#the Weasley twins

[wolfstardaughter-jj]

Y/n: *literally just existing*

Fred from afar: *staring lovingly*

Fred: look at her...I would die for her...I would kill for her...either way, what bliss?

George:

Lee:

Everybody near him:

Fred:...I said that out loud, didn't I?

[l0standn0tf0und]

damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes

george weasley x fem!reader (hints on short!bookworm!fem!reader)

words| +- 4400

in short|  classic story. George falls in love with his best friend. nothing more and nothing less

warnings| my english, angst, fluffy ending, mention of sex and long ranting about George's feelings

author’s note| it's supposed to be a short one. About 1000 words or so, but I got excited. and well, I tried to make it George's pov. because, you know, ✨️his pov✨️. also, it's my first scribbling in two years. enjoy))

He has been with other girls. He'd even said he has been with a lot of other girls.

There were a couple of girls he dated for a while. There were those he just fucked with. A quickie after a Quidditch match won't hurt anyone. It doesn't matter whether he won this match or not. He's well aware of the fact, that girls like him. But none of these so-called relationships were serious. Perhaps this was because he didn't consider any of them as something serious.

He tried this relationship thing because he was curious, what it's like to date a girl. But during his dates, bringing a cup, all painted with tiny violets, to his lips and listening to the chatter of his now ex-girlfriend, he thought that she'd never say such a thing and she'd never order such a lusciously sweet cupcake. And she wouldn't have dragged him to Madam Puddifoot's in the first place.

After smashing Hufflepuff to smithereens on the Quidditch field, he pressed some Ravenclaw's back to one of the walls in the locker room, pounding deep into her, hearing this girl's moans become louder with each thrust. He caught himself thinking about what her moans would sound like. Would she be filthy and loud underneath him or her moans would be more shaky and soft?

He wouldn't say any of these girls were bad, unattractive, or something like that. Just the opposite, all of them were great. But they simply weren't…her. She got deep under his skin, intertwined with his veins, and blossomed in his lungs. She was his Flower. That's how he called her.

George remembers clearly well how it started. No, not his feelings, they started so naturally, that he didn't even notice how he fell for her. George remembers clearly well how he started calling her flower. This happened back in the second year, during History of Magic. He was getting more and more bored by the second in that stuffy classroom. And there was nothing unusual about it. He got bored very easily. So he quietly began scribbling in the corner of her parchment. He remembers the angry look little Y/N gave him as she carefully pushed her piece of paper away from the redhead. She was also bored but did her best to focus on Professor Binns' words. But George continued, all smiling and trying to stifle his giggles caused by her irritation. At some point, his incomprehensible doodles began to look like something that resembled Professor Binns, but his glasses and mustache were abnormally large compared to everything else. She smiled, took George's hand, and carefully drew a tiny flower on his wrist, before returning her attention to Professor. It took him a while to find out what exactly she drew with so neat lines. It looked like an iris or daffodil, he couldn't tell exactly and she didn't know either. But after that she became flower. His flower.

And now George is sitting in the library. He came here to at least start an essay on Potions. Snape become ruthless lately, so it was easier to work in a group on this 5-page assignment about Golpalott's Third Law. That's how he, Y/N, Fred, and Lee ended up in the library. George knew that this was one of her favorite places at Hogwarts. Two and a half hours earlier, when they had passed Madam Pince's stern gaze, he almost unconsciously walked to her favorite table, between the Poetry and Reference sections.

George's re-reading the same sentence in the book for the seventh time. There's something about the idea that a whole product is greater than the sum of its parts, but he can't really understand its meaning because he's thinking about her. It would be more accurate to say that he's thinking about what Lee and Fred had said about her. The evening before, his twin, the only person in this world who was closer to George than Y/N, again claimed that his love was mutual. Fred constantly tried to push him to confess his feelings. His argumentation was always the same. Fred said that he’s older, which means wiser, and he sees everything, how she steals glances at his little shy brother in classes and how she blushes just as much when George is near. But that evening, Lee has added some new information, which George still tries to process and connects with everything else these two have been telling him through the years.

George returns to yesterday in his thoughts. He was lying on his bed again, hopelessly pressing his face into the soft fabric of the pillow, while these two opened the Pandora's box again. Sometimes it seemed to George that they were enjoying this ranting about his 'unrequited' love situation over and over again.

"Ok, look, if she felt nothing but platonic stuff, she'd not be this frustrated when she found out about you and Jane" Lee spoke in a devious voice, getting more comfortable on his bed.

"Wasn't it Jade?" Fred's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Doesn't matter, I mean this Hufflepuff blondie with the ribbon"

"She's Janis" George sighed. He remembered this relationship, which lasted just over a month or so. Janis was nice, but she talked a bit too much. And this black ribbon, which she constantly wore as a headband, pissed him off. He admitted that the ribbon matched well with her uniform and emphasized the brightness of her hair. But something was wrong with it.

"I thought she was Jade"

"Anyway, why are you telling me about this now?" curiosity and a slight note of annoyance were noticeable in George's voice "It was quite a long ago."

"Look, mate. I'm your friend, right?" Lee sat down, crossed his legs, and the blanket crumpled under his weight. One more movement and the red piece of cloth would end up on the floor. "But I'm her friend as well. She knows that I know. And knows that I overheard that conversation of hers. And I promised, I won't blab it to you…But as it turns out, I'm not the best secret keeper and I'm more of a friend to you than to Y/N"

To tell the truth, Lee was a great secret keeper. Just like he was a great friend. This made George seriously wonder why Lee broke the promise. And so unceremoniously 'blabbed' everything to him. What if he's really as blind as he was told and doesn't see obvious things. He doesn't deny the possibility that she liked him too. More precisely, he doesn't want to deny it. He hopes that Y/N also feels something that crosses the boundaries of friendship. Even if her feelings aren't as strong and all-consuming as his. As if time collapses into one tiny speck and explodes at light speed every time George sees her. He hopes for at least something, for at least a tiny feeling, a tiny sparkle in her heart that flares up at the sight of the tall redhead.

Many times he imagined and replayed in his head the moment he would confess his feelings. Tell her how all the sounds around become quiet when he hears her laugh, how each and every touch imprints and burns on his skin. He dreamed, how he would tell how much he loved her, that he could finally be honest and reveal everything that was in his head and heart.

But the younger twin thinks the stakes are too high. And maybe he's right because she thinks the same thing to herself. Even though George wants more, he doesn't want to risk everything he has right now. His eyes begin to water and a lump rises in his throat every time he assumes he could lose Y/N. His flower. He knows her too well to predict what would happen next if his feelings weren't mutual. Their communication will become awkward, they both will be cautious and afraid of saying or doing something wrong. And then, after some time of this weird communication, their connection will fade away. And even if his love is mutual, what if he and Y/N don’t work out as a couple? What then?

He can't let their previous and future years of friendship go down the drain. Y/N was the first person he and Fred met on the Hogwarts Express. And from the very first year and the very first greeting, the three of them became inseparable. Always together.

She wanted to be a prefect, so she avoided detentions and tried not to get involved in their pranks directly. But Y/N was always there, helped to plan each of their mischiefs, assisted with new inventions, and saved him and his brother from professors. George can't remember how many times she rescued them from Filch while she was patrolling the corridors. He was so proud of her last year when she finally received this little silver pin that gave her extra authority and responsibilities.

George can't imagine Christmas without Y/N now. She visits the Burrow every year and his mom adores her. Perhaps because Y/N helps with cooking more than anyone else in this house. But George can imagine in detail how hard his mother would scold him if he suddenly announce that Y/N won't come for winter break this year because he's an idiot and they stopped talking to each other.

It's not Christmas without having a snowball fight with her and Fred in the backyard. At some point, she always tries to throw Fred into the snow. But due to the obvious height difference and Fred's strength privilege, she never succeeds in this. So she's becoming the one who's giggling on the ground, covered with snow. George always laughs at this little performance while his very kind twin scatters her down with even more snow.

George's envious of his brother in some way. Fred has never seen Y/N as more than a friend or a second sister. He's envious that his twin's heart doesn't ache as much as his does. And his older brother doesn't have to make such a difficult decision. No, George doesn't wish his brother pain. No way. He just doesn't want to suffer himself. George understands, that he's not just at risk of losing her, but also at risk of depriving Fred of his best friend too. If he and Y/N don't work out, what will happen to her friendship with Fred? Yes, perhaps they will be able to maintain some thread of communication. But they certainly won’t be best friends like they are now. George wouldn't handle it. He believes that it's better to be content with the small moments he has than to lose everything.

"Where are you going?" Fred's question snaps the younger twin out of his thoughts. He's still in the library and didn’t even notice how the chair next to him became empty, as Y/N headed towards one of the sections.

“I need this book, about…” her words meet Fred's raised eyebrows "I just need another book"

A quiet “uh-huh,” sounds either from Fred or Lee as her back is already hidden between the shelves full of colorful covers.

George looks for a while longer after Y/N. If someone raised their head from studies or books and glanced at the redhead, they would see the gears turning in his head.

“I…” George moves away from the table. Legs of the chair slide across the floor with a quiet rustle. He tries to come up with some kind of a reason, but Lee is faster.

“We got it, loverboy in shining armor, go already and help your princess” In response George groanes, and a quiet "fuck off" slips from his lips as he heads after his 'princess'. He doesn't know why he decided to follow Y/N. He just wants to. Perhaps he simply feels calmer when she's around, she gives him a feeling of warmth and home just by being near.

And there she is, just three bookshelves away. George can understand why she likes spending time in the library, although he doesn't share this sympathy. It's quiet and peaceful here. High ceilings, impressive columns, and alive stained glass windows are throughout Hogwarts, but they look especially charming in this place. Perhaps it's the specific lighting or the huge number of cabinets filled with old parchment and colored bindings. And, to be honest, he likes the smell of books. There is something about that scent that the redhead can't explain.

Y/N walks along the shelf at the end of the bookrack. Her gaze runs along the top row of colored spines, searching for what she needs. Her hair is up in a messy, almost domestic, bun and secured with a wand. But some strands fell down, framing her face and descending down her neck. The tie hangs loosely around her neck. She undid it after half an hour in the library.

George just stands there and admires her for a while, unable to tear his gaze away. It seems to him as if a soft golden glow surrounds each curve of her glorious body. And this light calls him to come closer. None of the other girls looked like her in his eyes. He swallows, breaks out of this perfect trance, and quietly heads to her.

The girl stands on the very tips of her black shiny shoes. Her fingers almost touch that very book on the top shelf. "Why the hell do they always shove the most useful stuff so far away?" Y/N thinks to herself before long fingers touch the cover of the "Ingredient Encyclopedia". She sees as right above her head a familiar freckled hand takes the faded green binding from its place.

