#the finger bone is giving VOLDEMORT

[vulpes-fennec]

Jurian emerging from the Cauldron after being an eyeball for 500 years

[metalomagnetic]

Either must die snippet

***A dear friend asked on discord if I have some EMD writing left, so here it is.***

----

Harry hadn’t stopped screaming since he entered the kitchen; he’s furious. It’s been a long time since he exploded in such righteous anger.

Cheeks red, jaws set, and those damned eyes of his glinting. Why, it’s almost like before, back in the war. Of course, now at least he can appear somewhat intimidating, what with the size of him. He doesn’t intimidate Voldemort, but it is easy to imagine he could make a random individual cower. Voldemort would like to see Harry going off like this on some pesky journalists or one of his stalker fans. It would be entertaining.

As it is, it’s not entertaining at the moment. It irritates Voldemort to be screamed at.

One flick of his wrist, and he could silence Harry. Another flick and he can send him crashing into the wall. To resist temptation, he drums his fingers on the table, reaches inside to find patience. It’s getting harder and harder to be patient these days. He had to suffer it for a while, but now he’s back in power. A Minister, not a war lord, yet people learned not to trifle with him, not to glare at him, not to talk back.

Even Harry learned, as the years passed by. He minded his business, and he let Voldemort be. Yet it’s not worth the trouble to put him in his place, now. He can already imagine the dramatics that would follow. Harry would break again, and Voldemort will either have to lock him in an attic, never to be allowed in public, or he’d have to put in the effort to build him back up, and he certainly lacks the patience for that. Hermione would be insufferable about it. Delphini would cry.

Harry must be aware of these unpleasant outcomes, too, because while he screams, he doesn’t dare do more than that. He cries, too, tears of pain and frustration and pure despair. That improves Voldemort’s mood a tad. Harry always looks good when he’s crying. “I asked for one thing!” his voice breaks, rough. “One thing! You have everything, and I said nothing- you use me, you use my name, you- I only asked for one thing.”

What a lie. Harry might not verbally ask for much, but those pitiful eyes of his ask plenty, and Voldemort gives it to him. The ungrateful brat.

“And you couldn’t let me have it! You’re a monster!”

Show him, a voice begs, a voice that was dormant for so long, but it’s waking up lately. Show him the monster. Show him how patient you’d been with him all these years. Show him how it could have been.

Voldemort ignores it. His fingers curl around the table, momentarily, because just drumming them isn’t enough anymore, he itches for his wand, but then the crisis is avoided, and he is in control, he won’t snap. He does stand, because it’s safe to do it, his temper is in check, and Harry tired himself out with his tantrum. “You asked for her life,” Voldemort reminds him. “She is alive.” Moly Weasley lives. Thought it seems a misfortune befell her earlier that day. Well earned. Delicious revenge. Harry, sadly, is not the type to enjoy the poetic justice, the mastery in this delivery of punishment.

She lives, like he wanted, she isn’t even in pain, but the score was settled. Fleetingly, he wonders if Bella is happy, if she laughs gleefully in the afterlife. Perhaps not- Bella was never one for poetry, for subtlety. She got her vengeance in blood and screams. Harry stares at him, shaking his head. “I hate you,” he whispers. Voldemort did not want to break him, but he broke, anyway. So fragile, this boy of his, despite his impressive muscles, he shatters like glass. “Nothing new,” Voldemort replies, and walks out of the kitchen.

As soon as he reaches the garden, he feels his anger rising, now that he isn’t focused on not hurting Harry until he explodes into a pile of blood and bones. He gets angrier and angrier with every step. He feels as impotent as Harry must feel. No matter how mad the boy was, how obviously hurting, he did not even think to draw his wand at Voldemort, or punch him, like he once did. He would have- for Molly fucking Weasley, he would have. Harry has few limits, but the Weasleys are one. Harry would crash and burn with them, for them, the world be damned. He didn’t, however, because he must know, deep down, that it wasn’t Voldemort. But he can’t admit it to himself, not consciously. Voldemort is a convenient scapegoat. Voldemort is a monster, rotten and evil, and it’s easier for Harry this way. Easier than the truth.

He Apparates to Lestrange Manor, and he thinks of Bella again. How odd- he hadn’t truly thought of her in years, but now he feels her around; when he walks to Lestrange Manor, is feels like before, like when he’d walk this path and knew he’d find her and Rodolphus inside. He doesn’t, of course. He finds a copy of her, instead. Bella left him copies of herself, echoes that remain to dwell the earth in her absence. Voldemort walks past Andromeda, strolls through the Manor, until he finds Rodolphus’ copy.

Voldemort knows Rabastan is guilty as soon as he lays eyes on him. That stiff posture, the fear in his eyes, even if he keeps his chin up, defiant. “Your wand,” he snarls. Andromeda followed him, she’s frowning, confused, asking what the matter is. The matter is that Voldemort was disobeyed. “Leave,” Rabastan begs her. “Leave,” Voldemort snarls at her. Andromeda is a cheaper copy of Bella, in all senses. Tamer, sadder, broken. But wiser. She leaves.

Rabastan gives up ‘his’ wand. It’s not his, of course, just like Voldemort suspected. He knew, as Harry was screeching, as Voldemort sat there trying not to snap, he was thinking how all this could have been accomplished. Delphini is at Hogwarts, after all. Impossible for her to also be at the Burrow. Unless she Apparated there. But she wouldn’t risk doing all that with her wand. It became quite obvious who would have given her a wand. “It had to be done,” Rabastan dares to speak. “You moved on, but I can’t; not until justice was served. You moved on, but Delphi couldn’t.” Delphini is a far better copy of Bella, compared to Andromeda. But, as Voldemort feared- you do not fear!- as Voldemort suspected, she is no true copy of her mother. Oh, she’s her spitting image, she has some Black traits in her personality, but no- Delphi is his copy. The anger reaches its peak. Voldemort always treasured Rabastan over most others, awarded him more leeway than most others. But Rabastan is no Harry, he’s no Delphini, and Voldemort snaps.

He reminds Rabastan who he serves, whose mark is on his arm. Useless, of course. Rabastan was never one to cow for pain, nor learn from it. Yet his pain serves to soothe some of Voldemort’s anger, lets him take it out on him. Another convenient scapegoat.

(-)

She does walk like Bella, a confident, defiant tilt to her hips. She walks loudly, proudly, as if used to have others look at her in awe, covet her. She brought her heels, even if the path to the Forbidden Forest is not exactly best suited for heels. Whenever she angers him, she knows to make herself look even more like her mother.

Once, when he searched her mind, he saw Rodolphus teaching her this, on the night before he left her at Rowle’s. “It’s best if you look like her,” he told her, advising her to let her hair free, to wear the dresses Bella favoured. “He treasured her above all others, and, in time, I hope he’ll treasure you, too.” She doesn’t stop at a respectable distance, like Bella would have done when she knew she messed up, when she angered him. No. Delphini comes close, closer than anyone dares.

She’s taller than Bella already, and the heels almost bring her up to his chin. She looks up, and those are his eyes, that is his glare, his defiance, his stubbornness. “What potion did you give her?” “My own invention,” Delphini says, and pride flushes stronger on her face. “They won’t detect it.” “And if they do, then what is the problem, no?” Voldemort asks. “Who is going to suspect a perfect school girl? And if they do suspect her, who is going to blame the Minister’s daughter? Who would dare arrest her?” Delphini shrugs.

“If you plan on using my influence to stay out of trouble, if you know you can easily fall back on me to protect you, then you should discuss things with me before you do them.” “Why bother,” she spits. “You would have said ‘no’. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission.” He should have tortured Rabastan more, because not all the anger is out of his system. Furry comes back hot, coursing through his veins, going to his head. “Ask for forgiveness, then,” he hisses, and he takes the step that separated them, towers over her. If she wants to play these games, he’ll play them. She will lose. It’s time for her to learn to lose- Harry spoiled her, far too much. He ignored Voldemort’s warnings that Delphini shouldn’t get away with everything she does, that he should push back, whenever she tests them.

As always, Harry’s kind, tolerant heart, explodes spectacularly in his face.

Delphini doesn’t cower, not truly, but he can detect the current of fear that passes through her. Strangely, it does nothing to improve his mood. Terrifying people usually soothes his fury, but now it just taints it with an unknowable feeling. “I thought you loved Harry,” he says, softly.

“I do!” Her fingers curl into fists at her side. Her neck is bent back uncomfortably, trying to keep Voldemort’s gaze. “She’s alive, isn’t she? Like he asked. She loves Harry, didn’t forget him, and she’ll no doubt dote over him, like a mother. In fact, now that she only remembers loving him, she’ll love him even more! I took nothing from Harry! He can have his pretend mummy! I only took away the memories of all her living children! It’s only fair!”

Delphini’s voice gets louder. Defensive. “She stole my mother from me! So it’s only fair she forgets all the beautiful memories she has with her children, memories she didn’t let me form with my mother. It’s only fair she will only remember her dead son, like I have to remember my dead mother, every time I step foot into the Great Hall, where that harpy took her from me. From us! You lost her, too! And now Molly Weasley cannot remember her husband, either! It’s fair, it is!”

It is beautiful, he agrees. It is poetic and it is just. It is perfect. However.

“You knew he’ll blame me for it; you understand he’s devastated; you understand how he’ll avoid me now, how he’ll suffer, how he’ll moan and whine at me for months on end, start drinking again, retreat into his spare bedroom and rot there for who knows how long. You are perfectly aware Hermione will blame me, too. That it could potentially harm my work. You knew this would affect me. And you did it anyway.” He cups Delphini’s face, and she finally flinches, though she doesn’t draw back.

So beautiful, this child. So intelligent. She loves Voldemort, understands him like no other. His perfect girl. If Voldemort would have ever wanted a daughter, if he’d have been given the chance to make her, build her from scratch- this is what he’d have imagined. Only, he still wishes she would have been more like Bella, or Rodolphus, or Harry; it would have been easier. For him, and for her. Alas, she is not like them. She is like him.

“She deserves it,” Delphini insists. “She hurt me!” Ever her tears are perfect, pretty shapes, clear, trailing down her cheeks. “That never works with me, Delphini,” he reminds her, using his thumb to brush one tear away. “I know!” she hisses. “Nothing works with you! That’s why I didn’t ask! Because you give Harry everything he asks, you are so attentive to provide him with what he needs, but you never care about what I want. What I need. I asked you to punish her, you promised me, remember? When I first met Ron. You promised me! But then Harry asked you to spare her, and you did what he wanted. You forgot about me, about my pain-“

“Shut up,” he says, softly. “I allow you far more than I would anyone else. Harry is my prisoner, he does only what I allow him to do, even if he deluded himself into thinking otherwise. I give you freedom. I don’t make decisions for you. I accept you as you are. But-“ he takes his hand away. “Do not trespass against me, Delphini,” he warns her. “If you want to hurt others, don’t use your mother as an excuse to do it. More importantly, don’t hurt people that are useful to me. Ask before you pull something like this again. And when I say ‘no’, better heed it. Or leave. Go far away, and make trouble there. This is my country, and nothing happens inside it without my say so. I worked for sixty years to subdue this island. If you want that kind of power, you will have to work for it, too.”

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Still going through the slowest Deathly Hallows reread, and I encountered this lovely Tomarrymort moment I felt like sharing. I mean, I saw some people mention how Hermione refers to their mental connection as a relationship:

“You never really tried!” she said hotly. “I don’t get it, Harry—do you like having this special connection or relationship or what—whatever—” She faltered under the look he gave her as he stood up. “Like it?” he said quietly. “Would you like it?” “I—no—I’m sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean—” “I hate it, I hate the fact that he can get inside me, that I have to watch him when he’s most dangerous. But I’m going to use it.”

