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underdark-dreams · 2 months

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This fic will explore the fanon of Tiefling rut/heat cycles: specifically, what happens when a stressed, overworked, sexually pent-up wizard is confronted with his own biology and his feelings about a certain hero all at once?

Thank you @rolansrighthorn for kindly beta reading this chapter!

Rolan x afab!Tav

Birds and Bees - Ch.1

The new Master of Ramazith's Tower hasn't been feeling well. Rolan isn't quite sure what's wrong with himself, but when Tav arrives back in Baldur's Gate, things get much worse.

Tags: Tiefling Ruts, Sexual Tension, Mutual Pining | Word Count: 3.4k [Read on AO3]

Rolan awoke feeling sick as a dog.

He pulled his legs over the edge of the mattress with a wince. The dull ache in his muscles was something he hadn't felt since those first weeks on the road out of Elturel.

He'd slept like hells the past few days; no doubt that was the cause. Once again, bizarre nightmares had left him gasping awake before dawn, covered in a clammy sheen of perspiration.

The dreams featuring Tav, however…

Rolan’s tail shuddered and flicked over the bedsheets behind him at the memory. He pushed those thoughts forcefully from his head. Tav was due back in Baldur’s Gate today—that was the last thing he should be thinking of when she arrived at Sorcerous Sundries.

She’d been away for over a week this time, gathering her materials in the Underdark. He wondered if that meant she'd have enough work to keep her in the city for longer, too. The thought encouraged him enough to rise and dress for the day. He should make sure her alchemy station was prepped and ready for her at the back of the shop, at least.

Down on the main floor of Sorcerous Sundries, Rolan’s improved mood was instantly tested. Cal took in his face wide-eyed.

“You look awful.”

“And good morning to you,” Rolan responded irritably.

“Is it?” Cal trailed after him as he unlocked and threw open the wide front doors. “Rolan, maybe you need a day off. You look like you barely slept.”

“I'm fine,” Rolan said, voice firm. “Where’s Lia?”

Right as the words left him, a teacup appeared at his elbow.

“Had a feeling you might need it,” Lia told him. “Looks like I was right.”

Too tired to combat both his siblings at once this early in the day, Rolan accepted the tea with a begrudging sigh of thanks. The smell of bitter herbs hit his nose before he took the first sip.

“Doctoring me with folk remedies now?”

Lia waved a dismissive hand as she moved behind the counter. “Yeah, yeah, we all know you'd rather get fussed over by Tav. Can't have you dragging your tail and embarrassing us in front of her, though.”

Cal walked off with a snort.

Rolan shut his eyes and wished he could return straight back to bed. Instead, he drank his tea down in silence and said a prayer for an easy day of work.

He did find himself perking up after a while. It was difficult to stay sullen on such a glorious spring day; clear sunlight streamed generously through the high windows above, and the flow of customers milling into the shop settled into a pleasant, familiar hum. Rolan fell into the rhythm of assisting them here and there, locating scrolls and giving advice on spellwork.

It certainly wasn’t the prospect of seeing Tav again that was improving his mood so much. That’s what Rolan kept telling himself, at least.

Another breeze drifted in through the open atrium behind him, bringing with it the fresh scent of spring wildflowers. Rolan was taken with a sudden fancy to move closer to wherever it emanated from.

“Lovely morning, isn't it?”

Tav stood beaming at him from the doorway, despite the full-to-bursting pack slung over one of her shoulders. Clearly he wasn’t the only one affected by the irresistibly nice weather.

“It rather is,” Rolan agreed. Ignoring her usual protests, he unshouldered the bag from her with a tug; its weight made him question whether she’d stuffed it entirely with minerals.

“Ugh…thanks.” Tav stretched her arms back appreciatively. She was wearing a lightweight tunic, carelessly laced, and the motion strained the fabric over her chest.

Rolan averted his gaze, feeling rather warm all of a sudden. He instead led Tav back to her workstation near the stairs.

“Looks busy in here,” she remarked with approval. “Business good?”

“Can’t complain. I take it your travels were as successful?” He punctuated the comment by landing her pack on the desk with a heavy thump. Tav laughed.

“Brilliant, actually. I've got a lot to show you, if you can spare the time.”

“Just give me a few minutes,” he answered, turning back to her.

Tav didn’t reply right away; she was frowning at his face. “Rolan, are you ill? You look flushed—” And she reached a hand as if to feel his forehead.

“Of course not,” Rolan answered, a bit too swiftly. Casting for an excuse to create some distance, he moved to the nearby reference shelves and began shoving the mess of books back into their correct cubbies. “Cal, could you grab another stack of the beginner’s Weave series? We’ve sold through.”

Cal looked up from his work rolling scroll pages. “Er, sure…which wing is that again?”

“Nevermind,” Rolan sighed. “I’ll get them myself. Let me know if your station’s missing any supplies,” he added to Tav, letting his voice soften a bit. It earned him a dimpling smile.

Rolan strode away from her toward the portal, feeling that annoying ache in his legs return as he did.

—

Tav watched Rolan’s figure trudge up the staircase with another twinge of concern. Then she set to work connecting all the equipment on her alchemy station. Lia appeared at her side before long, asking after her week’s travels in the Underdark and catching her up on news and gossip from the Gate. It was so nice to have friends like Lia; ones you could pick up right where you left off with.

Tav had emptied her bag onto her desk and begun sorting the small mountain of herbs into separate piles as she listened. “How’s Rolan been doing with everything, really?”

Lia was turning over one of her shards of laculite, idly catching the sunlight in its facets. “Mostly happy. And stressed, and overextended. And completely neurotic about organizing every shelf in the library. You know, typical wizard stuff.”

“I just hope he’s looking after himself,” she said down to her work. The words left her mouth easier than she wished.

Lia leaned a hip against her desk with arms crossed. “You sound interested in helping with that.”

The quake in Tav’s stomach made her feel very caught out, then very stupid. She let out an exhale of laughter instead.

“Rolan’s made it pretty clear that he is not,” she replied. Her fingers began stripping the blooms from her pile of dried mugwort with more force than strictly necessary.

“Between you and me,” Lia mused, “I don’t think Rolan’s anywhere near clear on that subject. Smart people can be real idiots, you know.”

“Who can?”

Rolan was headed from the staircase with an armful of books; he stood behind Lia with a suspicious look. Tav immediately wondered how much he’d heard.

“Rich people,” Lia answered at once, still leaning casually against Tav’s desk. “Lady Whitburn’s handmaid keeps coming in asking for spell scrolls that I’m pretty sure don’t exist. You think she’d get the picture by now.”

Rolan let out a long-suffering sigh and held out the stack of volumes to her. “Take these. And just send Cal to help her next time, that’s why she keeps coming back.”

Lia threw up a hand as if that only proved her point. “Like I said, idiots.” But with one last glance at Tav, she grabbed the books and ferried them away to the front of Sorcerous Sundries.

For her part, Tav resumed the work of preparing the week’s ingredients—there were several large batches of antidote to get through this morning. Rolan took up his usual spot at the desk in her periphery.

Ever since the first week he’d offered Sorcerous Sundries to her as a home of operations for her alchemy, Tav found herself spending many hours at work beside Rolan like this. They spent the time talking about her travels, or his latest studies with the Weave, or just discussing the last books they’d read. On busier days, he was called away to help customers for most of her visit.

Today, however, Rolan stood unusually silent next to her.

“Sure you’re feeling all right?” She glanced at his back, again noting the tense line of his shoulders.

“Just a bit tired.” Rolan tipped open his massive record of the shop figures. “Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I could make you something for that, if you like.”

He gave a low huff of laughter as he took up his quill. “From what I hear from my customers, I’d be out cold for days.”

“Really?” She couldn’t help a grin of professional pride, but focused on adjusting the flame under her distilling glass. “Glad they’re selling well.”

“I can barely keep them on the shelves, especially those remedial draughts you make. The last batch lasted three days.”

Though it was satisfying to hear, Tav felt a bit chagrined. “Damn…won’t have more of those for a while. I still need to track down a new materials trader in the Gate. My usual guy moved on to Neverwinter.”

There was a short pause in their little corner, filled only with the sounds of softly bubbling liquid against glass.

“You know,” Rolan said without turning, “you’re welcome to stay here, if it’s easier for you. The guest room’s always empty. That is, so you wouldn’t have to travel across the city on top of finding your new contact.”

“Oh—” Tav tried hard not to read anything into his offer. “Actually, I already left my things with Danis and Bex. But thank you, Rolan,” she added.

Rolan coughed lightly, back still turned. “Of course.”

There was another pause, longer and strangely awkward. Tav suddenly found she needed something more to occupy her thoughts than watching a flask boil. Reaching down for her pack, she pulled her research journal up to the desk.

It had been many weeks since Rolan brought up that subject. Why now?

Cal and Lia constantly reminded her of the long-standing offer of a room in the Tower anytime she had need of it. For unspoken reasons, she’d always found polite ways of declining.

It wasn’t that Rolan had made her feel unwelcome in any way. After all, he’d opened up the expansive resources of Ramazith’s Tower to her use, lending her all of the delicate and expensive alchemy equipment that she’d never be able to cart back and forth in her travels. She owed much of her current success to his generosity.

But Rolan had proven himself a generous patron for all kinds of arcane arts as Master of Ramazith’s Tower. Really, what made her think she was any kind of special case?

The fact that she’d very much like to be that to him…well.

That was something Tav tried not to think about. It only led her to dangerous territory, such as staring at his hands while he worked a spell and wondering what else they might be good for. Hardly conducive to a friendly, professional relationship.

And if she was any good at reading signals, friendly but professional was how Rolan wanted to keep things.

Tav shuffled through her notes a bit too briskly and almost scattered them. That was enough dwelling on that subject; clearly, Rolan had plenty to think about without worrying about unwanted advances in his own home. The least she could do to repay his generosity would be to continue respecting his boundaries.

“Noblestalk propagation?”

She glanced over her shoulder. To her surprise, Rolan had moved closer to peer down at the top page in her hands with curiosity.

“Most valuable thing in the Underdark,” she told him. “Even more than mithril. Actually, this is what I wanted to show you—”

Noblestalk fetched a high price for its alchemical power, certainly, but also for its rarity. The delicate mushrooms were notoriously picky about where they grew; it was part of what made them so hard to find.

Truth be told, she’d been running a little experiment on them down in the Underdark over the past few months. She ran a finger across the charted results as she explained them to Rolan, whose tension seemed to vanish as he listened on with keen interest.

“Obviously the spores took faster in high humidity. But look, they actually did better when I transplanted them in a really cold spot near the river here—which is so odd, most fungi need a bit of warmth—

“Have you tried recreating these artificially? Carrying a sample back to the surface?”

“Not yet.” She scratched her chin in thought. “I’d need to find somewhere underground to propagate it. And I’d rather not spend any more time in the sewers, after that little cult business.”

“Just do it here,” Rolan dismissed, as if it was the plainly obvious solution. “We’ve got quite a few empty vaults now. Shouldn’t be too hard to repurpose one as a greenhouse of sorts.”

As she turned her head to respond, she was caught up short.

Rolan was still peering intently at her writing. But in his concentration, he’d angled his body very close beside her. His chest nearly brushed her shoulder. She could’ve counted the freckles dusting his nose.

When he reached forward to flip over the page, she felt his other hand actually rest on the far side of her waist—the absent way you might touch someone very familiar to you when moving past them. Heat rose in her cheeks at the gesture.

Perhaps Rolan felt her tense. He blinked, and she watched realization dart over his features. He stepped back at once.

“Apologies.” Then he cleared his throat to add—“Your work is quite engaging.”

Coming from him, the words sounded much nicer than they had a right to. She felt her flush deepening, and quickly turned back to reorder her notes.

“Thanks,” she laughed, praying it didn’t sound as awkward as it felt rising in her throat.

Behind her back, she heard Rolan return to his desk on her left. Presumably continuing his work on the Sundries inventory; more likely trying to ignore her obvious fluster.

