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raven-dor · 5 months ago

Text

let me help you

In which george weasley gets the girl

PAIRING: george weasley x ravenclaw!reader, harry potter x PLATONIC!reader, hermione granger x PLATONIC!reader, ron wealey x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: GIVEN LAST NAME, established relationship, blood, angst, banter, love confessions, hero complex (it's harry potter, what did you expect), young love, Umbridge

WORD COUNT: 2,213

Y/N was not at all thrilled about this detention. After all, she had been there when Harry got back from his first detention.

His hand still had the scar.

It was horrifying. And it didn't help that Draco, who had been the one to tattle on her, was Umbridge's favorite. It's like trouble kept finding her, no matter how much she tried to be Little Miss Perfect. This year, she determined, was an exception. She didn't have to go down to the toad's office just yet, so she stopped by Gryffindor Tower.

"Hello, Frances!” She waved. “Can you please let me in?"

The Fat Lady squinted her eyes and hummed. "Fine."

The portrait opened up, and Y/N smiled, walking over the discarded red solo cups and confetti. Even though George, Fred, and Harry were banned from the team, they still had a party for their first win.

She sat on the couch, not even bothering to tell any of her friends she was there. While she loved her own common room, it was nowhere near as warm and comforting as Gryffindor’s was. Ravenclaw did have a fireplace, but it didn't have as comfortable of couches. Or the same aroma. Or the same chocolatey eyes. Or ginger hair. She curled up, leaning on the plush pillow, dozing off, hoping she'd wake up and everything was just a horrible dream, the last week becoming void.

"Hello, Y/N."

She opened her eyes, shielding them from the light. "Harry."

He smiled, sitting beside her. "You alright?"

She sat up, staring at the fire. "I'm stressed, and it's exhausting."

Harry scoffed. "Tell me about it."

"Yeah." She stared back into the fire.

"Can I ask why you’re here and not… in your own common room?"

She glared, nudging him playfully. "Just wanted to relax before I go into the belly of the beast."

He frowned. "I would go in your place. It's just-"

"It's just that Umbridge would immediately notice that you are not Y/N Monroe."

He laughed. "We look enough alike."

"Not that much, Harry." She stood up. "I'll be back. Don't wait up for me."

"No promises."

She smiled weakly.

As she walked to the Defense classroom, she made multiple escape plans. Maybe she could run away. Or hide in the passageways forever. Or she could- She looked at the door in front of her and took a deep breath. Best to get it over with and be done with it. She looked at the classroom she had once been excited to enter with complete disdain. Making her way up the stairs to Umbridge’s office, she tried to gather herself, willing herself not to cry in front of that wench. Just like Harry had told her, if she doesn't know that it hurts you, it doesn't feed her ego.

"Hello, Ms. Monroe. Please sit."

Y/N approached the extremely pink desk. She moved to pick up the pen, but Umbridge stopped her.

"I want to tell you, Ms.Monroe, that Mr.Potter is lying about everything. I'm sorry that you've been manipulated, and if you tell me what he's done, I'll make sure that you get past this all unharmed." She leaned forward and put her hand on her forearm. "I’m aware that you are close friends with Mr. Malfoy, and I'm sure he'd be more than happy to help you with any problems you are facing."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Professor, as much as I appreciate your gracious offer and reminder of my past friendships," she leaned forward, and Umbridge looked eager. "I would rather rot in hell than betray my actual friends. So I'll take your blood quill."

"Seventy-five lines. I must not retaliate."

Y/N had thought about how it would feel before, having your skin cut into, but this was much more excruciating than her imagination. Her eyes were so clouded that she couldn't see in front of her, but she kept going. She would finish all seventy-five lines, and she would walk out of that demon's office with her head held high.

She had walked out of Umbridge's office with her head held high for about a minute before she burst into tears. That was by far the worst experience of her life. Stumbling through the halls, she tried not to be obvious, but with the trickle of blood that was leaving her hand, it was hard to miss. She’d gotten past the moving staircases before anyone crossed her path. The first face she saw made her freeze, hoping that the ground would swallow her whole.

George Weasley was walking directly toward her. She knew that as soon as he saw her, he would know something was wrong. And she would break because that's just what George did to her. She tried to smile at him, but she was too busy forcing herself not to faint.

Thanks to her excruciating pain, she became delusional from the tears and minor blood loss, walking like a third-year after their first firewhiskey. His strong hands held her shoulders.

"Are you alright, love? You don't look so good."

She nodded, keeping her head down. "I'm fine, George. I just need to get back to my common room."

"Not so fast. What's-" He paled. "What the bloody hell is wrong with your hand?"

"I scratched it."

"Darling, a scratch does not produce this much blood." He held her hand gently, examining the back. "Who did this?"

"It doesn't matter Georgie. I-"

He looked rather heartbroken and angry at the same time. Her heart clenched; she knew couldn't lie to him. It was really annoying. She sighed and took a deep breath.

"Umbridge."

He was eerily quiet, still staring at her hand. "I'm going to kill that horrible wicked toad."

"No, you're not."

He scoffed, raising his voice. "Look at what she did to you!"

Y/N tore her hand away, wincing. "You don't understand, George."

"Darling! She is torturing you!"

"Just leave it alone." She shoved past him, trying to walk away.

"I'm telling McGonagall. Or Dumbledore."

She whipped around, glaring. "You're insane!"

He laughed, his whole face covered in disbelief. "I'm insane? I'm insane? This woman-"

She put her hand over her eyes, trying to stop herself from passing out from the pain. "George-"

"This woman is torturing you! And getting away with it!"

"George."

"And you won't even tell anyone. Merlin, love!"

"George. You don't get it!" They were both quiet for a moment, their chests heaving from the adrenaline of their yelling match. "I'm sorry. But I can't let her know she's getting to me. Then she wins." She took a deep breath and walked away from him. "Just drop it."

He watched her in shock before snapping out of his trance and following after her. Grabbing her bicep, he twirled her around. "George, seriously-"

He shook his head. "You don't take care of yourself enough, you know. You never have, and you probably never will."

She scoffed like what he was saying wasn't a well-known fact. "What’s your-"

"Just let me speak, Y/N." He took a deep breath. "You've been putting yourself in harm's way since your second year, and it's-” He muttered, laughing to himself. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this. It’s frankly irresponsible."

Her eyebrows scrunched, and her angry expression was replaced with one of shock. If someone had asked her to look back on what she said in response, she would probably pretend not to remember, when in reality, she was embarrassed for saying something entirely irrelevant.

"You knew who I was?"

George sighed, staring down lovingly at her. "Y/N/N-" He shook his head, trying to get back into the scolding mindset. "Stop distracting me! You're changing the point. You've been putting yourself in harm's way for three, almost four years now, and for a good cause, I can respect that..." He sighed. "But when are you going to start taking care of yourself? Thinking about if this-" He flung his arms about, gesturing to her hand, the castle, the Gryffindor Tower. "-is a good plan?"

She was still stuck in a trance, words failing to leave her. He nodded. "That's what I thought." Pulling her closer, he whispered. "So why don't you let me do the worrying here? Okay? Because I-" Her eyes were full of hope, and he tried to say it again. "You know that I-"

Time seemed to stop as Y/N held her breath. Maybe it was the fact that someone cared more for her well-being than she did, or maybe it was the fact that she had been in love with George Weasley since her third year, but something moved her, and she surged forward, grabbing his face and pulling it down to hers.

And she kissed him. His worrying over her being too reckless and underreacting to a rather severe problem made her realize she didn't want to avoid the inevitable anymore.

She let go of his face slowly and looked up, just then realizing that she wasn't one hundred percent sure he loved her- or even at the least loved her back.

George stuttered. "I- you-"

She winced, and she started to spiral into a bout of panic. "Sorry. I didn't even ask. I-"

He grinned widely, pulling her closer. "Just let me take care of you." He put his right hand on her cheek, caressing her face with his thumb. "Please."

His left hand let go of her wrist, and fell to her waist, pulling her as close as humanely possible. He smiled as he kissed her back. He was scared that this was a dream, that he would stop kissing her, and he would wake up in his bed again, without her. They parted, faces still insanely close. They slowly caught their breaths, her smile so wide her face ached.

"I-" She took her head off of his chest, and looked up at his glowing face. "I love you."

He kissed her again, this time softer and yet just as passionate. "I've been in love with you since you tripped down the stairs."

She giggled, tears still in her eyes. "I love you."

"I love you."

She kissed him again, and he fell into it. "I really love you."

"Good. Because I honestly don't think I could have gone another moment without kissing you. You-" he pecked her lips between each word. "Are most definitely the love of my life.”

The remaining tears stuck in her eyes fell, laughing in his hold. "You are a dream, Weasley."

"Don't think that I'm going to forget about Umbridge. I’m talking to McGonagall first thing tomorrow."

She smiled up at him. "Whatever you say, love."

He walked her back to Gryffindor Tower, and she snorted, stopping him in his tracks. "I have an idea."

He hummed. "What's that?"

"What if we pull a," she brought her hand up and held her fingers close together, "small prank?"

He smirked. "I knew there was a reason I loved you."

"Haha., What if we don't tell anyone about us..." George looked skeptical. "Until you walk into breakfast, and we act like a couple. To freak them out."

"So you're targeting dear old Ronniekins."

"Obviously."

He looked at her deadpan, clapping slowly. "Amazing, my love! Truly revolutionary."

She smacked him on the chest. "Oh, shut it."

"Let's do it."

She nodded. "Alright then. The prank begins... now."

Y/N walked towards the portrait but was quickly pulled back. He smirked, leaning down.

"I need one more kiss, just to hold me over until tomorrow."

"I think you'll be mhm-"

She melted into his arms, twirling the short locks by the top of his neck. They pulled apart, and she spoke breathily. "The prank starts now."

She walked into the tower, George following after her. Her face was still puffy, and her eyes were still slightly watery. Hermione gasped, rushing her over to the couch.

"Oh, Y/N."

"Nothing she hasn't already done before."

Ron grumbled. "I still don't understand why we can't tell Dumbledore."

"Tell Dumbledore what?"

She fought the urge to smile, turning towards the familiar voice.

"Oh, nothing."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It isn't nothing. Umbridge had Y/N do lines with a special quill that cuts into your skin."

George's face looked just as it had before, and Y/N realized he wasn't pretending. He was still upset. He walked up to the couch, examining her hand.

"I can't believe she’s getting away with this. I'll be back. I have loads of bandages in case a prank gone wrong.”

He ran to his dorm, and Hermione laughed, nudging her friend. "Just friends. Really?"

The Ravenclaw shrugged, pink dusting her cheeks.

George appeared back in front of them, first aid kit in hand. "This should do the trick after you use the necessary healing spells." He looked at Harry. "You should use some, too. This muggle medicine works wonders."

"Thanks, Georgie."

"No problem, love."

Ron groaned. "Just get a room, you two."

Hermione scolded him. "Ronald, stop it."

Harry smirked. "Yeah, Ronald. Stop it."

"Shut up, Harry."

Harry gestured to Y/N/s hand, smiling sympathetically. "What did she make you write?"

"I must not retaliate."

He grinned, nodding. "Fitting."

"Oh, shut it, Harry."