"You're welcome, flower" Y/N turns around at the sound of the voice and finds herself trapped between the worn books and George.

The corners of his lips lift slightly and the younger twin can feel the warmth approaching his cheeks. He can't control it and, to be honest, he doesn't care when she's only millimeters away.

Her "Thank you" is so quiet that George isn't sure she actually said it. Their eyes meet, and it seems to redhead that everything that happened next was in slow motion.

She just wanted to take the book. Such an innocent action. She inhales sharply as her fingertips accidentally brush his hand. He feels high-voltage sparks come from this touch and spread further throughout his whole body and explode where his heart is.

They both froze, not breathing and not breaking an eye contact. George could swear he was ready to give everything he had to live in this moment forever. Just standing next to her in an empty section of the Hogwarts library. Looking into her eyes, losing himself in their depths. And feel the warmth radiating from her hand on his.

Earlier, he thought he'd be nervous at a moment like this but he isn't. He just stares at her eyes, then at her parted lips. "George, don’t do it" he repeats to himself. His fingers shudder imperceptibly with the thought of taking her wand from messy hair, so her locks would fall freely on her fragile shoulders. "Control yourself". He's trying, so damn hard trying not to bury his hands into these shiny strands and pull her into a kiss. It takes all his strength not to. And George doesn't know what happened. Was it Y/N's rosy blush and his brother's words about mutuality flashing through his head. Was it her, standing so close that he could smell his amortentia coming from the girl.

But he gives up. George bends down, without even thinking about it, and presses his lips to hers

George pulls away even faster than he has leaned toward her. There is exposed fear in his widely opened eyes. Eyebrows are raised as the realization crushes his thoughts. His mouth opens and closes without making any sound. It seems that he's more shocked by his own action than Y/N herself.

He fucked up. He knows it.

Y\N stands there still. And this is the first time in the redhead's life that he can't read the emotions of his best friend. "Ingredient Encyclopedia" is still in her palm, but George abruptly pulls his hand away, losing all the warmth she provided to him.

"I'm…I'm sorry" is the only thing he mumbles before storming away from the book section, from the library, from her.

George almost knocks down a first-year with a blue tie when he rushes out around the corner. He fucked up. Y/N didn’t respond to his kiss, she didn’t react at all. She just froze in place. George doesn't understand how he could let himself do this. He shouldn't have. He heads towards the huge wooden door with such speed that some students' parchments fly off their desks. He doesn't notice this, nor the questions from Fred and Lee, that meet his broad back, nor the comments of the furious Madam Pince.

She appears around the corner shortly after George, calling his name. She throws the book on the table and quickly walks past her friends. The faded green binding slides across the wooden surface and lands near Lee's inkpot. Another millimeter and the small glass jar would have been knocked down and poured a black liquid onto the pieces of parchment, only half written with essay.

"For Merlin's sake, what is going on?"

“I'll bet you a galleon that George confessed to her and ran away” Fred speaks with a sly grin, shifting his gaze from the hurrying Y/N to his dormmate.

"Too much drama for these two, don't you think?"

"So…?"

"You're on" Lee agrees, moving the book away from his writings. He only managed to write the introduction and the beginning of the first few theses. It was far from 5 pages but it was at least something and definitely more than George wrote.

George walks through the library entrance. He feels like everything is crumbling inside him as he walks. The sound of his heart pounding in the ears muffles the voice calling his name somewhere behind the back.

"George!…"

He is supposed to be happy. He finally did what he had dreamed of for many years. He finally kissed the girl he was so hopelessly in love with. But instead, he feels as if a dozen Dementors attacked him. All of the hope and happiness have been sucked out of the world.

"George!…"

He'd better get away from here as fast as possible. He'd explain himself later. He'd better get to his safe space. But where should he go if he felt safe only next to her?

"George!….for Merlin's sake!….. I can't keep up with you!"

He recalls everything in his head, from what happened a minute ago to the first time he saw Y\N. He understands that all those happy moments, the tenderness, the memories they both made and the plans for the future, are all gone. He's so disappointed and so angry with himself.

"George!…"

"What?!" He stops and turns around, seeing the girl almost running along the empty corridor of Hogwarts, approaching him.

George heard her calling him. But he's not ready to face the consequences. Not now. He needs time to pull himself back together and come up with something. But he gives up. Again.

"What do you wanna hear, Y|N?!" His hands shoot up in a questioning gesture. "That I'm head over heels in love with you? With your damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes! With your damn angelic laughter, which drowns out all other sounds for me! And I even with the way your brows frown when you're concentrated!"

"Georgie…" He doesn't seem to notice her soft voice but continues. She wants to say something, but his confession is unstoppable. And she understands this, so she decides to just let him rant.

"Or do you wanna hear that you became a fixed point in my mind where my thoughts always come back to? That I randomly grin to myself like an idiot when I think about anything related to you. I don't know when exactly I fell for you. But it feels like I've always loved you. You're doing something to me, no one else ever could. You make me feel special and not just another poor Weasley or the second clown of Hogwarts. Every damn time you make me feel important because of who I am and not because I'm the beater or I'm the easiest way to get to Fred." His voice became calmer with each sentence. The irritated raised tone turns into his normal deep timbre, and then it will turn into a soft mumbling. " And you make all of my anxiety and worries turn off just by your presence. I was so fucking angry with myself and you did something I dunno how to explain. So now I can't be this angry. And you are…you are just….you"

She stands next to him. Almost as close as it was back then in the library. Perhaps if George wasn't so nervous, he'd realize that he liked the scent of books because it was her scent. Every time she left the library after spending several hours there, she had this slightest scent on her. It mixed with her perfume and shampoo, so it was impossible to separate and difficult to notice it.

"Are you done?" George doesn't know what to do and just nods his ginger head. Then she rises on her tiptoes and neat fingers finds the collar of his white shirt and pulls it towards her, forcing George to lean forward. Her lips touch his. Again. Only for a few seconds but this makes him blush even more, if it's possible. His freckles aren't this noticeable anymore.

The girl pulls away, the heels of her shoes meet the cold floor and her hands slide onto George's chest. But he continues to stand slightly bent forward, batting his eyelashes. She still has to lift her head slightly to look him in the eyes. In the future, this height difference will piss her off sometimes, but he'll enjoy it endlessly, liking this even more every time.

George stares deeply into her eyes, trying to understand what just happened. But he feels that he can breathe again. And somewhere inside, where his soul is, irises and daffodils and all the other flowers start to blossom slowly. Did she really kiss him? But earlier…

"But you've…." His eyebrows furrow as the puzzles are slowly coming together in his head.

"I was taken by surprise" She explains as she watches his face soften, lips rise into a wide grin that he can't stop. And why the hell should he stop it. "And you didn't give me time to understand what's going on"

George covers her hand with his own. That hand that's laying so peacefully on his rapidly beating heart.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, millimeters from her face. She can feel his breath on her lips, like a ghost kiss, dragging the moment before he crushes his lips down on hers into another real one.

Her lips are soft, almost silken, and pillowy against his own. This kiss is not just a peck, like the previous ones. This time George can understand that her lips are not exactly what he thought. Her lips feel thousands of times better than he could ever imagine. He finally feels relieve and all the world's happiness. All the happiness he supposed to feel. Happiness, that had been accumulating for a long time and didn't leave the palace of his dreams, Finally to escape to freedom. His palms find their place around her waist as he pulls her closer, forcing their bodies to collapse into each other, holding each other as tightly as humanly possible. Her hands shoot up to his hair, slowly letting her fingers slip into ginger strands. He kisses Y/N like he has never kissed anyone else before. With all the tenderness and love he has kept locked in his heart till this moment. George doesn’t see this, but he feels how the gray world around him is filled with colors again. The warmth spreads all over his body and his brain stops working properly.

This girl, this bright and breathtaking girl, is his. Their lips moved softly, delicately, and almost innocently before. But Y/N is driving him insane and intoxicate him with the sweet smell of her body. He can feel her hand slide to his nape and she lightly runs fingers up along his neck. Tiny soft moans escape his lips in the surprise of the goosebumps this action sent down his body. As a response, George brings up his freckled hands to cup her face. His calloused fingers caress her flushed cheeks as he nibbles her lower lip, not so hard to hurt, but enough for Y/N to feel it. Now it's her turn to let out a small, barely audible moan, which makes him break out into a shit-eating grin.

The girl gently pulls away, while George still holds her face in his warm hands.

"I love you too, Georgie. And your damn perfect hair and damn marvelous eyes"

Bonus:

He lets out a giggle caused by quoting. He's unable to open his eyes for a few moments after this kiss, a huge smile on his face

"But…"

"But…?" The question sounds teasing even though his voice is hoarse.

"We have an essay to finish. It's due tomorrow, and you haven't even written a sentence yet." she wrinkles her nose in a taunting way.

"Nooooo" Redhead lets out a groan, throwing his head back. "Don't make me do this, Flower"

"I won't write it for you" She kisses his pouty lips as a response to the puppy gaze he gave her. Y/N frees herself from his cozy grip and heads towards the library. "You'd better write at least something unless you prefer scrubbing cauldron instead of…let's say…sneaking into Hogsmeade."

George catches up with her a couple of seconds later. He slightly leans down just for a moment to catch her hand in his and intertwine their fingers.

"Y/N…." he tries this 'puppy gaze trick' again.

"Fine." She sighs in defeat "I will help you with a plan and theses, but you will write it yourself."

George breaks into a smile once again and brings her hand to his lips, leaving kisses on her knuckles. Well, the thesis for Someone's Third Law is at least something. Plus, he’s sure that he’s sure Y/N will write his essay as soon as she finishes hers. And, to be honest, Fred's too.

After some time, when they are a meter from the huge wooden door, George suddenly wonders.

"Galleons or Sickles?"

"What?"

"Galleons or Sickles?" He repeats, opening the door in front of Y/N

"Wait, you're wondering how much they bet on us, aren't you?"

George overtakes the girl, ending up in front of her, and leans down so that their eyes are at the same level. He shoves his hands into pockets and wrinkles his nose therefore mocking Y/N's previous actions.

"I'll bet a Galleon that Lee owes Fred a Galleon"

masterpost

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (Epilogue) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: The new era. The end of one chapter, and the beginning of another.

Part XIX / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Thank you all so much.

You peer out of the fenestrated walls, eyes glazing over the faint swinging of wooden signs and veranda covers. The ambience around you swirls like a sheer veil as you lean back into your seat, sighing out blissfully as your cooling charm beats with fervor, shielding you from the blistering heat of the summer day. 

Dragging your eyes away from the bright view, you run your finger along the thick cardstock in front of you. The blocky letters begin to fade into the background of snowy mountain caps and faded waterfalls as you continue to trace your eyes over it. 