She clenched her jaw in an attempt to shove that same stupid, fluttery feeling out of her stomach, and returned to the practical work at hand.

—

Rolan stared down at last week’s sales in his ledger. The figures were a blur of meaningless scribbles in front of his eyes.

Was he feverish? Seriously ill? There had to be a sound explanation for the way he’d just…laid hands on her like that, unthinking.

He clenched the guilty right hand responsible, feeling its sharp nails press crescent moons into his palm. Idiot. He took a deep breath to regain his composure.

It only caused that lovely wildflower scent from before to fill his lungs more completely, pulling at his other senses. Perhaps it was emanating from one of the many strange ingredients Tav was always carrying back from the Underdark. Was that what had muddled his mind this way?

He found himself glancing back over his shoulder to where she was bent over her alchemy scales. The pink tip of her tongue was visible between her teeth, a gesture she often made when concentrating.

As Rolan watched, a lock of her hair slipped forward over her shoulder. She swept it absently back behind her ear. The innocuous motion caused another wave of something floral to brush past his face, stronger this time.

“Are you wearing scent?”

Tav glanced up from the powder she was weighing out, brows raised in question. “What?”

“Nothing,” Rolan said swiftly, shaking himself back to rights a bit. He felt very lucky she seemed to have misheard. He turned back to his work before he could say anything else strange or embarrassing.

With effort, Rolan forced his attention back to the comforting logic of sums and figures.

The time passed with blessed uneventfulness after that. The soft sounds of glassware and bubbling liquids from Tav’s alchemy faded to an idle lull at the back of Rolan’s consciousness. Nevertheless, he pushed through the past month’s numbers with more difficulty than usual, scratching through multiple errors as his quill moved over the page. He occasionally had to pause to rub at an uncomfortable crick building in his neck.

A laugh came from behind him. “Do you mind?”

Rolan raised his head to look. Tav was gesturing at the corner of her alchemy station with a bemused expression.

To his own confusion, he found that his tail had traveled there of its own accord sometime in the past minutes. It lay coiled on the wood, its tip flicking back and forth in her direction, as if seeking her attention.

With another chuckle, Tav’s fingers closed around it and lightly dropped the appendage off the edge of her desk.

An involuntary sound caught in Rolan’s throat. The moment her hand connected with his skin, a shock of blood rushed to his groin. He nearly tipped forward in alarm at the feeling.

The rapid redirection left his legs wobbling and bloodless. His knees almost buckled under him; he gripped sharp claws into the edge of his wooden desk to steady himself.

As the ringing in his ears cleared, he heard Tav reading under her breath behind him while she ground something against her mortar. Praise the gods that whatever just happened to his body had escaped her notice.

“Need a book from the library—”

Without a backward glance, Rolan stumbled toward the stairs.

Spurred on by the knowledge that any customers who might notice his urgent departure would certainly see the reason for it, he strode on double-time for the portal. Only once the swirl of Weave closed behind him, depositing him in the quiet of the Tower, did he release the breath caught up in his lungs.

Seeking to ground himself, Rolan glanced up to watch the golden dust motes drift through a beam of sunlight. It was the strangest sensation to be standing completely still and feel a sweat break out over his brow.

How did he not realize days ago? Muscle aches—difficulty sleeping—heightened senses. All clear indicators that his biology had finally caught up with him, albeit a solid year later than it should have.

Rolan gripped a hand to the back of his head with a groan of realization. Not perfume—it had been Tav herself he kept catching scent of this morning. That sweet smell that practically made his mouth water to recall now was nothing but raw instinct laid bare.

Well, he had no right to complain about the timing. Apparently many frantic months of escaping the Hells, surviving on the road, and battling back an invasion from the Astral Plane had done a lot to delay the inevitable.

But inevitable it was, and as of today, very much inescapable. There was never really a convenient time for this sort of thing, was there?

It could be worse—as the new keeper of Ramazith’s Tower, at least he found himself with private quarters to retreat to for the entirety of it. If he was lucky, it would all be over in a week, and then he could go on ignoring this unfortunate side effect of his Infernal heritage for a few more uneventful years.

Lia and Cal could manage the shop for a week without any major calamities, surely?

As Rolan paced the silk carpets of the Tower floor, he forced his feverish mind to finish scrabbling together the plan. His gaze fell on the desk by the window. In the next second, he was putting shaking quill to parchment. Something simple, just enough they’d understand—

Bad week for visitors. Please mind the Sundries while I recover. Tell Tav

The tip of his quill skipped as he paused, letting a droplet of ink bleed into the page.

Tell Tav what, exactly? That he was in his room rutting his brains out like an animal in heat? Likely thinking of her while he did?

That line of thought brought a series of unhelpful and very stimulating images to mind. He swallowed down a humiliating sound as the stiffness between his legs grew painfully hard in reaction. Merciful, bloody hells.

Tell Tav nothing, he finished in a scrawl. Rolan folded the note and deposited it on the floor just in front of the portal, where it would be impossible for his siblings to miss.

Then he turned for the staircase to his bedroom, already mad to rip these chafing gods-damned robes off his skin.

#spicy #rolan x tav #tiefling ruts #eventual smut #bg3 rolan #female tav #heat/rut cycles #rebgrrl writes #underdark-dreams #bg3 fanfiction #tiefling biology

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blue--ingenue · 1 month

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"Evasive Maneuvers" - Part 8

Summary: You've been in love with Sebastian since the moment you knocked him on his arse on your first day. Entering your sixth year, you finally begin working up the courage to confess your feelings when he suddenly becomes the best Beater Hogwarts has seen in decades - and subsequently becomes the school's most eligible bachelor.

Author's Notes: back at it with part 8 after an extended hiatus! i'm so sorry for the angsty cliffhanger, my loves. college has been taking up most of my time, but i promise this isn't the last chapter! see you at the next one :)))

Sebastian Sallow had never considered himself undesirable, but ever since his daring rescue and subsequent placement on the Championship team his popularity skyrocketed. Several of the girls in his year had begun giggling each time they passed him in the halls between classes, and a few of them even trailed him class to class, blushing like mad. He seemed to have caught the eye of every witch, and nearly every wizard, in the castle. Every witch, that is, except the one he so desperately longed to speak to. To add insult to injury, his beloved Gryffindor was seldom seen without Garreth Weasley by her side. Garreth, who had been chosen as the Championship team’s second Beater.

When Professor Howin announced the official roster after dinner last week Sebastian was hardly surprised. Everything was going to Hell in a handbasket, and he would’ve been more shocked if she’d chosen anyone other than that smug git. He hadn’t spoken to his Gryffindor since last week. It might take time, but surely she had to understand that he was wrong for her. Even if he’d wanted to apologize to her, what would he even say? He couldn’t - wouldn’t - place her in harm��s way ever again. Despite his every effort to make amends for his actions in fifth year, there was always a voice whispering to him in the dark recesses of his mind. It mimicked her screams and promised that she would never be safe so long as he was by her side. In time Ominis, Anne, and his beloved Gryffindor had all forgiven him. But he could never forgive himself.

He was growing restless in her absence, throwing himself into his studies and pushing himself to exhaustion at every practice. He found work to be the best distraction, but even his fellow team members could sense he was nearing a breaking point.

He found himself searching for her in every corridor hoping to get her alone so that he could begin to fix things. Perhaps he could convince her that they weren’t right for each other. He could sever the thread connecting their hearts and cauterize the wound with the guilt that tormented him each night. They could remain friends, just friends, and nothing more. Sebastian told himself that it would be enough. If he could survive just having her in his life, even if it meant never having her in his arms. And every day, just before he saw her laughing with Garreth, he could almost make himself believe it.

---

The worst thing about nightmares wasn’t the horrors that waited, but the inescapability of it all. For all his books and cleverness, logic was useless against the throes of his own terrified mind. A good night’s sleep was a pipe dream. After nearly an hour of tossing and turning Sebastian gave up on trying to rest and slipped away to the common room.

The cavernous hall was as empty as he expected it to be in the dead hours of early morning. The fires burned demurely in the hearths and the gentle padding of his slippers against stone was the only sound to echo back to him. He stood in the center of the main atrium facing the windows and took a deep breath. As a little boy Sebastian had hated feeling small, like he was at the mercy of everyone and everything bigger than him.

But now as he gazed up at the great vaulted ceilings he was reminded of how freeing it felt to let go. A year before his parents’ accident they’d taken a family trip to London. His most vivid memory was of the grand cathedrals they’d visited. The stone arches sloped around intricate stained glass windows reached proudly for the heavens at least a hundred feet above him. The gentle timbre of a practicing choir and the sun caressing his cheek had lulled him into a sense of peace reminiscent of falling asleep in his mother’s arms. He’d give anything to feel that small and safe and protected again.

Ever since he’d lost his parents Sebastian had been determined to keep those he cared about safe at any cost. If he had to choose between his happiness or theirs, he’d relinquish his own without question. If he was doing the right thing to keep his Gryffindor safe, then why did it cause him such agony?

The unfairness of it all seeped into his very bones and settled like lead. Sebastian wondered if the universe decided ahead of time which souls were marked to suffer. If he had been faster the night his parents collapsed in their laboratory, perhaps his family would still be together. If he’d been just a bit smarter in fifth year, perhaps he could have found a cure for his sister before resorting to torturing his best friend.

He vaguely registered the book slip from his weak grasp. It was the starting thud of the spine hitting marble that roused him from his thoughts. As he bent to retrieve the tome he heard a soft sigh from one of the couches by the fire. He wasn’t alone. Curiosity got the better of him and drew him toward the sleeping figure.

His breath hitched as he recognized the girl asleep among the velvet cushions. A faraway voice reminded him of Ominis’ passing remarks from breakfast. She and Ominis were working together on a class project by the end of the week and they would be working in the common room for a few hours. But it didn’t matter. None of it did. She was curled up on her side, hair sloped gently around her shoulders in the softest halo he’d ever seen. Her chest rose and fell and with every breath Sebastian felt himself pulled impossibly closer. He was near enough to notice the tiny shiver that sent a tremble through her frame. He realized she must be cold.

On instinct he slipped out of his robe and laid it over her. She didn’t stir when the makeshift blanket settled around her, and he didn’t want her to. Inexplicably the anxiety had drained from him. He would have given anything for her to just look at him. Weeks without her company had made him desperate. But seeing her sleeping peacefully, knowing that she was safe from harm and poachers and all else for at least one night, was enough for him.

He allowed himself to stare shamelessly, selfishly, for a moment more before quietly making his way back to his room. As he crawled beneath the covers he idly wondered if her ancient magic was what had calmed him so. It was the last thought to cross his mind before he fell into the gently arms of oblivion, free from nightmares for the first time in ages.

Taglist:@snickette, @findingtruenorth23, @plooloo, @paganicher, @smilesworldsposts, @snoozebun, @crazyllamasurfer, @pixie-dustss, @margottheviking, @lollife1617, @milk-barrs-blog, @somethingiswrongwithme, @bleh-stupid, @stay-gray, @mrsbrookesallow, @lostgirl-28, @kateisnotheree, @doigettokeepyou, @dreamqueenkala, @uwuitzerimpact, @neoqueen306, @ghostly-haunted, @exhorto, @riceballsandanime, @theperson-nextdoor, @lb-littlebear, @bambis-butterfly, @lovely12521 , @riceballsandanime

#its about the yearning #the YEARNING #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x y/n #sebastian sallow #angst #fluff #ominis gaunt #garreth weasley #garreth weasley x reader #garreth weasley x mc #garreth weasley x y/n

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hollowed-theory-hall · 2 months

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Identification in the Wizarding World

I don't remember how I got to thinking about it, but wizards in Harry Potter don't seem to really have IDs... like no license cards or social security numbers, and that kind of begs the question of how you prove you are who you are. So I went to the books to see if it was ever answered, and to my surprise — it was.

Wands are their IDs

I'm gonna explain where in the books it's written and how it seems to work since I just didn't really see anyone mention it, and I found it curious. I'm not sure if it was just me who was a bit dumb and didn't notice it or what, but I do want to write about it.