(DH, 202)

Above Harry clearly denies it, but later in Deathly Hallows, there's a moment I didn't see talked about as much, where Harry, in his own mind, agrees with Hermione:

Harry was just able to make out the indistinct features of an object that looked like a skull, and something like a mountain that was more shadow than substance. Used to images sharp as reality, Harry was disconcerted by the change. He was worried that the connection between himself and Voldemort had been damaged, a connection that he both feared and, whatever he had told Hermione, prized. Somehow Harry connected these unsatisfying, vague images with the destruction of his wand, as if it was the blackthorn wand’s fault that he could no longer see into Voldemort’s mind as well as before

(DH, 375)

Not only did Harry lie to Hermione but he actually prizes his connection to Voldemort for its usefulness and for the sense of purpose it gives Harry. Now, I want to expand on the latter one.

I already talked about how in Deathly Hallows, Voldemort's sole purpose and obsession is Harry, but, Harry isn't much different. Like, he has a few other things going on, but a lot of his sense of purpose and sense of self hinges on Voldemort.

The reason these visions from Voldemort become so important to him is that he feels it's the only useful thing he can do since they're stuck on the Horcruxes' front. They give him a sense of purpose. The fact he connects the loss of his connection with Voldemort and the destruction of his wand is so fascinating to me.

Because Harry's wand is so important to him, he describes it as a piece of himself, like a living thing that is part of him:

The holly and phoenix wand was nearly severed in two. One fragile strand of phoenix feather kept both pieces hanging together. The wood had splintered apart completely. Harry took it into his hands as though it was a living thing that had suffered a terrible injury. He could not think properly. Everything was a blur of panic and fear. Then he held out the wand to Hermione

(DH, 300)

Without realizing it, he was digging his fingers into his arms as if he were trying to resist physical pain. He had spilled his own blood more times than he could count; he had lost all the bones in his right arm once; this journey had already given him scars to his chest and forearm to join those on his hand and forehead, but never, until this moment, had he felt himself to be fatally weakened, vulnerable, and naked, as though the best part of his magical power had been torn from him.

(DH, 303)

Connecting something he thinks about like this and his connection to Voldemort is... well, it's interesting, to say the least.

I mean, of course, there is the twin core and its protection, and it's clear why he would connect his wand to Voldemort, but Harry was always fond of his wand despite its connection to Voldemort, not because of it:

Harry had never shared this piece of information with anybody. He was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort’s wand was something it couldn’t help — rather as he couldn’t help being related to Aunt Petunia.

(GoF, 310)

So, I find all this kinda interesting. How during the final book Harry's sense of purpose and being becomes more and more hinged on Voldemort while essentially the same thing is going on with Voldemort who forgot about the ministry entirly and is only focused on killing Harry.

[sorchathered]

Sacred New Beginnings (part 1)

This is a story over the weekend of Mav and Penny’s wedding, you and Bradley had been engaged and it had all gone to shit, with you back in town for the impending nuptials will you find your way back to each other? Or will you realize you were meant to be with someone else all along?

Pairing(s)- Bradley Bradshaw x reader, Jake Seresin x reader

Warnings- drinking, language, mentions of cheating, eventual smut. 18+

Song inspo- I bet you think about me- ts, the story of us- ts, Cornelia street- ts (yes I’m very taylor coded with this series lmao)

You’d begged Jake to keep it to himself, at least until you could get your bearings in North Island and talk to Bradley yourself. It had been 6 months since the two of you split, he’d put his mother’s ring on your finger and promised you a lifetime but it certainly didn’t turn out like either of you planned. Everything crashing and burning before you ever got a chance to say I do. Now you were back in San Diego at the request of Maverick and Penny for their long awaited nuptials and no matter where you looked all you saw was Bradley Bradshaw.

Jake Seresin was your former front seater, the two of you flew a handful of missions together when you’d been stationed here before. You trusted each other in a way most people didn’t, going through countless near death situations will do that to someone. As you stepped out of the airport into the cool night air you could see him leaning against his ridiculous fully kitted Ford F-150, you could take the man out of Texas but he’d be a cowboy no matter where he went.

“There she is! Stormy girl you are a sight for sore eyes!” He scoops you up in a big bear hug and you finally feel yourself relax, tension melting away just being able to be with your best friend like this.

“Hey douchebag, missed you so much” you say punching his shoulder and letting him lead you into the truck, peeling out of the lot and onto the dark highway.

There’s just something about him that calms you down. Everyone gets the big bad “Hangman” persona and while you’ve witnessed it more times than you can count he’s never once treated you that way. Being around him now feels like home and you need that more than ever knowing the heartache that’s bound to seep into what should be a fairytale weekend. You wring your hands nervously, you know you need to ask but you don’t want to pop the happy bubble you both are in. Time to rip off the bandaid.

“So please tell me you kept your damn mouth shut Jakey, last thing I want to do this weekend is cause a scene. Just want to watch Mav and Penny say I do and head back to Florida with no casualties.”

He frowns at you from across the console, mussing your hair with his hand, he loves having you back here, nothing has felt quite the same without you in his daily life. He knew you’d want to know about he who must not be named (yes Jake considers Bradley to be the Voldemort in your story, no he won’t apologize for it) but he had hoped you’d give yourself some time to adapt first.

“I promise darling, haven’t said a word, hand to God. We will make this weekend a blast and send you on back without a hitch, so long as ol’ Rooster keeps his nose clean we shouldn’t have an issue.”

Just hearing his name causes your heart to lurch, you’ve done so good about avoiding him; blocking his socials and refusing to stalk any of the daggers insta’s for pictures of your former lover.

“How is he?” You say quietly, inspecting your hands in your lap now, refusing to look up for fear that Jake will see your tells; he always does though.

He looks at you with furrowed brows, he wasn’t ready to break your heart again, so he rattled off a bare bones list of info you were looking for, not willing to succumb to the rumors floating around that would only rile you up. The last thing you needed was to spend the weekend drowning in what went wrong and what could have been.

“Recently got promoted to lieutenant commander, got a dog a few weeks ago, no I don’t know if he’s dating anyone and no I wouldn’t tell you if I did. We aren’t doing this to ourselves you hear me? You didn’t do anything wrong and self preservation isn’t a bad thing. Now you must be starving so let’s go get you some In and Out to celebrate my favorite girl being back home.”

Across town in a little craftsman style house by the beach, Bradley Bradshaw is pacing his halls. Mav asked him to be best man and he’s determined to make this speech perfect, but every time he tries to sit down and write out the words describing true love and destiny all he can think of is you. The two of you had been so happy, but then he had to go and fuck everything up. He knew you were the one from the minute he met you; all sharp tongue and attitude, truly the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. It wasn’t easy to get you to come around, you’d made it a rule not to date in your squad but somehow he had broken down your walls. When a particularly dangerous mission left him with substantial injuries you’d been paralyzed with fear. If he was just a friend like you claimed then why did it feel like your heart would explode if you never saw him again? The two of you danced around each others feelings for weeks after until one night of partying at Phoenix and Coyote’s you’d kissed him. Everything felt like it fit in that moment.

A year later he was standing on the beach with roses and Carole Bradshaw’s wedding ring asking you to be his forever, you’d said yes before he could even finish talking; fully confident in the choice you were making. Standing in his house now, no wife and no family he couldn’t help the tears that spilled down his face, regret flooding his senses at how he’d let it all fall apart.

He let his hubris get the best of him. He was the best at what he did, always making sure he went the extra mile to prove himself; constantly fighting living in Goose and Maverick’s shadow. So when a mission came up and you and Jake had been chosen, he’d felt deflated; why hadn’t he been picked? What made Jake the better pilot? What made you more qualified? He went to higher ups to plead his case, never once thinking about the aftermath and how his choices in this would affect you. Needless to say it ended badly, you and Jake being grounded and Bradley flying the mission. Someone unfortunately had let it slip at the bar one night that he’d intervened, costing you an important promotion opportunity and choosing his career over you.

You’d felt betrayed, how could you trust him to be your life partner if he couldn’t even support you in your career? You’d requested an immediate transfer, packed your things and left the ring in your shared home, leaving a note briefly explaining your reasoning and that you’d never wanted it to end this way. He had ruined everything, he tried to convince Jake to give him your new number but Hangman could be ruthless when he wanted to be. Refused to help in any way and made sure Bradley knew that he’d been the getaway car; he would always choose you and your happiness unlike Bradley who’d chosen career over love.

Bradley hated him, but he knew he couldn’t fault him for his decision. If he’d just given that level of care when it counted he’d probably still have you, instead of an empty house and a head full of what ifs. He’d been a terrible fiancé, sure he’d doted on you and always told everyone you were his everything, but he also loved attention. So he’d let girls at the bar flirt sometimes, make excuses that it was just his personality and that he didn’t mean anything by it because of course you were the only one for him. He’d dulled your shine to lift himself up far too many times and he knew deep down he didn’t deserve a second chance. Giving up on his speech for the night he poured another scotch and made his way to bed, there was no mental preparation on earth that would make any of this easier.

Friday morning came bright and early, you stumbled your way through Jake’s apartment letting the smell of coffee carry you to the kitchen. He’d left a post it on the carafe, telling you to be ready by 6 for drinks at the hard deck and you laughed at the familiarity of it all; some things truly did stay the same. Six pm rolled around all too soon and you were dressed in your favorite sundress, your hair and makeup set to perfection as Jake pulled the two of you into the lot of the beloved navy bar. Pulling you from your thoughts he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“If you start feeling uncomfortable you just say the word and we’re out, no muss no fuss. You just relax and enjoy tonight with our friends.”

You smiled up at him, grateful that he always seemed to know what you needed to hear.

“Come on Tex let’s get in there and celebrate our friends.”

The bar was closed to only friends and family tonight, everyone near and dear to the happy couple congregating for their rehearsal dinner. Stepping inside it was like being transported back to the past; sounds, smells, everything was the same as it had been when you left. Jake goes in ahead of you, keeping an eye out for a certain mustached aviator but as you both made it to the bar the general consensus was that he hadn’t made it yet. You greeted Penny and Mav with hugs and congratulations, both so glad that you could make it. Mav caught your eye as you ordered a drink from Jimmy, and you knew what he had to say before he even started.

“He-“

“I’m sure he does Pete. I wish it changed anything, but it doesn’t. This is your day, you don’t need to waste it worrying about the past, I’m ok I promise.”

He just wanted his godson to be happy, you knew that. But it wasn’t that easy, too much time had passed and you were uneasy enough thinking about having to see him tonight. So with a squeeze to his arm and a smile you made your way across the bar to the pool tables and your former squad.

Rowdy and full of mischief, that’s the best way you could describe them, whooping and cat calling you as you crossed the threshold as they enveloping you in hugs and remarks at how you’d been missed. Phoenix sidles up to you now, bumps her hip against yours with a Cheshire Cat grin, the two of you had never lost contact during the past 6 months and you were grateful for another person looking out for you tonight.

“I’ve missed you cutie! It’s just not the same around here, still can’t believe you left me to take care of the kids by myself.” You both laugh at that, looking towards your boys now as they play fight and place bets at who can kick the others ass at pool, knowing without a doubt that Jake will take the winnings.

“It feels good to be home ‘Nix, I didn’t realize just how much I missed everyone until I got here. Florida is nice, I love the group I have there but the daggers are my family.” You trail off, trying to suppress the tears threatening to leak from your eyes.

She pulls you in for another hug, kisses the side of your head. “It’s going to be a good weekend buddy, I can feel it.”

Bradley’s late. He knows he should have left earlier but he’d been dragging his feet. Mav had texted to tell him you were here and he had to pull over on the highway to empty his stomach. His nerves are shot, pulling the bronco into the lot with shaking hands he attempts to pull himself together, knowing you are just inside has him feeling faint.

“Get your shit together Bradshaw, don’t lose your cool.”