‘Greetings from OREGON’ 

You flip the postcard over and swipe a finger across the swirly letters. 

‘Hope you’re well, kid. - A. Fiske’ 

A sudden thudding noise echoes across from you, and you slowly shift to sit straight as your eyes drag themselves away from the letters. You tilt your head with a coy smile as your companion leans back to get comfortable, evidently miffed by the unrelenting heat waves. 

“Good to see you, B.” You smile saccharinely, fingers dancing along the chilled cup in front of you. 

Blaise rolls his eyes and places his own drink down on the table—iced americano, simple, bitter, and everything that Blaise wasn’t. You would never understand his fascination with the drink. He huffs before smiling sarcastically at you, “Yes, how long has it been? Two days?” 

“Don’t whine, it’s unbecoming.” You mutter playfully, twirling your straw around the rim of your cup. 

“Merlin, you’re even starting to sound like her. Really, no wonder mother finds you so endearing.” He tuts as he throws his elbow back to rest on the back of his chair. 

You chuckle and shake your head, “Okay, let’s digress then.” You lean forward and cross your legs, “How is Draco doing? Theo is irritatingly uninformed on the topic.” 

“He’s alright, thanks to you and Potter anyway. His father might not be facing a long sentence, but many of the elected Wizengamot heads are shifty even with your statements. Lucius Malfoy has been a slippery eel for a few years too long.” He hums, face unflinching as he sips on his potent drink, “How the mighty have fallen so.”

Nodding, your voice drops lower as you survey the rest of the cafe, “Azkaban will still do a number on him even with a lighter sentence. Narcissa is worried.” 

“As she should be,” he replies curtly, “and speaking of Azkaban, how is Lord Black nowadays? He’s become quite the hermit. Is he faring well?” 

You sigh and rub your chin, “Yeah, he’s just been busy with remodeling. He’s still quite miffed that Reggie and I decided to move out.” 

“At least he has Potter with him.” Blaise supplies, eyes darkening in rumination at the mention of Regulus. He levels you with inquisitive eyes, “Before I forget, what should I send over?”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you hum, “How do you mean?” 

“Your house warming gift, daft one.” He rolls his eyes lightly. 

“Just bring your lovely self.” You huff out. 

Blaise crosses an ankle over his knee, “A vase then.” 

“If it clashes with the aesthetic then I’m tossing it into the basement.” You warn jokingly, smiling widely at your friend. 

He shakes his head with a muffled chuckle, “No worries. Anyways, you still need to unpack, right? Need any help?” 

“Oh? Work not keeping you busy enough?” You rest back against your chair, head bleeding with thoughts about how taxing work has been in the past few months with the Ministry trying to dial the reconstruction process to an inconceivable pace. 

Blaise groans at the reminder, taking a long sip of his drink, “Merlin, they should rename the whole Department! Department of International Magical Cooperation? What a joke, all they do is sit in an oval and squabble.” 

You throw your head back to laugh, a feathery light bubble of relief expanding in your chest. It was mind-boggling to think that not even a year ago you were all fighting for your lives, and now the same backdrop of fear that followed everyone around for so many years had disintegrated. People strided through halls and streets with lifted shoulders and bright eyes, war-hardened, but jovial as their burdens gave way. 

Blaise had worked his way up the Department of International Magical Cooperation, often leaving meetings with a sharp migraine and dwindling hope in the frequency of common sense. Theodore was faring well, now a highly revered Unspeakable for the Time Branch, all made possible with his swift denouncement of his father. Draco was the more withdrawn one out of the three, but you held out hope for him, having corresponded with him over his budding fascination for Alchemy. 

You found that your new friends were on your mind often, and you were endlessly grateful to them as they took Regulus’ reintegration into society with stride, often giving you advice on how to politely tell inquisitive reporters to bugger off. Meetings with them were slowly becoming a rarity as all of you became engrossed in work, but your friendships remained resolute as you all quickly became each other’s closest confidants. 

Luna wrote to you often, and you sent her trinkets and snacks by the dozen, finding yourself constantly worried that others would mistreat the girl with the absence of your friend group. Luckily, the girl found a friend in Ginny, and you were looking forward to reuniting with her during her Summer Break. 

Harry and Ron were inducted into the Auror ranks by Shacklebolt only a few weeks after the war. You had your reservations about their decision to jump into such a high-risk job, the stench of carnage and battle throbbing like an open wound, but they insisted that they would never be able to focus enough to finish school. 

On the opposite side of that sentiment, there was Hermione. She had quickly delved back into Hogwarts’ curriculum amidst its reconstruction, and was now looking to you with hopeful words about beginning her own sabbatical. 

You had published your research under both yours and Regulus’ name, omitting information about Regulus’ discovery of sentient portraits as a precaution for the future. 

You both respected Anders’ wish to leave his name off the cover and the research, but he failed to warn you against leaving his name anywhere else, so simply on the first page of your book, you dedicated the findings to him and Asger with a simple ‘For A. & A. Fiske.’ 

The research was groundbreaking, to say the least. You wouldn’t be able to forget the swaths of letters and documents from the Ministry, and one very heated missive to you from Blaise about how he was even more swamped with work, many foreign countries reaching out to inquire about the findings. 

It all paid off though, the royalties you and Regulus got would sustain you both for the rest of your humble lives, and the boost on your portfolio made getting a job in the Department of Mysteries a cakewalk. 

Once the sun rolled across the cloudless sky, the singing blues morphing to hues of pinks and purples, you bid your friend goodbye, wishing him luck with work and promising to gather with the rest of your friends the following week. 

You were certain that apparition was the most useful skill you had in your toolbelt, and you couldn’t fathom how you managed to survive the majority of your life without such a feat. As your shoes pad against the pavement, the bristling of leaves skidding around you, you let out a content sigh as you approach your destination. 

It was the closest thing you had to home for so long, and it still felt like safety and comfort despite the sudden heaviness of your own house keys in your pocket. As you pop the door open, head peeking around the heavy wood, your face lights up as a figure comes into view. 

“You’re home!” You exclaim excitedly, stepping inside with a wide grin. 

Harry approaches you and gives you a fleeting hug, hand raising to adjust his glasses as he pulls back, “Yeah, Tonks let me off early. How was your meeting with Blaise?”

“Good,” you draw out suspiciously, eyes narrowing as you both pace through the dim walkway, “how’d you know about that?”

“Regulus.” He answers simply, eyebrows raising in tease as you huff. 

You both cross into the threshold of the kitchen, stopping in your tracks as you see countless manuals splayed across the wide berth of the table. Regulus and Sirius are both hunched over in their seats, flipping furiously through the catalogues. 

“Some light reading, Sirius?” Your voice rings out playfully, body already moving towards your squinting boyfriend. Both men shoot up from their positions and blink owlishly at you and Harry, the sea of papers long forgotten. 

“Furniture shopping, pup!” Sirius replies with a tired grin as he stretches his arms over his head. 

Regulus rises from his chair and meets you halfway, arms wrapping securely around your body as he burrows his face into the crook of your neck. A few more moments pass by before he cranes back and blinks slowly at you, “Birdie.” 

You run a hand through his curls and smile lightly, “Love.” 

Regulus keeps you secure to him as he moves to drop back down into his seat, leaning his head against your stomach as you remain standing. Your eyes drop down to look at the varying bleak images on the shining white pages. 

Raising your eyebrows, your eyes drift around an image of a steep bookshelf with two glass doors, “Is this for us or Sirius?” 

Sirius leans back in his seat and rubs the bridge of his nose, “Your place. Reggie helped me pick out a few pieces earlier.” 

Your eyes wander around the aged cabinets and drabby wallpaper, trying to envision the space in a remodeled visual, one that would be Sirius-esque rather than screaming of cobwebs and medieval torture. You smile minutely before reaching a hand out across the table, bringing your other hand to card through Regulus’ hair as you mutter quietly to the tired man across from you, “I’m happy for you, Sirius.” 

The man reciprocates your smile and clasps his hand in yours, “Thank you, pup. I’m happy for you too,” he huffs and glances at Regulus, who remained immobile against your stomach, “the both of you.” 

The tender moment continues for a few more beats before Harry slowly leans on the seat next to Sirius’, eyes scrutinizing a forgotten pile of booklets off to the older man’s left, “Sirius, where are we going to put a lion table?” 

You snort out a muffled laugh as the man swivels over to his godson with beaming eyes, knowing that Harry would be whining to you later about Sirius’ ineptitude at interior decorating. 

“You should start cleaning up, Remus will be here soon for dinner.” You murmur with a pointed look at the trio. 

As the final outlines of the sun slinks away in the horizon, you and Regulus bid farewell to the occupants of Grimmauld Place, intent on spending the rest of the night in your home. It was fortunate that Regulus had managed to set up the floo network to your home only a matter of days before, and the journey back left little room for complaints as the green flames dragged away from your vision. 

You step out into the darkness of your study room, ears perking imperceptibly when the network flares again as Regulus joins you. The twilight sky filters into your home, dimly illuminating the barren room. 

“We’re home.” You mutter with a content smile. 

Regulus slowly pads towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he sways you both. Your eyes are drawn to the French casement windows behind the desk, getting lost in the sight of the dancing flower field. 

“Shall we head to the cliff, birdie?” Regulus muses, eyes following your gaze as he drifts into rumination. 

You nod and reluctantly step forward, pivoting on your heel and dropping a hand onto Regulus’ arm, “I’ll meet you at the front? I need to drop off a few things in the bedroom.” 

“Of course, baby.” He leans over to capture your lips in a soft kiss, hands dropping to your hips as he lightly grips onto you. 

Humming against his lips, you slowly pull back and rub a thumb across his cheek, “I’ll be quick, promise.” 

He pecks your lips again and gives you one last squeeze before he slowly backs away, shooting you a warm smile as he makes his way to the entryway. You retreat from the study room soon after, making a sharp right turn as you pace towards your shared bedroom. 

Regulus had been the one to bring up the idea of getting a beach house, assuring you that he was unsettled by still water and not turbulent waves. It was a quaint building, one that sprouted into the center of a lustrous flower garden, and you both knew it was the one when you toured it. Just a short walk away from the blooming fields, a precipitous cliffside broke away and loomed over a thick landing of sand, giving a small brief from the swaying waves 

As you enter the lusterless room, you shed away your bag and walk towards your bedside table, propping the Oregon postcard against your lamp. Atop the same white bedside table sat Regulus’ old golden frame, now whole and without trace of ever having been shattered. Under the frame, the folded piece of paper that Regulus had given you the night after you bought the property peeked out. 

You grasp both items in your hands, and smile lightly as an idea formulates in your head. 

“Kreacher!” You call lightly. 