#george weasley x reader #george weasley #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfction #fanfiction #golden trio #literature #🪩! fics

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isaacarellanesismyhusband · 6 months ago

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★ fluff | † angst | ‡ sad | !! suggestive

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‼️THIS MASTERLIST IS NOT GONNA BE UPDATED ANYMORE, PLEASE CHECK THE MEGALIST ↓↓↓‼️

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Isaac Garcia (mlwtwb)

playing with his hair ★

unconsciously smiling whenever she smiles ★

drunk ★

y/n(she/her) finds Isaac drunk on the front porch

(i have more of Isaac on my wattpad but i won't pot them here so u can check them out on there if you want)

Lee Garcia (mlwtwb)

teacher ★

Lee teaches y/n (she/her) how to skateboard

first kiss ★

Draco Malfoy (harry potter) +check the other masterlist too

september back to Hogwarts-writing prompts

too late ‡

y/n (she/her) who is in her first year at Hogwarts (11y/o) and likes Draco Malfoy who is in his 4th year (15y/o), but Draco tells her that she's too young. this happes every year until y/n turns 15 and stops trying to be with Draco and moves on but Draco realizes that he likes her but it's too late cause she already moved on.

in the shadows †

y/n (she/her) is Professor Umbridge's niece and had transfered to Hogwarts when her aunt got a job as a teacher there but what no one knew is that Umbridge is abusive towards y/n (she uses the same method she used on Harry Potter in the movie: to write something on a piece of paper and it magically engraves on the back of your hand with cuts) for a while no one noticed and thought that she was just shy but one pearson, Draco Malfoy, a fellow Slytherin, noticed her hand one day in potions class and asked to talk to her privetly in the Slytherin common room and that's when y/n opens up about the abuse and that's when she finds out that Draco had took a notice of her ever since she arrived, but she didn't notice because of her shy and scared demeanor.

in your arms ★

y/n (she/her) is Draco Malfoy 's girlfriend and one night Draco show's up at her house and he ends up spending the night there, with him cuddled up in her arms crying after he told her that he was forced to join the death eaters.

"it was nice knowing you!" †

bully †

y/n (she/her) tries to take her life after Draco bullies her, but little does she know the reason of the bullying is for him to hide his actual feelings for her.

alphabet nsfw headcanons !!

lazy day headcanons ★

first kiss ★

y/n (she/her) having her first kiss with Draco

kisses ★

you don't have to go ★

y/n(she/her) stops Draco in the battle of Hogwarts

one day at a time †★

y/n(she/her) losses her mom in the battle of Hogwarts and Draco is there to help her get through the grief

wildflowers ★

i could stay here forever ★

you and Draco have been sneaking off to the library to study together, but it always ends up with him pulling you close between the dusty bookshelves, stealing kisses and making you giggle as he murmurs sweet nothings in your ear.

you have no idea how much you mean to me ★

Draco loves taking you on secret walks around the Hogwarts grounds after curfew. Under the soft glow of the moon, he wraps his arms around you, his cold demeanor melting away as he admits how much you mean to him.

but you had fun, didn't you ★

it’s winter at Hogwarts, and you’ve convinced Draco to join in a snowball fight.

well, that didn't go as planned ★

during potions class, Draco helps you brew a tricky potion, but it ends in a harmless explosion. Covered in glittering mist, he laughs for the first time in front of everyone, holding your hand under the table and whispering that it was worth it just to see you smile.

shall we? ★

Draco asks y/n(she/her) to the Yule Ball

dating Draco Malfoy headcanons ★

worth it ★

Draco is a prefect and finds you out at night

i can’t believe it ★

you tell Draco that your pregnant and you, bith, break the news to the Malfoys

kissing Draco Malfoy headcanons ★

happy valentine’s day ★

i’m beginning to feel like a rap god… ★

draco with a girlfriend who loves Eminem

see? i told you they’d love you ★

y/n(she/her) a holiday at malfoy manor and Draco's family loves her (especially lucius)

Harry Potter (harry potter)

september back to Hogwarts-writing prompts

bittersweet goodbye ‡

y/n (she/her) is the only friend Harry Potter had while living with the Dursleys and now they have to say goodbye because Harry is going to Hogwarts.

first snowfall ★

it's the first snow of the year at Hogwarts

Fred Weasley (harry potter) +check the other masterlist too

september back to Hogwarts-writing prompts

you promised, remember? †

y/n (she/her) finds Fred after the battle of Hogwarts

ridiculously in love ★

together at last ★‡

Yn had died years before Fred was even born, she died during her 7th year. So when Fred first sees her he fell in love.

second chances ★‡

after Fred’s near-death experience in the Battle of Hogwarts, y/n(she/her) struggles with the fear of losing him again

too far ★

Fred has always been the king of pranks, but one day he goes a bit too far, and he Fred spends the rest of the day trying to make it up to you with adorable gestures until you can’t help but forgive him.

the kissing booth ★

a bit down ★

after a tough day, Fred surprises you with your favorite sweets from Honeydukes and a cuddle session

you’re completely mad, you know that? ★

y/n(she/her) loves thunderstorms and the rain and always wants to go dance in the rain with Fred, but Fred is terrified of them

it’s okay to be happy, even after everything | p2 | p3 ★‡

i like you, and it scares the hell out of me | p2 ★

all of Fred's life he's hated Slytherins and has always said he would never befriend one much less date one, but reader appears and he starts falling for her while denying it and is maybe a bit of an a**hole to reader because he just doesn't believe he could ever like you, but realizes that reader isn't horrible and that not all Slytherins are monsters, and once they're together everyone teases him about how he would say he would never date a Slytherin but now reader is basically the love of his life

Cedric Diggory (harry potter)

september back to Hogwarts-writing prompts

first kiss ★

please wake up †‡

y/n(she/her) finds out Cedric died during the Triwizard tournament

Sirius Black (harry potter)

finding home | p2 ★‡ (platonic)

y/n(she/her) finds out that Sirius Black is her father but he didn't know that, and her mom found out after he was inprisoned, but then she was killed by Voldemort when y/n was a baby and was placed in an orphanage for wizards and witches. and he found out after the battle of Hogwarts (in which he survived) and came to find you and tell you and take you in...

Harry Potter boys headcanons (harry potter)

how the hp boys would react when they find out you have a crush on them ★

the hp boys help you calm down †

the hp boys find y/n (she/her) crying/hipper ventilating

Newt Scamander (fantastic beasts/hpu)

september back to Hogwarts-writing prompts

to me, you’re… everything ★

Newt showing his love to y/n(she/her)

good morning, love ★

waking up with Newt

Stiles Stilinski (teen wolf)

dance in the living room ★

Stiles starts dancing in the living room with y/n (she/her)

Tony Stark (mcu)

see? not so scary, right? ★

y/n(she/her) and Tony share their first kiss

too late †‡

Tony confesses his love for y/n(she/her), but it's too late

panic attack ★

Tony finds y/n(she/her) having a panic attack

if only... ★‡

y/n(she/her) gets injured and Tony helps her, and y/n confesses her feelings for him but she's too young

princess treatment ★

tom!Peter Parker (mcu)

i'll always be here for you ★

y/n(she/her) has a panic attack because she was attacked by a villan, but spider-man saved her and brought her home and after spider man left, peter arrived like 2 minutes later and comforted her

cute ★

Peter tries to ask y/n(she/her) out but he gets all flustered and shy and stumbles in words a lot but she thinks it's cute

i’ve never... kissed anyone before ★

both y/n(she/her) and Peter are really shy and awkward and they have their first kiss

Percy Jackson (percy jackson and the olympians) +check the other masterlist too

mornin ★

waking up in the morning, Percy is still half-asleep, his arm draped lazily over your waist

forehead kisses ★

Percy has a habit of giving you quick, gentle forehead kisses whenever he passes by you

i’m always going to protect you, no matter what ★

during a quest, Percy instinctively steps in front of you when danger arises, his protective nature shining through

i… i hate thunderstorms ★

y/n(she/her) is afraid of thunderstorms. Percy holds her close, whispering that he’ll keep her safe no matter what

even heroes need someone to stand up for them ★

y/n(she/her) gets protective when another camper tries to pick a fight with Percy, stepping in to defend him, much to his amusement

Timotheé Chalamet +check the other masterlist too

cut ★

y/n(she/her) and Timothée work on a movie together and they have to film a kiss scene

let them know ★

y/n(she/her) and Timothée's seceret relationship is outed by a paparazzo

under the weather ★

Timmy takes care of y/n(she/her) on her period

sleep well ★

y/n(she/her) takes care of Timmy after a long day

book nook ★

Timothée created a cozy reading nook just for you. Filled with fairy lights, plush cushions, and your favorite books, he surprised you with it one evening, encouraging you to pick a book while he read aloud, making the evening warm and intimate

please… don’t give up on us †‡

Timothée watched as everything he once cherished slowly crumbled around him. He saw the hurt in your eyes and knew he was the cause, but the more he tried to mend the pieces, the more it felt like everything was slipping through his fingers

Finn Wolfhard

i’m lucky to have you ★

y/n(she/her) is on the chubby side and Finn loves that about her and he wants to touch her and hold her and if at any point she is embarrassed or feels insecure about what she looks like he always reassures her and shows her how much he loves her

Tom Holland

just… a habit †★

Tom finds out that y/n(she/her) s.h. during a interview

you’re my favorite person, after all ★

you’re sitting in your favorite coffee shop, absorbed in a book, when Tom sneaks up behind you and places a cup of your favorite coffee on the table

lights, camera, love ★

y/n(she/her) and Tom go to a red carpet event together for the first time

i’ve got you ★

Tom taking care of y/n(she/her) whilst she's sick

why so shy? ★

y/n(she/her) gets shy and flustered around Tom, and he absolutely loves it

Walker Scobell +check the other masterlist too

you’re such a goof ★

y/n(she/her) and Walker share a cute momet in the park

pet names ★

Walker can't stop giving y/n(she/her) different pet names

breathe ★

Walker helps y/n(she/her) through an anxiety/panic attack

oblivious ★

y/n(she/her) has a huge crush on Walker and gives his very obvious hints but he is very oblivious

off-camera ★

y/n(she/her) and Walker have their first kiss (off camera)

i just… i like it ★

y/n(she/her) can't help but play with Walker's hair

i love you, you know that? ★

Walker loves kissing you in between takes

i’m fine ★†‡

y/n(she/her) is crying on the beach at night and Walker, Aryan, Leah, Dior and Charlie find and comfort her

you’re the best hugger i’ve ever met ★

y/n(she/her) finally meets Walker and he is, in fact, the best hugger ever

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wifelivvyx · 21 days ago

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can you write George Weasley scenario where george x y/n (rich pireblood slytherin) are in relationship, they are kissing in corridor and umbridge break them apart with a spell then she gives y/n that she deserves much better than George. Thank you 🩷

The dimly lit corridor of Hogwarts was quiet, save for the faint rustle of robes and the soft echoes of footsteps far in the distance. George Weasley leaned casually against the cool stone wall, his fiery red hair tousled as always, his mischievous grin firmly in place. He reached out, pulling Y/N closer, their fingers brushing before she relented and stepped into his arms.

“You know,” Y/N said, tilting her head slightly, her emerald eyes glinting with amusement, “if we get caught, it’s your fault.”

George smirked, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Worth it.”

He leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that made her momentarily forget where they were. In that moment, house rivalries, the chaos of Hogwarts, and everything else faded away.

Until—

“Depulso!”

A bright light shot between them, forcing them apart as a magical force yanked them away from each other. George stumbled slightly, catching himself against the wall, while Y/N gasped, her heart racing as her wand slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor.

Standing a few feet away, wand raised and an expression of smug triumph on her toad-like face, was Dolores Umbridge. Her pink cardigan and prim bow seemed even more grotesque under the flickering torchlight.

“Well, well, well,” she said, her high-pitched voice oozing with false sweetness. “What do we have here? A little… interhouse fraternization, shall we call it?”

Y/N straightened, brushing her robes as she glared at the woman. “Professor, with all due respect—”

“Oh, no need to explain, my dear,” Umbridge interrupted, cutting her off with a sickening smile. She turned her beady eyes to George, her gaze dripping with disdain. “A Weasley, of all people. How utterly… disappointing.”

George clenched his fists, but his voice was calm, though biting. “Didn’t realize my name offended you so much, Professor.”