He sucks in a deep breath and opens the door.

After grabbing a beer and getting two pitifully sympathetic looks from Penny and Mav, he turns towards his group and lays his eyes on you. It’s like a punch to the gut, you have always been breathtaking but after having only the memories on his phone to look at he knows for sure they pale in comparison to the real thing. His feet begin moving of their own accord, brain hasn’t quite caught up to what he’s doing. It feels like a magnet is dragging him towards the one place he has longed to be. You are arm and arm with Coyote, animatedly telling him a story with sparkling eyes and Bradley is falling in love all over again. He skirts the outside of the group, settles in to a seat next to Bob and Fanboy hoping he can keep from startling you. You feel his presence because of course you do, and he can tell the moment your energy shifts. You keep looking at him from the corner of your eye; your arms wrapped tightly around yourself and it breaks his heart. His view is obscured by Hangman all too soon, leaning in to the table to catch his eye.

“Rooster”

“Hangman”

“We aren’t gonna have any issues tonight are we?” Jake asks with his signature smirk and lazy southern drawl, it’s charming to some but to Bradley it’s like nails on a chalkboard.

“I’m not here to make things uncomfortable Bagman, just here to fulfill my duty to Mav as best man. She’s a a big girl and doesn’t need a babysitter, if she wants to talk to me I’m happy to listen to anything she says, I’d be an idiot not to”

“You’re an idiot either way Bradshaw but if you make Stormy girl cry tonight you’ll be showing up to the ceremony tomorrow with a black eye, just keep that in mind.”

“Understood.”

Jake blinks back the shock, didn’t expect Bradley to be amenable towards him at all. They have avoided each other at all costs in social gatherings ever since the split, Jake knew nothing good would come from stirring it back up and Bradley looked like a kicked puppy most of the time. Shrugging it off, Jake nods to the group at the table and heads back to where you are, encouraging hand on your shoulder. He’d be damned if someone ruined your night, so instead of letting you wallow he scooped you up to pick a song on the jukebox and took you to the dance floor. Spinning you and reveling in your giggles and bright eyes, it almost made him forget that he wasn’t supposed to look at you the way he was now. He’s been so good about keeping it together all these years, making sure to have a date to keep him occupied when you were cuddled up to Rooster and firmly planting himself in the friend zone. He knew that’s what you needed and he’d always go above and beyond to make you happy. Even if it meant he couldn’t have you.

You have no idea how long you’ve been here, speeches have been given and far too many shots have been had; the room is too hot and slightly spinning so you make your way outside for some fresh air. He’s there of course, smoking a cigarette and watching the waves. Looking him over now you can see the little changes, he’s not as bulky anymore, face and torso are definitely thinner than they used to be. He looks tired, to the bone judging by the dark circles under his eyes and the way he seems to slouch in on himself, no longer the larger than life persona he used to project. You think for a moment you should go back in, but as he flicks the used up cigarette into the wind you are both face to face, pain clearly etched in his features as he takes you in.

“Hi.” It’s all you can make out, you think of how ludicrous it is that after 6 months of heartbreak the best you can scrounge up is a measly hi.

“Hi Storm, it’s good to see you.”

“Y-yeah it’s good to see you too, it’s been a while.”

He runs his hand over his scarred chin, looking you over and it almost looks like he might reach out for you but he thinks better of it.

“I’m sorry Bradley- I can’t do this, I know what you’re gonna say and I feel it too but it doesn’t change anything. We’re the same people we were 6 months ago, and love isn’t going to fix it.”

You were trembling, tears pouring down your face and Bradley couldn’t stand it. He’d broken your heart and let you go, but he’d never once stopped thinking of you. Just two steps forward and you could be back in his arms, and he thought of Mav’s saying “don’t think, just do.” So he closed the distance and pulled you into his arms, your beautiful face cradled in his hands as he wiped away your tears.

“Baby, my sweet sweet girl I know I fucked it up, and I’ve spent every day of the last 6 months thinking of what went wrong. I don’t deserve it; I know that but please even if it’s just for tonight let me love you.”

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol spurring you on or the fact that you’d missed his touch so much it physically hurt, but pressing his lips to yours felt like the easiest decision you’d ever made.

You heard the door swing open behind you and someone cleared their throat, causing you to jump backwards out of his grasp, moment over as quickly as it had begun. You spun around to find Jake, eyes full of anger directed right at Bradley and then he looked towards you; disappointment clearly etched in his features.

“I couldn’t find you, Payback said you’d gone outside so I came to make sure you’re alright.”

You feel your cheeks redden with embarrassment, you had promised yourself you wouldn’t be alone with Bradley and yet here you are less than 24 hours later letting him kiss you.

Jake is still staring you down, you shift a little feeling extremely small between the two people you love most.

“Everything’s ok Jake, let’s uh- let’s go home ok? It’s late and I’ve had more than I should have.” You grab at his elbow to steer him towards the lot to the truck, steely gaze still focused on Bradley but he lets you move him, starting a fight isn’t going to fix a thing and he knows more than he’s let on. Maybe it was time to play his hand and let you know just how much of a piece of shit your so called “Prince Charming” really was.

The ride back was eerily quiet, tension flooding the cab of the truck while you spent every second overthinking. Why had you let it get that far? You’d done so good, it’d been half a year without any contact and you’d folded fast, it was so embarrassing. Ugh and for Jake to be the one that found you?! You knew he’d be pissed and expected a thorough lashing but he didn’t say a word. Just stoically stared at the road, no smart ass remark to be found as he white knuckled the steering wheel. He pulled into the drive and bolted for the door, didn’t even stop to let you out like he normally does. Taking a deep breath and mentally preparing for a long ass night trying to drag his feelings out, you made your way into his townhouse.

He’s nowhere to be found when you step inside, probably holed up in his room so he won’t pick a fight; you know the routine fairly well. He hates hurting your feelings so he shuts down and lets himself cool off before he talks to you, normally just acts like nothing ever happened because he’d rather not bring it all back up again. But when you go to check his bedroom he’s not there either; door ajar and completely devoid of Jake. Finally you head to the back porch, he’s there slumped in one of the lounge chairs, already cracked open another beer and staring down at his phone, determined to look anywhere but at you.

You plop down into the chair next to him, knocking one of your knees with his, hoping if you needle him enough he’ll tell you what’s wrong.

“Jakey”

“Don’t. Don’t do this right now Stormy, just let me be before I say something we will both regret.”

You know you should just let it go, but the harshness in his tone is so out of character but frankly you’ve had enough of everyone tiptoeing around you.

“No.”

“No?”

“No I want to do this now, what is it that you aren’t telling me? You seem to have forgotten that I know you better than your own mother, I can tell when you’ve been holding back. You looked like you wanted to beat Bradley into the ground earlier and I know I screwed up and let him get to me tonight but I’m a big girl Jake I can make my own mis-“

“You didn’t make any mistakes though!” He boomed, causing you to jump in your seat. “You’ve spent this whole time blaming yourself for leaving, for not communicating but you have NO idea. This was never something to blame yourself for and the fact that you let him back in tonight knowing what I know makes me SICK.” He’s never had an outburst like this with you, chest heaving and shaking hands he can’t seem to stop, he knows it’s all about to bubble up but he can’t stuff the secrets back down.

“What do you mean, what you know? Jake what am I missing?” You whisper softly, you have a sudden glaring realization and it feels like everything is crashing down, it can’t be can it? You need him to say it to confirm but you wish the earth would swallow you both up; everything changes if he says what you think he will.

“He cheated on you. A month before the mission, and he thought he’d gotten away with it but apparently Fanboy caught him and Mirage fucking in the hard deck bathroom. He agreed not to say anything, but when you left she suddenly started showing up more, he wasn’t even trying to hide her! Everyone knew he was taking her home after nights at the bar, and Fanboy couldn’t keep it in anymore so he told me. Bradshaw was jealous of your success, he took the mission away from you and to really stick it to you he fucked a fellow squad mate behind your back. As far as I’m concerned he’s dead to you, he has no right to come crawling back and you deserve to know it all so he doesn’t take advantage of you again.”

It all made perfect sense now, Bradley had had one too many late nights at work claiming he was shooting the shit with Mav, never interested in taking you to bed like he had been before the mission talk started up, but you’d chalked it up to stress. Always making excuses for him, assuring yourself that he wouldn’t dare cheat because why would he have given you his mother’s ring? He’d told you he wanted a love like Goose and Carole had, promised he’d love you forever. Of course he’d lied, he’d always been more concerned about his career path and his accomplishments, any time you did something of merit his congratulations always seemed tinged with something sour, but he was happy for you right? He loved you right? Now you didn’t know for sure.

You reeled back at the realization, all the puzzle pieces fitting together to make a heartbreaking story, and you felt a surge of nausea come up quickly rushing to the side of the yard to throw up. You could feel Jake’s cool hand holding your hair back, the other rubbing circles into your back telling you to breathe. He’d always been a safe haven in your life, steadfast no matter who he was seeing at the time. You came first to him, your friendship and partnership in the air like an unspoken vow between the two of you. You were being hit with one revelation after another tonight, and you jerked away from him suddenly; throat dry as the desert as you quickly made your way inside to the sink to rinse out your mouth.

“Hey hey, talk to me honey. I’m sorry, shit I’m so sorry you had to find out like this; I should have never let it get this far but you seemed happy in Florida and I didn’t want to open old wounds. Please Stormy, look at me baby I need to know we are ok.”

Now he’s the one wringing his hands, Hangman is never nervous, he’s always larger than life and the most confident person in the room. He looks so boyish now, standing in the dim light of the kitchen, the fear on his face so unnatural on his handsome face.

You couldn’t deny that he was beautiful, you’d always seen the way he attracted the attention of everyone in a room, like the definition of the word gorgeous come to life or the hero on the cover of a romance novel. Just classically handsome, and yes he was smug and he knew just how good he looked but he’d never put on any kind of mask when it came to you. Let himself be vulnerable, trusted you would keep his secrets and never make fun of him for his faults. Now looking at him in the quiet of his home, you realized that Bradley may have physically cheated; but maybe he wasn’t the only one that blew up your relationship. Some part of you from the day Jake Seresin had walked into your life had always belonged to him. Admitting it to yourself now was jarring; how long had you let yourself think he wasn’t everything to you? You found yourself terrified and excited at the thought, suddenly hyper aware of how close he was to you, knowing that if you crossed that line with him tonight you’d never be the same. You tilted your head up to look at him, reaching a hand out so he could close the distance, and watched him relax into your touch knowing you weren’t angry with him.

“Stormy-l-“

“Jake…Do you love me?”

He goes cold at the realization, oh God you had figured it out. He’d tried to suppress it for so long, but obviously with the clarity that had been gained tonight you seemed to be able to see the truth. He’d always been in love with you, but decided that having you in his life was more important than getting his feelings out so he’d gallantly put them aside. When he’d found out the truth about Rooster he’d been unmoored by the whole thing. How the hell could anyone ever hurt you like that? What kind of moron has the perfect girl and destroys her happiness? But he’d let you go, knowing you needed to run and find yourself in the aftermath; Jake was just grateful he could continue to be a part of your life in whatever way you needed. But oh God you knew now, he could see it on your face and since it had been a night for truth and honesty he told the consequences to fuck themselves, pulling you into his arms and pressing his forehead to yours.

“I could deny it, and we could just go back to the way things are if that’s what you need. We can continue this weekend like we have been and I’ll let you go back to Florida. Because you matter too much to me to be selfish with you, but oh angel I want *so* badly to be selfish. So you tell me what you need and I’ll do it.”