The house-elf pops into the bedroom with a curious frown, teetering towards you as you extend the items out. You fish out your wand as Kreacher grabs the frame, muttering a faint engorgio at the rectangular object. The frame wobbles in the elf’s grasp before slowly stretching to nearly thrice its original size. 

“Could you possibly frame this note for me? Maybe above the headboard?” You request with a small smile. 

“Kreacher will do that.” The house elf nods and begins to fiddle with the frame. 

Your eyes run across the note one more time before you hand the slip to the elf, making your way out to Regulus with a fleeting farewell. The boy has a jacket slung over his arm as he waits for you by the door, carding his hair back as a flicker of joy flashes through his eyes when you appear in his line of sight. 

“All ready?” He murmurs once you reach him. 

“More than ready.” You reply with a hum, leaning to peck his cheek. 

The trek towards the cliffside passes by in the blink of an eye, and you’re left with butterflies in your stomach as Regulus picks several tulips for you along the way. By the time you’re close enough to the ocean to hear the crashing of waves, you are left to huddle close to Regulus for warmth. 

The sky begins to darken above you, but you give no protest when Regulus drags you to sit down on the ground. He peers up at the sky above him, eyes tracing across the faint twinkles of the approaching stars. 

You bring a hand to trace his chest as you do the same, cradling the flowers to your side as you begin to sift through the reel of memories in your head. 

“I love you, birdie.” Regulus whispers into the air, his arm moving to rest on your waist. 

You smile widely and press your face into the crook of his neck, “I love you.” 

And as you both laid under the stitches of glowing stars, sharing tiny whispers and shielding each other from the brutal winds, back in your home, Kreacher makes the last adjustments to the new wall decor. 

Kreacher mutely assesses the space as he backs out, the elf’s head full of future possibilities.

It was peaceful. After so many years, he felt at peace.

The door closes with a faint click just as the stars peek through the bedroom window, reflecting off the glowing frame. The swirls of inks encapsulated in the shining beams dance amongst the canvas of the wall. 

‘29 October, 1979

I wonder what being in love feels like. 

26 April, 1999

Love is like flying freely from the inhibitions of your burdens, where your person is your wings, your eyes, and your heart; you soar freely with the knowledge that they will carry you above the storms of doubt. I no longer wonder because now I know.’ 

Fin.

tag list: @krazyk99 @venomsvl @valsarchives @bunny24sstuff @novella12nite @elia-the-bibliophile @txorua @xlifexdeathx @trikigirl271 @the-marauders-world @sleepydang @blueberry-thrawn @lestat-whore @chanaaaannel @clockworkherondale @peachyaeger @thegayhoenextdoor @l--absinthe @ok-boke @summer-noir @mikeikax @musically-ambiguous @dittos-blog-dylanobrien @friendly-neighborhood-boricua @randomfaeriechild @misacc08 @that-bitch-bri @littleshadow17 @chocochannie @bl4stonesc @shari-berri @mrs-billyrussooo @pandemicboredom @gojosbucket @brain-has-left @googie-jeon @lovely-maryj @lokifriggason1 @aloramalfoy @godmitski @justanotherkpopstanlol @hpboysslut2707 @coffeehurricanes

[lobey-scribbles]

Playing Dumb - Fred Weasley X F!Reader

summary: Fred Weasley has always had his eye on you and when Professor Flitwick sits you next to each other in Charms, he can hardly believe his luck. In a desperate attempt to get close to you, Fred decides to play dumb in Charms class.

word count: 1.1k

themes: just fluff

warnings: none

a/n: happy birthday to gred and feorge! might do a part 2!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Fred Weasley stumbled into Charms class, out of breath and dishevelled. It turns out that despite staying up all night with George and wandering the castle with the marauder's map being one of his favourite activities, it didn't exactly mesh well with being a punctual student. Professor Flitwick paused his lesson, and gave one of those Fred-Weasley weary sighs, “Late again, I see, Fred.” he said in his usual squeaky voice.

“Very sorry, Professor,” Fred replied, giving Professor Flitwick the most apologetic smile he could muster. Before Fred could make his way to his seat, he stopped dead in his tracks. Peering around the room, he realised that Lee Jordan was no longer sitting in his usual seat. Instead, he sat next to a Slytherin student, Miles Bletchley, and was giving no effort to hide how miserable he was about it. Had Fred not been so devastated about being moved away from Lee, he would have found his predicament rather hilarious, but now he needed to figure out where he was sitting.

“Oh, Fred, can you please go sit next to miss Y/N L/N please?” said Professor Flitwick, noting the bemusement on Fred’s face. “Maybe you'll finally get some work done,” he muttered to himself under his breath before he resumed his lesson.

Fred Weasley scanned the room for his empty seat, his stomach lurching ever so slightly when his eyes landed on you.

Fred sauntered over to the empty seat next to you, determinedly ignoring the way his heart began to race in his chest. He’d noticed you in the corridor before, but he'd never had the chance to speak to you. Now, he was sitting right next to you in class, and he was determined to make the most of it.

“Hey there,” Fred said, flashing you a grin. “I'm Fred. Nice to meet you.”

You looked up at him, gave him a small smile and introduced yourself, but you didn't seem very talkative.

He really couldn't explain it, but you being as shy and reserved as you were, only made Fred’s need to be closer to you even stronger.

Fred tried to strike up a conversation, cracking a few jokes here and there, and making light of Lee’s unfortunate new seat in class. “Well, Y/N, I hope you feel lucky to be sitting next to me now instead of poor Lee. He's stuck with Bletchley, you know.” he chuckled, desperately trying to get a laugh out of you. Instead, you just gave him a polite nod and turned your attention back to Professor Flitwick.

As the class progressed, Fred tried his best to focus on the lesson and keep his eyes firmly on the textbook in front of him, and Merlin’s beard, was it impossible! It seems like no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't help but steal a glance at you, admiring your unwavering concentration and the way your fingers twirled your hair absentmindedly.

Finally, the class came to an end, and Fred and Lee met up with George and strolled to the Great Hall together for break time, plonking themselves down at the Gryffindor table. Fred’s mind was still preoccupied with thoughts of you, barely noticing Lee’s rant about his new seat, only half-heartedly piping up to express his sympathies, agreeing that it was such a shame to be separated from his best friend. George noticed his brother’s distracted state and nudged him, “What about your seat, Fredster?”

“Don’t call me Fredster!” he snapped, kicking George underneath the table, and then continuing as though he couldn't hear his brother yelp out in pain and a howl of laughter from Lee, his violent reaction being less to do with the stupid nickname and more to do with the fact that George had interrupted his daydreaming.

“Not too bad, I suppose,” appearing as nonchalant as he could about the whole thing, acting as if his stomach didn't perform backflips at the very thought of being beside you.

As the weeks went on, Fred persisted in trying to tempt you out of your shell. Fred wasn’t bad at charms by any means. In fact, he'd probably be great at if he put in the same amount of effort as he did with wreaking havoc amongst the castle. Yet, he took every opportunity he could to ask you questions in Charm class, acting as though he were struggling to get you to help him. You'd give him a look and scold him for not listening properly, turning to help him, and as you did so, your leg would brush his and a jolt of electricity would shoot through his entire body.

In the Charms class that followed, Professor Flitwick had the whole class on their feet, practising a bubble-head charm. Fred fumbled with his wand, making a complete pig’s ear of the movement, purposefully of course, and cried out in frustration, “What the bloody hell am I even doing wrong?”, his eyes darted quickly over to you to make sure you had heard him.

You rolled your eyes at him, walking over to his side, “Let me help you, Fred” and you placed your hand on top of his. If brushing your leg against his made Fred nervous, it was seriously nothing compared to how the touch of your hand on his made him feel. You directed his hand, mimicking the correct wand movement. “See, like this.”

“O-oh yes, I get it now, thank you.” he stammered, swiftly pulling his hand away from yours as if he'd just touched something scorching. He prayed that you didn't notice how hot and bothered he was and desperately tried to regain his composure.

As you were all packing up for the end of class, Fred asked Lee to wait up for him outside. Then, he turned to you sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck and asked, “I’m sure it's no secret to you by now how hopeless I am at Charms.”

“Oh, well you're not really-”

“Don’t sugarcoat it, Y/N, I'm a mess.”

You giggled, making Fred’s heart soar, he might get addicted to hearing you laugh, especially when it's because of him.

“So, with that in mind, do you think you would mind tutoring me in Charms? I completely understand if you're busy-”

“Oh, no I'm not busy at all!” you interjected, eagerly, “Of course, I’ll tutor you, Fred!” you smiled at him kindly, “Does next week sound good?”

“Yes, that's brilliant, thank you!” unable to hide the elation in his voice, “You’re amazing, you are. I owe you my life, seriously, Professor Flitwick glares at me as if my days are numbered,” drawing out another one of your melodic laughs.

Fred bid you farewell and walked out of the classroom with an undeniable spring in his step, and a goofy smile plastered across his face.

Fred stepped out into the corridor, unable to shake the giddy feeling that lingered from his conversation with you. He spotted Lee leaning against the wall, waiting for him.

“Hey, Lee!” Fred greeted his friend enthusiastically as he walked towards him.

Lee raised an eyebrow, “Don’t know what you’re so cheery about, mate, we've got Snape next.”

[myloveharry]

Fred: What if I press the brake and gas at the same time? George: The car takes a screenshot. Ginny: For the last time, get the fuck out.

[fleursfairies]

hbo series better not do the weasleys dirty or ima fight

[nottswitch]

hey i hope i’m not disturbing you but is a wondering if you could do a fred weasley x ravenclaw!reader (fem) where it’s an already established but fred and the reader have been friends since the beginning and the reader is a prefect and helps to get fred out of trouble and after one such occasion fred is like i love you and it’s just like fluff

if not that’s ok

not disturbing at all, tysm for your request <3 as a ravenclaw, I appreciate the thought! was giggling and kicking my feet while writing this, so I hope you enjoy! I took that you meant an established relationship, if not, feel free to correct me.

warning: ravenclaw!reader, lots of fluff

wc: 700+

“I assure you, Professor, that Mr. Weasley had just overstayed his welcome in the library. Nothing more.”

You stood in front of Professor McGonagall, your composure well-kept, but your heart secretly beating at light’s speed. Your face didn’t show any emotions, but on the inside you were fuming; you could swear your current body temperature wasn’t healthy for a human. The ginger behind you let out a chuckle and you offered Merlin another prayer, begging that Fred wouldn’t blurt out something outrageous and ruin your lie, created in haste and therefore, fragile.

“I wasn’t aware you had such a zeal for knowledge, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall addressed Fred, raising her eyebrow. He shrugged with a smirk on his face.

“What can I say, Professor, I am quite unpredictable!”

