope.”

“Not the sister that seems to be about our age.”

“Nope.”

“Not the sister that seems to be about our age and plays soccer.“ And is hot.

"Nope.” Ron paused and frowned. “She’s a year below us, anyway.”

“Oh, then that explains it,” Harry said sarcastically.

“It seemed like more of a second-semester-of-friendship revelation.”

“I see.”

Harry held the silence between them for a few moments more before he allowed the next question out. “She plays soccer?”

“One more of the long line of Weasleys that get athletic scholarships to Hogwarts College. Except for Percy— no, he was a disgrace, he got in on an academic grant.”

“The family disappointment, truly.”

Harry wanted to ask more about Ginny, but he held his tongue. His friendship with Ron was the most precious thing his sophomore year of college had yielded him, and he didn’t want to jeopardize it by prying further or making it seem like he had the hots for his sister. Even though he did. He suffocated that small voice at the back of his mind: he hadn’t even spoken properly to Ginny, just stood there like an idiot and let her quip freely about his tattoos— which, mind him, apparently were fodder for locker talk back at Hogwarts.

The buzz of the needle in the backroom as it started up brought Harry out of his thoughts, just in time to see a shit-eating grin appear on Ron’s face.

“I wish I could see her face right now,” he said gleefully, and Harry let himself stop thinking about Ginny to join Ron in picturing what Hermione Granger must look like seated in a tattoo parlor chair.

“It really wasn’t so bad,” admitted Hermione as they exited the tattoo parlor and went down the little steps back onto the sidewalk.

Despite his pretensions of malice, Ron’s nobility (which had never been in question, even despite his teasing) had shone through and yielded a considerably modest tattoo: a small, capital “R” in his own handwriting. Hermione, who had almost cried with relief after Ginny showed her the design, had chosen to get it on her left thigh, on the side and at the very top, right under her hipbone.

“Why did you get it there?” Harry asked as they resumed their brisk walk back to campus.

“It’s not a place you usually show. That means if a sleeve shifts or an interviewer sees, I don’t know, my ankle or something, they won’t notice it.”

“As if a tiny ‘R’ would disqualify anyone from a job, let alone you,” snorted Ron.

“Professionalism is a virtue, Ronald,” Hermione huffed, though her cheeks had gone red. “Besides, since that part of me is always covered, I’ll save myself from having to explain the story behind it to anyone that spots it.”

“Yeah, except the bloke that eventually undresses you and sees you in your panties. Try explaining what that 'R’ means to him,” said Ron. But Harry suspected Hermione wouldn’t have to: from how Ron’s eyes had widened and his gaze had lingered when Hermione had pulled down the side of her jeans ever so slightly to show them the finished product, exposing a sliver of her underwear, Harry could almost wager that Ron would be the bloke in question.

They walked in animated chatter for the rest of the way, the tattoo forgotten until Ron made a quip about Hermione now having crossed the gateway to joining a biker gang and Hermione going positively beet-red in the face with outrage. Then Harry, his hands in his pockets, simply smirked to himself and resigned himself to their bickering for the rest of the walk, knowing he was no longer needed in their exchange. Instead, he let his mind drift to Ginny. She hadn’t really spoken to him again, merely ducking out from the beaded curtain backroom and instructing Hermione on how to take care of her tattoo, saying only a general goodbye to the three of them as they exited the shop. There had been nothing in Ginny’s manner to suggest that she might be thinking of him as strongly, as irremediably, as he was of her, and yet there he was.

The main quad was mostly deserted, except for a few scattered groups of late-night library frequenters or sneaking couples, as the three of them crossed it to get to their dorm. Ron and Hermione didn’t stop arguing as they climbed the four flights up to their floor (the elevator, as usual, was broken), and only broke it off because Hermione reached her room before the boys reached theirs, slipping inside it and shutting the door before Ron had a chance to get the last word in.

“Well, that went well,” Ron shrugged as he and Harry kept walking down the hall to their room.

“You actually got her to get a tattoo,” Harry said with some admiration as they reached their door.

Ron grinned as he swiped the key card. “I may drive her crazy, but if anyone was going to get her to do something like that, it was going to be me.”

Ron pushed the door open and let them into their dorm room. He closed the door and, without taking off his coat, immediately flopped onto his bed— or, well, what could be seen of the bed under mountains of dirty or otherwise discarded clothes. Away from his mother’s chore-mongering for the first time, Ron had let himself go wild and go to the other extreme, but even Harry had to admit that the army of socks draped over the foot of his bed was beginning to smell a little stale.