He’s so open, pouring his heart out to you and you can’t look away, his bright green eyes searching for any kind of reservation on your part, and when he doesn’t see any he grins that perfect lopsided grin of his, the one that makes your heart grow ten sizes. It’s not a rushed or sudden clashing of teeth and tongue, it’s a slow movement of lips molding together, hands mapping each other in a way that’s never been allowed before. It takes your breath away and as you gasp he slides his tongue against yours, reveling in the little noises you make as you grasp at the collar of his shirt, the need to have him closer overwhelming. After a while with the willpower of a god he pulls himself back from you a little, stroking your cheek and chuckling as you stagger forward trying to chase his kisses. He tilts your face to look at him and he’s warm all over, it’s everything he’s ever wanted and he has to tell you before he lets it get too far.

“I do Y/N, I love you. I always have baby. I want it all with you kid, and I know it probably feels sudden, but I can’t lie to you; I want everything with you. I’ll wait as long as you need because I’m in this no matter what, I don’t think I could stop if I tried.” He says with a watery laugh, and you realize he’s got tears in his eyes.

You are pretty sure you turned into a puddle on the floor, arms and legs feel like jello as he holds you up between himself and the counter. You could agree that yes it was sudden, hell you’d just let Bradley kiss you less than two hours ago, but you couldn’t deny that in all the times you’d kissed Rooster it had never felt like this. How were you ever supposed to go back to the way things were? Did you even want to? The thoughts were swirling around in your head now and he could tell you were lost. So he kissed you once more, just a featherlight peck and then stepped back from you.

“We’ve had a lot of big reveals tonight baby girl, how about we take a beat and sleep, let tomorrow figure it all out for us.”

He was right of course, it has been an overwhelming evening and you two should probably look it over with fresh eyes, so you let him lead you down the hall. He thinks you’re going to head to the guest bedroom but you surprise him, stepping into his bedroom and closing the door.

“Stormy, we can’t- not tonight honey you and i are wrung out-“

“Shhh, we aren’t doing anything tonight Jake, just hold me ok? I need to be close to you.”

He peels off his clothes and lets you change into one of his T shirts, tangling his arms and legs with yours as you snuggle up into bed. Drifting off to sleep, not knowing if he hears you, you whisper to him

“Jake I think I love you too.”

Jake Seresin Masterlist

Tagging- @attapullman

@bobgasm

@mamachasesmayhem

@roosterforme

@pinkdaisies1106

@angelbabyyy99

@nouis-bum

@djs8891

@purelyfiction

@86laura11

@shanimallina87

@floydsglasses

@floydsmuse

@nervousnerdwitch

@mygyn

@jessicab1991

@its-the-pilot

@dempy

[ohthewh0rror]

MATTHEO RIDDLE: DATING HEADCANONS

A/N: if you’re looking for a “bad boy” with behavioral issues, but none of the homicidal tendencies, look no further than Tom Riddles son! (Or in some cases his brother, an idea I still don’t understand)

Honestly he flirts with you at first as a joke.

Which sounds bad! I know! But he wasn’t doing it to make fun of you. He’s a flirt, that’s just who he is, it’s harmless fun.

That’s the dynamic for a while: the whole annoying classmate and/or housemate that teases you who you say you can’t stand but are sad when they aren’t in class.

Once he does start to develop a crush on you, the teasing let’s up, and he starts just having genuine conversations with you.

You think this is him losing interest in you, so imagine your surprise when he says, “you know you’re my girlfriend, right?”.

And that was the start of the relationship!

Let’s get real here: Mattheo would not be a “bad boy 🥰”. He’s a boy with serious authority and anger issues. The childhood trauma this boy has from having Voldemort as his father is through the fucking roof.

The relationship is very fragile, it’s a on-again-off-again type of relationship for a long time.

One minute he’s the best boyfriend you’ve ever had, and the next you’re screaming at him to get away from you because of something he’s said or done.

It always ends the same: you ignore each other for a while, no one apologizes, and then one day Mattheo will start talking to you again like the argument 2 weeks ago didn’t happen. Now you’re back together.

This relationship is never going to last though unless Mattheo can work through his personal problems.

Mattheo wouldn’t be a bad ex to have, unless you two ended on a bad note. Mattheo enjoys ruining other people’s life/day for fun, and he will do the same to you if you crossed him in some way.

On a good note!! Let’s get the sweet side of him:

Loves to play with your hair. Takes the ends of your hair and twirls them around his finger.

Gets you things he thinks you would like, even if it’s just a little trinket he saw while out at Hogsmeade, he will buy it and bring it back to you saying he has a surprise for you.

Loves to situate himself between your legs, resting his head on you, his cheek squished against your chest as you run your nails lightly across his upper back.

Helps you study by making up ridiculous games to play using cards. It also helps take your mind off the nervousness you may have about said test.

If you’re having a bad day he won’t hesitate to sweep his thumb under your eyes, wiping the tears away and pulling you in for bone crushing hug.

Has no problem letting you cry it out on his shoulder, and honestly gives you great advice, no matter your situation.

Is always on your side!! Literally your #1 supporter.

Even when you two are on a break and you’re not speaking to each other, he will not let anyone disrespect you. Any hateful word uttered about you is met with him smashing said persons face in.

Mattheo takes care of your needs first in bed. Makes you cum before he’ll fuck you.

It doesn’t matter if he has to finger you, eat you out, etc. he’ll do it every time if it’ll get you off.

Loves aftercare, is very touchy after the fact, and it’s why (contrary to popular belief) he’s not the biggest fan of quickies.

Might call you a ‘bitch’ and a ‘whore’ in bed, but never outside of that.

He refers to you as “my girl” to his friends, but uses pretty generic pet-names to your face.

Will refer to you as his “sweet girl” even if you’re an absolutely terrible human being!!

Because to them you may be awful, but to him you’re the best things that’s ever walked earth.

Marriage/Father bonus:

First of all: doesn’t want kids.

You two probably won’t have kids because he’d be very cautious.

But!!! If you two did have an accidental baby, he’d be a girl dad.

Though he didn’t want kids at first, he is a good dad in the end. Well, as good as someone with his trauma can be.

Tries to be the father that his wasn’t.

You two get married either way!! It’s your dream wedding, he will spare no expenses for you. If it makes you happy, he’ll find a way to make it happen.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 8 - Headphones

@jegulus-microfic February 8 Word count 940

Previous part First part

CW- Blood, cuts, the aftermath of torture.

Time slowed as they descended the stairs. Each step took an age. By the time he reached the bottom and stood at the door to the cellar, he was certain that an hour had gone by. In reality, it had been less than a minute. 

Sirius reached around him and opened the door. 

“Come on, James. He needs us.” Sirius urged him, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. James nodded and walked through the door. 

He was immediately hit by a strong, metallic smell—Iron—Blood! It was too dark to see clearly, but he could make out a figure slouched on a chair in the middle of the room. 

Sirius muttered a charm. A floating orb appeared, illuminating the small room. 

James gasped at the sight before him. Regulus’s head was lolling back, his face swollen and bruised. His body was covered in thin slashes, slowly oozing blood. James looked down at the pool of red collecting on the floor around the chair and grimaced. 

This was his fault. Regulus suffered because of him. 

He rushed forward, determined to help him. He yanked at the ropes, binding Regulus to the chair. Regulus groaned weakly at the movement. 

“It’s alright, love. I’ve got you.” He murmured into Regulus’s ear. Sirius had pulled open the slim cupboard in the corner and started rummaging through the collection of glass vials. 

“What do we need?” He shot over his shoulder at James. 

James looked Regulus over again. 

“Blood replenisher, pain potion and dittany if they have it.” James heard the clatter of vials being moved aside, and then Sirius was beside him, ripping the stoppers out with his teeth. 

“Reg, sweetheart, I need you to open your mouth so we can give you the potions.” He carefully lifted Regulus’s head upright and tried to pry his jaws apart. But Regulus chomped down, refusing to cooperate. 

“Regulus you absolute prat. Open your damn mouth, and let us help you!” Sirius butted in, taking a different approach to James. 

James stared in wonder as the younger man shot daggers at his brother but opened his mouth just wide enough for the potions to be poured in. 

“That’s the blood replenisher. The next one’s a pain killer, okay, Reggie. You’ll start feeling better in a minute.” Sirius assured his brother as he tipped the second vial into his mouth. 

James started using the basic healing charms that he knew. At least nothing seemed to be broken. He could heal cuts and bruises alright, but bones were another matter. 

Soon, Regulus’s face looked almost back to normal. The bruises would fade completely in the next day or two.  

James decided it would be easier for Regulus and themselves if he laid down, so he transfigured the chair into a cot and helped Sirius to lie him down flat.  

Sirius pulled out his headphones and carefully placed them over his brother’s head. 

“What the fuck have you just put on me.” Regulus’s hoarse voice croaked. He seemed more alert, so the potions must be helping.  

“Headphones,” He said as he pressed play on his walkman. “Brand new muggle technology. Thought it might help you relax while we fix the rest of you.” James had already started healing the cuts along one of his arms. 

“Ugh, fine. Who’s singing?” Regulus didn’t have the energy to fight his brother, and the music blocked the sound of his healing skin. 

“Bowie,” Sirius answered simply. 

“Bowies shit,” Regulus complained through gritted teeth. 

“Only because you’re a heathen. Bowie is magical. Do not dis, Bowie!” It took James a few frustrated moments to realise that Sirius was deliberately bickering with Regulus to keep his mind off what they were doing to him. 

He healed the last cut on Regulus’s left arm. His fingers brushed against the ugly black brand on his forearm. How different their lives could have been if Regulus hadn’t joined Voldemort. He drew his eyes away from the mark and started healing the next section. 

They healed every cut, and Sirius had the bright idea to add the essence of dittany into his body cream to make it easier to get it on all of Regulus’s sore body. 

When they were finished, Regulus cracked open an eye. 

“Can I go to sleep now?” He asked quietly. James and Sirius looked at each other, knowing they needed to get something from him, or Moody would come straight back down here, and they wouldn’t be allowed back down again. 

Not yet, love. We need some information. Something important that we can give to Moody.” He stroked his cheek delicately with the backs of his fingers. 

“Was this the plan all along? Bad Auror Moody, and then you two come in all, ‘let us save you, Reggie.’” He looked hurt like they were playing with him. 

“What? No, of course not. We had to plead with Mad-Eye just to be allowed to come down here.—”

“We’re trying to help you, you git. Do you really think James would try and trick you like that?” Sirius butted in, trying his more direct tactic again. 

Regulus looked up at James sadly and nodded. 

“Okay. I’ve got something. But I get to keep these things.” He pointed at the headphones. Sirius looked outraged. 

“I’ve only just got them. Plus, you don’t even like Bowie.” Regulus gave him a small smirk. 

“He’s growing on me.” 

“Gah. Fine. Keep them. Now tell us the information you have.” Sirius gave in quickly. This was more important than a walkman. Regulus swallowed hard and stared into James’s eyes as he told them.  

“He’s going to attack the Ministry.”

Next part

[obsidianpen]

Hey OP! So I'm re-reading NG and came across this:

But Harry couldn't help but wonder… Why return to looking like his old self? Why bother to regain the appearance of Tom Riddle? Wouldn't it have just been simpler to create a new appearance, to—

That is indeed a good question! V could have given himself a new face, why his old one? Is an obligation of the restoration magic, like genes related? Or a choice? Please answer! I love you!

there is an answer to this… I probably shouldn’t give it in case it comes up organically in-fic at some point… but you love me, you say…. Okay…. It’s because Harry said, in an early chapter:

 "Oh, I know all about you, Tom… I know all about your sorry life… About your mum, about how you were born... You said your muggle father had his use in the graveyard that day you took his bone and my blood and got yourself a sorry excuse for a new body, but the best thing your dad ever gave you was his face. You probably would have had a much harder time wrapping the students and staff of Hogwarts around your finger if you had inherited Merope Gaunt's looks."