You rolled your eyes. McGonagall didn’t seem to take his words at face value, but she was likely tired of his antics and, after all, he was with you, a prefect, an exemplary Ravenclaw student. She trusted you, which made you feel bad every time you openly abused that trust to get your madman of a boyfriend and his brother out of trouble.

You heard McGonagall call your last name and straightened your back.

“Your responsibility. Please, escort Mr. Weasley to the dormitories and remind him not to overwork himself.”

The professor shot Fred a warning look and strode away, her steps loudly bouncing off the walls of the empty corridor. You breathed out a sigh of relief and motioned him to follow you.

“That – that was brilliant, hun!”

Fred caught up to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, placing a kiss on your temple. You scoffed, but a smile graced your lips nonetheless.

“Mr. Weasley, you annoy me to no end,” you said, giving him a frown, which apparently appeared comical, as the boy just chuckled and continued sprinkling your face with small kisses, from your cheek to your forehead and back again. “Now stop that, we have to go!”

In a matter of seconds you were sat on the nearest windowsill, Fred’s arms locking you in place without a way to escape. He always did that, his athleticism be damned, picking you up and carrying you wherever his heart desired.

“Love, what are you doing?” you whispered as he continued to pester your flushed face with his lips. “McGonagall is right round the corner!”

“Helping my little prefect loosen up a bit.”

You sighed and cupped Fred’s face with your hands, moving it away ever so slightly, so that you could see his eyes. A usual hint of mischief glimmered in his gaze, and you were on the brink of surrendering at his mercy and giving him a proper snog. But your luck had been tested enough that evening.

“Babe, can you promise me something?” you asked, your eyes fixed on him with hope.

“What is it, hun?”

“Can you stop doing this? I mean, sneaking out at night. At least when I’m on patrol duty.” You sighed, tweaking your expression to display your best puppy eyes that Fred could never resist. “I’m surprised Georgie isn’t with you!”

“Brother mine didn’t have any fun in his bones tonight,” Fred scoffed. “Hun, you know how I am. You can ignore me, I’ll serve detention, nothing new.”

“But I can’t! I don’t want you to get in trouble,” you admitted, scanning his face for any traces of sympathy for you.

“Baby, I am trouble.”

You grinned as Fred pulled you closer to him and pecked your nose. He emitted homely warmth and you felt safe, even though it was far from the truth – any professor could sneak up on you at any point, hell, even a fellow prefect, who wouldn’t be so kind to two students virtually snogging in the corridors way past curfew.

“I love you, my little prefect,” Fred muttered against your lips, your noses so squished together that you could barely breathe.

“I love you too,” you replied, brushing his cheek with your thumb.

Your lips blended in one as you kissed under the moonlight softly enveloping your silhouettes through the colourful stained glass window. Fred wrapped his arms fully around you, one on the back of your head and the other safely belted around your waist. A sleeve of Fred’s oversized cardigan served as a cushion, keeping your nape from freezing against the chilly glass, adorned with the first November frost.

“So… you promise?”

“Give me your schedule, hun. Can’t get my prefect in more trouble, can I?”

my masterlist | how to request

[lidiasloca]

you get caught up in george's mischief

george weasley x you

fluff

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

You loved George. You really did. Truly and madly. But sometimes, it was hard to love him. Just sometimes! And that is because he would often put you in the most embarrassing moments of your life with his mischief.

You could bear jokes among his family. You even had grown accustomed to his mother scolding him and Fred, which used to be uncomfortable in the beginning. And you even laughed when the mischief involved the whole family as the target. Hell, you very much appreciated that they didn’t prank you. 

George had been very adamant on that with his brother. He drew the line on you. That didn't mean he didn‘t make any jokes on you. But all of them were soft and lovely. “Apt for my Y/N,” he’d told you once. 

However, he was not so thoughtful to warn you before one of their jokes exploded in school. Sometimes even literally exploded. And that left you in the middle of a chaos.

“Miss. Y/N. Do you know anything of this,” professor Snape asked you accusingly. The twins had just flown around the great hall, throwing candy to everyone. Creating a bit of a mess of chaotic kids trying to take candy falling from the sky. 

You could only mumble shyly, “Nothing at all.”

But George and Fred were nowhere to be seen. And you knew what that meant for you. Snape raised an eyebrow, suspicion and accusation clear in his next words. “You’ll come with me nonetheless. You’ll tell me what you know.”

And you had to spend the following 40 minutes with angry Snape trying to get something out of you. Of course, George hadn’t had the courtesy to, not only warn you, but to make you know something about where they were.

“I don’t believe a word you are saying.” Snape was both exhausted and irritated. And the funny thing was, this was far from the first time he had to integrate you because of the twins. You knew the plan by memory, and though you wanted to scold George, you were exited by what came next.

“I’m telling you the truth. I know nothing.”

Snape run a hand though his face. It was odd being the only one to see him so… like this. It was also fun. “You-”

And an explosion. Contained and light. But a damn explosion. 

“What?” the professor barked, and turn to you before running to where the sound of the explosion came. “You stay here,” he commanded. But then he was gone, and you were most definitely not staying there. 

Sneaking out of the room was easy. Snape had left the door unlocked, so you only had to quietly walk an

You screamed instantly as unknown arms grabbed you from behind, one hand muffling your noise. 

“Stay quiet,” a voice whispered in your ear. George’s voice.

“G- gor- mhh,” you tried, but his grip on your mouth was tight. So you decided it was justified to kick his leg from behind as he kept you moving. 

“Ow! What was that for, sweetheart?” he asked, but once he realized he still had his hand enabling you to talk, he let go. “Oh - right, sorry,” he laughed.

“That,” you said weekly, trying to breathe properly again. “Was for trying to kidnap me-”

“I wasn’t-”

You hushed him. “And not only that. You are also responsible for Snape kidnapping me into interrogation. So two kidnappings in a day.”

“What a great day for you,” he smiled a dazzling smile. But you were not so happy.

“Why couldn’t you warn me, you stupid stupid-”

“Don’t say stupid again, please,” he pleaded playfully.

“Stupid.” You watch his face turn into a pout. “George, we had talked about this.” And when he hears your tone is serious, he stops playing. 

“I know. I know. And I’m sorry. After we got out flying, I looked for you. That was the plan, getting you out with me. But you were nowhere to be seen. Then Fred told me Snape had taken you. And well - this was the new plan.”

“An explosion?!”

“Well,” he replies grinning, as if proud of the idea. “It worked.”

You shake your head, not helping to return his grin. 

“Eeeh, so… you are not upset?” he asked, moving his eyebrows up and down in question.

You cocked your head to the side, watching joy show in his eyes. How could you be mad at him?

“You set an explosion to come and rescue me. How could I be anything but honored?”

He let out a laugh, carefree and contagious. 

“Exactly. What a gentleman that I am, huh?”

“Don't push it,” you remarked, trying to wipe that smug smirk. “You idiot…”

He takes a step to you, trying to intimidate you. “You are so mean, sweetheart.”

You chuckled, about to express your disagreement. But Snape has other plans.

“Mr. Wesley!” You both quickly turn to the professor's voice. “Miss. Y/N! Come here. Now. Both of you.”

George and you both turned to look at each other. And the new new plan was clear.

“Run!”

-Character by J K Rowling

yess im finally writing for george weasley im so happy, hope u like it. and i will be soon posting the harry potter masterlist :))

[moonlightdancer26]

I have a headcaon that sev knows how to tell the twins apart

LMAO ME TOO. I actually headcanon that Sev was quite fond of the Weasley family.

Bill was a smart student, who, according to Ginny, didn’t like Snape. But I doubt Snape cared about what the students thought of him, I think he just cared if they did well in his class or not. Given that Bill was a prefect + Head-Boy and got 12 O.W.L.s, he definitely didn’t get in trouble that much and was a clever student, so Snape probably tolerated him.

We don’t know much about Charlie but based on Hogwarts Mystery he low-key likes Snape, so I think they were alright.

I personally headcanon that Percy L O V E S Snape and admires everything he does, he definitely criticises his siblings (*cough* Ron) whenever they say anything bad about him.

Fred and George seem to be amused by him despite thinking he’s a git (though I doubt they took anything he said seriously) and I think they had natural talent in potions. Snape definitely values experimental projects and creativity (considering his spell creations and rewriting his potions book), which the twins have, so despite their troublemaking antics I’m sure he at the very least respected their creativity (this is a headcanon I’ve had for such a long time, I’m so happy I can finally talk about it lmao).

I think Severus mostly disliked Ron because of his association with Harry, his disregard for school rules, and his laziness in class, but I think out of the trio he tolerated Ron the most (they’re also both my fave characters in the series so I just like the thought of them being cool with each other lmao).

As for Ginny, I don’t think he hated her, but he found her mildly annoying because of her obvious crush on Harry in CoS and then in the later books when she came out of her shell. She didn’t complain about him much, the closest thing we get is her saying that “Bill doesn’t like him either” as a reason for not liking him. Plus I always thought Ginny would’ve made a good Slytherin and wasn’t super annoying in class so I think he at least preferred her to Hermione lmao.

I think Snape was okay with Molly (and I think she respected him as a teacher, she liked him enough to correct Harry for calling him “Snape” instead of “Professor Snape”), but I think he probably didn’t respect Arthur’s love of Muggles and thought he was a bit silly, and I think he liked him less than Molly due to Lucius’s influence lmfao.

I know this has nothing to do with your original question, but can you tell I’ve had this headcanon for a really long time and jumped at the opportunity to rant about it? 😭

[blackbirdi]

Harry Potter Incorrect Quotes #7

Ron: *Exhausted and laying on the floor* Why is there tile on the ceiling? Is that the floor? Am I glued to the ceiling again?

Harry and Hermione: ...Again?

The Weasley Twins: *Reminiscing* Ah, good times.

[l0standn0tf0und]

can't have too many fav fics with Georgie

first part

second part

third part

fourth part

♡ = smut, 18+ only

alphabet headcanons (a: affection, d: domestic, g: gentle)

take care of each other (1st part - oh, brother)

tis the season... mistletoe season

you scared the hell out of me

parting is such sweet sorrow

christmas at the weasleys

another and another

the bookworm

orange bitters

stay the night

show and tell

days gone by

𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦

pygmy puffs

i can't do it

three years

nightmare

shampain

first date

sneak in

promise

handsy

malkin

♡against the wall

Not my stories. Just my favorites from other writers. All credits and support to the original authors: @harrysweasleys @ickle-ronniekins @thoseofgreatambition @crazyk-imagine @never--doubt @george-weasleys-girl @henqtic @cannibalizedyke @georgeweasleyslostearhq @hello-everyfandom @girl-next-door-writes @kinzis-writing @pepper-up-potion @myboipotterimagines

masterlist

[cherryslyce]

Second Son (XIV) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Y/N joins Contessa Zabini for tea. Luna and Y/N make way to Reine, Norway. Y/N remembers something important about Regulus.