“Madam Lestrange!” said the goblin, evidently startled. “Dear me! How- how may I help you today?” “I wish to enter my vault,” said Hermione. The old goblin seemed to recoil a little. Harry glanced around. Not only was Travers hanging back, watching, but several other goblins had looked up from their work to stare at Hermione. “You have . . . identification?” asked the goblin. “Identification? I-I have never been asked for identification before!” said Hermione. “They know!” whispered Griphook in Harry’s ear, “They must have been warned there might be an imposter!” “Your wand will do, madam,” said the goblin. He held out a slightly trembling hand, and in a dreadful blast of realization Harry knew that the goblins of Gringotts were aware that Bellatrix’s wand had been stolen.

(Deathly Hollows, page 452)

So, I'll start with this scene in Deathly Hollows, in which a Gringott's Goblin outright says a wand can be used for identification. The Golden Trio here shows the disadvantage of such an identification method, as wands can be stolen. And besides, how would a wand even work for identification? Like, how does it prove you are who you say you are?

Well, I think I know how wands are supposed to function as identification, and it's not as bad and easily fakable as it may seem. I'm not saying it's perfect, but if implemented correctly it isn't the worst they could come up with.

After all, everyone has a wand (at least in the Western Wizarding World) and everyone carries their wand with them everywhere and at all times. Not only that, but wands are unique enough to work as an ID. Wand description is broken into 6 components of its making: wood, core, flexibility, length, the wandmaker, and how long it's been in use, making each wand unique to the specific individual wielding it. Therefore a wand is something reasonable to use to identify individuals.

So, how is it supposed to work?

“Wand weighing?” Harry repeated nervously. “We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they’re your most important tools in the tasks ahead,”

(Goblet of Fire, page 303)

Wand weighing.

In GOF, the wand weighing is shown to tell the characteristics of each wand, and if we jump ahead to Arthur Weasley's and Harry's arrival in the ministry for Harry's trial in OOTP:

“Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium.”

(Order of the Phoenix, page 126)

“Wand,” grunted the security wizard at Harry, putting down the golden instrument and holding out his hand. Harry produced his wand. The wizard dropped it onto a strange brass instrument, which looked something like a set of scales with only one dish. It began to vibrate. A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base. The wizard tore this off and read the writing upon it. “Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use four years. That correct?” “Yes,” said Harry nervously. “I keep this,” said the wizard, impaling the slip of parchment on a small brass spike. “You get this back,” he added, thrusting the wand at Harry.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 128)

We see exactly how wand weighing (the brass scale Harry describes) is meant to identify. This device prints out the makings of the wand when it was sold, and probably more information than Eric at the security desk reads out. He then asks Harry if it's correct because wands don't have their making and when they were bought written on them. This means only the wand's owner would supposedly remember all the details of the wandmaker, make, and when it was bought, then by asking about it, it can be revealed if the wand was stolen or not.

It's not a great method, but it's something.

It's not any dramatic revelation about the Wizarding World, I just didn't really see wands being used as IDs in the fandom and I found it interesting. I just really am interested in the Wizarding World as a culture and how it works. IDs are just part of it.

#harry potter #harry potter thoughts #harry potter theory #hp theory #wizarding world #hollowedtheory #hp #overthinking #hp thoughts #hp meta #harry potter meta

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lulublack90 · 2 months

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Prompt 14 - Lips

@jegulus-microfic February 14 Word count 680

Previous part First part

The attack on the Ministry was going perfectly for the Aurors and the Order. It was not going well for Voldemort and his followers.

Half of Voldemort’s forces had apparated into the atrium as he had, and the rest had flooed in using the fireplaces that lined the walls.

The other side had been waiting for them and immediately started firing jinxes and hexes at the ambushed death eaters. Regulus had stuck with Evan and Barty, trying to draw them away from the worst fighting, but Barty was determined to get into the thick of it.

Regulus had to sneakily stun Barty in the back while dodging an Aurors blast to get his friend away from fighting Frank.

“EVAN!” He yelled over the shouting and screaming of the battle. “EVAN HELP ME MOVE BARTY!!!” Evan broke away from his duel by shooting thick ropes out of his wand and binding the Order member before he helped Regulus drag Barty’s limp form out of the fray. “Get him out of here, Evan. We’ll have to retreat any minute now. We can’t win this battle.”

“What about you, Reg?” Evan asked breathlessly as he moved Barty further away.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll follow you soon. I promise. Now go!” Regulus started moving back towards the battling witches and wizards. He fired harmless spells here and there, making it look like he was trying. He heard the crack of apparition, and when he looked back, Evan and Barty were gone.

Three Aurors came out of nowhere and cornered him. He raised his wand, ready to defend himself. Sirius came barreling over before any spell could be cast.

“He’s mine!” He barked at the aurors. They left him to it, seeing the look of utter determination in his eyes.

Regulus and Sirius started duelling. It was all flash and bangs, but it looked impressive. They took up an enormous amount of space, spreading out to make their show more realistic.

Regulus caught Sirius with a beam of red light, and Sirius dramatically crashed to his knees, crying out, but miraculously managed to regain his feet and continue.

Regulus performed an excellent spin in the air when a blue shot hit him and managed to fire off a stunning charm over his shoulder, narrowly missing Sirius and hitting a death eater who had crept up behind his brother.

They continued their dance until someone screamed a spell near them, and an inferno of fire erupted around them. They stopped firing at each other and ducked their heads under their arms, protecting their faces.

The fire raged around him in an entwining circle. The extreme heat dried his mouth and cracked his lips. There was no way out he was trapped.

He looked over to Sirius, who was in a similar state.

“You okay?” His brother mouthed at him in case anyone could hear them. Regulus nodded, but he wasn’t sure. Sirius gave him a sad half-smile.

The flaming circle slowly began creeping towards them, crushing them together. “Sorry, Reggie,” Sirius murmured, now they were closer together. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” Regulus grabbed his brother’s hand. If they were going to go down, they’d go down together.

Then, just as the fire was almost licking their boots, a madman on a broom came swooping over and scooped them up, carrying them high above the deadly flames and setting them down safely where no one could see.

Regulus threw himself at James, and James held him tightly. Sirius pushed his way in, needing the contact as well. It was brief, but that moment meant a lot to them all.

“You need to leave now, Reggie,” Sirius said urgently, eyes darting around.

“Voldemort called a retreat just before I got you out. Most of them have gone.” James added as he dragged Regulus in for one last hug.

“Thank you,” Regulus said into James’s chest.

A loud kerfuffle behind them forced Regulus to leave the safety of James’s arms, and with a sad smile at his brother, he ran and disapparated back to Grimmauld Place.

Next part

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grim---auxiliatrix · 3 months

Text

i often think about kidswap aus and how theyre all doing it so wrong. like just because theyve been placed with a different guardian doesnt mean theyre entirely different people. if that was the case, they wouldnt be the kids we know. theyd still have their original character traits and stuff, but the dynamic with their guardians & story would be different, and no, i dont think their class & aspect would change, because its not jade if shes not a witch of space, its not dave if hes not a knight of time, et cetera SO! picture.. jade lalonde for example. she really likes science and botany and her room is full of plants & has an acute rivalry with her mom because "wizards are scientifically inaccurate", and she has the desire to go outside and adventure but her mom always encourages jade to stay inside because theyre in the woods - which according to jade is one of the best places to observe natural wildlife - and also next to a skaianet owned lab. jade & her mom always get into little feuds in such cases & finds it a bit annoying that her mom has leaned into her liking to animals, and plants, and general agriculture, opting to turn the observatory into a mini atrium, so jade can stargaze & tend to her plants. jade spends most of her time in the observatory, hoping one day she will tend to the stars like she tends to her plants and then, like, dave egbert. he makes sick beats, has his whole persona built up about being a cool guy, with a sword, and all the rage and makes himself out to be this guy living in a bustling city and going to raves whenever he can when the most exciting thing in his life is the odd cake or two his dad bakes everyday and its annoying, but he doesnt let it phase him, he will continue to be an ironic coolkid with cake. cake is cool, right? hes still not over how his dad printed & framed his comics and placed them proudly all over the house. its a fuckin SBaHJ museum up in this bitch. because of this, he spends all of his time in his room, or at the mall, or at a skatepark. he cant skate all that well, but all the tony hawk games he's played, he's quite good at it. he wont ever admit it, but he loves his dad. he can tell he got the love of baking from daves nanna, and dave can appreciate that fact. and then rose harley.... being constantly pestered by both her grandpa when he was alive & now her canine companion, becquerel to go outside, she brutally refuses, being more inclined to remain in her room and pursue the macabre. she turned the atrium into a library. she has no interest in "adventure" in the more common sense, but finds a small adventure in psychoanalysing those she cares about endlessly, for it's better than experiencing the outdoor world. sure, she does take bec on a walk or two every day, trying to accept nature, even taking time to learn how to swim in the nearby lagoon, refraining from entering the adjacent frog ruins. sure, not one for adventure, the mystery behind it is just so tantalizing. june strider. she is a goofball, a wise'guy' & a shitty game dev. despite all the ongoing strifes she has with her bro, she doesnt let that get her down! she always watches a shitty movie or indulges in her fantastical interests to try and not let the clear as day abuse get to her. shes never really phased by anything, and thinks the puppets are, a bit weird, but very cool. she sometimes catches her bro off guard and begins annoyingly rambling to him and even occasionally showing him the code she's constructed, asking for genuine criticism and help. shes sweet, and wont let anything necessarily get her down.

can anybody hear me

#homestuck #kidswap #jade lalonde #dave egbert #rose harley #june strider #/#john strider #<- that ones for reach its june in this au #idk what im doing

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blueraineshadows · 11 months

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I would like to request a fic of f*MC, who is an unspeakable, and Sebastian Sallow, who is an auror, as husband and wife. They were on an intense mission together and they almost died. The moment they apparate home they still feel the intensity of what happened and they immediately start kissing each other and end up having “end of the world” type sex.

I hope you like te request and I can’t wait what you do with it!

Thank you for this Ask 💜 I hope this alright 👍

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC 🔥🌶 NSFW - violence and smut

Years of practise meant that Sebastian was one with the shadows, moving quickly and quietly, eyes alert and wand ready. He paused, eyes adjusting in the dark as he peered around a pillar of ancient stone. A fire pit danced in the darkness and the shadows of moving figures bent crazily across the stone wall.

Dressed all in black, the collar of his Auror coat pulled up to his chin, Sebastian waited, his ears pricking up at the sound of low voices. The men guarding the entrance had been nothing but foot soldiers, the muscle, and Sebastian had taken them down easily enough. Now, he was near the inner chamber of this research den, and the wizards here had hearts blacker than coal.

He turned his gaze to the far side of the room, a faint shimmer catching his eye. He watched as it warped in an out, moving carefully towards the corridor where he was hidden. When it came to a pause beside him, ducking behind the opposite pillar, the shimmer flickered into a solid shape.

Also dressed in black, her hair pulled back from her face revealing the mouth watering curve of her jaw, was MC. Despite the situation, he could not help but take a beat to appreciate the woman beside him. She had been at his side since they were 15, and he couldn't imagine her not being there now. Impossible.

Her eyes moved to him, fire pit flames glittering in their shadowed depths. He caught the flash of her smile and it still had the power to make his stomach flutter. He raised a questioning eyebrow to her, his wife, his partner, his everything.

She nodded. Her inspection of the north passage had been a success. The relic was here, which meant that the wizards the Auror office were hunting would most likely be here too. Good. He was ready for a fight.

They took out the first two quietly, the bodies slumping to the floor, but then the real fun began. Spells seared through the dimly lit room, the sparks dancing around the shadows of flickering flames. Husband and wife duelled as if in a dance, their movements fluid and a complement to each other's bodies.