“So,” Ron said, propping his head up, “no parties tonight?”

“Well, it’s a Wednesday,” Harry said.

“So what? There’s no party spirit around here?”

“Ron, it’s the last Wednesday before final exams. People are studying.”

“I wasn’t aware I was rooming with Hermione,” Ron grumbled. Harry had to admit she might have gotten to him a little. However, Ron’s irritation was short-lived, a grin appearing on his face again. “Wait, but we’re not people. We’re not studying.”

Harry surveyed the room and, despite his desire to throw in the towel for the night and have fun with Ron, felt a pang of dismay at just how much grosser it would be if they caved and did that (last time they had, they’d had a Pringle-eating contest, with devastating results for their sheets, which still had some crumbs). “No, Ron. We’re doing laundry.”

Ron groaned. “Jeez, now I’m rooming with my mother.”

“Okay, fine, you don’t have to do the laundry. I’ll do it for the both of us.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go hang out with Dean and Seamus or whatever, see if you can get Hermione to do her second wild-card act of the day and make her stop studying to hang out with the guys.”

“Now I’m a man with a mission,” Ron said, perking up in delight at the prospect of teasing Hermione, or even seeing her once more that night.

“Just shove your clothes in the laundry bag before you go, won’t you? I don’t want to touch your nasty briefs more than I have to.”

Ron obliged, tossing all the clothes on and around his bed into his orange laundry bag and pulling the drawstring to close it. “I’ll update you on the Hermione thing,” he said cheerfully, hurrying out of the room and down the hall to the left to the room they’d left Hermione in.

Harry laughed to himself, wondering how long it was going to take Ron to realize why exactly he always seemed so eager to do anything Hermione-related, as he too threw his dirty clothes into a checkered drawstring laundry bag. Then, he hoisted one sack over each of his shoulders and opened the door using his ankle and leg to let himself out, his hands full with the laundry bags. He stifled a smirk as he passed Hermione’s room and heard the familiar bubbling sound of she and Ron rowing. If Harry knew her at all, he knew however much she might argue she’d be out of that room in an hour tops.

He groaned as he looked down the stairs, and rued the day he had been placed in the dorm with the shittiest elevator on campus. Resigning himself, he began to walk slowly down the poorly-lit stairs to the basement, where the laundry room was. However inconvenient this descent was, Harry was at least comforted with the knowledge that the laundry room would not be crowded, which would be the greater inconvenience once the elevator was fixed.

The basement was even dimmer, the white lights flickering and buzzing with electricity as Harry walked to the laundry room almost at the end of the hall. Sure enough, the laundry room was deserted, oddly quiet with none of the familiar hum and rattle of the machines as they worked. Harry knelt in front of a washing machine and began unloading the contents of the laundry bags into it, cramming them in so they’d fit because he sure as hell wasn’t shelling out quarters for two washers. When he’d made it all fit (which had involved the use of force to jam the door shut), he went to the shelf that held the communal detergent and poured it into the soap compartment. With that done, he dug out eight quarters from his pocket and inserted them into the washer’s slot, pressing the “Start Cycle” button when he heard the clink that let him know his quarters had been accepted. The washer rumbled slowly to life, jets of water trickling out as it began to spin in one direction and then the other, and it was a couple minutes before it was spinning at a hearty pace.

Rising from his crouch (he had always liked to watch the washing machine as it booted up to wash in earnest), Harry took the laundry bags and turned to head back upstairs, already thinking of what he might do to pass the time in the hour he had before he had to switch the clothes to the dryer.

He was so caught up in thinking of this that he didn’t see the person entering the laundry room at the same time as he was exiting, which ended in an awkward clash between them.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry blurted.

“No, it’s fine, I’m sorry too— Harry?”

Only then did Harry realize who he had bumped into, and only because she kept standing there did he believe it. “Ginny?”

She still wore her Hole shirt, but had discarded the ripped jeans, combat boots, and round-the-waist flannel he’d seen at the tattoo parlor. Instead, she wore frayed gray sweatpants and flip-flops, her hair pulled up from the long ponytail into a messy bun. She, however, somehow still managed to look almost unbearably beautiful. What’s happening to me?

“What are you doing here?” he asked, the only thing he could think of right that second. Spotting the laundry basket she was cradling, he added: “No laundry in your dorm?”