Part XIII / Part XV / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: The Zabini's and Baroque architecture just makes sense to me. Also uhhh have fun <3.

The cranberry tinted cup that sat in front of you made your tea flush like diluted blood, the glass flared at the rims to resemble a blossom, imposing on the matching saucer that you couldn’t draw your eyes away from. 

Luna sat perfectly quaint to your left, eyes running across the opulent clusters of furniture that accessorized the already extravagant room. Intricate carvings lined cream pillars that pinched the rounded windows in front of you, each imposing structure veiled by heavy blush curtains. The wooden table in front of you was polished spotlessly, matching the ornate chair that sat sturdy underneath your rigid body. On the opposite wall, you’re suddenly aware of the colossal gold-trimmed mirror that was no doubt reflecting your squared shoulders. 

Blaise was living in a baroque daydream. Damn him. 

Your tongue was doing a funny thing, tipping between sensitivity and leathery roughness. That would be of your own doing, having immediately drawn your lips to the scalding tea in an effort to diffuse the tension in your shoulders. Despite the abrupt burn, you had held in the sputtering that twisted in your throat in order to maintain some semblance of decorum. 

The silence was becoming unnerving and you could tell that Blaise agreed, the usually composed slytherin was twitching to twist his rings for the nth time. Unexpectedly, when you all had arrived at the Zabini Manor, you were met with a rather unimpressed Theodore Nott. Blaise had quietly whispered that the boy was well-liked by his mother and was often a guest at their manor. 

It felt like you and Luna had become prey trapped in a den full of beguiling predators. The Contessa sat across from you with Blaise to her right, the woman not even batting an eye when Theodore chose to round the table and sit next to you instead. 

Easy access to attack you or was he also intimidated by the elegant woman?

“So you were at a wedding, dear?” The Contessa’s voice was smothered in a richness that complemented her unflinching gaze. 

Clearing your throat lightly, you lean forward to meet her keen eyes, “Yes.” Your tone was mellow–formal, and the lack of embellishing in your answer seemed to both amuse and vex her. 

Not giving up so easily, the woman stirs her tea without breaking eye contact, “I see, and you were both making a quick trip to Diagon Alley afterwards?” The question would have seemed innocent if it were coming from anybody else (perhaps with the exception of Voldemort), but you could practically see the gears in her head turning. 

“A little disruption ruined our appetite for celebration.”

The woman raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at you, “Oh? What’s a wedding without a little family drama?” 

You felt like someone had taken a bludger and scrambled your brains with it, high society was truly not for the weak to stomach. You weren’t even sure if the Contessa was teasing you or trying to prod for information. 

It was likely the latter, and the thought made your stomach twist a little. Your exchange of letters had always been polite, borderlining strained pleasantries that involved Hogwarts classes, your research, and plans to meet up (that you were hoping to never attend). 

“Family drama would have been preferable, I’m afraid,” Your tone lifted ever so slightly, but the small smile pulling at your lips hid how irritated you were becoming with the tango of words. 

You shoot Blaise a small glance and see him watching you both with an unreadable expression, though his intense eyes unnerved you a bit. Like mother, like son.

The Contessa’s lips purse thinly and you get the impression that she is also becoming increasingly irate with your resolution, but then her face settles into a sharp grin.

Humming lowly, she tilts her head to assess you before speaking, “You impress me, my dear. It would seem that Blaise is getting better at picking his companions,” You see her shoot a small approving glance at Theodore, who merely sips his tea nonchalantly, “Theodore, Y/N – I hope you both will continue to look out for Blaise. We Zabini’s pride ourselves in our unflinching loyalty and we always return what is given to us threefold.” 

Chancing a peek at the boy next to you, you see Theodore meet your eyes evenly. Your move. 

Nodding at the dignified woman, you smile genuinely for the first time that evening, “It would be my honor, Contessa Zabini. However, my devotion to Blaise would have continued without question, he is quite-” you raise your eyebrow at the boy, “-fascinating, after all.” 

By fascinating, I mean half as scary as you and ten times more approachable. His wicked sense of humor is also a plus.  

Blaise narrows his eyes goodheartedly and drops a sugar cube into his cooled tea, “Thanks.” The dry response has Theodore hiding a small smirk in his tea cup, while the Contessa merely shoots an unimpressed look at her son’s sickly concoction. 

“Indeed, you are quite personable, Y/N. I can’t help but wonder though, what is your stance on the current political climate? It would be ever so insightful for me.” The woman smoothly questions, the calculative glint in her eyes flashing under the chandelier lights. 

Translation: Are you going to induct my son into Voldemort’s goonies or Dumbledore’s sycophants?

Stirring your tea absentmindedly, you decide to answer honestly, “I have my own motivations that don’t exactly align with the polarized ideologies of our sphere. Of course, I have a preference for who I wish to see come out on top, but either way, my own interests outweigh my desire to participate in politics.” 

Your answer seems to catch everybody off guard (except for Luna who smiles like she’s known all along), and you see consideration paint the Contessa’s face, “Interesting. Blaise has indicated that you are quite close with Harry Potter, yet you declare neutrality?” 

“Neutrality for as long as my interests continue to hold my attention, but I hold no ounce of admiration for the Dark Lord or his underlings.” You hesitate to continue, feeling shifty with how easily your words were spilling out. 

Blaise seems to grasp onto your words and leans forwards to prod you, “But?” 

“But, I do not think that certain knowledge and teachings should be tabooed.” 

Theodore speaks up for the first time to confirm what you were insinuating, “The Dark Arts.” 

You nod and lift up your tea cup, sipping carefully despite how tasteless it was due to your burns. 

“And these interests of yours, do they involve the Dark Arts?” The Contessa swipes a manicured nail around the handle of her cup, eyes no longer shrewd. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you lean back before answering lightly, “They might. I cannot say for certainty that they do. However, it does involve unusual magic.” 

“I see. It makes sense now why you asked to see those Norwegian tomes.” The woman’s eyes are alight, a glow that made it seem as though an investment of hers bloomed to fruition beautifully. 

You shuddered imperceptibly. Was it an honor or an omen that she seemed so intrigued by you? 

Theodore perks up and he turns to you with wide eyes, “Norwegian tomes?” 

The boy’s eagerness for knowledge was palpable, and you couldn’t help but be amused by his antics. It was so familiar because you saw it often in Regulus. 

Regulus. You winced. You wouldn’t think about it anymore. 

“Yes,” Turning to face the Contessa, you weigh your options, “If I may, I was wondering if I could borrow an owl for a letter. I want to inform my other friends of my plans going forward.” 

Blaise raises his eyebrows and frowns, “Plans? Are you not meeting up with them soon?” 

“Actually, I-” Luna turns to you with determined eyes at your slip up, “-we are heading North.” 

“North?” Blaise looks exceedingly unimpressed and you knew you wouldn’t be going anywhere until you satiated his curiosity. 

“Yes, up North.” 

“Where up North, pray tell?” He drawls with crossed arms. 

“Norway. We’re going to Norway.” Your tone was flat, eyes conveying your exasperation. 

Blaise sputters indignantly and barely restrains himself from throwing his hands up, “Norway? We have school in two weeks! How long are you planning to be there for?” 

“Indefinitely. It’s for my personal research.” 

“Well, I’m coming with you.” Blaise’s declaration has you darting your eyes to the Contessa with bated breath, watching the woman cross her arms. 

“Absolutely not. You have school, caro.” Blaise frowns deeply at his mother’s refusal and sits back in his seat, shoulders sagging in defeat, unwilling to argue with her. Theodore looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, likely considering if he would be able to leave school early too with the excuse of sabbatical. 

The Contessa turns to you, ignoring her son’s fit, “Of course, I’ll have one of my house elfs fetch you some parchment and ink. I’m sure Blaise wouldn’t mind if you borrowed his owl,” The woman suddenly rises from her seat and shoots you all a pleasant smile before smoothing out her dress, “This evening has been quite insightful. I look forward to our next meeting, Y/N. Safe journeys, don’t be a stranger.” 

Without waiting for a response, the woman spins on her heel and struts towards the double doors, calling for an elf as she crosses the threshold, “Viren, bring some parchment and ink for my guests.” The door clicks shut behind her as her last words reach your ears, and you slump in your seat as exhaustion soars through your veins. 

Before a disgruntled Blaise or an eager Theodore – the bloody ravenclaw in snake skin, can get a word out, a light pop draws your attention towards a rather properly dressed house elf, parchment and writing supplies in tow. 

Luna is quick to gather the supplies and quietly thank the elf, smoothing out the parchment in front of you. 

“I still want to go with you.” Blaise’s voice is soft, and you’re unable to detect any irritation. 

Peering up from your writing, you smile lightly at the two boys, “Sorry. You two need to hold down the fort. I didn’t say anything earlier, but the Ministry has been infiltrated by Voldemort and his followers, that’s why we left the wedding in such a hurry. Scrimgeour is dead as well,” You heave a sigh and flick the quill casually, “I suspect Hogwarts is going to be overtaken next, and Harry and I wouldn’t be caught dead there this year, we’d be like little crup puppies in a ball pit.” 

Both slytherins look stumped by your straightforwardness, and Blaise huffs out a little ‘well shit’ that has you nodding. 

Theodore stares deeply into the translucent pool of tea in his cup, voice barely above a whisper, “The war is going to end soon.” 

“Yes, and Harry’s going to make sure Voldemort is damned all the way into the afterlife.” If either of the boys were unconvinced by your conviction, they didn’t let it show, opting to share a look of understanding with each other before turning to you and nodding lightly. 

Blaise rounds the table and drops his hands onto your shoulders, “You better not die. And I guess I can take care of our ward for the time being.” 

“Ward?” Theodore sounds (rightfully) perplexed by his best friend’s words. 

“Little Draconis,” you supply, much to Theodore’s bewilderment, “And Blaise, stop making it sound like we’ve adopted him!” 

You wave your friend off and finish up your letter, leaning back in satisfaction as you hear Blaise clamber away to fetch his owl. 

Prongslet (and co), 

Luna and I are going to redeem our meal tickets (not as bizarre of a gift as one may think). We may not be back before darkness falls. Tell the old menace I said hello, and that I will make good on my promise to him. Stay safe and stay together. 

- Someone’s beloved Birdie 

Norway was incomparably arctic to Britain, the frigid winds bit at the tips of your fingers with fervid rushes, and you were positive that your legs were now flesh icicles. Despite how ardently your body protested against the climate, you couldn’t help the serene smile that mapped the muscles of your face. The chill was not the only difference the region had over Britain, and its tranquility was almost foreign to you. 