Room clear, they took the north passage and ran with light steps, crouching near the entrance to the relic atrium. Sebastian's blood was up, his breath fast and shallow. MC was coiled like a spring, but she was more patient, monitoring the situation. That relic was her main interest here, not the fight. As an Unspeakable, research was paramount, and that relic had been on her most wanted list for months. They could not afford to fuck this up.

So, when Sebastian ran in, wand poised and spells flying. MC had to grit her teeth at her husband's recklessness. Some things never changed.

The head of operations here was a tall, smartly dressed man, well spoken, and Wanted in ten countries. To deliver him to the Ministry would be a career highlight. To see him floating midair and bound with chains was very satisfying. Sebastian stood admiring his work as MC took down the last of his lackeys.

Their captured prize began to chuckle, a dark, rumbling sound that drew Sebastian's brows together in irritation. MC approached the relic, careful, intrigued. Sebastian glanced between his prisoner and his wife, realisation setting in almost a beat too late.

He reached out a hand towards her, a shout on his lips, as a ear shattering crack split the air. MC was blown back away from the relic with a blinding flash of light. She didn't even make a sound as her body flew up and back, her arms flailing out.

Fear like never before seized Sebastian, and all the while, the prisoner cackled in manic laughter. Sebastian moved fast, a flick of his wand shot his spell out, capturing MC and slowing her down, but not enough to stop her hitting the far wall. She slid down to the floor, slumping there, unmoving.

Prisoner forgotten, he ran to her, sliding to his knees before scooping her up, checking her vital signs. With his hands pressed to her throat to check for a pulse, a searing pain sliced across his back. He turned, pain screaming through him.

His prisoner had snapped his chains and had his wand poised. Sebastian narrowed his eyes. Revenge would be sweet when it came, but for now, he had other priorities. Scooping up MC, he drew on the last of his strength and Apparated them both out of there.

....*....

The first pale fingers of dawn were creeping across the sky when MC finally opened her eyes. She winced, muscles stiff, and glanced around the familiar bedroom. Beside her on the bed were the remains of healing Potions, cloths stained with blood and what looked like Dittany paste. She sat up, blinking drowsily, and then stilled.

Sebastian was sitting on the chair at the dressing table, his body slumped forward, arms dangling loosely at his sides. She couldn't see his face, it was turned away from her, but his back made her gape in horror.

His flesh was sliced as though ravaged by claws, the skin puckered up into thick red wounds, the blood trails dark against his paleness. She scrambled across the bed, her feet hitting the floor with a thud, a dizzy spell sent her staggering, but she stumbled towards him anyway. Gripping his shoulder, she shook him, hard. "Sebastian!"

Nothing. Panic made her throat tight. "Fuck, fuck, no," she rasped. She saw more evidence of attempts to heal and felt tears sting her eyes. He had tried to help himself, and no doubt had tried to help her first, it was him all over. She moved around him, hands on his head to look at his face. He was grey, his lips even paler. "Sebastian, wake up, it's me. Please!"

Her fingers fumbled as she found Wiggenweld, and tipped it down his throat. Nothing. She tried other potions, the salve and a basic healing charm. Still the wounds refused to close. The limp, pale look of him made fear snap at her insides, but she wasn't going to give up. Not on him. Never.

She took her wand, and dug deep, fighting her own dizzying trembles to draw on her Ancient Magic. She slowly sealed the wounds on his back, the flickering blue and white tendrils knitting his flesh. Then she pulled him from the chair, laying him as gently as she could manage on the floor, before placing her palms on his chest.

"Please," she begged. Her cheeks were damp with tears she hadn't even noticed. "Don't you dare fucking leave me."

She closed her eyes and channeled the magic through her palms. The glow of her magic warmed his chilly flesh, the swirls like delicate smoke strands coiling intricately around her hands before seeping into him. In her mind she let memories flood outwards, swirling moments of laughter, soft touches, the feel of his lips, the day he asked her to be his wife. She imagined their clasped hands, their bodies entwined in rumpled sheets, the energy and magnetism of fighting by his side.

"Come back to me," she whispered. "Sebastian, come back."

With a cry of relief, she felt his chest heave beneath her hands. His lips sucked in a breath and his eyes opened wide. He looked up at her, gasping. "What happened?" He croaked.

....*....

They sat at the kitchen table nursing cups of tea, the remains of breakfast on the table around them. They had eaten in silence, both of them shaken and processing. The fear of what might have been hovering behind their shoulders with cold teeth, refusing to let them forget.

MC pulled her cardigan closer around her, fighting a shiver. She felt his gaze and looked up. There was colour in his cheeks now. He looked like her Sebastian. "What?" She whispered.

"I thought you were dead," he said. The words seemed to catch in his throat and he had to look down.

She swallowed. The words hit her hard. She remembered how he had looked when she had found him. There were no words to describe the hollow, black hole of fear and loss that had threatened to swallow her at that sight.

"We fucked up," she said. She put her palms to her forehead and leant on the table. "We lost the relic, we lost him, and we nearly lost our lives. What the fuck happened?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked.

MC looked at him, her fear was still there, mocking her and she smothered it with anger. She shoved her chair back from the table and stood, turning to begin pacing their little kitchen. "Why do you always have to be so reckless? You went storming into that room, as per usual, and then everything was fucked up."

"So, this is all my fault?" He gaped. He made a fist against the table top. "If you weren't so obsessed with that fucking relic, maybe you would have taken the time to notice the charms placed around it!"

"It's a bit rich to be preaching to me about obsessing over relics," she snapped back. She pushed a hand through her hair. "You can be such a hypocrite sometimes."

He shot out of his chair and made a grab for her. His hand gripped her arm and he definitely had his strength back. "You're really going to go there?"

MC looked up at him, stared into those eyes that she knew so well. Eyes that had nearly closed on her forever. Her anger evaporated, and all that was left was her fear and her pain. She shook her head. "I thought I had lost you," she gasped. Tears sprang up into her eyes. "You were fucking dead, Sebastian! I had to bring you back, because...because none of it is worth it if you're gone. None of it."

His throat worked as he stared back at her, his grip on her arm tightened.

"Don't make me ever see you like that again," she said. "I can't..."

His arms swallowed her up and crushed her against his chest. She clung to him as though he would vanish if she ever let go. "I'm not going anywhere," he promised, firmly. "Not without you."

His mouth pressed kisses into her hair, over her forehead and down to her ear. She lifted her face to him and he claimed her mouth, his kiss a demand and a promise. She gripped his shirt, tugging at the material, pulling at the buttons desperately until they gave way. They pinged free, spinning across the room to clatter across the floor. She needed to feel his skin, his warmth. Feel him alive under her hands.

His hunger for her burned as fiercely, he rid her of her cardigan and blouse, hands seeking out her soft curves. He lifted her, perching her on the edge of the table, cups and plates shoved messily out of the way. Cutlery clattered to the floor.

His mouth tortured the skin of her neck, sucking the soft skin into blooming bruises, proof that her heart beat for him, she was alive. There was nothing gentle about their movements, it was a primal need to join, an instinct. Her legs wrapped around him, possessive, needy and his fingers sought out her searing heat.

MC's head dipped back, a low moan drawn from her lips as he stroked and teased, shifting to press his arousal against her ready folds. She braced her arms against the table behind her, back arched, giving him a glorious view of her breasts. He swirled a tongue over one hardened peak and thrust deeply into her.

Sebastian had fucked his wife many times, but this time there was something deeper, a rawness to it that shook him to the core. His fingers dug into her hips, gripping her as he thrust harder and faster, watching her breasts bounce with his relentless rhythm. The sounds that tore from her lips drove him wild, the sheen of sweat forming on her chest made him want to press the flat of his tongue against it and drown in her scent.

The table shuddered beneath them, the legs scraping against the floor, dishes rattled and still he pressed. She reached out a hand, pressing the palm to his chest, her cheeks were flooded with beautiful colour. She looked alive, beautiful.

The tone of her cries shifted, he could see the flush of warmth spreading across her skin, the subtle tightening around his cock. He rolled his hips, hitting that little sweet spot, his lips parted as he watched her come undone, a string of saliva hanging from his lip.

He looked down at his cock sliding into her, the slick pulsing to coat him with shiny wetness. With a deep groan of release he buried himself inside her heat, his cock pulsing almost painfully, his breath a hot gasp through his lips.

MC sat up, her arms circling his neck, pulling him closer. He buried his face into her hair, savouring the sound of her breathing, the warmth of her embrace and the rapid beat of her precious heart.

Losing her would be the end of his world, and knowing that she felt the same was more precious, more sacred, than any relic or career-making arrest.

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #mc x sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow smut #blueraineshadows

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coldemergency · 7 months

Text

Unfinished work that I'm proud of 🤗❤️

Summary: After being hit by a spell Harry is de-aged into an infant. Fortunately, his mind is intact. Unfortunately, no one else knows.

Chapter 1: Helpless

Harry stared up into red eyes and cried. It was more like a wail actually, small and pathetic. Just like Harry.

One second he was running in the atrium, then Dumbledore was defending him, then he jumped in stupidly wanting to help and was hit by a strange spell and shrunk uncomfortably. He hit the ground, only cushioned by his now oversized clothes, and found that he could no longer control his limbs.

He was stuck inside his robes, dark and the sound outside was muffled. He could hear yelling, and the occasional spell zapped over him. He was grabbed by someone, yanked hard, and then was apparated away while being clutched tightly.

He tried to fight, he tried to scream but all he could do was helplessly gaze at red eyes when his robes were pulled back.

Voldemort was holding him, eyes wide, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. When Harry began crying, the man grimaced, and he thought that the wizard might drop him. To his surprise the Dark Lord adjusted his hold, cradling Harry comfortably in his robes. Harry tried to move his arm, maybe slap Voldemort, but all he managed was a sad wave.

Long white fingers reached out, curiously holding onto his hand. His little baby hand. Dear Godric, he was a fucking baby? Harry cried harder then, gripping his enemy's finger as tightly as he could, willing it to hurt even though he knew it was useless now.

Voldemort clicked his tongue in annoyance at him.

The man waved his wand, and Harry watched through misty eyes as a bottle appeared. The Dark Lord shoved it into his open mouth, and Harry tried to cry around it but found it much too hard. He closed his mouth, clasping the soft rubber between his gums, and simply accepted the drink.

The milk within was sweet and warm, and Harry begrudgingly had to admit it was quite delicious.

He was still mad though.

Voldemort held the bottle, feeding him, watching him with a strange look on his face. Was he not going to kill Harry? There would never be a better opportunity than this, yet the man seemed content in nursing him.

It was fucking weird.

Harry stared up at the man, the monster who killed his parents, the man who tried to kill him. Why bother with this? Why not just chuck him out the window, or drown him? Surely Voldemort had better things to do with his time than care for a baby.

“You’ll be much less of a problem like this, Harry,” Voldemort murmured, his long finger caressing his cheek. Harry wanted to bite it off. Gum it off? Bullocks.

Had this been planned all along? Although he preferred this over being dead, Harry wasn’t sure of what to make of this strange situation. He doubted very much that he was supposed to still be mentally 15. But of course, Harry was the best at screwing things up.