Umbridge’s eyes narrowed as her smile widened, a dangerous combination. “Miss Y/L/N,” she said, ignoring George entirely, “you are a pureblood. A young lady of your standing should know better than to squander your time on… well…” She gave George a once-over, her nose wrinkling as though she’d caught a whiff of dungbombs. “This sort.”

Y/N’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Professor,” she said evenly, stepping forward, “I don’t believe who I spend my time with is any of your concern.”

“Oh, but it is,” Umbridge said, her tone turning syrupy with mock concern. “Someone of your breeding deserves so much better. Tradition, status, and decorum must be upheld, after all. A Weasley could never hope to understand the significance of such things.”

George stepped forward, his voice sharper now. “I think Y/N deserves someone who treats her like a person, not a prize for her bloodline.”

Umbridge’s smile finally faltered, replaced by a cold, steely glare. “Ten points from Gryffindor,” she snapped. “For your insolence, Mr. Weasley. And Miss Y/L/N…” Her voice dripped with condescension. “You will report to my office tomorrow for a discussion on appropriate behavior.”

With a flick of her wand, Umbridge turned on her heel and marched away, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor.

As soon as she disappeared around the corner, George turned to Y/N, his jaw still tight. “Are you okay?”

Y/N exhaled slowly, picking up her wand. “I’m fine. Just furious.”

“She’s a nightmare,” George muttered, his hands running through his hair. “And I don’t care what she says. You’re way too good for her, not me.”

Y/N smiled softly, stepping closer. “She can say what she wants. It doesn’t change anything.”

George’s grin returned, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes rekindling. “That’s my girl.”

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly before pulling him into another kiss—this time making sure they’d hear anyone coming.

#george weasley x reader #george weasley #fanfic #harry potter #harry james potter #hp fandom #hp fanfic #potter #hp #weasley twins #weasleys

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ethearecals · 5 months ago

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Okay but Fwb!Barty x reader and she's just flirting either men at aparty and he gets jelly🫶🫶

🪳

currently going feral 🫡

Play Date

synopsis: in your eyes; barty is one of your best friends, but in his eyes? you’re his, and only his.

warnings: cussing, mentions of sexual innuendo but this is a smut free oneshot (:

pairings: fem!reader x barty crouch jr

contents: barty is rlly very hot, friends with benefits,

BARTY HAD BEEN YOUR BEST FRIEND SINCE YOU FIRST stepped foot into the Slytherin house.

but tonight? Salazar was it feeling like the tension between you both was on fire.

you couldn’t explain it, maybe it was the freshly dyed green streaks in his hair. the crop top that showed off his lean abdomen and v-line. or the tight… leather pants… that did nothing for the imagination.

and maybe it was that he was totally oblivious to your presence and was very focused on some pretty young thing he had in the corner of the party.

but you really couldn’t resist the soft ache in your stomach while looking at him from across the room.

so you tried to distract yourself (and make Barty jealous) by flirting with some other guys, but it didn’t work so well.

the “make Barty jealous part did, though.”.

“you know— i’m pretty sure you’re the prettiest girl in Slytherin..” Lockhart insisted, brushing your cheek. you were sure he had said that one to a number of eager Slytherin girls (like yourself).

“Oh? and why’s that?” You smirked, glancing over to Barty to see his face nearly green with envy. to add to his jealousy— you wrapped your arms around the Ravenclaws neck.

“you’re beautiful.” you surely thought that if he was smart he would keep going, but he just stopped there.

“…What else?”

“What else…?”

“is beauty all that matters to you?” you unwrapped your arms from their resting place on his broad shoulders, giving a slight disgusted expression.

“What else is there?” he asked cluelessly.

you scoffed at his words, walking away and leaving the absolute wanker of a man behind.

just before reaching the door to the dorms— you’d been stopped.

“where you off too, babes?”

you could only recognize that voice as one Barty Crouch Jr. aka— the man who you had desperately been begging for his attention all night long.

“away from here, i can’t stand Lockhart any longer.” you rolled your eyes at the mere thought of him.

“ahh, i agree fully, babes. why were you even talking to him?” he slung a lazy (and possibly drunken) arm over your shoulder, before turning your head towards him with one nimble finger.

“i… well… you were off in the corner talking to Umbridge…”

“oh.. come on, babes. you know i’ve only got eyes for you.” he smirked devilishly.

“now— can we get out of here? i can basically smell your hornyness.”

“yes, please.”

#fem!reader #marauders era #marauders #fanfiction #slytherin #feeling slutty #barty crouch jr #barty crouch junior #barty x reader

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ashdreams2023 · 2 years ago

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Detention

Summary: So the student reader gets detention by Snape and she has to go to Umbridge for it. The next day, Snape steals a glance at her hand and takes a look at it, not knowing it was Umbridge who did that to her. He then feels guilty because he was the one to have send her to Umbridge. He does go and confronts Umbridge about it, protecting the reader. Something like that?

Requested by: @inner-sparkle-inner-writings

Severus snape x reader

Detentions weren’t something new to you, everyone got them, you’ll have to be a perfect teacher’s pet to avoid them completely, and that was the furthest thing from you.

To be fair you didn’t go looking for trouble, you just happened to find yourself in the middle of it, you tried to avoid it as best as you could but you weren’t that slick.

But this year it was different, you had to avoid them, you’ve seen how some of your friends got punished and it was starting to stress you out, you’ve tried to follow every dumb rule that pink woman threw at you but your patience could only run so far, your breaking point was when Draco pointed out that you were too close to one of your male friends and you just snapped.

After a few cuss words and multiple hexes Professor snape came to end that ruckus and gave you detention with the pink demon herself.

“Sir, can’t I have my detention scrubbing the dungeon floors?”

Professor snape raised a brow at that “as much as that sounds appealing young lady, I have more important things to deal with so off you go” you honestly wanted to cry right then and there, it was unfair, especially since Malfoy got nothing but being sent to help in the greenhouse.

You dreaded that upcoming detention like it was your execution day, your friends couldn’t even comfort you because they knew it was gonna be awful.

And it was, your hand ached for hours afterward, and writing made it even worse, you weren’t a little first year but that thing stung like hell.

By the next day, you were more than grumpy, you didn’t talk to anybody and kept scratching at your wound in frustration.

It was lunchtime when professor snape came by your table strolling, he didn’t say anything at first then his eyes fell on the engraved words on the back of your hand, he was confused, to say the least, you wouldn’t do this to yourself…

“I would like a word with you young lady if you would” he took you to one of the empty halls and demanded you tell him what that was about, and you already had enough of everybody that morning and just threw it at him.

“It’s my detention professor, the same one everyone was getting, the one every adult in this facility seems to find acceptable, even on first-year students!”

Snape paused, he felt his blood run cold, this was the lines that Umbridge claimed to be giving the students! He might be strict and unfair at times but that was straight-up abuse and you had to go through that because he didn’t want to deal with stupid detentions.

“I…I need to speak with professor umbridge and here” he handed you a small bottle “it will help not get it infected” you blinked at him then nodded while taking the bottle.

“Professor…what are you planning to do?”

Snape huffed “what I should’ve done a long time ago” that pink toad has something coming to her if she thinks she can continue doing this while he breathes.

#imagine #severus snape #severus x reader #pro severus snape #severus snape x reader #severus snape fanfiction #platonic severus snape x reader #severus snape headcanon #severus snape x you #severus snape fluff #severussnape #harry potter requests #harry potter fandom

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waywardxrhea · 3 months ago

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Tuna-Tober Day 6 - George Weasley

pairing: Geroge Weasley x fem!reader

prompt: "Shh...I've got you now. I'm here."

word count: 2,051

content: Unforgivable Curse use, blood, choking, binding to chair

tuna-tober masterlist / main masterlist

dividers by: @firefly-graphics

You were attending your now mandatory seventh year of school at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it was going about as well as you expected with everything going on with the war against You-Know-Who. Hogwarts of course wasn’t spared from the infestation of his followers, and with Dumbledore dead, the place had all gone to pot.

Snape was in charge, and as if that wasn’t bad enough by itself, there were two new professors who were known followers of You-Know-Who… The Carrows. The brother taught what was now just called Dark Arts and the sister taught the required class of Muggle Studies. Instead of the class focusing on Muggle artefacts and how they functioned though, she taught how inferior the Muggles were compared to Wizards and how You-Know-Who would restore the “proper order” of things. You thought it was all total rubbish and you had made it clear to them from day one that you weren’t falling for their propaganda.

By the end of the first month, you were getting stir crazy with not knowing how things were going outside of the castle and knowing that no one knew what was going on inside. The Profit wasn’t publishing anything useful, so you attempted to get an owl out to your long time boyfriend, George Weasley, to ask what he knew. It was a calculated risk, and the reward was not worth it. The Carrows had intercepted your letter before it even left the school grounds and you were subjected to corporal punishment at their hand.

Needless to say, it was hard getting mail in and out of the school by the usual means, so after some thinking, you had resorted to using the secret passages hidden throughout the school grounds. You knew of these only because George had shown you some of them before he and his twin brother departed the school in grand fashion when Delores Umbridge took over the school. As bad as it was nowadays, sometimes you wished that Umbridge was still in charge. At least with her, seventh year students weren’t instructed to torture first years…

Even with getting owls out through a secret passage that took you to the Hogshead Inn, there was always the potential for mail to be intercepted and read though, so when things started getting rough, you and George had come up with a code system that you would use in your letters. The cipher was sent in multiple pieces over weeks, but once it was established, communication between Hogwarts and the outside world was a go. Because of this, you were the main source of information about the happenings of the school for Potterwatch listeners and freedom fighters throughout the wizarding world. Not that they could do anything about it…

Some weeks, there was nothing but bad news at the school, and your letters simply served as proof of life, and George’s replies did the same. You usually wrote of what the new rules were for the school, how punishment had changed, and just the daily happenings around the castle. One day though, George received a very different letter and the handwriting wasn’t yours. It was asking him to come to the school immediately.

Hours before…

You were irritably bouncing your leg as you sat in your seat for Dark Arts class. Professor Carrow had once more brought a group of first years to be punished for trivial rubbish. Up until now, you had never been called upon to dole out their punishment, but still, you hated to have to watch the poor young kids suffer at the hands of other students. Some days you had worked with your fellow DA members and got word out that there was trouble in your class. They would cause a distraction outside so you could sneak the young students out to avoid punishment. This of course caused you to get in trouble instead, but you were okay with that. You were more capable of enduring the Carrows.

Things were different today. The Carrows had been particularly harsh throughout the week, and were getting people in trouble for the littlest of things. Someone’s robe was slightly wrinkled? Detention. They wore their tie slightly off centre? Detention. A student flipped the pages of their textbook too loudly? Detention. Needless to say, you were fed up. After months of enduring their terror, you felt like you were at your breaking point. And it only got worse when you were called up to the front of the room by Professor Carrow.

“It has been brought to my attention that you’ve never been called up for your practice with the Cruciatus Curse. I think it’s time we change that,” he said, a small smirk on his lips as you stood before him. You refused to look in his eye and instead glared over his shoulder. “I’ve seen your talent with it when we’ve practised on rodents. You’ve got a lot of anger inside of you, child. Now you just need to take it out on these weak children.”

You turned and looked at the tired and terrified faces in front of you. Some you knew had gotten in trouble before and were just wanting to get this over with, but some were brand new faces. Likely subject to detention because of a minor infraction. Their terrified eyes pleaded with you, begging without words for you to not hurt them. It broke your heart.

“I won’t,” you stated defiantly, still not turning to give Carrow your respect.

“You will,” he snarled as he pressed the tip of his wand into the side of your neck. His voice suddenly got closer and his breath was hot on your skin as he said, “If you don’t, I will. And I won’t relent until they’ve learned their lesson.”