Now more than ever, Wizarding Britain seemed to have a miasma of doom looming over the country and the change of pace was almost tangible. 

“Here we are,” Luna’s airy voice was a welcomed sound amidst your inner exultation. You couldn’t help but draw similarities between the mysticality of Luna’s magic and disposition, and the blankets of fog that permeated over the lake in the far distance. 

Both were curious in their own aspects, but you couldn’t help but want to melt deeper in the feeling they both surrounded you with. 

You pulled your overcoat tighter around your body, thanking Merlin and those above that Blaise practically tore his closet right to left to find suitable clothing for you and Luna before you both departed from Zabini Manor. 

Stepping closer to Luna, you hum as you observe the view in the distance, “It’s beautiful.” 

Reine was truly idyllic. The fishing village was cupped by snowy peaks that towered over the clots of buildings which mottled the shores of the lake – a place truly untouched by the withering fog of petulant human conflict. 

The apparition was quite tiring and you could feel fatigue coiling around your muscles, urging you to quickly seek refuge.

“Couldn’t have picked a better place really: picturesque, remote, and lauded for proficiency in multiple languages.” Your words are light and playful, spurning a grin to bloom on Luna’s face. 

Dumbledore practically handed you a bubble-wrapped opportunity served on a golden platter. 

The both of you begin to trek towards the village, not wanting to risk apparition in case you were seen by any locals. To your knowledge, this Anders Fiske was the only magical folk in Reine, holing himself away from densely populated regions for reasons only Merlin knows. 

As you approach the banks of the waters and the largest building amongst the cluster, you inhale shakily as you see a sinewy man exit the building. The man seems to pause and do a double take, fully turning when he realized that you weren’t a figment of his imagination. 

“Hello,” His voice is gruff and gratingly neutral, only weakening your resolve. 

Talking to people was hard. But you survived a – conversation? interrogation? with Contessa Zabini, this should be a piece of cake. 

“Hello, we’re looking for someone named Anders Fiske,” your tone is even and you try your best to look as friendly as possible. Luna simply stares off into a red house in the distance, seeming to look straight through the man in front of you. 

Immediately, you can see the man tense before he forcibly relaxes his stance, pinching his eyebrows together as he surveys you, “There is no one here by that name.” 

You would have believed him. If you were a dolt, of course. 

“Are you certain? It’s rather important, and he’s the only one that can help us.” The man doesn’t falter and you frown when you feel something inch towards you. 

Helga almighty. 

He had a magical signature. The man in front of you was clearly a wizard, whether he knew it or not. 

Before you can ruminate on your discovery, the man speaks up, “Yes. So you both should leave.” 

A subtle bone in his body, there was not.

Feeling your eye twitch, you decide to do some searching on your own terms. Releasing your magic, you slowly blanket the surrounding buildings in search for another magical signature. It was clear enough that the man in front of you was not who you were looking for – unless Dumbledore wanted you to have some grilled monkfish with the most conspicuous wizard ever to roam the earth since Godric Gryffindor himself. 

As you continue to scavenge the village with your magic, the man in front of you shifts from side to side, clearly becoming wary of your sudden silence and blank stare. 

Before you can continue, a thunderous slam has you flinching out of your concentration. Peering around the looming man, your eyes meet a guarded gaze. Tilting your head, you sidestep and assess the newcomer, smiling slowly as you realize that he was another wizard. 

The new man was much older and you could see the way he leaned on his right leg as if his left one was aching from the slightest pressure. He was hunched in the pathway of the red house Luna was observing, mouth set into a deep frown. 

“Bingo,” Without waiting for the younger man to say anything (or possibly toss you into the lake), you stroll over toward the older man who was slowly retreating back into his house. 

Luna follows after you and nods happily to herself, starting to skip by your side. 

Stopping a few yards away from the man, you roll your shoulders to ease your soreness before jumping into the golden question, “Are you Anders Fiske?” 

The man appears to be ready to vehemently deny your question, but Luna speaks up before he can even utter a mumble, “Dumbledore sent us!” 

“Dumbledore?” The man’s harsh wrinkles smooth over ever so slightly, and your former headmaster’s name seems to roll off his tongue instinctually. 

“Yes. In his will, he told me that I needed to seek you out for a…meal? I’m in need of your help,” The man seems nonplussed by your declaration, and you purse your lips before sweetening up your words, “Please.” 

You see the man’s eyes flicker behind you and back rapidly, seeming to mull over everything. 

Without a word, the man dips into the shadow of his house with one last glower. 

Excuse me, what?

“Come,” You’re startled out of your stupor by a familiar deep voice, and you can only trail forward, mouth hung open, as the younger man leads you and Luna inside. 

As the younger man closes the door shut behind you, an array of lamps flicker to life around the room, illuminating the perimeter much to your amazement. The room was cozy and frazzled in a similar fashion to the Weasley’s home, and your eyes couldn’t help but trail across a wall of tomes the size of your head. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” The older man – Anders, grumbles from the middle of the room, sat at the dining table with a demeanor you found synonymous with Moody during meetings at Grimmauld Place. 

Smiling coyly, you watch Luna as she wanders almost weightlessly towards the small corner kitchen, “You shouldn’t have revealed yourself, Anders.” 

The man lets out a low grunt and you almost have to physically restrain your eyebrows from floating off your face. This man was literally Moody in a different, older font. 

“You would have figured it out anyway. Could feel that magic of yours suffocating the whole place from in here.” His tone was rough, but you wanted to believe that there was an impressed shine in his eyes. 

The younger man who was (surprisingly) still behind you, decides to interrupt your conversation, “Father, who are these people?” 

Anders places his elbows on the table and gives you and Luna a once-over, “Magical folk.” 

“A threat?” Anders’ son carries an edge to his tone that has you nearly rolling your eyes. 

You were about to blast him through the window, but you couldn’t let this opportunity slip away because of unbridled temptations. 

“That remains to be seen.” 

Anders’ reply seems to placate his son for the time being, and he heads off towards Luna as the girl hunches over to study a chipped teapot on the counter. You shift and make your way to stand in across from Anders, not exactly sure what approach to take. 

The yellow lighting bounced off the man’s face and gave him a sickly complexion, emphasizing his stress lines and suspicious eyes as you drew closer. 

“So, Dumbledore is dead?” He sounded almost regretful. Either that or you knocked your head on the way in. 

“Unfortunately. War is not forgiving, especially to martyrs.” Your tone was not nearly as sad as it probably should have been, but it seemed to be of no trouble for the older wizard. 

Anders sighs and leans back in his seat, one hand coming to clutch his shoulder unconsciously, “The old fool knew what he was getting into,” He raises his eyes to look at you appraisingly, “Can’t imagine why he’d send you my way, anyway.” 

“I’m researching. Something that is unfortunately, extremely niche. Dumbledore said you might be able to enlighten me on the subject.” Your determined tone seems to draw in some interest from him, and you have to mask the victorious feeling that washes over you. 

That’s right, scholar to scholar. Hook, line, and sinker.  

The man waits for you to continue, so you slowly pull out the chair in front of you and sink down across from him, “It’s about magical essences. It seems that you are quite sensitive to magical signatures, seeing as you could sense me releasing my magic earlier,” Anders gives a brisk nod, and you clench your hands as you continue, “A few summers ago, I encountered something strange–special. I found a portrait that was imbued with magical essence, and this portrait, he was extremely sentient.” 

You feel a knot lodge in your throat at the reminder of Regulus, the wound of his destruction feeling painfully raw again. Seeing your sudden hesitance, Anders raises a scruffy white eyebrow, “And where is this portrait now?” 

Your gaze drops to the table, your eyes blazing right into the worn wood, so marred and aged, unlike the one at Zabini Manor. 

“Gone, then? I don’t know how I’m supposed to be of help in that case.” You raise your eyes and meet his cold gaze, clenching your jaw at his stoic expression, “You both can stay the night in the basement, for the sake of doing an old friend a favor. I expect you to be gone by daylight, tomorrow.” 

Without pause, Anders pushes himself off the chair and limps further into the house, leaving you to awkwardly stew in your rejection while his son and Luna linger behind you. 

Anders’ son breaks the tense silence first, “Sorry about him, he’s…” 

“Stubborn?” Luna offers. 

“Honest.” You reply at the same time. 

Whirling around in your seat, you will away the veil of exhaustion and hurt that clouded your mind and look up at Anders’ son, really seeing him for the first time. You see the resemblance between the both of them, from their narrowed eyes to their thin noses, and the unmistakable metallic chill engulfed in both of their magic. 

Slowly rising from your seat, you send a fleeting smile to the boy, “Don’t believe we know your name.” 

“Asger,” His tone is much less taut than before, from pity or understanding, you didn’t know. 

“Nice to meet you, and thanks.” 

The boy–Asger, waves off your thanks and simply juts his shoulder forward, silently telling you to follow him. Feeling all of your survival instincts switch off, you tread behind him with glassy eyes, barely aware of your surroundings even when Luna tucks her arm around your body, guiding you around the unfamiliar environment. 

It appeared that Anders utilized his magical prowess and performed a disappearing act by the time you reached the basement, the older man being nowhere in sight despite the fact that there was only one door in the back of the house–which led to the basement. 

You and Luna got settled in, not bothered by the loose threads of your blankets or the dusty boxes that rested against the walls. You were both given a (surprisingly) comfortable mattress to share, and you almost wanted to cry when Luna started to draw patterns on your palm as you both stared up at the spackled ceiling. 

“Our journey has not ended yet,” Luna’s voice is small, but still fueled with conviction. 

“Thanks, Luna. I don’t even know where I’d be without you.” 

A comfortable silence descends upon you two, and you shift to get comfortable in your spot, realizing that Blaise’s overcoat was making it difficult to turn over. Slowly sitting up, you shrug off the thick material, and fix your jacket, realizing it was slightly askew from your movements. As you smooth down the material, you freeze as your hand moves over a thick bulk in your inner pocket. 

Portrait…? 

No. Of course not.  

Ignoring the cold sinking of your stomach, you fish out the object and search blindly for your wand. 

“Lumos.” 

Your breath hitches. 

Regulus’ journal. The one you found stuffed between his mattresses. Swallowing harshly, you slowly run a hand over the wrinkled cover. 

How could you have forgotten?

As you try to maneuver your wand to allow both of your hands to be free, a gentle tug has you swiveling your head to the side. Luna merely smiles at you before looking back at the journal, nimbly holding your wand over the book so you could flip through it. 

“I can look away if you want,” Luna’s gentle voice slices through the air with a warmth that you viscerally feel in your chest, and you smile at the girl in gratitude. As she turns her gaze to the darkness, seemingly becoming entranced by nothingness, you slowly furl the first pages open. 