Voldemort deduces: Harry thinks his previous face, which was very similar to his fathers, was an attractive one, and therefore he should get it back out of nothing but pure spite.

[duplicitywrites]

something new and funky fresh (angst)

“Hello,” Harry says, stepping into the room.

The air is dry and cool. Just comfortable enough. As Harry settles at the foot of the singular cot, his knobbly knees give a twinge of protest at the sudden drop in elevation. More and more recently, the wards leave him feeling dizzy. He steadies his hand on the side wall, feels the hum of protective spells shiver in response to his touch. 

This magic knows him. He is the only one who comes to visit.

Once the sensation passes, Harry places his free hand on the lump of blanket next to him, squeezing gently down until it moves.

Red eyes peer up at him. They are duller now. Quieter.

“Hello,” Harry says again, kindly. “Let’s get you up.”

Voldemort’s body is thin, emaciated. It always has been, from the moment he’d emerged from the cauldron, but now his skin is soft, his movements slow and unsteady as Harry guides him into a sitting position.

He is old.

Harry is old, too. He has a wife, children, grandchildren. He has enjoyed decades of happiness that more than make up for the miserable years where he’d gone without. 

But now his children are grown and have lives of their own. Now his wife wants a quiet life, one far away from Britain—a small cottage where nature will be their neighbour, where they will spend the rest of their days in calm companionship.

Harry combs fingers over pale, translucent skin. Voldemort’s eyes are closed now. His body sags against Harry’s. He is in some pain; he must be. These are aches of age. The tremors of time that creak in between the bones. The faint rattle of breath that drags one slowly towards the end.

[liquidluckandstuff]

“Will you stay?”

“Will you stay?”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Stay? Him? Of all people?

He turned back and looked into the cold cell. Voldemort looked pathetic in the prisoner garb they gave him, Harry was surprised they offered him anything to wear in the first place. 

“Why should I?” It was a fair question. Harry couldn’t assume the man wanted anything innocent. He had no idea what the man was capable of. It’s why he was locked in their most guarded cell in the first place. 

The dementors were close enough that Voldemort could feel the chill in his old bones, but far enough away he couldn’t speak to them. The man had quite the sway over them during his reign in the war, and no one was willing to take a chance.

Voldemort shrugged at Harry’s answer. It was so unlike him that Harry had to shake his head. How far the dark lord had fallen. 

“If you give me an answer, I’ll stay a little longer,” Harry reasoned. 

He looked up at him then, the shadows covering his face did nothing to hide his sunken cheekbones and red eyes. “Promise?”

A chill went down Harry’s spine at his childlike tone. “If you give me a good enough answer, then yes I promise.”

“You always keep your promises. Not like them,” The man spat as he pulled his thin legs close to his chest. 

Harry tapped his foot impatiently. “Well?”

A smile formed on Voldemort’s face. So innocent and full of hope. “I remember your name.”

“My... name?”

“Uh hu,” Then the man crawled closer to the edge of the cell until his skeletal fingers could wrap around the bars. “I don’t remember anyone else’s name. But I remember yours.” 

Harry sighed, and sat down next to him. It was a good answer. He might as well keep his promise. 

“And how did you remember my name?” 

“I was thinking of flying. And… a stag. It was big and blue and fought off those big hooded men that like to whisper at the end of the corridor.”

“You saw them?” If the dementors were getting brave enough to get close enough for Voldemrot to see them that would be a problem. What if he recognized them? What if they triggered the wrong memory-

“I don’t think they like me very much,” the man confessed. 

“Right,” Harry sighed. “Well then… What's my name?”

Voldemort’s eyes went wide and he looked around like Harry had said something scandalous. “I’m not supposed to say, they’ll get mad.”

“Who will get mad?”

In response, Voldemort shook his head in fear. 

“Who will get mad? It’s okay. I won’t tell.”

“They’ll hurt you,” Voldemort whispered as he looked around. “They hit you and starve you and keep you locked in a cupboard.”

“I-” No one knew that. Not really. His friends sort of knew what his childhood was like, but they didn’t have any details. “That was a very long time ago.”

“No, no it was yesterday,” Tears filled Voldemort’s red eyes. “They don’t love you. They never loved you and you tried so hard-”

“It’s… it’s okay now. I have a new family that loves me very much,” Harry comforted awkwardly. How did one comfort a crying Dark Lord anyway? “It’s over now.”

“No it’s not,” Voldemort insisted. “It still hurts you on the inside. There.” One long thin hand reached through the bars and pointed directly at Harry’s heart. “They don’t want you to say your name because they are afraid of you.” 

Harry didn’t know what to say. So he said the only thing he could think of “I’m sorry.” He didn’t want anyone to know about his past. It was embarrassing enough that the hero of the wizarding world couldn’t get past being unloved as a child. What kind of hero still years for parental love?

“I would have stopped them,” Voldemort said assuredly, suddenly sounding more like himself. “I would have made them regret ever hurting you.”

“I know,” Harry whispered. And he did.  If there was anything that was left of Voldemort it was a hatred of muggles and a desire for a justice he would never understand. 

“Will you stay?” Voldemort asked again. 

Harry shook his head. He wasn’t supposed to stay near Voldemort for very long. No one was supposed to, not after everything he did. But with his memory lost because of how many horcruxes they destroyed, and with him being reduced to… well a child trapped in a murderer's body, Harry couldn’t help but pity him. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll be back next week,” Harry promised.

[crucioslut]

[ CLAIM ]  for one muse to possessively place their hands on their shoulders or hips. - asktheheirofslytherin (ok im done now)

Bellatrix sat atop the kitchen counter with Rodolphus settled between her slightly spread legs, his hands sprawled out to stroke over her milky thighs. She idly threw pieces of kettle corn towards his mouth, trying to look unenthused but crowing out a filthy, high pitched laugh each time he missed. They'd been fighting since late the previous night and as history would have it, this was their way of making up. It always had been. But she wasn't about to give in so easily.

Her skirts were getting hitched higher and higher, until Rodolphus had them bunched up around her waist, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. One of his hands moved to her backside, jerking her forward abruptly and tightly against his body. Still determined to make him work a little harder, the witch's head snapped to the side to avoid his kiss. Rodolphus grinned at her, knowing all too well what game she was playing, and instead his lips fell to her neck. Bellatrix allowed this with a content sigh. She tilted her head to grant her husband access to her as his hand circled the curve of her upper thigh and arse. A fool to his lust, Rodolphus suddenly found himself with a dagger to his neck. It was small, but sharp enough to slice through flesh with little force. Bellatrix had made quick slipping it out of her garter.

"Now now, Bells..." Rodolphus warned, darkly. His hold on her laxed, his eyes wide knowing very well that if his wife was in a certain mood she would not hesitate to slash him good and deep. Or simply just plunge the weapon into his chest, if she was feeling particularly impulsive. Since escaping Azkaban, she'd been more unpredictable than ever before.

"I thought we agreed no more knives, love." Rodolphus said sternly. She had hopped from the counter and was laughing maddly as she inched forward and Rodolphus backed away. His reaction alone amused her greatly. Inspiring fear in her husband was one of her favourite hobbies.

"Darling.. Don't tell me you've gone soft on me, now." She challenged. "Hmm? Scared of a little cut or two? Myself I feel more resilent now than ever before." The words came out between sultry breaths, feeling the beginnings of arousal settling in. A hot tongue slid over her lips to wet them, sizing up her husband as though he was just a piece of meat at her ultimate mercy. And, she supposed, as he swallowed hard and watched her with anxiety in his voice and plea in his eyes, Rodolphus was just that.

The tip of the blade found the hollow of Rodolphus' throat, poking him there. "Sink to your knees before me. Now."

It was in that moment Rodolphus' stare shifted to something beyond her, and she felt a coldness radiating behind her like leaving a window open on an unforgiving January night. The witch froze instantly, letting her arms fall to her sides welcoming the figure looming behind her curl his long fingers around her shoulders in a tauntingly posessive way, whispering a gentle melody in her ear of all of the beautifully indecent things her Master wanted to do to her that night.. Would do to her that night.

It was not a request, it was a demand. Not that there would ever be a choice to be made. Rodolphus would have to wait. That icy cold touch drift down her sides to occupy her hips. Voldemort leaned into his most loyal follower and licked from her collar bone all the way up to her ear, making her quiver as he did so. Rodolphus willing himself not to react in spite of being aware the Dark Lord had done this on purpose, and was now just dangling it all in front of him.

Bellatrix took in a sharp breath, looking to the side to the Dark Lord without turning away from her husband. Her lips parted, hoping so badly that if she left herself open her master would invade her. Feeling just how much he needed her through his robes probbing against her back, Bella's legs spread further where she stood instinctively. Honestly forgetting that her husband was right there.

"I don't suppose you'd mind if I borrowed Bellatrix, would you?" Voldemort finally asked Rodolphus. This question did not have a multiple choice answer. Their Lord's touch moved roughly up and down Bella's sides before settling at her neck. He toyed with her hair, pressing himself into her. Bellatrix let out a whimper in response. "We'll be quick.. I promise." Voldemort set his sights on Rodolphus when he then bit Bellatrix's neck, this time making her gasp out a hoarse moan, go slack in his arms.

Rodolphus, horrified by the scene before him shook his head sternly indicating he was fine with this.

And then his wife and Master were gone having disapparated with a pop.

Rodolphus remained, rubbing his throat where the blade had scratched a tiny sting, losing whatever sexual appetite his wife had so skillfully awaken as he wondered to himself just how long the Dark Lord had been watching them.

@asktheheirofslytherin

[wellpresseddaisy]

On a Wing and a Prayer

The Dark Lord Voldemort came back Wrong.

Or, what happens when @greens-your-color thinks I'm funny. :)

“Hermione, I don’t think I’ve ever been this confused in my life.” Harry worried the infirmary bedclothes between his fingers.

Ron and Hermione sat on either side of him, pressed in tight. Ron barely said a word since they were allowed in, only throwing an arm over Harry’s shoulders and squeezing gently. Harry leaned against him, exhausted after everything he’d been through that horrible year.

“More confused than with Snape’s essay on powdered gemstone as a stabilizing agent in potions brewed under specific zodiac signs or more confused than when you saw Charlie Weasley take his shirt off and choked on your tongue?” Hermione asked, bumping his shoulder with hers.

Harry squeaked and hid his face in his hands.

“Merlin, Hermione, you can’t just go bringing that kind of thing up like that,” Ron scolded, pulling Harry closer. “That gemstone essay scarred us all.”

“More confused than either of those,” Harry admitted, his cheeks flaming. “I’ve no idea what actually happened…a few hours ago? When did I even…”

“It was a few hours ago,” Ron confirmed. “Thought mum might try to strangle Dumbledore with his own beard and come find you on her own. She knew something was wrong from the start.”

“How?” Harry asked.

“Dunno, mate. Mum just knows these things sometimes. She’s worried after you all year.”

Harry sighed. He felt worse, somehow, knowing he’d worried Mrs. Weasley.

“Oi, none of that.” Ron poked him in the ribs. “Mum likes having people to worry over. She said it made a nice change from worrying what the twins might be up to.”

Harry snorted. “Thanks, Ron. It’s…tonight was so weird.”

“You don’t have to tell us,” Hermione hastened to say. “If you really don’t want to discuss it. You can wait as long as you need to.”

She took one of his hands in hers and leaned hard against him. Feeling both of them squishing in helped more than Harry wanted to think about. Something about the steady warmth and pressure helps calm him down.

“But I share everything with you. And…and I do want to. It’s just…tonight was even weirder than finding out Scabbers was actually a person and the basilisk combined.”

“Do you know,” Ron began. “I think we’re all stunningly sane, considering. Who wouldn’t be a gibbering wreck after all the things we’ve seen together. And there isn’t a gibber to be found among the three of us.”