“No, yeah, there is one, but it’s always too crowded, it being a freshman dorm and all.” Harry nodded: his first year, he too had done entirely more laundry than he had to, and was thankful by the quarters he saved just by realizing he could wear a pair of pants more than once before they were dirty. “So I use the one here. Much quieter. I know Ron’s ID and password—”

“You do?”

“He gave it to me once so I could pick up his books from the library. And my memory’s great.” She gave him a half smile and looked beyond him at the laundry room. “Doing laundry?”

“No, I just like the ambience down here. The shitty lighting and bleach smell are really my style,” said Harry. Ginny laughed, and Harry felt a rush of pride at what was probably the first witty thing he’d ever said to her. “Need a hand?”

“I’d appreciate one, sure,” Ginny said, again smiling at him. Harry moved so she could walk into the laundry room, and watched her pick one of the washing machines that lined the wall. When she’d settled on one, he crouched down next to her and help her lob the clothes into the maw of the machine.

“Tattoo parlor let out early?” he asked as they placed the clothes inside.

“More like you guys came in really late. You were my last customers— I just cleaned up and closed after you left.”

“And you work there?”

“Sure beats a regular work-study, doesn’t it?” Ginny grinned. She tossed in a Tide pod that was left at the bottom of the basket, closed the door to the machine, and rose to find the quarters needed to activate it. “Oh, shoot, I left my wallet in my other pants—”

“I got you,” said Harry, digging for eight more quarters in his pocket. For once, he was glad of his bad habit of carrying an excess of loose change in his jeans, something Hermione already got on to him about (sometimes, like when she’d gifted him a money purse, not too subtly).

“Thanks,” Ginny said, picking the laundry basket up from the ground.

Harry listened for the telling clink and then pressed the button. The washing machine whirred to a start, but for once, Harry didn’t feel compelled to watch it boot up: instead, he turned to Ginny. “So how did you come to work there?”

“At the tat shop?” Ginny asked, hopping to sit on the top of the washer where her clothes were spinning. “My friend Luna’s dad, Xenophilius—”

“Gesundheit.”

“Shut up,” Ginny said, but the hint of a laugh was (to Harry’s satisfaction) visible on her lips again. “Anyway, Xenophilius owns the place. He set up in a college town because he knows college is the first time kids are truly free to make rash, impulse decisions.”

“Like getting a tattoo?”

“Exactly. And besides, all the college students love his New Age bullshit, they think it’s very 70s, so his shop is always full. He got a big boost after he started placing crystals in the shop windows.”

“He’s in with the kids, then?”

“Don’t tell him that, he’ll be mortified. But he’s great, really. A little eccentric, but great. He knows me from when Luna and I took an art class together in 10th grade, and he’s always complimented my art, so he helped me get my tattoo artist license as soon as I turned 18 and hired me.”

“Is Luna the girl with the shaggy blond hair and the weird glasses?”

“That’s her. Though I’m surprised you didn’t know her by her bottlecap necklaces. That’s usually what people comment on.”

“Does she work there too?”

“Yeah, though not as an inker, she’s useless with a needle. She designs a big chunk of the tattoos, though, both original designs and commissions or requests.”

“That’s awesome,” Harry said. He realized that was the first time through the whole conversation that he had stopped. He’d never hesitated on what to say next: conversation with Ginny had flowed easily, naturally, and he hadn’t had to think too hard to keep it going. Still, he was a little disappointed that it had stopped. Ginny, however, seemed to share in this, because rather than say goodbye and take her leave, she opened up a new topic.

“So how long have you and Ron been friends?”

“Er– since the start of this school year, actually.”

“Really? You’d think from how he talks about you, he’d known you forever.” Harry felt a flush of happiness at hearing that Ron talked about him.

“Well, I got him for a roommate this year, and we just clicked. Then it turned out we had a lot of the same classes. And we’re both on the soccer team, so it just got better from there.”

“It seems strange that you never crossed paths your freshman year.”

Harry shrugged. “I mean, freshman year is weird for everyone. I certainly felt like I was just bouncing from one place to another. I still hang out with a lot of the guys from last year, but my friends have changed. It makes sense— the first year, everyone is trying to meet as many people as possible, as if it’s a race, but by sophomore year you know more of what you want and what you’re looking for. In a way, I’m glad I met Ron now that I’m in a more stable place, now that I know my way around the college and have a better grip on things. I have a feeling he’s a friend I’m gonna keep.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re sticking around the Weasleys,” Ginny said, and Harry felt a tingle run up his spine. Was she… flirting with him? “And Hermione?”