This statement had you seeing red and your chest began to heave with anger. The grip you had on your wand tightened, and before he could make another move, you snapped around and pointed your wand at him, shouting, “Crucio!” when he was in your sights.

“Go, now!” shouted Sheamus before standing up with a few other DA members who began clearing the room. Before he left, Sheamus turned back and called out your name for you to follow, but was met with a horrifying sight.

Once you stopped concentrating on the curse and Carrow recovered from the pain you subjected him to, he was furious. Before you could even turn tail and run out of the classroom, Carrow had bellowed, “Diffindo!” and large gashes ripped through your robes and skin, causing blood to start seeping into your clothes. Your screams pierced the air before Carrow was grabbing you by the throat and shouting, “You think you can turn your wand on me?! You think you can get away with that unscathed?! You’re in for a world of torture, girl!”

“Sheamus, go!” you managed to choke out when you realised that he was still in the room.

“No!” Carrow shouted, flicking his wand and causing the heavy classroom door to slam shut. “You, boy, as punishment for aiding the other children, are going to help me deal with this brat! The two of you are close, so with what I have in mind, it’ll be punishment enough. If you don’t, you’ll be subject to the same.” After he finished his statement, he tightened his grip on your throat the slightest bit while waiting for an answer.

“I won’t!” Sheamus countered.

“Just…just do it!” you choked out, your voice quiet even to your own ears as you began to get dizzy.

You didn’t hear your friend say anything, but assumed that he agreed when Carrow’s hold on you released and you crumbled to the ground, gasping for air. The relief was momentary though, because within seconds you were being forced up and into a chair before being bound to it.

As you slumped forward, you heard Sheamus mumble, “Forgive me…” before your body was wracked with the most excruciating pain you had ever experienced.

What followed was more wounds being inflicted into your skin and the chair with you in it being blasted into the wall. You lost count of how many times the Cruciatus Curse was cast on you, but even through your scrambled thoughts, you could tell which ones Carrow cast - they were more painful. More evil.

By the time black was threatening to take over your vision, you finally heard, “I think she’s learned her lesson.” The chair magically sat upright as Carrow snarled, “Next time you know not to disobey me. This is going to be child’s play compared to what you’ll endure if you dare turn your wand on me again. Now get out of my classroom.”

Sheamus waved his wand and your bindings were released, causing you to collapse out of the chair and onto the floor in a heap. You were in and out of it as he practically dragged you in the direction of the Room of Requirement. When the two of you arrived, Sheamus was calling, “Neville! Hannah! I need some help!”

“What happened?” Hannah asked, her eyes wide as she took in your bloodied form.

“She refused to cast the Cruciatus Curse on the first-years. Cast it on Carrow instead,” he told her with a shake of his head. A grim look crossed his features and he scowled as he added, “He made me cast it on her too. Five times. I had half a mind to turn my wand on him too…”

“Good thing you didn’t. This is awful…” Hannah whispered as she started helping Sheamus get you to a secluded area to tend to your wounds. Before they got to the area, she turned to Neville and said, “Write to George. He needs to know what’s happened.”

“On it,” Neville agreed before rushing off to get a letter written.

“Where is she?” George asked urgently as he ducked through the portrait that hid the passage from the Hogshead Inn.

“They’re still trying to heal her, mate, just give-” Neville said as he stood up from his desk.

“I need to see her!” George snapped, the terror and fury in his eyes obvious to Neville who nodded and took George to where Hannah and Sheamus were still healing the many gashes Carrow had inflicted on you.

“We’ve gotten most of it, there shouldn’t be any visible scars,” Hannah said, giving George a small smile as she wrapped a blanket around you.

She and Sheamus stood, and the latter clasped George’s hand in his before going in for a quick hug with a pat on the back, telling him, “She’s been asking for you. Good to see you, mate.”

George simply nodded before making his way to your side. He settled down into the heap of pillows before pulling you gently into his arms. When he did, you finally let go of the tears you had been holding back since Carrow got his hands on you. “Shh…I’ve got you now. I’m here,” George whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled you closer and nuzzled into your hair, kissing your head gently as he did.

It took a while, but you finally calmed down enough to whisper, “Thank you…”

“For what?” George asked, placing a kiss on your temple.

“For coming. You…you didn’t have to. It’s dangerous,” you replied, shifting so you could wrap your arms around him and snuggle into his chest.

“For you I’d risk anything,” he told you. Soon enough, your exhaustion took over and you fell asleep in George’s arms. The sleep itself was heavy, but your mind was filled with nightmares that you were sure you wouldn’t escape for years to come.

From then on, George would make trips to the school to check in on you as well as deliver things the DA and rebelling students needed. The first trip back was to bring a surplus of supplies to make potion for dreamless sleep. After that was prank supplies to boost morale. Then it was defensive products to protect yourselves. Some days it was simply him, and those days you were especially grateful for. George was your safe place and you were his. And in these times of war, that was something you both needed.

I always think it's interesting to see stories written from the year that the Trio wasn't there, so that's what inspired this lil story for the prompt. I once again am showing off how much I love writing George Weasley's protective side!

likes and comments are always appreciated! xo, brooke <3

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley angst #harry potter fanfiction #tuna tober 2024 #tuna tober prompt challenge 2024

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jmwdoesthings · 6 months ago

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Hogwarts Professors Shenanigans: Severus and Minerva.

So I got this idea after seeing a headcannon: McGonagall and Snape being sort-of friends in Hogwarts and getting up to all sorts (laughing at student assignments, house rivalry, severely judging Umbridge together, etc) (A.k.a: Minerva having enough of Severus' everybody's drama) and dabbled a bit in my spare time.

In this one, Severus is having a bad day (definitely not Harry's fault) and Minerva finding out why.

Disclaimer: this is not a pairing and there is no romance. It's just the Slytherin and Gryffindor Heads being chaos.

Enjoy!

***

It was evening, and the staff room was empty. Or, at least, of all visible feelings, for Minerva and Severus were sitting on opposite sides of the room, pretending that nothing was amiss as they sat almost buried in piles of scrolls, marking homework. It was dark; candles were lit on the chandeliers and were hovering over the two microclimates that the Gryffindor and Slytherin head of houses had unwittingly created with their silence and expressions.

Severus was epically stone-faced and his mouth was pressed into a thin line. The movements of his quill were quite irregular. The quill hovered in mid-air, then swooped down like a carrion bird and slashed viciously at the parchment, then went back to hovering, scratched slightly upon expressing something with more words than one, then hovered again.

Minerva’s quill was similar, though it was poised rather like an owl, and was similar in movement. It glided over parchment and never slashed, barely audible in the silence of the room, rounded in both experience and patience that the dark-haired and young were yet to learn.

Nobody would have thought any conversation would have sparked between them, for speech was never thought necessary to fill silence between this particular pair. They both possessed a tolerance of it, which stemmed rather from the long friendship between their own selves and absence of a counterpart to embark themselves on, than giving others a cold shoulder. Though perhaps it was a more familiar aspect for the younger of the two; Severus Snape.

But conversation did spark.

Minerva shot out a traceable sigh through her nose.

“Eighty-five.”

Severus placed three rather vicious dots on the essay without raising his head. They didn’t need to maintain eye-contact, for their minds were very specifically wired to detect through other senses first, rather than with vision, from situations both ordinary and perilous.

“Eighty-seven,” Severus murmured, bestowing an update on his older colleague.

Minerva’s brows crept together a few millimetres, but other than that, both their eyes remained on the tasks they were both immersed in. Silence sank between them for another few moments, broken only by the faint rustle of parchment and scratching of nib against paper, before Minerva spoke again.

“Ninety-two.”

The faintest smile crept over the Slytherin Head’s thin lips.

“Ninety-three.”

Minerva’s eyes left her parchment this time, and flicked over to her reserved colleague.

“Ninety-three,” she repeated, incredulity only-just detectable around its rims. “You’re bluffing.”

Severus picked up a scroll and embellished the action of dropping it onto his ‘completed’ pile without as much as raising his eyes, then pulled another from a much smaller pile and resumed the vehement task of taloning essays with red ink. Minerva sucked her teeth and turned her sharpened eyes back onto her own pile, skillfully hiding the mild interest and scrutiny behind the steely glint of her spectacles, as her quill began to glide up and down and her eyes stumbled over, currently, Seamus Finnegan’s Transfiguration essay.

Quite a few flickers of the candle flames later, the head of the Gryffindor house potted her quill and shifted, directing her eyes at her younger counterpart. She observed him, taking note out of habit of all the miniscule details which had not changed for the past ten years: Severus Snape still sat as though his spine was a brittle, iron rod, to which his neck was connected; his hair had not been cut since 1990 and was rather neglected; black was still the only colour he wore, as though he wished to dress himself in his silence and reservation; his thin build was skilfully hidden beneath the dark drapes he clad himself in, visible only through the small circumference of his fingers and wrists and in how sharply the bones in his face stuck out. Not much had changed, since Minerva had taught him at Hogwarts, when he was still an adolescent and capable of earnest laughter and smiles, except for the latter and that he had grown taller than her. Nowadays, Severus Snape could have been compared to a very dark, thick bog, which was very hard to navigate through without sinking into its sludge, and there was simply no use looking into the green webs of puddles for any glimmer of lingering light. She wouldn’t have put it past the Potion’s Master to have made it seem so on purpose, as a way of not being disturbed by the less observant.

Minerva didn’t react to these thoughts at this moment, for she had made this comparison many times over the course of her life, especially the last twenty years, quite a few times in different mindsets and circumstances of feeling. It wasn’t a pleasant thought to dwell on and pursue, and she had deemed her opinion on this particular man drawn up and asserted.

Yet, recently, on a day free from his vehement scowls, glares, displays of house-bias and downright snappish tones which seemed to be tailored to the Potions Master’s colour of clothing, when there had been less dark clouds and more light-hearted skies of sleet under his surface, Minerva had admitted to herself with pursed lips that she had actually grown fond of this strange, bat-like creature appointed as the guardian of the Slytherin house. They shared many qualities which prevented them from completely detesting one another or becoming intolerant to one another’s presence. For one, they were both too observant for their sanity’s own good; they were both accustomed to silence and coping alone, when need be; they both generally bestowed the crown of idiots onto more people than anybody else and for good reason, though Minerva was perhaps better with concealing her opinion; both knew very well when anything was amiss, whether that was a more complex plan of students drawn up to cause havoc or something of a greater degree, like the Ministry or any other conspiracy, and often shared silent glances upon sensing it. Also, both detested idiocy and stupidity.

Yes, Minerva thought, as she furrowed her brows and looked at Severus viciously slashing out the marks on his essays, we both detest idiocy and stupidity.

But other than these more outright comparisons which both were aware of, there was another which Minerva kept to herself: both had lost far too much to speak about and both knew very well what it was like to suffer. That their tolerance and even amiability towards silence didn’t stem completely from possessing introverted characters, but because of what life had made them endure.

Minerva sniffed those thoughts away and spoke, turning her eyes away from the dark, almost isolated figure on the opposite side of the classroom to the scrolls, which she began to organise with both hand and wand.

“One-hundred.”

Severus didn’t move, but kept scribbling on. Once he let go of the curling bottom of the parchment, he dipped his quill in his red inkpot and replied as Minerva had: without a glance from his current train of occupation.

“Ninety-three.”

Minerva paused, then directed her eyes at him, suspicious and incredulous behind her steel-rimmed spectacles. The candles seemed as surprised as she was, leaning over to look at Snape.

“Ninety-three?”

Severus didn’t pause, but neither did the small smile which flitted through his mask of stone, which Minerva, having eyes as keen as an owl’s when her glasses were on, caught, then rolled her eyes and pulled her eyebrows back down.