“You wouldn’t have said that if you saw me…” Harry trailed off and then took a deep breath. “The goblet was a portkey. It was meant to go back to the main stand so the winner would be seen immediately, but someone messed with it. Cedric and I got to it at almost the same time and…and I said we should both win. It wouldn’t have been fair, yeah, if I grabbed it first. It took us to a non-magical graveyard. I don’t know where; Dumbledore already tried to find out and even he doesn’t know. We stood up and…and we were stunned.

I came to…I don’t know how much later. My watch broke at some point in the maze. I…I was tied to a gravestone and Pettigrew said something. Something about bone of the father and blood of an enemy unwillingly taken. He hadn’t touched me yet, so I thought as hard as I could that he could have my blood. That I was willing to give it. Maybe my intent would change things? I don’t know if it helped, but it made me feel a bit better in the moment. Then…” he trailed off, gulping, and rubbed a hand over his heavily bandaged forearm.

“Harry, you don’t have to,” Hermione reminded him, gripping his hand tight.

“Pettigrew split my arm with a knife.,” Harry soldiered on. “I think I screamed, but everything went fuzzy. The next thing I knew, there was loads of fog and a figure stepped out of the cauldron.”

Ron made a noise that sounded like ‘eurgh’.

“I kept sort of wavering in and out, but first thing after he had a robe on, he said ‘Oh, Pettigrew, giving into the urge to dramatize everything again?’ and he…he sounded like McGonagall when she’s really done with the lot of us. Or Percy when even Fred and George know to stop.”

“I…what?” Ron asked.

“That’s why it was so weird!” Harry stared down at the bedclothes. “He didn’t try to kill me immediately!”

Hermione sighed and squeezed his hand. Ron budged in closer and Harry wondered if he’d end up in Ron’s lap before the end of it.

“He looked normal, too,” Harry continued. “Like a grown up version of the diary Riddle. He called everyone then, through Pettigrew’s mark. He didn’t seem happy about it, though, and I heard him mutter something about how disgusting it was, branding people like cattle. The Death Eaters arrived slowly, robed and masked. He didn’t look pleased by any of it. There were a few empty spots when they’d all got there and…he didn’t say anything about them. I expected he’d be furious or something, but he just started pacing in front of everyone. I heard…I think I’d lost a lot of blood, but I thought I heard him say they were meant to be the Knights of Walpurgis, to protect and guide, not this…perverted abomination of his vision. And…he said this was the first coherent thought he’d had since he had tea with Abraxas Malfoy in nineteen-forty-two. One of the Death Eaters twitched really violently then.”

“Stop picking at the bandage,” Ron broke in, putting a hand over Harry’s to stop him. “And if it was Abraxas Malfoy who…yeah, that would be why Lucius Malfoy twitched.”

“Would you like to share with the rest of us, Ron?” Hermione asked crisply.

“Oh, yeah. Look, if Abraxas Malfoy dosed him with something that sent him mad, and there are rumors about the Malfoys having some family recipes like that, then the whole of the Malfoy family could be held liable for everything done after. It’s an old law, but it’s one reason mum and dad go spare when Fred and George dose people.”

“Oh…oh.” Hermione tapped at the bedspread in a way Harry knew meant she was thinking things through. “Without the intervention nothing would have happened…but the whole family?”

“Legally it would be the Pater- or Materfamilias. Socially it would be the whole family. No one would ever trust any of them again after that kind of scandal. They can forget influential dinner parties until the end of time.”

“What’s a—no. No, I’ll ask later.” Hermione stopped herself. “Harry, are you comfortable telling us more?”

“There isn’t too much, really. That was about when he turned around and saw me bleeding all over everything and went spare at Pettigrew over, er, harming a magical child.” Harry felt his cheeks warm. “He really got in a twist when Pettigrew bragged that I’d competed in the Tri-Wiz to show I was a formidable enemy despite my age. I…is it really weird that a resurrected Dark Lord is on the list of adults who’ve actually given a damn when I was hurt?”

Neither Hermione nor Ron had an answer.

“I thought so,” Harry muttered. “Anyway, he healed my arm and Madam Pomfrey says it won’t scar as much as it might have because of that. Then he sent Mr. Malfoy to tell Professor Snape everything…he seemed a bit hacked off that no one had told Snape anything—said he was the only one of them with any common sense so of course they bypassed him—and woke Cedric. He pulled a hood over his face before that and had all the Death Eaters except Pettigrew leave. Then he had us hang on to each other and had Cedric summon the cup. And, er, then we landed on the dais with me all over blood and Cedric really confused.”

“Is that the whole of it?” Ron asked quietly and Harry blushed scarlet.

How did Ron always know?

“He said it was clear I wasn’t being taken care of properly and the magical world would certainly hear about it. Last I heard from him before the portkey took us he was headed to Gringotts to settle everything. I don’t think anyone believed me, though. Dumbledore said something about repressed trauma.”

“Merlin’s pants but he sounds like he’d get on like a house on fire with mum,” Ron breathed, ignoring Dumbledore for the moment.

Hermione snorted, choked, and giggled into Harry’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry!” she managed after a moment. “It’s just so…Mrs. Weasley!”

“He came back wrong!” Harry insisted. “Or right…or something. I don’t even know anymore!”

“It’s just you’re used to someone trying to kill you every June and you don’t like the routine being upset?” Ron hazarded, sending Hermione into a fresh bout of giggling apology.

“I don’t want someone trying to kill me, you know. Adults only seem to care once I’ve survived, which sounds incredibly grim and dramatic,” Harry sighed. “It shouldn’t be so weird for me, someone doing his nut over me being in danger.”

“No, it shouldn’t.” Hermione sobered at that. “You should be used to adults being angry you were hurt.”

“But they aren’t usually, unless it’s inconvenient. Er, my relatives are like that. Dumbledore just seems sad it had to happen. It’s just…it’s Voldemort. I didn’t think he had feelings that weren’t rage.”

“Harry,” Ron started, thoughtfully. “Have you ever had your family tree done?”

“Er, no. Why?”

“Him saying he was going to Gringotts to get things sorted. If...there are two ways to do things like family trees. One is the Ministry Hall of Records, but you only go there if you like having your business as lunchtime conversation in the canteen. Most people go to Gringotts. They can do all the family records and trees and things only they don’t gossip. What if you show up somehow for him? Sounds like he’s keen on you living, but you could wind up his ward or something.” Ron bit his lip.

The three of them snugged closer reflexively.

“And since I didn’t know I should have it done, we don’t know what he might find.” Harry’s voice shook. “But there’s Sirius.”

“He isn’t free to take you in and I don’t think they’d find him a fit guardian right now. You’re in limbo, a bit, with your guardianship. The courts may not even recognize your aunt’s right to have you if someone powerful can show a magical relationship,” Ron explained. “Mum kept pouring over her and dad’s family trees to see if she could find any way to get you away from them after we met, but they don’t show any of the squib lineages and without that it isn’t close enough.”

Harry ignored the undercurrent of ‘the squib lineages are extra’. That Mrs. Weasley would go to so much trouble warmed something in him.

“Would it have to be a relationship through the Potters?” Hermione asked.

“Most likely, they don’t always recognize squib lines, but they might have to get Harry back to the magical world. I think a couple of the Death Eater families tried, but they weren’t related closely enough.”

Harry shuddered. His aunt and uncle were bad enough. What would have happened if a family like the Malfoys got him?

“It’s going to be a long wait,” Harry murmured. “Until we know.”

“I’m going to ask mum tonight and see if she’ll take us to Gringotts after we get off the train,” Ron decided. “She said they’re staying until morning and I can explain everything to her.”

“Do you think I…” Hermione trailed off. “Does your mum know how much a family tree might cost?”

“I’ll ask. And…maybe it would be best to ask your parents to come, too. We can make our own plans.” Ron nodded as if comfirming everything to himself.

“I hate waiting,” Harry groused.

Far below magical London, a man sat with two goblins in a stuffy, little-used office. The filing cabinets lining the wall barely closed against the reams of paper inside. Files stacked deep across their tops threatened to spill onto the floor. Dim lights cast a fitful glow over everything and hummed terribly. The whole environment, Thomas Riddle thought, reminded him of one of those crime films from the States. He half expected detective in a crumpled fedora to come bursting in, spouting nonsense. They probably kept this room in this state purposefully. It was the sort of pokey corner where he’d stick a nutter asking for a new identity if one came up to him.

“And why would Gringotts go to the trouble of assisting you?”

Thomas looked around the office for a moment as if deeply interested in Goblin filing systems. He’d been in this sort of situation before, only he’d been seventeen and without any leverage. Not that he wanted a new identity then, but they’d turfed him out of the bank before he could get half his family tree request out.

“Slytherin, Potter, Peverell, and Gaunt,” he said. “Accounts that have lain dormant for far too long. And that, gentlemen, won’t do at all. No account fees collected, no transaction fees collected…it’s a terrible thing for a bank to be considered just a repository.”

“Gaunt has nothing.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps that vault holds something you’d like to have back. It’s an old family and old families often had Goblin-made items. Pity that dormant vaults can’t be entered by Gringotts staff until, ah, yes, until the Family is declared officially extinct by the Ministry. Amazing what information you can find these days, isn’t it?”

The Goblins stared at one another for a long minute. He knew it was risky, coming here, but they offered certain services regarding identities that could be difficult to obtain elsewhere. You could find any number of chaps loitering in Knockturn who’d swear on their mother’s graves that no one would ever know, guv, not no way. They were usually proved false in five minutes or less. He didn’t sigh though they’d been going in circles for the better part of three hours.

“I suppose for a reasonable fee of thirty percent of each vault and an ongoing fee we could—”

Thomas rose and started for the door. “I will not be treated like an imbecile. I thought to keep my business with Gringotts, but I suppose I can go to the Ministry just as easily. Pity that will close the Malfoy accounts. I expect you do rather well out of those.”

“We haven’t heard anything about the Malfoy accounts, Mr. Riddle.”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“That’s because I haven’t yet sworn out a complaint against the Malfoy family. While Abraxas is no longer with us, his actions against me have a longer tail than one might expect. The Ministry does take dosing people with madness-inducing elixirs seriously. The fines and reparations alone…”

“My colleague spoke hastily. I believe we can come to some accord. Perhaps a flat ten percent fee taken only from the Slytherin and Gaunt vaults and…three Goblin-made items, to be agreed upon after an audit?” the other Goblin broke in, clearly booting his compatriot in the ankle under the table.

Thomas sat and smiled at the Goblins before him (he had to get their names before he left as they never bothered to give them…he hadn’t had so much fun negotiating in quite some time).

“I believe we can come to an agreement, gentlemen. Now, shall we begin with my family tree? We may need to go quite a way back and branch out considerably to find an identity rooted in some truth, but I believe we should begin with the Gaunts.”

They produced a ceremonial blood quill and specially treated parchment and got to work.

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter sixty-three // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: 

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this chapter: 2.9k warnings for this chapter: none

my lovely beta reader 💕

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Chapter Sixty-Three:

"Come on, don't give up just yet!" Higgins calls.

"I haven't given up!" I snap angrily, shoving my fists into the dirt to push myself to my knees. "The damn thing just –“

Another loud crack of thunder and the wind picks up, drowning out my words. The mass hovers, dark clouds churning with growing speed. Flashes of lightning strike from within its core, spreading like white veins just beneath the misty surface. I watch in horror as the mass gets sucked to its center, almost disappearing completely before exploding outward with a roar. The black clouds cover the sky, pouring rain upon us.

"Don't let it scare you!" I look to Higgins at his words. Even as the rain runs rivulets down his face, he grins encouragingly and gives me a thumbs up. "You can do this!"

My eyes are wide as saucers as I stare up at the sky, mouth agape, lips trying to form the words. Lightning flies across the clouds and the thunder in its wake makes my very bones tremble.