“Oh, Hermione’s great, Ron and I would be dead by now if not for her— I don’t know how I got through a full year without her.”

“But she’s very different from you guys, isn’t she?”

“Well— on the surface, sure, but not in the things that matter. The fact that she went through with the tattoo tonight when she could’ve kicked up a fuss and bailed out tells you all you need to know.”

“So what I’m hearing is that Scamander Fellow Hermione Granger is as much of a bonehead as my brother at heart?”

“Stubborn, is the word I’d use. And only when Ron’s involved, actually.”

Ginny smirked. “Idiots. They haven’t even realized it.”

Harry knew exactly what she meant. “You think it too?”

“Oh, I’d bet on it. Ten bucks says they’re together by the end of the year.”

“Hey, did our visit by the parlor today teach you nothing about bets? They can be dangerous.”

“But I’m betting against you, aren’t I?” The way she said you made Harry’s heart skip a beat. “Fine, not ten bucks. But I’ll bet you a load of laundry, how’s that?”

“Deal,” said Harry, taking Ginny’s extended hand to shake it. The touch of her palm, with its long, slender fingers, sent warmth coursing down from his hand and the length of his arm. They let go and dropped hands, and perhaps it was just wishful thinking, but Harry thought he detected a certain reluctance in Ginny as they did.

Harry leaned against the washer, his propped elbow almost brushing up against her thigh. “How about you? How’s your first year going so far?”

Ginny winced. “As well as you’d expect, I suppose. Lots of people still behave like it’s an extension of high school, and I’m very much over that. But as things go, I’m having a blast. Being on the soccer team certainly helps.”

“Congratulations on that scholarship, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Ginny said, her wide smile revealing a row of perfect, square white teeth. “You’re on a scholarship too, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. My aunt and uncle would’ve never paid a single cent for me to go to college, so it was the only way. But I’m sure they were glad to be rid of me anyway.”

“They sound like lovely people,” Ginny said sarcastically.

“I should introduce them to this Xenophilius sometime. My uncle Vernon would have a stroke just walking into that shop.”

“Well, if you ever swing by, you have an insider contact,” Ginny offered, and Harry loved the implication of something, even something as simple as an 'insider contact’, between just the two of them. “I’d be happy to arrange a meeting, especially for such esteemed patrons.”

“I might take you up on that, if I ever planned on seeing them again,” Harry said. The words came out a bit more harshly than he’d expected, and the second silence in their talk set in, brought on by the darker implications of his family situation. Desperate to break it, Harry cleared his throat and geared up to talk again: “So, do you have any tattoos?”

He was relieved to see the smile, that coy, almost lopsided smile, appear on Ginny’s face again. “Actually, no, not a single one.”

“Do you think you’d ever get one?”

Ginny thought for a second. “I might, if something meaningful enough came around. And only if I was 200% sure. But really, I feel like one tattoo would lead to another, and then I’d never stop and run out of room on my skin. So it’s more of a containment mechanism, really.”

Harry smirked. “Hm. Interesting.”

Ginny broke out onto a full grin as she watched him. “What?” she asked, but when Harry’s smirk only deepened, she shoved him playfully, her touch on his shoulders eliciting the same warm sensation as the handshake. “What, Potter, tell me! Why is it interesting?”

“I mean, since you work at a tattoo shop, and you’re wearing a Hole t-shirt, I just thought you might be the type—”

“The Hole tee? Oh, don’t tell me you’re gonna gatekeep it, like you’re the type of guy who’d be like 'name three songs'—”

“No, not at all. As a matter of fact, I don’t know a lot of music by Hole. I really only know who they are because of that one Fall Out Boy song Courtney Love was featured in—”

Ginny winced. “Not Fall Out Boy, please.”

“Why? What’s wrong with Fall Out Boy?”

“Harry—”

“I know they get a lot of shit, but really, their first albums are pretty good—”

“Harry, you’ve gotta stop right here, or you’re going to make me stop finding you so attractive.”

And just like that, there it was, out in the open. Harry felt stun: he felt his mouth open to offer a witty retort, but no words came out. Because the girlish grin had evaporated from Ginny’s face and turned into a different, more mature look, her eyes smoldering slightly and her mouth slightly pouted.

“What about you?” she asked, her words slower, as if she was choosing each one individually. “If the soccer team gossip is true, I know you have five tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice having dropped as well. “Yeah, there were a few tat shops around my neighborhood where the rules were pretty lax.”

“What are they?” Ginny asked.