“Of course,” she said. “I should have known what tactics you would have resorted to. Still, perhaps next time, Severus.”

“Twenty points to Gryffindor,” he muttered dryly in reply.

“Oh, don’t be so sour,” she said, flicking the last of the scrolls into a neat stack. “Practise spurs on perfection.”

“And yet, I sensed your unrest, Minerva,” he said, looking up this time and watching her face carefully. “You thought I was going to beat you at your field of expertise, at long last.”

McGonagall sniffed. It had been eight years, and Severus was still to perfect the art of marking with both speed and accuracy.

“Perhaps I did.” She hid an eye-smile behind her spectacles. “I do hope it was worth the effort.”

“Ruffling the wise, Gryffindor matriarch’s feathers?” Severus smirked, then directed his gaze back to his marking. “It’s always worth the effort.”

“Don’t sit up too long.” Minerva bustled to the door. “We don’t wish for any proud, black feathers to be raggled in the morning. Snapping at the striplings is exhilarating.”

“You mean refreshing,” he replied, but that was mainly to himself, for Minerva had stopped at the door and after a ‘good night, Severus’ had apparated to wherever she wished to be. Severus looked at the candles still shivering over where she had sat, felt the cold of the room and the darkness lingering in the corners, then sighed without quite knowing he did so and returned to his marking.

“... by implementing these new tactics, retention of information will be increased and they will excel in their exams. We hope to bring up the scores in OWLs and NEWTs by at least ten percent next year.”

McGonagall was sitting with her eyes fixed on the board which Mr Piccadilly, the wizard responsible for informing teachers of programme changes and expectations, stood, retaining everything with ease and out of habit. She didn’t need to look at the speaker, but she did, for it was polite, though sometimes her eyes traversed around her colleague’s faces out of a curiosity that even her old age hadn’t managed to vanquish within her. Curiosity. What had Albus Dumbledore once told her?

‘My dear Minerva, if you were any less of a lioness, you would have been undoubtedly placed in the house of Ravenclaw.’

Perhaps the Headmaster was right, but McGonagall held a deep regard for her own house, even so. A feeling so deep and long-lasting that it was like it grew a vein within her, connected to her heart, and so anything which tried to shame or disregard what had grown this vein was firmly shunned and put into place, for it twanged it most aggravatingly.

Her eyes flicked around the room briefly. Filius Flitwick was reading the information leaflet Mr Piccadily had provided. Sybill didn’t quite look as though she was paying attention, her expression dreamy and her magnified eyes half-closed as they stopped being of use for the moment she was in her mind’s eye. Albus was present for this meeting, and was nodding at what Piccadily had said as though he really was taking his words into consideration, running his knobbly fingers over his long, white beard.

Minerva glanced at Severus Snape and repressed the urge to snap at him to pay attention in class and sit up straight. Some habits really do never go away, she thought as she studied him, regardless of whether they had been out of use for more than twenty years. Then, her eyes narrowed and her own attention was most disrespectfully averted away from the speaker and towards the dark smudges beneath Severus’ eyes and the way he looked most strangely pitiable this morning. At least from her perspective.

“Thank you, Mr Piccadily,” Dumbledore spoke, after the speaker had wrapped up the meeting. “We will be sure to adjust to this practical advice; it is good one. Though, I regret to say, the stubbornness of some students to avoid the chances of retaining information is, whilst even impressive, an obstacle that even these refined methods will have trouble overleaping.”

There were a few mutters of agreement, most were fond. Minerva gathered up the leaflets as the rest of her colleagues did, aligned them with a few taps upon the desk, then swept out to match a certain person’s steps and billowing of dark cloak.

“Good morning, Severus.”

Severus spared her a glance. He even sounded relatively polite when he replied, which could have been mistaken for a bout of better mood if anybody but Minerva McGonagall had been on the receiving end of it.

“Good morning, Minerva. I trust the meeting was to your benefit.”

His tone was sardonic. For once, Minerva agreed with him, though it was with reluctance.

“It was nothing new,” she said. “Many of us have been implementing those methods since 1972, or earlier. They simply resurfaced after gathering some dust.”

“Certainly,” came the quiet, scoffing reply. “Dressed up in brighter clothes and introduced as though to idiots. I suppose Piccadily thought he had made a breakthrough in teaching techniques.”

She didn’t comment, though she pursed her lips and took this moment to run her eyes over his form. Severus must have felt them.

“Why do you scour me?’ Minerva was never one for sugarcoating, unless absolutely necessary. She was too old to spin words and Severus too sardonic to appreciate doing so.

“You look awful today.”

“Ooh,” he scoffed. “Worse than usual?”

“Indeed.”

He chuckled darkly in reply, then snapped at some Gryffindors to keep a single file on the corridors, not even bothering to send her a glance at the obvious unruliness of her house. Though he did not answer and Minerva was intrigued as to the cause of such an impressively irritated and almost black expression, as to the sudden clenching and unclenching of his white fists, she did not press him. For one, it would be useless to do so as he would snap and skulk for the rest of the day and pretend his problems didn’t exist, secondly, she wouldn’t receive an answer anyway. So Minerva merely sniffed and acknowledged him when they parted at the second staircase - she went up, he went down to the dungeons for lessons to start.

For the purpose of convenience, Minerva kept the timetables of her colleagues stuck to the wall beside her desk. It came in useful multiple times, for classrooms were often changed and it came in useful when needing to find a co-worker during the school day. She swept into her second-year class, introduced the lesson, then in the brief pause in which they all stooped to fumble in their bags for their books, she glanced at Severus’ timetable.

Gryffindor and Slytherin, year one.

Oh boy, she thought, raising her eyebrows, then made a mental note to check the house point chart in the main corridor as soon as the lessons were over and break began. She was teaching Ravenclaw - a good lot, for most were too intrigued in the lesson to talk about anything which wasn’t related to the matter at hand; in this case, turning teapots into porcupines - so the double period was over fairly quickly and without ordeal.

The ordeal arrived when she passed Hermoine Granger on her way down to the main corridor. She paused, eyes flickering up and down the small figure with bushy, brown hair, then stepped forward and apprehended her.

“Miss Granger? Is everything well?”

Hermoine looked up at her from under her smoking fringe and regarded her with wide eyes and full attention.

“Yes, Professor McGonagall,” came the reply, though its usual eagerness was staunched as the black ends of bushy brown were fingered sadly. “Simply some debacle in potions… The cauldron exploded, it burnt a few desks…”

“Humph. I thought so.”

Minerva took out her wand, then twirled it and restored the chunks of missing hair, burnt robes and the admiring smile and light in Hermoine’s eyes.

“The potions can be quite hard to comprehend, at first. Better luck next time.” She was about to step away, then regarded her favourite student once more. “Many points were taken, I suppose.”

Hermoine dropped her eyes, then looked up at her again.

She sighed quietly. “Quite a lot, I’m afraid, Professor.”

Minerva almost rolled her eyes, but restrained herself, as she restrained herself from patting the glowing student on the head.

“Move along, Miss Granger,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll restore any losses in our glory in no time.”

McGonagall’s lip twitched as Hermoine flushed pink with pleasure and all but skipped off happily with a ‘thank you, Professor McGonagall, I’ll certainly try’, then paused in front of the point board. Usually, they were either up or down five, from different contributions and losses all across the school. Now, unless Minerva was much mistaken, they were down by no less than five and thirty.

She folded her arms as she studied it, then as she debated on the fors and againsts on going down to the dungeons and trying to wrangle out whatever poison was festering in the Potion Master’s chest that morning. If it was just after the incident and the classroom was still smoking, that wouldn’t be wise and, in fact, counter-productive. He would probably be steaming in no lesser magnitude than whatever concoction had been in the unfortunate cauldron before it had exploded. Not to mention that Argus Filch would most probably be overseeing detention that night and Minerva would have been inclined to bet ten galleons that a certain duo of a Potter and a Weasley would be on the receiving end of it. It was common knowledge - at least between her and Dumbledore and a couple of others - that Potter wasn’t exactly Severus’ favourite student. Reasons for why that was aside, it was fact, and so the against weighed more and Minerva directed her steps to the staff room instead.

She didn’t see the Potions Master until it had grown dark and it was an hour until student curfew at the hour of ten. Instead of resuming her marking in her office, she took up her fifth-years’ essays and waltzed off towards the staff room, in which she sensed she would find her sought object of interest, and when she pushed open the door and found nothing but darkness, she thought she was proved wrong.

Having gotten here, she didn’t quite feel the sense to go back, so she waved her wand and made her way over to the usual table she sat at to at least get through what she intended to. But when she lit the candles and the yellow, warm glow settled on the dark furniture and surroundings, she saw she was disproved again, this time in a way that she would have never liked to be.

She stopped, too surprised to even frown down her nose or furrow her brows. If she wasn’t Minerva, her voice would have perhaps gone for a moment, but this was Minerva, so instead it was present, full force.

“Severus?”

She placed the parchment to the side and took a few firm steps towards his form; he was sitting at the table, drooped over it, an empty glass in one hand and an empty bottle of Ogden’s by his head. She shot out a hand and grasped his shoulder.

“Severus Snape!”

“I am not dead, Minerva,” came his voice. It was quiet and rather rough, though still impressively bothered, given his state. “You can sit down and mark the essays. I’ll be just over here.”

She picked up the bottle of firewhisky and placed it back down with a thunk in reply. “Did you drink all of this?”

“As you can see.”

“By yourself?”

His voice had only one tone and it was drawling one. “Who in my right mind would I share it with? Filius?”

She made a sound which could have been frustration and put her hands on her hips as she stared down at him.

“Is this because of Potter?”

At this, she saw his eyes flash through the parting in his hair. He didn’t reply, but he shifted until he was almost in an upright position, and would have looked impressively in control if his hands weren’t taught and white in effort of keeping himself rigid.

“No, this is not because of Potter,” he spat, words slightly slurred. “Why are you even here? Yes, I took fifty points off your house. Fifty points. Should’ve taken more.”

Minerva looked at him, then went and removed all the glass items off his table before anything happened.

“Severus, go to your office.”

He snorted.

“There’s nothing I would love to do more. My office. My […] office.”

Minerva’s jaw tightened at the expletive. She didn’t move as he rose, watching him clutching at the table, two dark caverns in the place of his eyes.

“I hate this. I loathe it,” he breathed, swaying. “I wish I could burn it, this place, right down to the ground.”

Minerva felt her temper flare. Her voice was sharp and quite appalled as she cut him off.

“Severus, control yourself.”

He opened his mouth and forced out a laugh, his head hanging low, his hands slowly constricting with such force they almost left scratch-marks on the wood. It was an awful sound, this laugh, scraping like talons against iron. Devoid of light, hopeless; almost like sanity hanging by a thread. Minerva almost shivered.

“Control myself?” he whispered. “Yes. Control myself. That is what I have been doing for my whole life. I’ve perfected it in so many different ways. I have channelled all within me into one cold mass of iron and stone, and yet nothing I do… nothing I do will stop this hell I’ve walked right into. This hell which I have paved with my efforts and energy.”

Minerva listened, now that the initial shock had worn off. She looked at the man before her, remembering the dark, sparrow-like creature from twenty years back, looking up at her with wide eyes and a slight flush after a particular assignment had been written well and received top grades.

Good work, Snape, she had said with a nod, making herself smile at him, for she could tell from his nature, his malnourishment and the way he flinched at loud noises and skulked away from fights, from what background he had come from. Keep that work up, and you may just get to the places you want.

Yes, professor, he had said, smirking sheepishly, though he wouldn’t meet her eyes and tried to assume nonchalance. Thanks, professor.

Now, that sparrow was dead and this man stood before her, with his hands tainted black with murder, his head filled with memories which twisted his mood and his world a dark swamp which he could not navigate, his voice rough and splintered as he drowned in his faults and his silent tears.