Property of Regulus Arcturus Black 

You turn the page, fingers twitching as you resist the temptation to trace the swirls of his name. 

3 November, 1976 

Today is Sirius’ birthday. The first year he will celebrate away from home, as a disappointment to the family name. Mother and Father were particularly cold today. I just have to try harder. Sirius has stopped replying to my letters, and he avoids me in the halls. 

I think I hate him. 

Your heart pounds furiously in your chest as you reread the entry, struck by the unfamiliar loathing coated in his tone. Sirius was sixteen when he left, so seventeen in 1976. Regulus was only fifteen when he wrote this, and already so tied down by his family and abandonment issues. 

The next few pages contain similar entries, all filled with abhorrence for Sirius and bitterness towards his parents. 

Then the year changes. 

8 September, 1978 

The Dark Lord is going to change the world, make it a better, purer place. Mother and Father were pleased when I announced that I would be taking the mark soon, already having made strides among his growing forces. 

Sirius would hate it. I know he would. But he would expect it. He should, anyway. 

He already hates me, what damage could this do to our already broken relationship? 

He should hate me. 

I hate myself. I hate him.

I hate him so much.  

17 December, 1978

Visiting my portrait was eventful. I can feel him growing stronger with every meeting. I think I’ll have to repaint it soon, looking at it and seeing a reflection of who I used to be never gets easier. 

The next repaint, I’m going to finally do it. Hopefully, all my research will have paid off. Uncle Alphard’s book on magical essences was more helpful than I could have ever imagined. 

The room is complete, and I can feel my magic all over it. If I can imbue it into my portrait as well, it will be perfect. 

Maybe then he can forgive me. If I explain. If I try. 

The Dark Lord is expecting me soon. 

3 January, 1979 

The repainting was a success. My hand will be sore for the next few days, but it was all worth it. I finally figured out how to key the room. The only person who will be able to access it now is Sirius. That is if he ever returns home. 

My portrait is so like me, it’s truly uncanny. Perhaps I can publish my findings after I graduate. 

My mark aches often. 

I miss Sirius. 

5 March, 1979

The Dark Lord tried to kill Kreacher. 

After everything I’ve done for him. After everything I’ve sacrificed. 

Sirius was right. 

Kreacher keeps talking about a potion and a locket. I need to understand. I have to. 

It is imperative that I impart everything I know to my portrait, so Sirius will know that I tried. That I finally understand. 

Is this my punishment? Must I suffer so for forgiveness? If he does not forgive me, will it all have been for nothing? 

I need to find out what the Dark Lord is hiding. It will be my repentance. 

19 May, 1979 

Horcruxes. 

Such vile creations, a defiling of one’s soul. The Dark Lord has a horcrux. I need to destroy it. 

My portrait grows restless with me. To think it was even possible. He only has the faintest ideas of my current ambitions, but I feel everyday that he is growing to be someone I never could be. Someone that Sirius would be able to forgive. 

I’ll destroy the horcrux and accept the conditions tied to it. 

There is no other way. 

8 June, 1979

Everyday I grow closer to executing my plan. 

I have given my portrait everything he needs to know. 

I wonder, is all soul magic as abominable as horcruxes? I begin to see parallels with magical essences and soul magic. Yet, they feel completely different. 

Or perhaps I have finally lost all sense. I have always been a hypocrite. 

I wait with bated breath. 

I will destroy it even if it kills me, and it will be glorious. 

28 July, 1979 

I fear that if I wait any longer I will go back on my conviction. 

Mother and Father are growing increasingly vexed with me. I think they want to marry me off by winter. 

It will be before then. 

I have stopped confiding in my portrait about my deeper feelings. I fear that my weakness will be obvious even to him. 

I have read more about magical essences to distract myself. Even the Dark Lord is not omniscient. Magical essences have ties to one’s soul, the bounds of such revelation I do not know. Yet, I have learned of something even the Dark Lord is ignorant to, and because of that, he has debased himself with horcruxes. 

A small victory, and an inkling of how it will feel when he’s gone. 

When he falls. 

14 August, 1979 

I will do it in autumn. 

I hope it will all be worth it. 

26 October, 1979 

My portrait can cast magic. 

I wonder if Sirius will be proud. 

29 October, 1979 

I wonder what being in love feels like. 

2 November, 1979 

I never really had aspirations outside of what was expected of me. 

Have I always been so pitiful? Was I the only one who couldn’t see it? 

15 November, 1979 

I hear that the Potters are expecting their first child. 

I wonder how Sirius will treat their baby. 

I think I’m going crazy. 

17 November, 1979 

Tomorrow. 

You flip through the journal hastily, and you feel your eyes sting in the darkness at the crushing realization. 

Blank pages. Empty and unfeeling, and so telling of his fate. 

You weren’t going to leave tomorrow. 

Anders would have to drag you kicking and screaming. You wouldn’t give up on Regulus, not after everything he sacrificed. 

You will do whatever it takes. 

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[wolfstardaughter-jj]

*Y/n and Lee laughing their asses off*

George: Merlin, are they drunk?

Y/n: We are not drunk! *Continues to laugh*

Lee: Yeah! We lust jack oxygen!....we juck last oxygen? We luck jast- fuck.

Y/n: *laughing to the point she falls to the floor* I can't breath *wheezes*

Fred: Yeah they're either drunk or Lee is having a stroke and Y/n might just be high.

Y/n: *gasp* I am not high!...Heh,luck jast-*starts laughing again*

[percyposting]

Now while I am of course critical of them as characters, I’m not that crazy about when people, when talking about Percy and his family, either put all the blame on one side or the other. Like, when people who don’t take the time to understand Percy’s perspective will say he was unjust and didn’t love his family and a scorn upon the Weasleys, which is obviously a very black and white and incorrect perspective on his character which literally is incorrect when you reference the canon. But on the other hand, I don’t always agree with some of the ways people defend him, either, because a lot of those statements are also black and white; for example when people say Arthur is a terrible father, or that Percy’s siblings are unwaveringly cruel, or that Percy didn’t make any mistake/he was imperiused. I especially hateeeee that last theory specifically because it really undermines everything that he was going through during the course of the story and does more damage to his character than anything. He made the choices he did not because he’s a bad person but because he was like nineteen and wasn’t being listened to and he was being manipulated by the individual Minister’s he worked under because they were targeting his biggest weakness which is that he comes from a poor family that have been labeled as ‘blood-traitors’ and because of that, he was not born with as many opportunities that others are, and this clearly effects him as he brings it up during his argument with Arthur. He blames Arthur for their struggles, while he is wrong about this it’s not like he’s given much help to see why he’s wrong. Percy is naive and believes he’s smarter than he is (not slander of course, like these are very reasonable things to be as a 18-19 year old) so it leads to him thinking he understands how the world works but really he’s stuck in this box his government/society has built around him. And I think the rest of the Weasley’s are only a tad bit more enlightened, because they don’t seem to recognize this. They just don’t realize that Percy is just as much a victim of this system as they are, and can’t help but point fingers and resent one another.

I wouldn’t say any one of the Weasley’s are really at any major fault here. Percy misunderstands that the reason he’s struggling is not because his father’s lack of effort in his work or in providing for his family, but it’s because his father is actually a decent employee but the institution he works for will never give him any benefits or a raise because they hate him and his family. This is one of the major reasons for Percy’s split between his family, and it’s not his fault, nor his family’s fault, it’s the fault of the pureblood aka oppressive and corrupt society that they live in that actively promotes their downfall. Along with any other person that doesn’t match their blood purist beliefs.

I don’t think any of the Weasleys hated each other. I believe they loved each other VERY much, and the forces actively and canonically working against them nearly succeeded in tearing their family — but in the end they ultimately failed because that the Weasley’s truly do love each other and never wanted to be split apart. That’s what I think people miss when they attempt to defend one or the other: they misunderstand that no one is the villain but corruption, manipulation, and misplaced blame. Percy was young and tricked into believing something hopeful after his entire future was almost crushed (Barty Crouch Snr’s death and the subsequent investigation). Arthur didn’t want to believe his son would actually align himself with the enemy and tried to get Percy to understand the truth, but this only causes more friction because he goes about it wrong, instead insulting Percy’s capabilities, which are his most tender subject. And Percy’s siblings grew up in a loud, chaotic house where there wasn’t enough validation to go around, so they accidentally began resenting each other as time went on, most of the time because one was getting what the other wanted or (like Percy getting constant praise and attention for his academic achievements while the twins watch, waiting to be scolded for ‘not being successful like Percy.’) These are common family difficulties! They’re very realistic. And I don’t think it points to anyone being the bad guy, just that they may have said and did some bad or hurtful things, but by the end of the book most of these things are resolved because the Weasleys find each other again and go “I’m sorry, I love you, and I forgive you.”

[myloveharry]

Fred: If George and I were drowning, who would you save? Ginny: You two can’t swim? George: It’s a hypothetical question, Ginny! who would you save? Ginny: My time and effort.

This is the kind of badassery we needed from Ginny in the movies....this is soo book Ginny.

[beans-core]

Thinking about Slytherin!Weasley Twins again. Not in the way they’d make mischief, but how it’d affect the Weasley family’s perspective on Slytherin as a whole. Because really, if any of their children got sorted into a different house, do you think Molly Weasley would put up with any prejudice against her kids? It’d be hard at first, but she’d probably admit all of her mistakes and then start knitting green sweaters and scarves for everyone like nothing was ever a concern. “What do you mean Slytherin is evil? Where did you hear that, because it certainly wasn’t in this household, dear.” Lord knows what will happen to the poor soul who talks badly about her two baby snakes for being sorted into Slytherin.

Not to mention how if the Weasley family stopped hating on Slytherins, Ron wouldn’t have talked so much trash about them to Harry. And maybe Harry would have been sorted there? Harry didn’t exactly have a lot of votes of confidence for Slytherin, with Hagrid saying his part about Harry’s parents, and Malfoy Jr being a dickhead to Harry as soon as they meet. But I feel like if Ron vouched for it, maybe Harry wouldn’t have been as adamant about getting into Gryffindor, because he wouldn’t feel like he’s losing his first friend by not being in the same house.

So now I’m thinking of a fanfic of Harry being sorted into Slytherin. Even though most people probably think he’s the worst thing to happen to Salazar’s house since the Weasley blood traitors, the twins don’t give a fuck and adopt Harry into their mischief club and keep him safe. And Harry thrives. Because Fred and George know how to not get caught, sometimes it’s just more fun when you do. (It’s mostly just their reputation for pranking that gets them in trouble anyway.) Basically, what I mean is that maybe Harry finally learns about that thing called ‘self-preservation’ and is all the better for it.

Maybe I just want Harry to be closer with the Weasley twins. Who knows.