My shoulders rise as I inhale, trying to suck in the thick magic in the air. I raise my hand and point two fingers to the sky. When I hear my voice, it's steady and sure.

"Piertotum Veneficium!"

The rain freezes, frozen in mid-air. The deafening boom of thunder ceases, replaced by eerie silence. I lower my hand, urging the rain to -

When I roll over, my stomach and pelvis press into the mattress, waking me with my need to pee. At first I struggle with the disorienting feeling of waking from such a vivid dream. But Thomus’ steady breathing next to me and faint birdsong from outside tells me it’s probably morning.  

During my sleepy shifting, the comforter had gotten pulled down, exposing my chest. The room is freezing and I really don’t want to get up just yet, so I yank the blanket back into place while I turn towards Thomus. His back is to me, but I curl into him anyway, pressing my forehead and nose into his warm bare skin. 

This is the fourth time I’ve woken up to that dream. It’s just so… weird.

I’ve never had dreams like that before. It’s the first time they’ve been so repetitive and consistent. I find myself remembering more of it the longer they continue. 

It reminds me of some of the extra lessons with Higgins during my early years at Ilvermorny. The encouraging push to use wandless magic, to have control over it, were achingly familiar. 

But the... thing. The... creature? Entity? Whatever it is that I’m trying to control is powerful. Besides the fact that it knocks me on my ass, it’s obvious it scares me. Awake, I don’t feel the same fear, just apprehension. The dream has to mean something. As of right now, I must be too blind to see it. Literally.

When the demands of my bladder become too much, I discretely slide away from Thomus and shiver when the cold air hits my naked body. I’ve gotten familiar enough with the path that it takes me no time at all to venture to the other room to steal a blanket off the bed to keep me warm while I use the bathroom. 

I want to confide in Thomus about the dreams. Something in my gut is telling me they’re important, but I don’t really have a reason for him to know about them. Do I really want his opinions on it? My immediate answer is yes, because it’s hard to reason with my need to overshare things. Objectively, I’m sure he’d have valuable input – there’s always something new for me to learn about magic and its capabilities. 

At the same time, I’m hesitant. He could blow them off and not take me seriously. Or just not care. I’m not sure which is worse.

As I sit there, I start to wonder what movies I’m going to show him today. Besides some work he’s had to do in the office, he’s mostly spent his time with me. At first it wasn’t something we were actively doing together, but since we got back the only thing I’ve really wanted to do – and can do for that matter – is watch movies. Granted, I can only listen to them, but I try to pick the ones I’ve seen a bunch, so I’m not really missing out. 

Since I can’t read the titles, Thomus will read a handful aloud until I pick one. If he’s not around, I just pick one at random and hope I get lucky. I think he’s only been watching them because it’s what I’ve been doing. He’ll emerge from the office and find me curled on the couch, then force me to make room for him. 

And honestly, I’m not mad about it. After so much time apart, after so much time spent missing him, it’s nice to just be around him. 

I’d never admit this to anybody – I even have a hard time admitting this to myself – but I actually like him. I think I have for a while. 

A long while, really. 

Thomus isn't just a faceless Death Eater anymore. There's a man behind the mask now. He's handsome and intelligent and I know he's hurt me in the past, but he's saved me too. I'm sure I've got my rose-tinted glasses back on, but I can't live in denial of how I feel. Especially when it seems like he's been opening up to me more and more. 

I don't necessarily want to put words in his mouth. He said he wanted me to be his, but what I still don't know is why me. From my perspective, I was basically the equivalent to the last second nab of a candy bar in the grocery store check-out line. I know I need to be more cautious because of the unanswered questions surrounding his motivations, but he’s not making it easy.

For the time being, however, I'm enjoying whatever this is. The sex and his company make me feel desirable. As if it's what he wants. As if I’m what he wants. Like I’m enough.

All I can do is give it time.      

“Melisa?” I hear him sleepily call my name from his bedroom, spurring me into action from my thoughts. 

I make sure to quickly flush so he knows I’m in here before washing my hands and brushing my teeth. 

I guess I take too long for him because I hear the door knob tap against the tiled wall when he strides in. His footsteps are quick as he passes me to the toilet.

“It’s so bloody cold in here,” he grumbles. It doesn’t even phase me that he’s using the bathroom while I’m standing right here. The man literally cums in me. “You’ll have to show me how the Muggles heat their homes.”

The corners of my mouth pull into a smile around my toothbrush, silently laughing. When he’s done, he gently nudges me to turn sideways so he can wash his hands. I bite down on the toothbrush so I can tap him on the shoulder and then tap a finger to the back of my wrist, asking for the time. 

“Early enough to get up,” he answers. The faucet stops and I hear the hand towel bar creak as he dries his hands. 

Then they find the gap in the blanket acting as a cloak to shield my body from the cold. I still have toothpaste in my mouth so I turn my face away as he presses his body to mine, face against my neck before he kisses it. 

“Early enough to go back to bed for a bit,” he murmurs in my ear. His hands slip to my bare ass, squeezing while he doesn’t bother to hide his erection against my stomach. 

In addition to watching movies, we’ve been having so much sex. I swear I’ve been bent over nearly every surface in this house – from the kitchen island to his desk to this very vanity I’m leaning against – no where’s safe. On one occasion he’d specifically pulled me into the bathroom to prop me against the sink. From the way he’d tugged on my hair, tilting my head back, I’d bet it has something to do with watching me in the mirror. He’s really living up to his word about being insatiable. Not that I mind. It’s like he’s made it his mission to make me cum. 

And damn if I don’t adore his enthusiasm for it, too. 

He pulls back a bit and I smile, patting him on his scruffy cheek. He’d shaved the morning after we’d gotten here and it’s now back to a length that won’t give me cheek burn when we make out. 

I turn in his arms to spit and rinse. Then I confidently kiss him with my minty mouth. 

When I sweep my tongue across his lower lip before biting it, he groans. It’s a move I’ve learned makes him weak.

“Your lips are so… bewitching,” he breathes before kissing me again, dominating it despite the fact that I’m cradling his face. 

I pull at him, needing him closer, needing him between my legs as I start to hear a faint tapping noise. 

Thomus hears it too, because he curses and pulls away, heading back towards his bedroom. I follow, listening to a window sliding open. Cold morning chill quickly creeps in and I dive for the bed, curling under the comforter, hoping it still retains our heat from the night. 

Wings flap, and there’s a small little screech accompanied by a drawer opening. The owl’s beak clips at the treats Thomus offers it before the window shuts. He sits on the edge of the bed, paper scroll rustling in his hands. I reach out to stroke his back.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “I thought she’d taken care of this.”

Then he stands. “Come on. Get dressed. I have to take you to the Manor.”

I sit up, blanket still around my shoulders. I put my hand up next to my head and sign why. 

He doesn’t answer, but it’s likely he just didn’t see me because his wardrobe opens. I wait for him to turn around so I can sign again, but he just ignores me.

“Quickly,” he orders. 

I scoff and roll my eyes, wishing I can verbally tell him how I feel about his rudeness, but I slide out of bed and head to my room. When I open the wardrobe, I forget there’s a new stack of vinyl leaning against it until they plop down onto the carpet. I kneel to move them aside, leaning them against the wall instead. Feeling around the base of the wardrobe, I find a gap between the wall and the furniture, and slide the stack in, tucking it away. 

Thomus had presented them to me the day we’d gotten back (after we’d woken from our nap and he’d given me a thorough deep dicking). This batch was honestly wild – he’s now the proud owner of a Nicki Minaj album, Billie Eilish, and the Rocketman soundtrack. Well, thinking about it now, I’m not sure anything can top the Shrek 2 album. 

I was definitely excited for the Rocketman album, and that’s the one I asked him to play first. However, I quickly realized my mistake. Instead of cheering me up, it became a blatant reminder that I can’t sing anymore.  

That probably should’ve been obvious. I tried mouthing the words, but it just isn’t the same. The emptiness of the vocals in my throat spread to my chest, making me feel hollow.

He’d been busy making us a simple dinner of scrambled eggs – surprising the shit out of me that he could make anything, even though he confidently reminded me he’d learned how to work the stove a while ago. While I could hear him busy at the counter, I’d… turned the volume on the record player down. Subtly at first, but each song kept getting quieter until the gentle clatter of plates on the counter was louder than the music. 

“Not in the mood?” he’d gently asked.

I’d given a small smile and a non-committal shrug. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that listening to music was the last thing I currently wanted to do. Especially when I know he was just trying to make me happy. 

Dressed, I meet him downstairs, feeling reluctant to leave. I hear the fireplace ignite. 

“Ready?” he asks, grabbing my arm and pulling me closer. 

I press my lips together, shrugging again while nodding. He doesn’t say anything, but guides me toward the fireplace. I put my hand on his shoulder, getting him to pause. 

I point to him and spell go long time?

“I don’t know,” he admits. “This isn’t really about me.”

OK I sign.

In the next few moments, we’re stepping through to the Manor and a voice I hear ringing through the hall makes me tighten my grip on Thomus’ arm. 

“Quickly Draco!” Lucius Malfoy’s voice barks. I hear rushed footsteps going up the stairs. 

“Yes, quickly Draco!” says the voice that causes my hackles to rise as she mimics her brother-in-law.     

I know the moment she spots us because she audibly gasps. 

"Thomus!" she nearly squeals with joy as she approaches, her heels rapping against the floor. 

Thomus puts his arm across my waist, smoothly stepping between me and Bellatrix. His jacket is clenched tight in my fingers, one hand on his arm and the other at the nip of his waist. Not that I can really hide behind his lanky form, but I sure would like to. 

"Bella," he greets tersely, "Wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Oh, clearly," she tuts. "Or you wouldn't be attempting to hide the dog from me." She claps her hands together. "Have you heard the news? Draco's been invited to Switzerland by the Dark Lord."

"Ordered," Narcissa snaps. Damn, has she been here this whole time? "He's been ordered to go."

"It's a great honor, Cissy," Bellatrix replies, her tone implying it's an argument they've had more than once.

“Thomus,” Narcissa’s voice changing to a plea. “Is there anything you can do?”

Thomus’ sigh sounds genuinely remorseful. “I have no authority over something like this. If it’s the Dark Lord’s will for Draco to go to Switzerland, he must be obeyed.”

“No,” Narcissa’s voice almost breaks. “I refuse to let my son –“

“You don’t have a choice,” Bellatrix snaps. I can hear gentle thunks that sound like luggage being placed on the entry hall floor. “This will be good for the boy. I will be there to guide him –“

“Excuse me if I don’t care for your particular brand of parenting,” Narcissa hisses. Thomus’ shoulders stiffen at the statement. Her heels click as she strides away.

“Where are you going?” Bellatrix says as she follows.

“I’m going to speak to him myself.”

Bellatrix cackles. “As if that –“

“Thomus, thank you for coming,” Narcissa says, “but I thought you’d be of more help.”

The front door opens and their footsteps disappear, Bellatrix’s voice fades as they move away from the house. Lucius and Draco’s voices are faintly drifting from upstairs.

Thomus sighs heavily and turns toward me. “Let’s go home,” he mutters.

We escape back to the cottage the way we came. I turn to him with a gentle smile and spell awkward.

He grunts in acknowledgement, but I want more answers than that. I take his arm and pull him down onto the couch with me.

Switzerland? I ask.

"Insurgents attacked the Swiss Ministry offices yesterday," he explains blandly, like his mind is elsewhere.

I sign what and spell Narcissa mean.

"About what?" 

parenting.

He sighs again and leans back heavily against the couch cushions. I stay perched near the edge, but turn towards him. I'm pretty sure I know what Narcissa was implying, but I want to hear it from him. 

Bella no kids I prompt.

"She was talking about me," he admits, albeit sounding reluctant. "I'm well aware our relationship isn't - wasn't exactly normal."