“The tattoos? Well, the first ones I ever got were my mom and dad’s birth and death dates, on my wrist,” Harry said, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to display two small lines of numbers, in plain black ink, on his forearm.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ginny said softly.

“Don’t be, I was really small when it happened. But I still wanted to pay them homage. Anyway, I’ll not bore you with my family history right now.”

“But tell me sometime?”

Harry was ecstatic at the implication that Ginny wanted to spend even more time with him. “Yeah,” he said, smiling at her. “Yeah, I will.” He moved on to the second tattoo, shifting the other sleeve up a bit to show Ginny a small black paw print in the center of his wrist. “This was my third one. My godfather was the only person my aunt and uncle would let me see while I was growing up, and even then only because he threatened them. And he had this huge, black shaggy dog, I think it was a Newfoundland, that looked almost like a bear, named Padfoot. I loved that dog, and every time I think of the happiest moments growing up, Padfoot’s in a lot of them. So when he died when I was sixteen, I got this to remember him by. It seems like a tribute to my godfather, too, so I like it doubly.”

He didn’t need encouragement from Ginny to keep going. He raised his left leg and propped it up on the washing machine by where Ginny’s legs hung, rolling his sock down a bit to show a green, line-art tuft of grass snaking above his ankle. “I got this when I got the soccer scholarship to come here. I wanted something to commemorate soccer, seeing as it’s not only, y'know, my passion, but also what got me out of that damn house for good. But I thought something like a soccer ball or a net or even the pitch outline would be too cheesy, so I got a bit of grass, y'know, as in the field…”

“Tasteful,” Ginny nodded her approval, and Harry felt newfound appreciation for that tattoo. “That’s three down, Potter.”

“I’m getting there.” Harry brought his leg down from the washer and turned his back to Ginny, taking his hand up to the nape of his neck and using it to shift the hair there upward to reveal the back of his neck where it turned into his back. “Can you see it?”

“The little lightning bolt?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the story of that?”

“That was my second one. To be honest, I was a little ink-happy after my first one, so a couple of weeks after I got it I went back and got this.”

“But why a lightning bolt?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, turning back around to face her. “I guess it was just cool.”

“Oh, very,” Ginny said, and the edge in her voice let him know she was teasing him. “That leaves us with one, then. The emblematic chest tattoo.” Again, the playfulness disappeared from her face and was replaced by that strange look, the one Harry couldn’t really decipher but really, really liked. “Tell me, then, Harry— is Romilda Vane right?”

It was only because of the suggestiveness in Ginny’s voice and the permanence of that look on her face that Harry did what he did next. His movements slow, he pulled his shirt off over his head, setting it on the washing machine right by where Ginny sat. He heard Ginny draw in a breath and it hitch in her throat as she saw him, her eyes moving over his bare skin to spot the ink blot that had brought this all on. Curled above his right pec was a small, S-shaped dragon, colored in red and gold.

“I win,” Ginny said, her voice still husky, as she extended her left hand to touch the dragon with her fingertips.

“Are you going to tell Romilda?” Harry said, his own right hand settling lightly on Ginny’s thigh.

“No, actually,” Ginny said, her palm now coming down flat on Harry’s chest. Her other hand had also drifted to him, and she had placed it on Harry’s left side, right below his ribcage, as if to hold the side of his torso. “I think I’d rather keep this moment to myself.”

And then she was leaning in and kissing him, touching her lips to his first with tentative softness that turned into a stronger, more determined fire as the kiss deepened. With both of Ginny’s hands on Harry, and one of Harry’s on Ginny’s thigh and the other supporting the weight of the kiss against the solidity of the washer, they leaned into one another. Harry’s mouth sought out Ginny’s eagerly, overcome by the fiery feeling pooling in his stomach and rising up to his throat through his chest, by the fact that everything he’d thought about on their walk back from Lovegood’s was coming true much sooner (and much better) than he’d expected. He felt Ginny’s tongue nudge at his lips and opened his mouth to let her in, engulfing more of her lips with his as he did so. Ginny kissed passionately, her tongue meeting Harry’s even as her teeth dug lightly into Harry’s lower lip, making him kiss her more deeply. With her this close, he was invaded by the flowery smell of her hair, by the soft feel of her skin, by the low humming sound she made as she kissed him. And everything was coming together, making the fire in his chest grow, and it was a good kind of burn, better than whiskey, better than anything—

The loud ding of the washer as it announced it had concluded its cycle startled them, and they pulled back from the kiss looking a little dazed, that one upbeat chime having been all they needed to bring them reluctantly back into the real world. Still Ginny didn’t take her hands off Harry, and Harry felt less than inclined to move his from her leg.