If Voldemort thought this was going to be easy, he had another thing coming.

~~~~~~

Time was weird as a baby. Harry couldn’t keep track of days and nights, and Voldemort didn’t seem to sleep or eat at regular intervals. Harry slept a lot, he slept an ungodly amount. He couldn’t help it. He tired easily, after eating, moving, or breathing he fatigued and would be dozing off quickly.

There were times he was sure Voldemort was using magic to keep him sleepy, probably during the periods in which he’d be left alone for an unknown amount of time. Voldemort would always return. The man alone cared for him. Harry had yet to see another person and was sure he was dead to the world.

He wondered if anyone knew what had happened. Dumbledore had been there when he was hit with the spell, but even he couldn’t know everything. Had the old man seen his little form, wiggling under his clothes? Or perhaps his eyesight was too bad and he’d watched in horror as Harry seemingly disappeared from existence.

He had no clue.

Voldemort wasn’t helping either, he’d barely talk around Harry. The man would mumble while reading, and murmur short sarcastic comments at Harry that he didn’t think he understood. It was more than clear that the Dark Lord had no fucking idea that Harry was indeed still himself. If he knew, Voldemort would probably talk down at him, mock him, or straight up kill him when he realized his spell hadn’t worked properly.

It was in Harry’s best interest to keep up the charade until he could fight back, run away, or somehow send a message to Dumbledore.

Harry wiggled, trying to move his hands and feet in a swaddle he was wrapped in.

The Dark Lord looked up from his writing, looking Harry over before resuming whatever it was the man was doing. After weeks of this, Harry thought that the man would grow tired of him, hand him off to a Death Eater, or feed him to his snake. Instead, he seemed to adjust to having a baby.

Harry gurgled, trying to whine as he wiggled. He was feeling restless.

Red eyes looked up once again, this time Voldemort placed his quill down in its holder and reached over to grab Harry. He unfolded the soft blanket that was wrapped around him, picking him up and minding his head as he brought him to his lap. Harry settled in his hold, happy that the Dark Lord's hands weren’t cold at least.

Harry blinked up at the pale face and watched as an almost unnoticeable smile crept onto Voldemort’s face.

“So fussy,” the man murmured. Harry tried to deny it but grunted in response. The older wizard ran his hand through his hair, displacing the small curls. He seemed to be amused by it. Harry was not. “You’ll make a perfect little Slytherin,” he stated, sending a cold shiver down Harry’s spine. “How do you like Harrison Tomas Riddle? Or perhaps Hadrian Marvolo Riddle?”

Harry wanted to scream. This couldn’t be happening. Voldemort was really going to try and raise him. Feeling frustrated Harry cried out, he wanted the man to know exactly how he felt about being renamed to fit into his sick fantasy. He belted out loudly, eyes quickly covering in a sheen of tears. Voldemort chuckled, gently bouncing him. Harry cried harder.

“You’re absolutely right, Harry. Neither is good, why should you have to bear my filthy father's muggle name?” Harry had to pause to take in a breath. “Perhaps it’s time to revive the Gaunt line,” he mused. Ignoring Harry’s tantrum.

The man smiled down at him, red eyes filled with pride. Harry hated him. He hated him.

~~~~~~

At some point, Harry was able to start supporting his own head. His neck was no longer as bendy and weak as a cooked spaghetti noodle. He was having an easier time directing his hands to where he wanted them to go and was practicing grabbing hold of things.

With his small, newfound strength, Harry tried his best to annoy the shit out of Voldemort. He’d grasp random things, throwing them to the floor or bringing them to his mouth to slobber on. He’d turn his head away from the man constantly, refusing to look at him or acknowledge him. He could tell it bothered him, which was hilarious.

The Dark Lord fell out of favor with his baby.

When he tried feeding him, Harry would spit it up. He loved making a mess, even though it took Voldemort less than two seconds to clean.

The game became boring after a while since the man never retaliated. Harry wasn’t sure what he expected. The Dark Lord never cursed at him or yelled. He never hurt him, hands as gentle as always. He would spend hours trying to feed him, even after Harry spits up countless times.

When Harry cried at night, the Dark Lord always, without fail, would come to his cot and comfort him. He never looked tired, instead, he seemed to enjoy the time he spent with Harry, as unpleasant as he made it.

Harry hated him for it.

He’d gotten used to diaper changes, grateful for magic since the Dark Lord never had to touch him for that, but for bath time it was still as embarrassing as ever. For whatever reason the Dark Lord preferred bathing him in the traditional way, instead of just using magic to vanish the food and grime from feedings and drool.

He had a small basin that he’d fill with lukewarm water, and he’d use one arm to hold Harry in the water while he cleaned him with the other. The soap he used made Harry’s skin very smooth, and the cloth he used to wipe him down was possibly the softest thing Harry had ever felt in his life. It was a stark contrast to the rough rags his Aunt would use to scrub him until his skin was red.

After his baths Voldemort would towel dry him carefully, patting him down before placing a diaper on him and fitting him with warmed clothes. Bathtime was always before bedtime, and Harry was always the most relaxed afterward, clean, warm, and comfortable. Sometimes he would forget to be humiliated until the morning after.

They had a routine and followed it usually. There were the odd times that Harry would be left alone for longer than usual, Voldemort was probably busy torturing muggles and having slumber parties with Malfoy. But those times alone were few and far between. It would seem the Dark Lord had plenty of free time, ignoring how much paperwork the man did.

He was always reading and writing. It was so fucking boring. Harry would bother him, and Voldemort always was happy for the interruption.

Harry was surprised one evening to find that Voldemort does in fact sleep.

The man had taken a break from his book, rubbed his eyes, and took Harry with him to his bedroom. Harry had been there twice that he could recall since living here. Voldemort lay on his bed, putting Harry on his chest, and then took a fucking nap.

Harry was appalled, absolutely disgusted. But intrigued all the same.

He watched Voldemort sleep as he lay there, rising and falling with his chest. The man must have been tired as it hadn’t taken long for him to go under. He didn’t snore, or twitch. He was very still. Harry hated that the sound of the man’s heartbeat was comforting. It made his eyes heavy, and he tried to fight it but in the end, he closed his eyes and nodded off as well.

After that, the Dark Lord took Harry with him whenever he slept. It wasn’t all that common, no rhyme or reason to the schedule. Harry wondered if the man slept because he needed to or if he just felt like it.

He still hadn’t seen the man eat a single thing since being in his care. He would drink a rare glass of wine, or sip on tea, but never anything substantial. No wonder the man was practically a walking skeleton. The opposite of Harry who had been gaining weight, as babies do. Voldemort had once rolled his little fat rolls between his bony fingers, chuckling.

“Look at how fat you’ve become,” He stated gleefully. “You’ll be much healthier this time around, I can assure you of that,” He promised, making Harry both sick to his stomach and also secretly relieved. He was so ready for real food, none of that mushy crap.

In fact, Harry was so ready for anything that would give him any kind of independence. He’d be the fastest potty-trained kid the world would see. Then, when he had the motor skills, he would learn to run as fast as he could. With the right amount of strength, he might be able to stab Voldemort to death in his sleep.

How morbid.

But it would come to that in the end, wouldn’t it? He still had to fight the man. There still had to be a winner. Didn’t there? He had kept his memories for a reason. The world was giving him a fighting chance. He was the only one.

It would have to happen.

There was no other choice.

#harry potter #fanfic #harry potter is a menace #hp #fanfiction #voldemort #tom riddle #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 author #fanfic writing #unfinished #ideas #short story #short stories #harry potter au #harry james potter #harry potter fanfiction #daddy voldemort

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thedrarrylibrarian · 1 year

Note

Hello!! I was wondering if you know any fic with a secret identity trope? Hehe thank you

Secret identity

Such a fun trope! I tried to put a mix of options for everyone in here! I hope you enjoy!

Faces by @floydig (323 words, rated T)

Dumbledore’s voice was solemn. “You’ll become one of them; infiltrate. Gain their trust, take the Mark when they offer, then terminate all.”

“I’ll do it,” Harry said. He did not fear death.

a new kind of blind date by @swoontodeath (1,233 words, rated T)

Keen to escape his fans, Harry joins the cast of a hidden-identity dating show.

Harry Potter and the Half-Guard Prince by @swoontodeath (4,416 words, rated M)

Banished to the Muggle world by the conditions of his parole, Draco Malfoy is forced to learn how to protect himself without magic.

The Half-Guard Prince might never show his face in his videos, but that low, seductive voice is strangely familiar…

Turn My Blue Heart to Red by @bonesliketambourines (4,587 words, rated M)

Harry figured he'd never see Draco Malfoy again after their disastrous not-a-relationship-no-really-Hermione ended after Eighth Year, but Harry's never been lucky, so naturally it's Head Healer Malfoy who's swanning all over Harry's emergency department, looking all pale and accomplished and competent as he sneers down at Harry's systems and processes.

Meanwhile, what about that fit bloke at the gym...?

Inexplicably, I Find Myself With You by @bafflinghaze (6,160 words, rated M)

During a masked ball, Harry meets a man and has a great night. When night turns to day, the man leaves and Harry is left with a mysterious white mask.

The Bum Universe by @p1013 (7,964 words, rated E)

From this angle, Harry can make out the entire shape of the tattoo. It's a snake, curled lovingly across the man's lower right back, nestled within a bed of peonies. The lines are slightly faded, and the soft colors of the petals are a dim pink. Harry imagines what it would've looked like right after the man was tattooed, everything vibrant with fresh ink and blood-raised skin. His hand perfectly covers the flowers, the snake's eyes peering out from the space between his fingers, and the man shivers beneath Harry's palm.

Lost N Found by @famoustruth (10,812 words, rated T)

The six times Draco writes love letters to Harry without either of them knowing and the one time they do.

Statues Crumble by @fictional and @xanthippe74 (13,683 words, rated T)

Between one war and the next, Draco has lost his parents, his home, and his menial Ministry job. All he has left is the secret (and anonymous) work he does to help Harry Potter overthrow another government—oh, and that statue he stole from the Ministry Atrium.

Always Him by justlikewriting (14,124 words, rated M)

After the war, Draco and Blaise had set up The Agency as a side project. And Draco knew that it was just meant to provide people with someone to do fun things with: no sex, no romantic entanglements allowed.

Yes, Draco knew. He really did. Even if his next client was Harry Potter, the Harry Potter he’d been carrying a torch for for much too long now.

Day Shift on Diagonal by @prolix- (22,192 words, rated E)

Auror Draco Malfoy has been relegated to patrol duty again. After a long shift, he stumbles upon a new coffee shop on Diagon Alley and finds himself being served coffee by none other than Harry Potter. Charmed, Draco can’t help but go back again and again in order to get a glimpse of what’s become of the wizarding world’s Golden Boy—and to get his weekly fix of caffeine, of course. But, as time passes, Potter’s mind seems to be occupied with more than just coffee… and it’s up to Draco to figure out what’s going on.

Hop, Skip, and a Jump by @rockingrobin69 (22,222 words, rated M)

Harry's finally reached the bottom. Took a while, but here he is, right where he should be. Miserable, angry, terrified, and most importantly, numb - isolating himself in Grimmauld Place seems the natural next step. Alone, all alone. Except for this pesky little problem.

Love Bites, Or How Draco Malfoy Learned to Let Go and Celebrate His Allure by @mosrael (50,797 words, rated M)

Recently-turned Draco Malfoy is doing his very best to be a normal, productive, contributing member of wixen society. So far, he's managed to keep his bloody little problem a secret, even from his best friends. But when the professional opportunity he's been dreaming of finally falls in his lap, he finds himself with much more than just a potential promotion. Will a profile on a new creature-exclusive dating app, a wolfy stranger who seems hellbent on liking Draco just the way he is, and a little self-confidence help Draco finally love himself and his newfound community?

Dancing with a Dragon by justlikewriting (27,913 words, rated G)

When a new group of potions smugglers, also known as the Dragon Cartel, infiltrates the UK market from mainland Europe, Harry is happy to go on a mission to Brussels. That is, until he finds out whose bodyguard he will have to be, because, of course, that just has to be Draco Malfoy: his former, er-, schoolmate and the same prat Harry has only recently encountered at a particularly boring ministry event.

The Boy Who Only Lived Twice by @letteredlettered (54,117 words, rated E)

Harry Potter is an Unspeakable. Draco Malfoy is the wizard who shagged him. Adventure! Intrigue! Secret identities, celebrities, spies! It's all right here, folks.

Who we are in the shadows by @quicksilvermaid (99,714 words, rated E)

Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life. When he comes across Draco Malfoy in the criminal underbelly of Wizarding London and in need of protection, Harry figures bringing him in to face the Ministry's justice is his ticket back to everything he's lost.

But nothing is exactly as it seems. Not even Harry himself. And as he gets drawn further and further into Malfoy's world of honour and deception he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew—about his childhood nemesis, the Ministry job he misses so much, and most of all, about himself.