I put my hand on his knee, rubbing my thumb back and forth over his pants. I wait a few moments before asking wasn’t?

Despite how calm and understanding I seem on the outside, my heart's beating so hard I feel it shaking my chest. I feel like the "other woman", and I suppose I have been from the moment Thomus bought me. It has to be why she hates me so much - despite the obvious reasons. 

"Yes," he agrees. "Things... haven't been the same for quite some time."

His words process and I dismay at the multiple meanings behind them. My nosiness and need for answers makes me press on.

since, I pause, when?

He makes me wait so long that I almost begin to accept that's going to be my answer when he says, "A long time."

Granted, it's not a specific enough answer, but I relent. There's gotta be layers to his real one. 

Draco be okay? I spell.

That he answers. "I'm sure Lucius will orchestrate himself there to be able to navigate things as best he can. I'm sure he'll be fine."

I press my lips together and frown, not entirely believing anyone around Bellatrix would be completely fine, no matter who they are.

If you say so I spell.

"You know what else I say?" he says as he sits forward. One hand covers mine on his knee and the other grabs at a fleshy roll around my hip. He brings his face close to mine and kisses my cheek. "I say it's still early enough to go back to bed."

I can't help but crack a smile as our lips meet.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

hello-ellow!

due to your interest in alchemy, do you have theory why Peter used what he used to resurrect Voldemort? ok with Harry blood, but other, what it have to mean? what substance was in cauldron before Peter pull Voldemort in?

Hello!

Okay, so I actually have, like, a bit of a headcanon about the potion and why Voldy is snake-faced post-resurrection since I don't believe the Horcruxes caused his body to look like that, but that it was because Peter messed up the potion.

As I mentioned in the past, in Alchemy, everything is alive and comprised of 3 parts:

Salt - Body

Mercury - Spirit

Sulfur - Soul

So, the soul already exists — we have a wraith Voldy who is already a complete soul.

And we have a rudimentary body that holds this soul, which is also an ingredient of this potion. I believe it gives, like, the basic instructions of how the body should be made ie two arms, two legs, and a head. It's a body component that is the template the potion builds upon.

Then we have "bone of the father". This is another salt component. I think this is there for the genetics portion. It's the closest body part to a blood relative of Voldemort, so it's there to represent what his body was before his death. An image of the past.

"Flesh of the servant" is an odd one because Wormtail just drops his entire hand in, which, really, he shouldn't have to, because the ritual stipulates "flesh", and I think that's purposeful. Bones are templates, building blocks, flesh is what covers it. It symbolizes life in a way, which is why I think it's both a salt component and a mercury component. Again, the entire hand is dropped in, blood, bones, and flesh, all different ingredients that Wormtail chucked into the potion together but that should symbolize life and devotion in general. (It's Likley a finger might've been enough but Voldemort told Wormtail to chuck his whole hand in to mess with him. I think Voldy would do something like that)

Harry's blood is a spirit component as blood represents life and it's also imbued with Lily's sacrifice magic which Voldemort wants to circumvent (which is life-related magic). But Harry's blood is a soul component as well because of the Horcrux, Voldy doesn't know that though. This might affect the potion negatively as it might set it out of balance.

We also know the potion included Nagini's venum and I think this is where Wormtail messed up.

Medieval alchemists believed the mindset you have while making a potion, or doing any alchemical process affects the results. This is why it was of utmost importance to keep anyone other than yourself out of the lab so they don't mess it up by just thinking the wrong things. Especially if the procedure is a more complex one. This is that intent aspect I always mention magic having. How your thoughts and feelings affect the magic you produce.

So, the reason I headcanon for why Voldy is snake-faced post-resurrection is because Wormtail added Nagini's venom as a body component when he should've added it as a soul component due to her being a Horcrux. Her venom was supposed to strengthen the bond between the new body and Voldemort's soul, and I believe it still did that. I just also think Wormtail thought her venom was there to help create the body, and he mixed it into the potion under this wrong impression and it butched how the body looks as a result.

At least, that's my headcanon on why he looks like a snake and not like a creepy DILF.

As for other ingredients that were in the potion, I think it shares some of its ingredients with the Phlagaton Potion I theorize is part of the Horcrux-making process.

There would probably be healing ingredients such as Dittany, dragon liver, valerian root, and mint.

And there would be ingredients corresponding to resurrection and rebirth. If you can get Pheonix ashes, all the better, but if not ingredients such as Saffron spice, Hyacinth flowers, or Golden crocus flowers could also work assuming you burn them into a fine dry powder that is almost white in color.

As the ritual we witness in the graveyard covers the components needed for the actual body creation, there probably aren't many ingredients already in the potion related to that.

[shostakobitchh]

Chapter 49: breakaway

Ariel’s heart continued to plummet as Professor Lupin began to give Neville instructions. She knew it wasn’t coming from a place of malice — that Neville needed this, especially after how horrible Snape had been to him yesterday — but Ariel couldn’t shake the nausea beginning to pool in the pit of her stomach. She felt so — so — 

Mortified — embarrassed — angry. That was it. They weren’t necessarily in that order, but Ariel could feel them swirling around inside her, creating a whirlpool that made her palms begin to sweat as Professor Lupin began to prepare Neville to cast the Charm. 

“When the Boggart bursts out of this wardrobe and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape.” Professor Lupin said, his voice low and soothing. “However, when you raise your wand and shout Riddikulus while concentrating on your grandmother’s clothes, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat, and that green dress, with that big red handbag.”

There was a great shout of laughter. The wardrobe wobbled more violently. Ariel could feel her fingers doing the same. 

“If Neville is successful, the Boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn,” said Professor Lupin. “I would like all of us to think about what frightens you most of all, and how you would make it look comical.” 

Ariel swallowed and tried to think, tried to think of something else other than Snape coming out of that wardrobe. She could’ve given Professor Lupin a list with bullet points of things that frightened her if he’d asked for it. There was Voldemort in the various forms he’d taken — 

Tell me tell me what it said 

Darkness seeping into the Great Hall, into her bones — 

Seize her seize her until I am done with her — Master please Master — 

Please die please just give up and die — 

It’s just you and me girl 

The floor shaking as the Basilisk moved, Tom’s crazed laugh as he threw her into the Chamber — 

A full Voldemort returned to power. That Voldemort had made her mum scream — 

Ariel thought of the vault inside her that had cracked open, the endless cold that had pulled her under, like she’d been drowning —

Let it out, my girl — 

“Everyone ready?” Professor Lupin called. 

No —

How the hell was Ariel supposed to make that less frightening? She couldn’t — there was nothing — nothing left in the vault of her heart — 

Someone was beside Ariel, trying to pull her back, but her eyes were glued to the wardrobe as it rattled violently. Hermione gave her arm a shake. “Ariel, come on, let’s use the loo, we’ll come back —” 

[mrmxlemons]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @cindle-writes & @racfoam <3 here is my harrymort offering. These are back to back moments in the story.

It would’ve appeared a romance to anyone who saw.

Voldemort feeds Harry lovingly from his fingertips, cherries and the seeds of pomegranate til they flow down his face. Sticky and sweet. Voldemort licks them from his chin, pushes his fingers into Harry’s mouth so he can suck the juice from them, tongue curling around bone and blade.

“I love you,” Harry professes, palm flat upon Voldemort’s cheek. Caressing scales, soft and sharp.

Voldemort knows. He can feel it. He drinks the word from Harry, drinks the adoration from his soul.

“I love you,” Harry says, because he knows it's what Voldemort wants to hear as he pushes apart Harry’s thighs and slides between them. It’s what Harry wants to give, even when it hurts.

It always does.

—

Voldemort decides it is time to balance the scales between them.

“I’ve a gift for you, Harry.” He kneels behind Harry, holding him across his lap with a steady arm. Harry squirms. Voldemort hushes him and pulls the sash from emerald eyes.

Voldemort can feel the breaths against his arm, heaving then stuttering to a stop.

“Is that–”

“Your gift,” Voldemort says, and slides a blade into Harry’s palm.

A sacrifice is bound before them with white haloing hair and whiter robes. A lamb for his lamb. Voldemort’s eagerness wars with an echoing flash of fear. Quick and loud as lightning, but dry. Without a strike.

His mouth is a knife against the shell of Harry’s ear, smiling. “Don’t you want to open it?”

[racfoam]

I ran into this gif and it made me think of Harry and Tom in ltlb and how it's gonna straight up be like a whole ass inferno

Oh my God, yes. Great find!

Definitely, last thought last breath will be a whole forest fire. I’ll try to do my best writing the mature scenes and have Voldemort lose his self-control by ch7, maybe even faster because I want to finally write some explicit scenes starring Fem!Harry with Voldemort. I decided there will be no plot whatsoever, only their relationship and Voldemort’s obsession. Not having a plot will help me deliver the best writing I can. I wonder if it should be rated E instead of M just to be safe. I’m very excited about that fic because I can finally go crazy with the dark themes.

Here is a tiny snippet when Voldemort takes his 'birthday gift' because Harry won’t give it to him. Nothing too detailed, only how it starts.

Voldemort trapped Harry against the study table. The edge of the surface dug into her lower side. Restraining a wince, Harry inched her chin up, meeting the simmering, burning reds of the cat-like eyes. There was nowhere to go but right or left, with his body banning the path forward. There was no way Harry would make it; Voldemort, despite his skeletal appearance, still held a physical advantage over her, and was taller than her, towering over her, his looming shadow encompassing hers on the surface of the table lit by moonlight.

The breath fanning from the slitted nostrils caressed like a quick wind over Harry’s forehead, over the scar through which his soul entered. It left pleasant tingles in its wake.

Voldemort bent down, pressing his skull against Harry’s. The red eyes were intimately close now, so close Harry could make out the crimson irises in the pool of red scleras. The usually slitted pupils were now almonds, and Harry saw herself in the center of their vast mass of darkness.

Long, skeletal fingers settled under her knees — it felt like acromantulas crawling over her skin — depositing them on forearms, lifting her toes off the floor, the fabric of the dress trailing after the movement like vibrant blood. The arms deposited Harry on the top of the table, sitting her down.

Harry trembled at the touch.

Voldemort didn’t stop gazing at Harry, didn't part his skull where it remained pasted to hers, glued tight like an invisible cord wrapped around them. Then, Voldemort pressed closer, the anatomy beneath his cloak pressing against Harry’s body, his solid chest against her breasts, the upper part of his legs against the lower part of hers.

“Harry,” he hissed softly, a mere whisper, warm as the flames. Every syllable was clear, the ‘r’ purred intimately, the ‘y’ prolonged. It sounded like a prayer, reverent and adoring. It rattled Harry down to the bones. Her palms and fingers turned numb.

Voldemort leaned forward. Some sort of instinct made Harry lean back, lowering her spine down, all not to let the space break.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Harry’s back landed flat on the polished surface of the mahogany table. Horror numbed her, paralyzed her.

A broad smile curled Voldemort’s mouth, shark-like and ravenous. He was atop her, on the table, his legs still standing beside the table while Harry’s dangled uselessly.

If Harry was small before, she was tiny now. It was a mistake to lean back. Now, Harry was completely trapped. Now, there was no way out.

Powerful, long fingers threaded into the depths of her hair, gathering it slowly, caressing tenderly, before pulling it back. Baring the column of Harry’s vulnerable throat to the red gaze.

“Harry,” Voldemort whispered again, the sound resounding in Harry’s ears, before he sunk down on her neck, and pressed his lips to it, nibbling with his teeth, his possessive hands settling over Harry’s wrists.

Not that Harry could move her arms, anyway. Voldemort trailed his lips down, exploring. Harry’s toes trembled at the sensation.

A serpent, latched onto Harry, his fangs in her neck, his venom paralyzing her, his body coiled around her, trapping her.

Feasting on her.