“I should, uh, switch to the dryer,” he said, the only thing that popped into his mind there.

Ginny tightened her hold around his middle and moved her hand from his chest, wrapping it around his upper back to draw him closer. “Oh, let it wait,” she said, and then she was kissing him again, and Harry was finding that the dryer could wait for hell to freeze for all he cared.

The sleepy sound of the chimes above the door didn’t even make Ginny raise her gaze from her stats study guide, which she’d pulled out to make the best of the not-too-busy lull at Lovegood’s. “We’re almost closed,” she announced to whoever had come in.

“You can’t make room for one last customer?” a familiar voice said, and only then did Ginny perk up immediately.

“Harry!” she said brightly, shutting the stats book as it became all-but-forgotten. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to add one more tattoo to the five I’ve already got,” said Harry. “Think you can give me my sixth?”

Ginny didn’t even need to say yes, just opened up the lift-up counter door and disappeared through the beaded curtain. “Flip the door sign to 'closed’ before you come through, will you?”

Harry obliged and flipped the sign before following Ginny to the backroom. He sat patiently on the tattoo chair as Ginny milled about, getting the supplies ready.

“Y'know, you never did tell me the story behind your dragon tattoo,” Ginny commented as she went through the sterilization procedure for the needles. “Seeing as we were, um, otherwise occupied…”

The memory of the kiss flooded through Harry with the same fire that he’d held in his chest ever since, the flame growing to engulf his whole body just hearing Ginny mention it. “Should I tell you now?”

“I’d like to hear it.”

“I got it as a tribute to my old headmaster back home, Albus Dumbledore. Funny old man, and incredibly cryptic, but he’s the one that first gave me the idea of applying for the scholarship and helped me get all my grades and papers in order so I could make it here. We were very close, and he had this saying that he used to tell me whenever I ended up in his office for getting into trouble— 'never tickle a sleeping dragon’, he’d say.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Harry laughed briefly and shrugged. “Hell if I know. But it was his catchphrase. So after I graduated, I wanted to get something to commemorate him, so I got the dragon from his favorite saying. He came with me and got it too.”

Ginny turned to him and eyed him quizzically. “Your headmaster got the tattoo along with you?”

“I told you he was a funny old man.”

Ginny pulled a pair of black latex gloves over her hands and rolled a wheeled office chair over to Harry, the needle in hand. “So by what I’m hearing, you only ever get tattoos of things that are extremely meaningful to you, right?”

“That’s right,” said Harry.

“So, Mr. Meaning, what’ll it be this time?”

Harry smiled. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it slightly upward, just enough to uncover his lower trunk. He pointed to a spot on the left side of his torso, right under his ribcage— right where Ginny’s hand had been, where her touch had been burned into his skin. “Right here,” he said. “I’d like a little washing machine.”

[dhr-ao3]

In the Hands of Others

In the Hands of Others https://ift.tt/diuYfbm by malfoyxholic Harry Potter has gone missing, and a now twenty-five-year-old workaholic Hermione Granger must rely on a domineering vastly different Draco Malfoy who was formerly imprisoned for his crimes against the Ministry of Magic. But with raging exes on the loose, a secret not yet found, and pet dragons running rampant can both enemies turned potential partners work to uncover the disappearance of the famous Chosen One before everything goes to shit. [follows a dangerously prideful Hermione Granger and a rough-around-the-edges tatted Draco Malfoy who also speaks Russian] “You’re a murderer…” “…Oh but you love it, don’t you, Granger?” Words: 1168, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger's Mother, Hermione Granger's Father, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Theodore Nott, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Luna Lovegood, Cho Chang, Pansy Parkinson Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Cho Chang/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger & Pansy Parkinson, Hermione Granger & Narcissa Black Malfoy, Hermione Granger & Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger & Theodore Nott Additional Tags: Forced Crossdressing, Forced Eye Contact, Forced Proximity, Broken Engagement, Major Character Injury, Character Death, Flashbacks, Prisoner Draco Malfoy, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, major angst, Sexual Tension, Sex Club, Rough Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Slow Dancing, Past Relationship(s), BAMF Hermione Granger, BAMF Draco Malfoy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Mystery, Adult Content, Adultery, Major Violence, Draco speaking Russian, Hermione Knowing Like Fifty Languages, pet dragons, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/HGuU0v2 July 06, 2024 at 02:22PM