Pages of You by @wolfpants (101,717 words, rated E)

Summer, 1980. Harry is floating between university and becoming a Real Certified Adult. He's not ready. He really isn't.

In a desperate attempt to have the Best Last Summer ever, he takes a casual job at his godfather's bookshop in London, starts an illicit pen pal affair with a wordy posh boy that he's catching feelings for, all while dealing with the son of Sirius's business rival, one Draco Malfoy, insufferable know-it-all extraordinaire.

A story about trying to figure out who you are, where you're going in life, and who you want to take along with you.

❤️ As always, if you find a fic you enjoy, please remember to leave the author a kudos or a comment! ❤️

Lots of Love and Happy Reading!

#drarry fic reclist #drarry fanfic rec list #drarry rec list #reclist #Drarry recs #drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #the drarry librarian #thedrarrylibrarian #harry x draco #harry/draco #draco/harry #draco x harry #harry potter/draco malfoy #draco malfoy/harry potter #harry potter x draco malfoy #draco malfoy x harry potter #lots of love and happy reading!

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atrium-mc · 3 months

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Not to brag, but I'm pretty proud of the Warp Gate. It's one of the most complex features I've ever had to program for Atrium.

As you can see in the video above, it allows you to teleport directly to a Lodestone of your choice using the power of the Infusion Circle by spending some of your Experience.

This demo takes place within Spiraling City, a lovely place crafted by TeethBones in Iteration 3, but I also teleport to Holmstead and Uurdengrod (a few other notable locations from Iteration 3.)

(Atrium is a special Minecraft Java Edition server with a unique magic system built into Vanilla using the power of datapacks.)

#minecraft #mineblr #minecraft server #minecraft atrium #minecraft shaders #atrium wizard #atrium magic system

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the-wizard-library · 3 months

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This afternoon from 12:00-5:00pm WLMT (Wizard Library Mean Time) there will be... tests... taking place in the East Atrium. Please do not enter during this time. You have been warned.

#wizardblr #wizard blogging #wizard tumblr #wizard #books #library appreciation

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bluebellhairpin · 1 year

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Thorin Oakenshield X Fem!Reader

Summary; Meeting up with Thorin's Company at Bag End didn't go as smoothly as anyone expected. But as the journey to Erebor begins, eventually everyone settles into a new rhythm of normal - even you and Thorin.

Warnings; Mentions of nightmares/visions of the future. Reader is female-body-coded, uses she/her pronouns, and is Human.

Listening to; 'Noble Maiden Fair' from Brave - "Sun and moon, guide us, to the hour of our glory and honor."

Part 2

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

This is a re-write of a old series! If you'd like to read the original, you can find it Here.

Waking up in a strange place, with little to no memory of the events of the day before, had sent you into a panic.

When things started coming back to you like second nature - your name, places, how to do things and live - you figured, maybe, this wasn’t something to be so worried about.

Maybe it happened often?

You wandered a lot, and on your wanderings down in a place called the Brown Lands, you met someone. Not a man - a wizard - Gandalf was his name, somehow you knew it without him even telling you. You trusted him easily, as if you did know him already - something deep inside told you he wasn’t going to hurt you, that he was good - so when he gave you a map to the Shire - to Bag End - after a meal you shared, you took it with a nod.

The place you needed to go wasn’t far away, a few days of swift travel on horseback and you could be there - but you had no horse - and from what Gandalf said, it would be quite the dangerous journey. Weapons that would’ve been needed were not something you had on hand either. So you stayed in that small town working your arse off in order to have enough favours to pull to get you the resources needed - sturdier clothes, a bigger travel pack, food that could last, a sword, and a horse.

It took you less than two weeks.

You picked out a study mountain horse, with a dark coat and lighter colored mane. His owner said his name was Phar Lap. He was perfect.

You soon found your way over the mountain ranges that lead towards Bree, and by the time you'd made it to Bag End on the night Gandalf said you should be there by, you had already quite a journey and story under your coat to tell.

You’d tied up your horse, and let yourself into the Hobbit-Hole. The door was left cracked open, and no one answered when you lightly rapped against the window.

Ducking in and making your way through hall into the atrium outside the dining room, the dwarfs in your eyeline went silent.

You were relieved to see that everyone Gandalf said would be there had arrived already. The hobbit in front of you followed their gazes and looked over at you, as did the dwarf sitting at the table’s head and Gandalf. The other dwarfs moved to try and see you better.

“And who might you be?” The Hobbit - Bilbo, something in your mind whispered - asked, already irritated from his unexpected guests, but by the dwarfs reaction he guessed you were definitely uninvited, and therefore was even less pleased.

“I invited her, she shall be our number fifteen.” Gandalf said, taking a blow of his pipe. “She’s here to help.” he added and sat back up.

“To take back the mountain, Erebor. Gandalf told me much about your journey already, I’m more than willing to help you.” You said. Something about being in this situation had you giddy. Like you’d been waiting much longer than you knew to be able to meet them - and help them.

“Why might we need your help?” The dwarf at the head said. Thorin, that same voice told you. He quickly ruined your pleasant mood and stood to emphasize his protest - even though he just reached your chin when standing at his full height, he was still making you want to shrink in on yourself. “You aren’t a dwarf, and yet you’re too small, too weak. You’re no Hobbit burglar either. What could you possibly do to help us?” You eyed Thorin, weary, but wondering if he could really be so hostile to a stranger who was offering their help.

“I know things. I see how events play out in dreams.”

“Oh and what use is that exactly?”

“You’re asking me that? You willingly have a wizard in your company, and you’re asking me how visions of the future would help you?” You were very quick to bite back at him, to match his hostility. “I wouldn’t have travelled all the way from The Brown Lands to help you if I doubted if the visions were true. Gandalf wouldn’t have told me to come if he thought I was too weak or small.” All eyes then turned to Gandalf, of which was pretending he hadn’t quite heard you.

“I already told you she’s here to help. I’ve spoken, if you wish to ignore me that will be your fault.” He said promptly after seeing too many eyes on him.

“I don’t mind her coming!” A young blond dwarf said, a smile cracking onto his face as he playfully hit the shoulder beside him - his brother, Kili- on the shoulder. “We could use a pretty face among all the ugly mugs here.”

You looked over at the two younger dwarves bitterly, as the others erupted in laughter. “I’m well aware I’m the only woman here, but I won’t be reduced down to just a pretty face.” A quiet fell into the group as the laughter died down, your stern eyes receiving nods, and mutterings of ‘fair enough’.

“I don’t wish to sound like I’m doing what you just asked me not to do,” A dwarf who looked much too young to be among his associates stood, “But I want you to know that I think you are really, really pretty.” You took in a deep breath, and sighed with a smile.

“Thank you, Ori.” you blurted. You hand even covered your own mouth at the surprise you had for knowing his name. The Company themselves went into an uproar - partially out of annoyance that Ori was the first to tell you his thoughts and get away with it - and partially out of confusion as to how you knew Ori’s name even though you just got here.

“Who are you?” A rough shove to your arm brought your attention back to - Thorin, “And tell me what else can do you, or do we have to still protect you despite your ‘visions’?”

You told him your name. “I can use a sword well, quick thinking - I can hold my own very well in a fight -”

“Fight? Against what? A measly elf?” You felt your eye twitch. He was frustrating you more and more. If he kept this up, your anger would win over how much you wanted to help them. And you wanted that so dearly. You felt anger bubble inside you, ready to burst, but Gandalf interrupted, ducking his head into the conversation.

“Not elves, but she has had more than her fair share of orcs. Even a troll or two.” he said as you turned away to regain your composure, missing the flash of knowing hurt and regret on Thorin’s face before he spoke.

“I didn’t know.” He said.

“You couldn’t have, you don’t know me.” You replied, giving a small smile to let him know it was alright. For now.

“So is she coming?” Bilbo asked, popping himself into Thorin and your conversation much like the wizard did. “Because I would feel more comfortable coming if there was someone who knows what’s going to happen coming along.” He finished. Thorin took a few more moments to think, looking you up and down as he did so.

“I suppose so. The worst she can do is die.” And just like that, the anger was back.

“I can see how grateful you are to my offer of help, Thorin. I shall take my leave instead of staying around and helping the likes of you.” you said and made your way back out of Bilbo’s house and into the crisp night air. Bilbo himself came after you, almost pleading with you to stay a join anyway, or make everyone else leave with you.

“You will need to go after her, Thorin.” Gandalf said, peering down at the dwarf. “You have to bring her back here.”

“Why should I? She’ll be nothing but trouble, even if she can hold her own in battles.” Thorin said, his stubborn irrationality kicking in again. He just couldn’t see why he needed you.

“You yourself noted she was neither Hobbit or Dwarf. What business do I have inviting an ordinary human on this journey?” With Gandalf’s question Thorin seemed to slowly understand. “To tell you the truth, unknown to herself, she is not of this world. She was sent from another specifically to help you reclaim Erebor, to keep those close to you safe until then with her visions - memories.”

Gandalf took a puff of his pipe, and Thorin blinked, letting the words sink in.

“She’s suffered quite enough at the hands of this world’s darker forces to be able to be here tonight, if that alone isn’t enough reason to let her stay with you then you have a denser skull than I remembered.” Gandalf had a point. Thorin was being unreasonably mean. Even when his own kin were unwilling to help, you were here.

Thorin looked over at Balin, who was sitting and listening intently to Gandalf's words. He nodded at Thorin to go after you. Thorin clenched his jaw, let out a yell of frustration, then stormed out. He reached past the front door, pushed past Bilbo, and stomped angrily towards where you went.

A call of your name had you turning on your heel.

“Wait.” Your eyes almost flashed in the darkness under the fur of your hood, daring Thorin to insult you again, but instead they widened at his changed declaration. “You will come with us as Gandalf is advising, and… I’ll try to act more agreeable towards you.”

He couldn’t meet your eyes as he spoke, though. Instead taking a great interest in the hem of your coat.

“You mean less like a jerk, and more like a king?” your head tilted, trying not to let a smirk reach your lips - though somehow you thought he wouldn’t have seen your expression anyway.

“I suppose so.” Thorin said through gritted teeth. “Especially if you decide to be nice in turn.”

“I’m only nice to those who give me reason, your majesty.” you mocked. Thorin felt his frustration rise once more. He sensed you’d be the death of him - of he of you - if you both kept this up. You smirk widened - although there was no joy behind it - as you started walking past him. “Careful there, you might turn ‘unagreeable’ again.”

“If you want to keep vexing me, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” you turned, facing the equally angry dwarf, of which was now eye-level to you from the hills slope. “You’ll let - no - force me to leave and let your fate, and the fate of the rest of the Company reach the same end that I’ve seen? Trust me - you don’t want what’s coming.” Your voice was quiet, eyes even darker in the night. You watched as his jaw ticked, nose flaring in an effort to keep himself under control. “You do not want more dragon-fire. More lives slain at the hands of orcs. I’ve seen death, blood shed. I see it each and every night when I sleep, Thorin.”

“Well, what choice do you give me now?” Your eyes locked in a fierce hold. Your words hurt Thorin. Gandalf said you were here to help and keep those of the Company safe - you knew their future. If you were saying these things, saying you were to help keep them away from such a horrible fate - one he’d seen bestowed upon many before him - who was he to keep you away?

That alone made him more lenient. You must’ve seen it in his eyes.

“Fine.” You said with a huff. “You may be a king but that doesn’t mean you can be pardoned for acting so horrendously. Even so I will strike a deal with you.”

“Like what?”

“We try not to speak to each other, not to be near each other. Try to stay as far away from each other as possible so we don’t have to fake being civil.” You started, meeting Thorin’s blue eyes once more. They almost looked like they were glowing in the moonlight.” I think I’d be able to bear you much more if I didn't have to speak to you so often.”

“I’d have to agree.” He rumbled.

“We have a deal then?” you asked, sticking your hand out for him to shake. He grabbed hold of your hand, holding it a little too tight.

“Deal.”

Days passed, slowly turning into weeks, and for what it’s worth your plan had worked. Mostly.