She withheld her words and tears with effort, instead standing and listening, the best thing she could do for now.

“I teach little gargoyles the arts, like a fool,” Severus continued, unmoving though his shoulders moved as he steadied himself. “I teach them potions. People, my equals pretend in front of them that I’m one to look up to, a good representative of the Slytherin house, then frown and whisper behind my back. I hear them. Ha! Masks everywhere, and I’m sick of wearing them and drowning in their laughter and babble. I’m bloody sick.”

“You will be, if you keep this up,” she said, firmer than she ought to, but it was just a way of keeping her voice from wavering. “Sit down, Severus. Now.”

He swayed upright some more to make his point, then collapsed on his chair with a sigh heavy as a rock, burying his face in his bony hands. McGonagall drew out a chair and sat opposite him, waiting, her lips pursed.

“I always hear,” he muttered, his voice splintering. “It’s what I’ve been good at since I was a brat. I’ve been able to use information, retain it, piece it together, manipulate it…”

He took his hands away from his face and leaned heavily against the table. Minerva watched in silence as tears began leaking down his face and dripping into the collar of his robes. His face seemed indifferent, moulded into stone, yet his eyes and lips gave it away, as he sneered at himself and the world as tears stained his face thickly.

“I’ve passed it on… Oh, like a fool. And others listened to what I had to offer. They digested it, basked in it, then thanked me as I … As I passed it on.”

The last words were barely audible; his voice went. McGonagall watched as he bent his head and began to shake in silent sobs, miserable and pathetic, tears running down her own face and from underneath her glass as she watched him.

“It’s useless to move forward, Minerva,” he breathed, his head hanging limply. “It’s my fault. I should have died, instead of her... Damnation, I should have died instead of all those people. The pathetic wretch that I am.”

“Severus,” Minerva says, though where she gets this softness of voice from, she has no idea. Perhaps it's because of the idea of what could have been that they can both see, or perhaps both of them feel this sense of blame and twisted justice. Severus, after all, had served the Dark Lord freely. He had killed and tortured, and the Death Mark emblazoned on his left forearm is proof of all that. And yet, Minerva pushes it out of her mind as she looks at his crumpled form that she had only ever seen erect in its own way and storming or sweeping through the corridors like an evil force, black cape billowing and students scattering left and right. The students have no problem with choosing their antagonist, in their own little worlds where everything is still black and white. But this man wasn’t an antagonist; he was just as lost as the first-years, in a sense, that he was teaching.

She swallowed and regained herself.

“Severus. We all make wrong choices in life.”

He breathed out a strangled laugh and slapped the wet off his face, though it was everything but amused.

“Oh, yes. We certainly do. Though my existence is a torrid rift of spectacular failures, whereas what you are referring to is something as trivial as… choosing whether it is a good idea to have three coffees in a day instead of… one.”

He dropped his hands and wept on, voiceless, his torn breathing the only noise in the room. Minerva had no idea how to comfort him, this dubious character full of clashing opposites. A day ago, she would have believed that he still scorned all within his head and still pondered the acts which would have put him in Azkaban if Dumbledore hadn’t stepped up, but now, she didn’t think that was true. She did the only thing she knew: she insisted he go to bed.

“This won’t help, now, Severus,” she said, standing, and approaching him. “You cannot destroy yourself now.”

“Why not?” he whispered between silent sobs. “It won’t make a difference. It would do the world a favour. There is not a single benefit of me remaining alive.”

This, in turn, made old Minerva McGonagall very angry. She stood erect and clenched her fists, her nostrils flaring and eyes flashing in the glow of the candlelight.

“If I hear another foolish word out of your mouth, Snape, I’m going to take fifty points from Slytherin.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Minerva shook her head slowly and scowled in a way which only stern, elderly witches can.

“O, ho, ho!” she cried, planting her hands onto her hips. “I’ll take one-hundred points off Slytherin, if you say another word on that awful topic. Fear my wrath, Severus Snape! It will be a terrible one, for I simply cannot stomach such foolish nonsense.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he muttered. “You can’t take points off me, I’m the head of house.”

“You watch me, young man,” she said, then shook her head and rested a firm hand on his shoulder. “Come, now. There’s going to be enough trouble when you’re hungover in the morning and have first-year classes to teach.” Severus slumped onto the table instead, his hair splayed over the surface, his form still shaking. Minerva pursed her lips, though her heart was softened. She mildly considered having a gillywater after this, too, for this was really too much. She had done her fair share of conquering and convincing and all she wanted was a quiet rest of her life amidst her tartan couches and shortbread biscuits, with an ample amount of malt tea and fiction at her elbow.

Instead, she stared down at Severus Snape’s disobedience and despair in the darkness of the staff room, at the empty bottle and glass at the side and pursed her lips so tightly that anyone watching would have marvelled at the way her mouth vanished. The candles certainly did.

“Are you listening to me?”

“I cannot help listening to you,” he muttered darkly. “You’re shouting right into my ears.”

“Then stand up.”

It took him a while. He raised his head off the table, first, stared down at its surface on which a puddle of his own tears glinted, slapped at it clumsily with a scowl, then got up. He tottered on his feet.

“Can you make it to the door?” she said doubtfully.

“Don’t be foolish, McGonagall. My legs still work.”

Thunk. Clank, bang, ba-dum.

She looked at the form on one knee holding onto the upturned furniture without a change in expression.

“Are you quite done?”

Severus groaned quietly in reply, then heaved himself upwards and clutched at the table. He paused, grasped at his left arm, looking stricken, then looked around in a daze.

“My wand.”

Minerva held the black instrument up for him to see. She had picked it up a few moments before, when it had slipped when he tried to swat at the chair to grab it.

“I have it.”

“Give it to me.”

She sniffed, looking at how dark his eyes were. “I don’t really don’t think so. You’ll receive it first thing in the morning.”

He scowled, then pushed himself upwards from the table, balanced himself, then stood there with his shoulders squared.

“Give me the wand, Minerva.”

“No.”

“You will not confiscate my wand.”

“I really just ought to use levicorpus on you,” she muttered under her nose, then directed her gaze into his eyes. “I told you what my conditions are. I’d be mad if I gave it to you in this state.”

He sneered. “I’m hardly in a state.”

“Now, really!” she cried, just about keeping herself from waving his wand around in exasperation. “Just now you have been talking about ridding the world of yourself! Seriously and with a straight face! Give you your wand? Absolutely not. Now, move, professor. It’s almost student curfew - there will be very few students about, and you are going back to your office.”

“Don’t make me curse, Minerva,” he hissed out through gritted teeth. “I’ve very little patience.”

“And so, quite frankly, do I!” she retorted, wagging her finger at him. “Don’t make me follow through on my word about points, young man, because I will do so!”

“Oh, you…” He snarled. “You’re a witch, McGonagall.”

They both looked at one another in incredulity. Snape looked rather baffled at what had just left his mouth.

“Yes, Severus, I believe I am, indeed, a witch,” she said with a twitch of her lips. “Now, let us go, before anybody else sees you in such a state.”

She moved forward as though to support him, but he lifted up a hand and scowled. The remnants of tears still glistened on his cheeks and on his lower eyelids.

“Spare it, Professor. I’ll manage perfectly well. Always have,” he said bitterly, walked a few steps, then stopped by another chair for support. “Always will.”

She watched him hobble off without a word, still holding his wand.

“Severus,” she called, when he was halfway through the room, then hesitated, but followed through thoroughly after that. “You are not completely lost. You are aware of your faults and do not deny them, and that’s always a first.”

He stopped by one of the couches, swaying. Minerva shook her head at him, then tried to lessen the force of her words.

“I can imagine what you are going through-”

“No.”

His voice was dark and scraped like stones being dragged across the floor.

“No, you cannot imagine what I am going through Minerva.”

“Do you think you are the only one who has suffered!” she cried, unable to keep herself together for longer. “Do you think you are the only one who has had people… who has had friends torn from you?”

Her voice wobbled at the end, and she clutched at the piece of wood in her hand, her whole frame rigid.

“You are not the only one who knows well and truly what it is like to be alone, Severus Snape! The war was hell for all of us. We’ve all seen parts of it. We’ve chosen to keep going regardless of what we have seen, because it’s the only sensible thing to do!”

Severus stood there long. Minerva could see his body as stiff as her own was, trembling, his fists clenched so hard into the material of the couch, it was a wonder the fabric hadn’t torn in their grasp. Then, he turned to look over his shoulder at her.

“You are not responsible for the death of your friends, professor.”

His voice was barely a whisper, though it was trembling like a creature caught in an iron grip.

“Your dreams aren’t full of reliving the death of the ones you had betrayed. You do not hold them lifeless in your grasp…”

He had to pause, for tears were running down his face in torrents, now.

“You do not relive the moments in which you could have made a decision to turn things your way, and instead did the opposite. The suffering of others was not your fault, and so many of you can live with yourselves, for it has been you that’s been wronged. I do not possess that luxury. I am the murderer in my story, the one to blame, the one to hate.”

His voice broke and he choked, then lifted a hand and furled it tight into the fabric of his robe, clutching at this chest. “You do not regret almost every word you have spoken, every thought which has crossed your mind, every step and motion which was entirely down to you and your mistakes. Your pettiness. Your pride-!”

He raised his voice, teeth bared in a snarl, tears running down into his collar in streams. Minerva was crying too, as she watched him, but her face was arranged carefully into something hard and unfeeling. Still, he saw her tears and scoffed.

“That’s right, Minerva. Cry for a wretch of a man. It’s an honour to be graced with the tears of a woman of stone-”

Another sob choked him and he hung his head, averting his eyes from hers. After a moment, he smiled, bitter and forced.

“As you can see, I am incapable of change. I’m my own torturer and my own prison. Azkaban…? Ha! What can Azkaban do to me, when I’m already in hell? The dementors would have a downright feast with all the happy emotions hidden inside me. Especially as I teach and look upon the son of the woman I betrayed. Damn all rivalries. James Potter I loathed, and, help me, I still do, though I saw him dead beside his wife and his living son. Merlin, I’m a wretch. Now you know this, Minerva. You can wrinkle your nose at me in disgust. I’m beyond the point of return… beyond the point of hoping for the better. I am scum… I am scum.”

He put a hand up to his temple, then dragged it down his face, moved awkwardly, half-crouched, then collapsed on the couch, bending inwardly, his thin arms pressed around himself, and wept, pressing his face into the couch, hiding it from the world.

“Don’t listen to me, I’m drunk,” he managed. “Is all,” then he broke down completely.

Minerva dearly wished she was in bed. She put her hands up to her temples and screwed her eyes shut. She was far too old for this. Far too old for all of this.

“Severus Snape.”

He sobbed in response. She dragged a hand down her face, then sighed and marched forward.

“That’s enough, Severus Snape,” she said, then did something she had never done before: she sat on the couch and pulled the man into a firm embrace.

He stiffened, this adult, this Slytherin head of house, this murderer, death eater, whatnot, then wilted and ducked his head, allowing his head to be covered in arm and shielded from the world as though he was back to being eleven.

“There,” she muttered with a sigh, patting his back, half a mind to make a cup of tea. “Stop that, now. None of this is your fault. Nobler than you have faced horrors which you have and turned down the dark path. But you turned from it of your own accord. You must remember.”

She placed her hand on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

“Do you hear me? You still have a road ahead of you. You can choose which path you walk. Stop this talk of ending yourself. You’re still young.”

He swallowed, pursed his lips, then nodded his head once. Minerva rose.

“Come, now. I will give you your wand, but you must keep its point far away from yourself, am I clear?”

He sighed, sniffed, then swallowed.

“Like a crystal.”

His sardonic nature returned. A good sign. McGonagall nodded.

“Fantastic. Can you stand?”