You could easily assume Thorin’s temper flared against you just as often as it would’ve if you hadn’t agreed on a deal at all. Honestly yours did too - but only ever to meet his. You tried your best to be civil. But banter turned to bickering, and bickering - when given the chance - would turn to arguments. Tension was building, and often you didn’t know what kind it was exactly.

The Company had stopped for the night to rest under a rocky crevice. Thorin was set to start on the first watch with Fili and Kili before you took over with Dwalin and Ori. You decided to stay up with them. Balin often told stories, and the story Balin would tell tonight would be one you decided not to miss.

Tonight was the story of how Thorin gained the name Oakenshield. Balin told it very well. He often had you enraptured with his decade of tales - you soaked them up like a sponge. Instead of staring at the storyteller to take in every word, you watched Thorin, as everyone did, and found yourself standing with the rest of the company out of respect for your leader and king.

You knew orcs, they'd caused you pain, physical and emotional. Fighting one was enough for you, but an army would take being possessed by the spirits of a thousand warriors. They'd left scars on you - also physical and emotional - and too those wouldn't go away.

You’d always respect Thorin for what he went through, what he did - even if he chose to act like a jerk to you.

With the story told, the night lulled. Dwarves curled up to snore each other to sleep, and you rolled up in your blanket to sleep.

Trees framed your dream.

They peeled back, revealing where you were resting. You knew there were other vantage points where you could see your camp from, you didn’t know how you got there though.

You moved further back, and beside you were wild, vicious beasts. Wargs. Atop them were Orcs. Their eyes flashed in the dark, speaking in tongues you didn’t understand. They turned away, seething, but pleased.

You shot up, reaching a hand for your aching head. Now awake, you took your eyes over a turn of the group. Everyone was here. The bile that rose in your mouth quickly went away.

You were safe, for now.

You looked back at Gandalf, of which had sensed your dream and was keeping a keen eye on you as you woke. Your face had gotten dull, he was worried, but he’d come to understand that some things couldn't be shared.

“My my, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Bofur said from a way across the camp. Unlike Gandalf, the Company didn’t yet fully understand the lengths of your visions. You often had to make up reasons as to why you suddenly looked so shocked, or somber.

“It’s nothing. Just a bad dream.”

“Must’ve been something pretty scary. Perhaps you could spin a tale of sorts?” Bofur prodded, some of the other Company soon turned to face you. Apparently less of them were sleeping than you thought.

“No. No, I’m no good at telling stories.”

“What about a song? It doesn’t have to be a scary one.” Bofur took a puff of his pipe, smugly pushing his agenda. “We haven’t heard a single tale from you yet, I think it’s about time if I do say so myself.”

“Maybe another time, Bofur.” He looked at you, watching as you shoved your hands under your blankets, folding your knees to your chest. He seemed to take the hint, and left you alone, instead now humming a tune of his own.

Thorin looked over to watch you as you settled down again. He’d never seen you wake from a vision before. He never realized exactly what they did to you.

He kept looking between you and the fire to try and make it look like he wasn’t staring. After your waking, it was almost as if he saw you in a new light. Like one switch of many was suddenly turned on inside his mind which enabled him to really see you.

Sure, he’d seen you before, but only superficially, not like this.

This was deeper.

It suddenly occurred to him that - even if you didn’t know it - you had a life back where you came from. A family, friends, maybe even a lover or children. You’d been through hell to get to Bilbo’s that night you first met, only for him to treat you like you were nothing.

Now, he felt pretty bad about it, regretted it even, and felt the strange need to make it up to you.

The problem was he didn’t really know how.

He didn’t know what you liked. Mahal by his pride he wasn’t going to apologize - and he figured from your character you wouldn’t think it meant a whole lot anyway.

He thought about getting you something Dwarrowdam’s liked, pick something up for you on your travels as a gift - but you weren’t a dwarf. The chances of you liking what he’d find you were slim. He then seemed to be hit with an epiphany. Even if you didn’t know where it was, you wanted to go home - a place you’d be sent back to once your purpose was fulfilled.

You wanted the same as him, to return home. He’d help you fulfil your purpose. He’d help you to go home, and be with those who you’d want to be with the most.

You’d forgive him after that. Surely. Even without an apology.

#the girl who knew the end #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin x reader #thorin x you #the hobbit x reader

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racfoam · 1 year

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🫧 Rac’s Masterlist Of Snippets 🫧

(last updated: 6th April, 2023)

BTS Dh Part 2

nynn snippets

graveyard add-on

what-if, Voldemort kisses Harry on the graveyard (Read the Warnings!)

Hermione Defending Harry (4th Year)

nynn Harry meets Movie Voldemort (Graveyard)

Voldemort licks Harry’s wound (Graveyard)

Sirius’ reaction to Harry crushing on Cedric

Cedric gives Harry clue about the egg + Moody reacting to Hedric

Fred & George’s nickname for Voldemort

Voldemort Faces The Dursleys Pt 2 (what-if)

Voldemort shows Harry he can fly

Harry dreaming of Voldemort

Harry’s Letter 1

Harry’s Letter 2

Sirius' reaction to Harrymort getting together

Harry & Voldemort Summer of 6th Year

Harry hears Voldemort laugh

Harry & Bellatrix Ministry fight (5th Year SPOILERS)

Harry under Amortentia (6th Year)

Harry almost gets attacked by McLaggen, Voldemort & Ron team up (6th Year)

Harry & Voldemort, Harry & Slughorn (6th Year)

Scene with Mirrors (SPOILERS)

old fashion vs new fashion

no towels, walk naked (SPOILER for 7th Year)

Flashback Scene - Slughorn Meets Voldemort after he was refused the DADA position (6th Year)

Harry & Voldemort talking about Slughorn, Slughorn is the father that STEPPED UP 😤 (6th Year)

Harry high on Liquid Luck (6th Year)

Voldemort calling Harry beautiful (SPOILERS 5th Year)

Harry being beautiful (6th Year)

McLaggen eyeing Harry during Quidditch Practice (6th Year)

Harry vs Snape (SPOILERS 6th Year)

Harry asking Voldemort for help with homework through the soul bond (5th Year)

Harry using the soul bond during Potions (5th Year)

McGonagall murdering Umbridge (5th Year)

Hedwig is accepting bribery

King's Cross Meeting

Harry talks to Sirius after the Atrium (SPOILER)

Voldemort & Barty (SPOILER)

Slughorn hugs Harry (short)

Harry & Sirius during Ministry fight (short)

Fred & George teasing Harry

Two Apples (SPOILER)

Harry's Quotes in 5th Year (SPOILER)

Death Eaters (SPOILER)

The Quaffle Incident (SPOILER)

Harry dreaming about kisses (SPOILER)

Bellatrix meets Harry

what Slytherin Locket is doing during nynn

Voldemort & Dumbledore Face Off Atrium (SPOILERS)

“I lie to myself.” (SPOILERS)

Harry asks Voldemort about his anatomy

Harry & Voldemort 6th Year Summer

Harrymort cuddles (6th Year)

Muttons (be proud)

Reference Pictures for Voldemort in nynn

Fem Harry Reference Pictures

nynn Deathly Hallows AU

escape from Ministry

Harry going into the Forbidden Forest

"I'll blow it up!" The Trio

Nagini in Godric's Hollow + nynn Voldemort stealing cupcakes

Harry flying on Ili

Seven Potters Polyjuice Scene

Dursleys packing + fight at Malfoy Manor

Harry's no good 17th Birthday

Harry & Hedwig after sky chase, Harry is so done with everything

Voldemort & Death Eaters celebrate Harry's homecoming

nynn Voldemort raises Harry AU Masterlist

nynn Lily & James alive AU

Harry is too chill and very hungry after dementor attack + Lily & Harry heartwarming scene

James & Harry

future son-in-law

all the times Voldemort calls James dad, and the time James calls Voldemort son

nynn James survives, Voldemort Wins AU

nynn Lily survives, Voldemort wins AU

nynn Professor Gaunt

pt 1

pt 2

pt 3

pt 4

snowball fight

Gaunt gets jealous

Harry finds out Gaunt is Voldemort

pt 6 kiss™

nynn Same Age, growing up together & 1st Wizarding War

Tom & Harry’s first meeting written by Anon

Tom sneaks into Harry's dormitory

Harry & Voldemort moments during 1st Wizarding War

Lily & James discussing whether the Dark Lord has a wife

when Voldemort & Harry argue

Voldemort tells Harry about the Prophecy

Halloween 1981

Dolohov returns with baby Voldemort in 1983

Voldemort decides not to kill Harrison

Harry & Voldemort raising Harrison (angst)

Harrison says his first words

Harrison meets Hermione (Harmione)

Harry & Voldemort + 17-year-old Harrison going to meet Hermione's parents

last thought, last breath

- Canon Compliant, Harry surrenders in Forbidden Forest, Voldemort discovers Harry is a Horcrux, Captive Harry, Dark Fic

Narcissa is too sober for this

Harry tries to get drunk, Voldemort stops her

The Dark Lord wants his birthday gift (Mature themes)

your fingers seek mine (Masterlist)

generousity - Harry Time-Travels to 1st Wizarding War AU (Masterlist)

#masterlist #harrymort #tomarry #female harry potter #snippets #harry potter #lord voldemort #tom marvolo riddle

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the-al-chemist · 6 months

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The Prodigal Son

For Day 3 of @thethreebroomsticksfic’s Weasley Week, I present a little Percy angst.

Warnings: mentions of Christmas, when right now it’s only October.

December 1995

It was Christmas Eve, and in the Ministry of Magic Headquarters, work was slowly grinding to a halt. From the window of his office on the uppermost floor, Percy had a clear view of the festive memos that left a trail of glitter in their wake as they flew back and forth across the atrium. Far below, colleagues were bidding one another glad tidings, and the fireplaces flashed green as staff clocked off and went home to the families impatiently waiting for them to return.

Now that day was growing late, Percy must have been one of the only people left working. He was certainly the only person left on his floor; even the Minister for Magic himself had gone home to the bottle of brandy that he said was calling his name. As he left, he had praised Percy for his commitment to his work.

Percy was committed to his work. If it were not for his conscientiousness, he would never have secured such a prestigious job role at such a young age. He was living proof that diligence and determination could get a person far in life.

In truth, however, it was not his excellent work ethic that kept him at his desk this Christmas Eve. It was more of a case of him having nowhere better to be.

Still, as the lights in yet more office windows deluminated, and the crowds down in the atrium dwindled further, Percy had to admit that he longer wished to remain where he was. He may have only had a tiny, empty, and extortionately expensive flat to return to, but being there alone couldn’t be worse than being alone at work. He could hardly spend the night before Christmas sleeping at his desk, after all.

He passed no one in the corridor on his way to the elevator, but as its doors opened on the second level, he was joined by a tall and familiar-looking wizard a few years older than him. The wizard had dark brown hair and fine lines around eyes, and a stack of books floated in the air beside him.

“Evening, Weasley,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”

Percy’s Christmas was unlikely to be merry, but he forced a smile and replied stiffly, “And to you, Davies.”

“I heard about your dad’s accident. He’s out of St Mungo’s now, isn’t he?”

In response to Chester Davies’ question, Percy gave a curt nod and made a humming noise. He had not visited his father during his stay in hospital. He felt guilty about not doing so, but given the way the two of them had argued the last time they spoke, he imagined that his presence would not have been particularly conducive to a speedy recovery. Percy had not yet entirely forgiven his father for the things he had said during their argument; he could only presume that the lingering resentment was mutual.

“Your family must be relieved to have him home for Christmas,” Chester continued. “I suppose that there’ll be a lot of you at your parents’ house this year.”

The way he spoke made it sound like another question, and Percy felt compelled to answer.

“I’m not certain,” he said. “I’m not spending Christmas with them this year. Too busy with work.”

Chester looked almost disappointed, but he quickly recovered himself as the elevator came to a halt and opened out into the atrium.