“Probably.”

He rose and made it halfway up, though Minerva had to grab his arm to pull him upright.

“I’d appreciate it if nobody knew about this,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stumbled. “Not even the headmaster.”

McGonagall snorted as he leaned on her for support. “Of course not. Who do you take me for?”

“A Gryffindor. The ones who always do the right thing.”

“At least your senses haven’t left you completely.”

“Fear not. They will, soon.”

They made it across the staff room, then upon checking whether the corridors were clear - Minerva’s beak-like nose poking out and her hawk eyes narrowing as they scanned the vicinity - they began their journey across two of them, towards Snape’s office.

“Be glad we don’t have to climb any staircases,” Minerva muttered, her brows pulled together sternly as she scanned for any students and frowned at the gawking and gossiping people in the paintings. “That would be a task and a half.”

Snape made a sound which sounded like half a scoff, half a sigh. His head was pounding and his throat was raw from crying. Pathetic.

“I could just apparate, if it’s any use suggesting it. I don’t want to be the reason for any rheumatisms acting up later, Professor.”

“Silence, or I’ll let go of you,” she snapped, driving a sharp elbow into his ribcage as they stumbled, probably on purpose. "Insolent boy. Arthritis. And I was heavier than you when I was your age. There are first-years heavier than you, you impervious skeleton frame. Rheumatisms acting up, indeed.”

His lips twitched at his colleague’s grumbling. “I do apologise.”

Minerva scoffed, her eyes sharp and hawk-like behind her glasses. “Of course you do. And no, you couldn’t just apparate. You’d split yourself into two in this state.”

“Right you are.”

They stumbled across a corridor, then Minerva sighed.

“I should keep you like this for a little longer. You’ve never willingly agreed with me, yet.”

“I already said, I’m far from sober. I’ll be back to my own charming self in the morning.”

“You better be. There are quizzes to mark and Quidditch matches to oversee.”

They reached his door just as he moaned. “Quidditch… How could I have forgotten?”

Within moments, he was sprawled on his bed, face-first. McGonagall placed her hands on her hips and scowled at him.

“Just leave me here,” he said, though it sounded barely decipherable due to his face being muffled in duvet. “I will manage.”

She didn’t have to speak; even the silence was severely doubtful.

“I will manage,” he repeated obstinately.

Severus twitched, rolled from side to side, only to come to a stop in the same position as he collapsed on the bed in the first place.

“... There we go,” he muttered weakly.

Her voice was as point-blank as it usually was, but Severus wasn’t fooled as he felt her eyes on his back, no doubt amused. “Be glad nobody but me can see this.”

He severely doubted that was a cause for relief, as much as he was sure that he wouldn’t be hearing the end of this, though perhaps in subtle insinuations rather than direct statements of ‘Severus Snape being so incredibly wasted he couldn’t even get himself into bed’.

He heaved himself up, sat back down, then bent over to unfasten his shoes. Then, he paused, remembered he had a wand and looked up at the stern, elderly woman watching him with a frown. Perhaps this is what it would have felt like to have a grandmother present in his life.

“My wand.”

She pursed her lips. He sighed.

“Please may I have my wand, ma’am?”

She stood there some more, then shook her head at him and withdrew it from her sleeve.

“You are by far the most difficult student in this castle, Severus Snape,” she said as she handed it to him. He took it and heaved out a sigh.

“I won’t argue.”

He undid his shoes, took off his cloak, then climbed into bed, leaving his wand on the bedside table. His candles were still glimmering after McGonagall had lit them, drilling holes into his brain. He had no energy to put them out, but he didn’t need to.

“That’s that,” Minerva said, blowing them all out but one, which she took with her. “End of today’s nonsense. I expect you to be up at the normal hour tomorrow, Severus, or I’m afraid there will be consequences for you to face.”

He muttered something rude, then bit his tongue and opened his eyes a sliver, just to see her form sweeping to the exit.

“Goodnight, Severus.”

He breathed out a sigh, then spoke.

“Thank you, Minerva.”

She paused, then turned from the door to him, frowning, as though he was being insolent; but he wasn’t.

“I’m being genuine,” he muttered, feeling his head slowly sinking into the softness of his covers. “I don’t really have anybody else in this castle to turn to. You’re quite a good ear to talk into.”

He didn’t quite manage to stay genuine and sarcasm bled into his tone. He expected to hear something witty back, but the elderly woman just sighed and spoke in a slightly softened voice:

“Don’t hesitate to speak to me, Severus,” she said. “These matters are nothing to joke about, and you cannot do this alone. Plus,” she added, “I do enjoy your futile attempts to brush up on your grading abilities. Maybe one day, you will surprise me, and that will be the day in which I shall, perhaps, finally retire.”

“Looking forward to it,” he managed to mumble, before sleep took him, and that was that, for that day.

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chocfrog-enjoyer · 5 months ago

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Name-play and symbolism in Harry Potter

Sirius Black: Dog Black the black dog ( Sirius is a star in the Canis Major // Big Dog //constellation, the star is commonly known as the “Dog Star” ). A dog is a man’s best friend ( unlike Peter, the rat, who ratted his friends out )

Remus Lupin: basically just Wolf Wolf ( Remus - roman hero raised by wolves. In Latin lupus means “wolf”, and lupinus “wolf-like” )

Rubeus Hagrid: In Greek Mythology, Hagrid Rubes is a giant who is banished from Mt. Olympus by Zeus and has to take care of animals. Hagrid is expelled from Hogwarts and becomes the groundskeeper- later on he starts teaching Care of Magical Creatures.

Sybille Trelawney: Said to be a descendant of the legendary Cassandra, in Greek mythology Cassandra was a woman with the ability to foresee future and a curse, that no one believed her prophecies. Here’s my post on why Sybill isn’t a fraud.

Xenophilous Lovegood: Xenophilius's name comes from two Greek words: Xenos "strange" and -Phile "love" -> one who loves the strange

Bellatrix Lestrange: Bellatrix means “female warrior” in Latin. She was one of Voldemorts most fierce and loyal followers.

Nymphadora Tonks: Nymphadora translates as "Gift of the Nymphs.” A "nymph," in Greek mythology, refers to "a member of group of female 'spirits' found in different types of nature.” They had the ability to transform/shapeshift" They are further classified by where they were found. In Latin, “nympha” translates to “bride, mistress. young woman” referencing the fact that Remus married Tonks, who’s 13 years younger than him.

Minerva McGonnagal: In Roman Mythology Minerva was the goddess of wisdom, war, art, schools, justice and commerce.

Dolores Umbridge: The word umbrage means offence or annoyance, and the Spanish name Dolores has its roots in the Latin word "dolor," which translates to "pain" or "sorrow."

Fenrir Greyback: Fenrir is a monstrous wolf in Norse mythology. Fenrir represents the forces of evil and chaos.

Gilderoy Lockhart: The Levels of Processing model, created by Fergus I. M. Craik and Robert S. Lockhart in 1972, describes memory recall of stimuli as a function of the depth of mental processing.

Merope Gaunt: In Greek mythology Merope is one of the seven Pleiades, daughter of Atlas and Pleione. Merope is the faintest of the stars because she was the only of the Pleiades to have married a mortal. One myth says that she hid her face in shame because she had an affair with a mortal man. ( Replace mortal with muggle and we have Merope Gaunt )

Lucius Malfoy: Lucius deriving from Latin words, meaning light/bright/to shine. “Mal foy” means “bad faith” in French. Draco is latin for “serpent/dragon”

Lily Evans ( later Potter ) and Petunia Evans ( later Dursley ): Lilies are often associated with purity, renewal and transience, and Petunias symbolize anger and resentment

Alastor Moody: Alastor, an epithet of the Greek God Zeus, according to Hesychius of Alexandria and the Etymologicum Magnum, which described him as the avenger of evil deeds, specifically familial bloodshed.

Quirinus Quirrell: In Augustan Rome, Quirinus was an epithet of Janus, as Janus Quirinus. Janus is the god of beginnings, gates, transitions, time, duality, doorways, passages, frames, and endings. He is usually depicted as having two faces.

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thestorycomesalive · 1 year ago

Text

And I Would Do it Again

George Weasley x Reader

Summary: When you stick up for George in front of your whole Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Professor Umbridge has a certain consequence in mind for you.

Angst and Fluff, Hurt/Comfort.

TW: Mentions of Blood

****

“Eh hem, Mr. Weasley,” hummed a trilling voice from behind the tall red head next to you.

“Professor?” George raised an eyebrow to the pink clad woman behind him, wondering what in the world the small, angry lady could possibly want. Afterall, he hadn’t done anything wrong. And he knew better than to test her at this point. Or at least he knew his limits. Ron had told him of the tragic events that took place in Harry’s detention. Ever since then, he and his twin brother had gotten quieter and cleverer about pulling their tricks around school. Of course, they hadn’t stopped altogether. George wouldn’t be George without his pranks. But George knew he couldn’t get detention. Not out of a kindness for himself, but rather for your sake. He knew you’d worry too much.

But this time, he hadn’t done anything to provoke Professor Umbridge. He racked his brain for a moment, but he couldn’t think of one thing that would call her attention to him.

“You have received a generous amount of our class time today to complete your writing assignment, and while even Ms. L/N next to you has come up with a few paragraphs, you seem to have nearly nothing on your page. Care to explain what you’ve been up to all of this time?” The woman teetered to the front of your table, peering down at George.

He gave her a look of disbelief. “Well, it is not for lack of trying. I just have a hard time learning on paper. And you don’t let us use our wands,” he pointed out.

She giggled a single, ugly giggle. “Mr. Weasley… I can’t say I’m surprised. Afterall, I have come to expect less than from you. You shouldn’t need your wand to learn. Perhaps it is time for you to accept the fact that your own stupidity is to blame for your shortcomings. I really do my very best, but some students are just purely unteachable.” She hummed the last part to herself, shaking her head.

Your eyes shot up to her instantly. You had been watching her for some time, but in this instance, your eyes had been on the boy next to you, offering looks of kindness and sympathy without words. But now you were angry. Practically fuming. “Excuse me,” you muttered sharply, grabbing her attention with a whip of her head. “That is not, in any way, fair or warranted. George is one of the smartest people I know.” Your eyes were shooting darts at her as a piercing, condescending smile crept up to her ears.

“Ms. L/N. Talking out of turn will not be tolerated in my classroom. Especially not when it is used to talk back to your superiors,” she huffed.

You felt the smallest sensation of George’s pinky finger entwining with yours, as he tried to simmer down some of the anger, he knew was bubbling within you. You sighed and decided to leave the subject, having said your piece.

“You shall not question my knowledge and wisdom in any sense. If I say he is stupid, he is stupid, and if I say you are a flying Niffler, well then, you must be a flying Niffler. Do you understand, young lady?” she grinned, clearly having been satisfied with what she thought was winning the argument. You feel the heat and anger rising even higher than before at the mention of the sweet boy next to you. And then you finally realized what it is she was asking of you. She was asking you to agree with her cruel assumption about your George in front of the whole class. She cocks an eyebrow in the air with a wild smirk on her face. The rage pools over as you finally let it escape your mouth.

“No. I do not. I do not understand how you can call someone so bright and creative stupid, simply because you lack the skills and empathy to teach them what you would like them to know. Or because their knowledge simply extends beyond concepts that you can understand. You might not agree with me, Professor, but not everyone is like you. Not everyone wants to sit in a dark room and just pretend to learn for the rest of their lives. You want to give me detention, Professor? Fine. But I will not stand by while you abuse really great wizards, let alone, the ones that I love.” You cock your eyebrows back at her, knowing she has you right where she wants you. You don’t have a care in the world as the steam almost rises from your ears. It is now you notice that George’s hand had moved from your pinky to your wrist, gently trying to stop you from making the decision you had just made, his eyes pleading with yours with a gentle sadness and slight shock. However, for the briefest moment, you thought you could make out the tiniest glimpse of pride pass his eyes at the same time.

“Detention, Ms. L/N. I will not have anyone tell me how to teach in my classroom or question my abilities and judgement as a witch. Let alone someone so new to magic, as yourself.” She smiled smugly as she returned to the front of the classroom continuing her lesson immediately, not giving George or you a chance to respond to her. It was this act that left George hunting her down with a glare that could kill for the rest of the class, hand still in yours.

****

George spent every moment away from you that day, skipping his classes, trying in every way to get himself detention with Umbridge as well. However, every attempt ended with a quiet humph and scolding from her filled with cruel and nasty words. It was clear that even though she dreadfully wanted to, she was not going to give in and give George the detention he so desperately desired. She knew his punishment would be far more effective if she let you suffer and put him in a position where he would not be able to do anything about it whatsoever. It was the only time that he had the freedom to do nearly anything he wanted at Hogwarts, to break almost any rule he wanted to break, and get away with it. The painful irony is, he hated every second of it.

*****

Your detention arrived quickly that night when the corridors of the castles quieted. You had spent all day since your class with Umbridge quiet by George’s side. On the moments that you would be separated, you would go find a place in the Gryffindor Common Room to sit and wait for him to return from his classes or what you thought must be prank trials with Fred. But you weren’t worried about your detention like most people probably assumed you had been. Hell, you probably should’ve been. No. You were furious. Furious at Umbridge for targeting George, furious at her for backing you into a corner until you couldn’t take it anymore, furious at her for hurting Harry, furious at her for getting away with all of the terrible things she has done… furious.

When darkness befell the Common Room, only George, Fred, Lee, and you remained. You hadn’t told Harry or anyone else about your detention. You didn’t want him to worry. However, Fred and Lee, of course, had known of your soon-to-be punishment, considering they had been in the class when you received it. When you left the classroom, George pulled you into his side protectively and Lee had given you proud pat on the shoulder. With an exaggerated wink, Fred had run up and exclaimed, “Blimey, that was amazing, L/N! Nice craftsmanship, excellent execution.” Fred had tried to wipe some of the anger from your face throughout the day with a few, “don’t mess with that one, she’s fiery” and “Oi, Lee, careful. Catch yourself even looking at ol’ Georgie too long, and you might have to answer to that one,” with a point in your direction. These usually earned a genuine, soft smile from you as you chuckled to yourself. Freddie was the one person in the world who could make any person laugh no matter the circumstances. George would blush, and if he saw you laughing, he would also laugh to himself at the mention of the last joke from Fred. Part of you wondered if he may have enjoyed feeling your protectiveness over him. And you didn’t mind. You liked that he liked it. Even now.

But as the four of you sat late in the quiet Common Room, you felt the jokes wash away as George twiddled with his fingers, your head on his chest. You could tell he was feeling worried and helpless as you waited for your time to leave for detention. When that time came, you gave them a gentle smile and said, “Alright, I’m off. I’ll see you guys in the morning. Don’t go worrying about me too much.” You gave Fred and Lee a wink and kissed the top of George’s head.

As if on instinct, George grabbed your hand, pleading with his face, as if he were trying to keep you from going. But he knew that if you did not show up tonight, it would only earn you an even bigger punishment with the nasty, pink-shoed woman later. You took his hand and held it to your cheek as you gave him a little smile and whispered, “I love you. Goodnight.” And off you went, George watching your back as you left.

*****

As you creaked through the half open door of Umbridge’s office, you heard her squeal in delight. She toned out, “Do come in, Ms. L/N.”

You walked in without a word, eyes piercing through the small woman as she continued. “I do hope tonight will serve you nicely. You will be writing lines for me, dear.” You nodded your head, eyes still shooting at the Professor. This is what you had expected to hear from her. “Take a seat. There is a quill and parchment already for you at the desk there.”

You took a seat at the desk she pointed to as she tutted. “Hmm… What lesson is to be learned tonight, do you think?” You, of course, didn’t answer. “There are many lessons I believe you could benefit from learning, Ms. L/N, but I have chosen to be generous to you, for reasons unbeknownst to me. I believe the lines, ‘I will learn my place and be respectful to my superiors’, will do just fine.”

Your mouth dropped. You were expecting to write lines, and you knew the pain that would come with that, but you had not expected the number of words she would give you to write to be so extensive. You only prayed that the number of lines she would have you complete would be less, to even out your sentence to compare to the stories you had heard from others, including Harry. You dared to ask. “How many- “

“One hundred,” she interrupted without hesitation.

You nodded, eyes still a bit wide from shock. You assumed that you had really struck a nerve with your defiance towards Umbridge. Afterall, why else would your sentence be nearly double that of any other student you have heard from so far? You figured that you also were being used as punishment towards those you loved as well. Those who have also unmeaningly struck a nerve of Umbridge’s too: Harry and George. But you wouldn’t be used as bait. No, you quite refused to be used as such.

As you dared to hover the dry quill over the paper, you prepared yourself for the pain that would inevitably begin once you touched them down to meet. And when it did, the pain was one hundred times more unbearable than you had even begun to imagine, just like the number of lines you were to complete.

By the time you had arrived halfway through your assignment, blood was dripping down your fingertips, drenching your parchment along with the tears crawling down your face. Finally, soft whimpers that you had tried to hold back for so long, began to escape.

The clock ticking echoed in your ears, taunting your brain with the idea of freedom. After what felt like an eternity, you had finished the lines, and you were a both dry and wet bloodied mess. You sat up from your seat and handed the now quiet professor your scarlet stained parchment full of scratches reading, “I will learn my place and be respectful to my superiors”, front and back.

“May I leave now?” you uttered.

She simply nodded with a conniving grin plastered on her face as she watched you walk out the door.

*****

You held your breath until you arrived back past the portrait into the Gryffindor Common Room, not wanting that evil woman to hear you cry. When you stepped into the room, you pressed your back to the cold wall next to you and grabbed your wrist, blood flow never-ending, and finally let the tears and sobs escape you, as your back fell down the wall. You were so blinded by the pain that you didn’t even notice there was someone in the room with you. They ran up from the couch, over to your place by the wall, and sat right next to you, pulling you into their lap. From the moment you discovered the figure, your brain and your heart knew it would be your George. Part of you had a feeling he wouldn’t sleep until you were back, and you didn’t want him to see you like this. You fought your brain which told you that you were allowing yourself to be the live weapon that Umbridge wanted you to be. You just hadn’t expected the pain to be so much. You hadn’t expected that you would collapse right in front of George. You so desperately wanted to be strong. To stay strong for him. For yourself. But, oh merlin, did it hurt.

His big arms wrapped around your shoulders and brought his hand to pull your bloodied one into his line of sight. His breathing hitched and he felt his blood run to his cheeks and his ears as his other hand clenched into a fist. He was seeing red at the extra bloodied hand you fostered, much worse than he had ever seen, even on Harry. But the rage he felt was nothing compared to the crunch of his heart splitting in two as your cries of pain reached his ears. He didn’t know what to do, he felt so helpless, just as he had all day, but a million times worse.

“Darling, I know. I’m so sorry. I’m- I’m so sorry. Please. Please, I have to wrap this. You have to let me wrap this,” he struggled, pleading with you.

Your head heard his words, and it told you to move, to stop crying, to say something. But your skin was on fire, and the roar of the flames outspoke the language of your brain trying to reason with your body. You were able to lean your head into his shoulder, as you tried to compose yourself as best as you could, but the best you could do was quiet your sobs ever so slightly, as any and all words fell silent in the back of your throat. Your tears soaked through his shirt and coated his upper arm that still held you. He began to take his arms and pull himself up, untangling himself from you. He moved to sit on his knees in front of you, eyes searching for yours as he tilted your chin up to look at him.

“My love. Please. I need to wrap your hand. Can I bring you to the couch?” he asked, peering through your eyes for an answer.

You slightly nodded your head, barely noticeable. But George, he saw it. He always saw it. He could read you better than anyone in the world. The moment he saw your head move, he scooped his arm under your bent legs and placed his other one across your back and under your arms. You turned your head into his shoulder as he gently move to place you on the couch, your back pressed to the arm of the chair. You pulled your knees up on the couch, moving your heels to touch your bottom. Splayed out across the table in front of you were bandages and a wrap for your hand. As the tears began finding themselves more and more scarce at the hope of relief, the smaller of the words at the back of your throat began to find their way out.

“Georgie?” you asked, coming out in a high-pitched whimper.

His deep, worrying eyes looked to you, hands finding your cheeks. He followed your eyes to the table and the equipment laying on it. An embarrassed blush came to his cheeks as his brows furrowed. Supplies. It was pathetic, he thought. He should’ve been the one being punished. But instead, it was you and there was absolutely nothing he could do except for find some simple supplies. Unable to even think about sleeping, he had snuck his way over to Madame Pomfrey in the medical wing as soon as you had exited the Common Room. He asked her for some supplies and after more than a lot of convincing that everything was okay and that he wasn’t up to anything that would get her in trouble, she suspiciously obliged. He knew you would refuse to see her anyways, not wanting to take up her time. And deep down, he too knew that there was not much she would be able to do for you, no matter how much he begged. Afterall, this was a punishment enacted by Umbridge herself, and no matter how much she wanted to, Pomfrey could not disregard the rules set in place by the self-proclaimed headmaster and inquisitor.

He turns back to you quickly trying to cover the look of shame and guilt on his face.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” his voice breaks, tears of his own forming.

You could see him fighting with his own mind over something that you were sure would split your heart right down the middle.

“George?” you squeaked out once more.

“I’m so sorry…It’s my fault. I was behind in class. It should’ve been me. Not you. I should’ve protected you, I-,” he finally lets it all come rushing out.

You cut him off by placing your good hand on his cheek, giving him a difficult and very broken smile. Your voice comes out raspy from the sobs you had forced down but determined now, as soon as you hear the pain in George's own voice. “No. This decision was mine, George. All mine…” you give the faintest of laughs, almost in disbelief. “And yet, I can’t find the mind to regret it… I would do it again… and again.”

He leaned into your touch, eyes wincing as you revealed to him that you would take this punishment and this pain for him once again.

“Look at me?” you whispered.

He brought his eyes up to meet yours. Your voice was a little bit clearer now, although wavering ever so slightly.

“My decision. Please do not take that away from me, Georgie. It was my decision to make, and I am so glad that I did. You are so smart. You know that, right?” You looked up at him from under your eyelashes through the now silent and mild tears that streamed down your face.

He shook his head. He couldn’t bring himself to even begin to describe himself as smart. If that were true, he thought, he would’ve found a way to be there with you. If that were true, you wouldn’t have been there at all. He couldn’t understand, how through all of the terror and pain, you were the one to comfort him. He simply began to unwrap the bandages from their place on the table and started to wrap them tightly around your hand to stop the blood from dripping any longer, a lot of it starting to dry already. When he was finished, you took your good hand and placed it on his cheek once again. You pulled him into a sweet, soft, salty kiss.

“Smart. Clever. Kind. Brave. Gentle,” you muttered these words in his ear as you rested your head on his shoulder, and he once again pulled you into his lap, this time, towards him.

“The strongest girl I know, so beautiful, so loving…,” he muttered back, caressing your hair, trailing off into magical, sweet nothings that mean quite everything to both of you.

“I love you, Georgie,” you whisper.

“I love you, darling,” he says.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” you ask the beautiful, ginger boy that you love so dearly.

“I will always stay with you, my love,” he says as he begins to lift your body from the couch to carry to your dorm. There the two of you find comfort in each other’s embrace, finally drifting off into a deep sleep.

#george weasly x reader #george weasley #harry potter #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst #angst with a happy ending

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