“Well, when you see your dad, give him my best. And your mum and Bill, too.”

Percy couldn’t bring himself to tell Chester that he would not be seeing his family to give them anything. Not that he hadn’t been sent anything from them. Just that morning a soft parcel had been delivered to his flat with a label written in his mother’s hand. He knew without having opened it what would be inside. Every year since he could remember his mother had knitted him and each of his siblings a jumper. It was a tradition, just as much as the turkey on the table, the gnome on top of the tree, and stockings opened beside the roaring fire.

Without warning, Percy was struck with a sudden pang of homesickness, one that he couldn’t ignore. He wished profoundly that he had never argued with his father, that he had never left the Burrow, that he could be there now enjoying Christmas with his family.

But, he thought, perhaps he could. He had assumed that he would be unwelcome, but if his mother had sent him a jumper, then maybe she would have left a place at the table for him as well. The more he considered it, the more Percy was certain that this was the case. The jumper was more than just a gift, it was an olive branch. It was his mother’s way of saying that he was still loved, that he still belonged. Surely, he would still be welcomed with open arms. After all, what was Christmas if not a time for forgiveness?

His mind made up, Percy stopped in a Muggle shop in the London street above the Ministry of Magic and bought a large bottle of sherry, the most expensive in the shop. He tucked it under his arm and ducked into an alleyway so that he could Disapparate without being seen.

He thought longingly of the Burrow, of home, of the ramshackle house with its drafts and mess and the wailing ghoul in the attic. He thought of the piles of shoes in the porch and numerous odd socks in the washing and the chickens that pecked in the yard. He thought of the warm woollen blankets, the smell of his mother’s cooking, and the cosy golden glow of the lights that shone through the windows during the darkest nights. He took a deep breath and smiled as he Apparated to the front garden, where he found the house…

Empty.

The place was silent. The lights were all off. No one was home. It was Christmas Eve, and the Weasleys were elsewhere. Percy didn’t know where exactly, because no one had bothered to invite him. Clearly, no one missed him that much.

Percy was half-helplessness, half-bitterness. He felt like a small child, lost and alone. He felt like an old man, aching and world-weary. More than anything, he felt angry. His anger only increased when he returned to his flat to see the still-unopened gift his mother had sent him resting on the table.

Jaw clenched and fingers trembling, he picked up the parcel and carried across the room to the window, where his owl Hermes was resting on his favourite perch.

“Take it back,” he told Hermes, who blinked at him and let owl a low and doleful-sounding hoot in response. “Just take it back.”

His voice was louder than he’d intended it to be, and his eyes began to sting. Hermes ruffled his feathers, but he took the strings of the parcel in his talons. Percy exhaled.

“Thank you,” he said, gentler this time. He stroked the feathers on the top of Hermes’ head with the back of one finger. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

As he opened the window to let the bird out, a chill entered. Percy steeled himself against it, welcoming the feeling of physical discomfort, appreciating the way it distracted him from the pain he felt in his heart. And as the last friend he had left in the world disappeared into the midwinter night sky, carrying the last piece he had left of his family, the clock struck midnight.

It was Christmas, and Percy was all alone.

#percy weasley #harry potter fanfiction #hpff #Weasley week #weasley family #order of the phoenix #chester davies

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tallymonster · 6 months

Text

Memories of Us Chapter 6

Chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

Summary: It's party time bitches. Octavia and Gale get a little close, tell each other some things about themselves. Gross wine is involved.

Inspired by @cheesy-cryptid 's fan art that took root in my mind and continues to do so.

As always I want to give credits to my best friend @micropoe10 for reading this and helping me come up with stuff. You're the best babe 😘

Tag list: (as always thanks to those who asked to be tagged! If you'd like to join, let me know!)

@justporo @satanicspinosaurus @sleepy-timaeus @tragedybunny @davenswitcher @wayward-hel

Chapter 6

maybe you and me

Inside the museum, the crowd is evergrowing. Hundreds of people are flooding the main atrium. Not even in Octavia's childhood celebrating her hero ancestor had she seen this many people in one place. She and Gale keep walking linked arm in arm, as they step through the convention she sees the statue of Tav, her great grandmother. She feels like now is the perfect time to tell Gale.

"Uh...Gale?" She tugs a little at his sleeve, he turns to look at her quizzically. "Everything okay?" He asks, she nods reassuringly " I have something to tell you and I don't want you to freak out or anything..." She looks over at the statue and begins telling him about her childhood.

The stories her grandmother would tell her about the hero matriarch of their family, the adventures that were had with his ancestor Gale of Waterdeep, the grand wizard who also saved this town. The trials they had through with the Gith, the Sharran turned Selunite, the Tiefling with the heart of iron, and the Blade of Frontiers.

The whole story fascinated Gale and he couldn't believe that she knew what he had grown up with, to be one of the line of people they came from was no easy task. "Incredible! You somehow always have a trick up your sleeve don't you? Oh I cannot wait to tell Astarion!" His eyes are alight with renewal behind them. He shakes his head and holds on to both of Octavia's hands. "You are the key. You are the one who could help, this is why he gave you the damn book! How? How the hells did he even know?!"

Octavia's brows shot up and a cold worry quickly filled her. "He doesn't know. I don't know if you realize by how little I mention it, or by how quietly I just told you in a gigantic party, but I'm not exactly one to advertise my family lineage. People tend to get weird about it.." She slowly drops her hands out of Gale's. "I would appreciate it if we didn't tell him...not yet." She swallows nervously, "Maybe after this whole painting business is done?"

She smiles wryly and takes a pair of drinks from a tray carrying waiter passing by. "Let's just take a note from his book tonight? What does he say? 'Live a little, daaahling'." She ends with a bad impersonation of Astarion, hands Gale the glass and they clink glasses; he shakes his head with a smile and drinks.

—-------------------

It had been roughly two hours since she and Gale were separated by the guests who had a million questions about the new exhibit. She was on her third different way of wording the same answer to a halfling who kept making it very clear that their family was one of the many donors to this museum. She laughs and nods, appeasing them and excusing herself. She finds an open door to the outer balcony and swiftly walks towards it.

Thankfully there was another drink table next to it, she grabs a flight of what looks like sparkling water and quickly drinks it. To her distaste, it was more of that gross tasting champagne. As she comes out onto the balcony, she wriggles as the bubbles shoot down her throat, the sensation causing her to make an audible groan.

"Isn't it just awful? I pay for the best but get this vinegar in a champagne bottle. How utterly disappointing." Of course, as if on cue, Astarion makes his appearance. He strolls up from behind Octavia and dumps the champagne into a topiary planter. He's dressed in the most immaculate outfit she has ever seen him wear.

Black from top to bottom, his shirt was opened and his chest exposed to the moonlight, very fitted pants, and a hint of red in the lining of his jacket. His eyes are covered by his glasses, Octavia was hoping he wouldn't wear them tonight but she doesn't bring it up.

Astarion takes a red handkerchief from his coat pocket and wipes his lips in one fluid motion. "Good evening to you too, Astarion. I take it you're having a good night? Well aside from the drinks." Octavia giggles and leans back on the edge of the enclosure, her hands resting on the wall.

"I would if these people would stop making me repeat myself. Don't know how many times I was approached by the same Drow woman asking me idiotic questions about the other exhibits. Thank the Gods she got pulled away by an hors d'oeuvres tray passing by. I made my dashing escape afterwards. What about you, darling? Are you finally enjoying yourself?" He stands next to her, facing out towards the city.

"Yes, somewhat. I mean I'm right there with you about the cycle of questioning. Other than that it's been..." she pauses, looking down "it's been fine. Like I said before, I'm more of a 'work silently in the background' type. So for me to be here, under all this attention...it's intimidating. I'm just not used to it." Her lips upturn slightly, she plays with the hem of the sleeve hanging off her shoulder. "I'm sorry if that's not the answer you were looking for."

She huffs and turns her body to look out. "Growing up here, you learn a lot of things, fantastical adventures, death defying actions to save the world, magic and gods, demons, mind flayers....honestly I'm glad I didn't have to do all of that. Seems hard." She bends a little and places her elbows on the edge of the wall, there she tucks her hands under her chin.

Astarion looks down at her, his brows somewhat knitted together, a small frown on his face. "Darling, it's one thing to read about it, doing it is a completely different story." He turns to his right, looking into the patrons inside the atrium. "Those people in there would never get it. They're the elites who came up after all the shit everyone else cleaned up. They weren't the ones knee deep in it for who knows how long. Sleeping in dirt, chasing monsters, killing whomever or whatever tried to kill you first. It's exhausting."

He spoke like someone who had first hand experience with this, the way he seethed through the whole speech. Octavia sensed there was something else behind that anger, but this was not the time to pry more. She turns to him, standing close under the evening stars, she places her hand on his. Somehow this seemed like what he needed right now.

Astarion tenses a little, but Octavia can feel him relax soon after. From the corner of her eye she could swear a small smile cracked in the corner of his mouth and his ears wiggled a little. There was a small huff behind it, followed by Astarion clearing his throat. They stand there in the silence, staring out at the lights glittering in the veil of the night.

"OCTAVIA!!! FINALLY I FOUND YOU!!!" Gale comes stumbling through the door, his jacket is undone and the drink in his hand is swirling wildly with his movements. "I have been..looking EVERYWHERE for you!!!" She and Astarion break their contact, startled, and she walks towards Gale catching him in her arms. Astarion instantly disappears into the shadows. "I thought I saw 'starion here with you..?"

Gale slurs a bit, his breath smelling like the champagne that Astarion had criticized earlier. "Oh no, I was here alone. Maybe it was one of the waiters they've got wandering around?" She holds up her glass, giving him a slight smile. She links her arm with his and sits down on the bench in front of them. "Why? Were you looking for him for any particular reason?"

Gale enthusiastically nods, his whole body shaking in return. "Yes! I wanted to talk to him!! I haven't seen him all night! He's always moving around in the shadows like some sort of-" "Is there something you wish to talk about, my dear Gale? I just walked past and heard you mention me?" Astarion comes out and interrupts Gale, he walks towards the pair, and he crosses his arms and legs on the wall in front of them. "YES! I..was thinking about that book!"

Octavia quietly gasps, her whole body turning cold in an instant. Whether it was from the lack of covering on her shoulders and arms, or the fear of Gale's drunk inhibitions outing her in front of Astarion "Octavia here..." He continues, "She told me that she knows stuff! Like...real good stuff..." He leans back some, his body fully consumed by the alcohol pulling her down a little. "She was telling me..uh that she's-" before he could finish, Octavia jerks him back, his whole body turning into rubber, pulling them down onto the floor.

She lands on top of him, her arms on his chest, his wrapped around her. "Hi. I forgot what I was talking about." His face full of a drunken blush now turns into a whole body flush. Octavia seizes the opportunity to shut him up, go home, and end this whole night all at the same time.

She pulls Gale up to her and kisses him, the taste of the bitter alcohol filling her mouth. She feels his arms squeeze her down a little and he leans into it some. She pulls away instantly and Astarion lets out a scandalous laugh "Oh I see how it is...good for you Gale"

Octavia gets off, rolling onto her legs and turns up at Astarion. She puts on a somewhat convincing drunk voice, "Sorry, he pulled me down and I...I guess I just couldn't help myself?" Astarion laughs more, extending his hand to help her up, "Oh no dearest, don't worry, I'm not jealous of the walking encyclopedia. I'm happy for you, really. You should probably take him home, seems like he's had a little too much fun for one night, hmm?"

Astarion laughs and helps Octavia pull Gale up, he sways softly as he catches himself. "But..." He pouts, Astarion pats his back and straightens him up more. "Gale, whatever it is you can always tell me later. There are more pressing matters that I feel you should attend to..." He motions his head towards Octavia, she could feel the salacious glare behind the lenses he wore and it made her face go warm. "Yeah, let's go Gale."

#next chapter features gardens lockpicks and someone gets mad #bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 astarion #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #astarion bg3 #headcanon fic #fanfic #bg3 fanfic #fic: memories of us

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