#like old red velvet « headmistress. »

[angeli-marco-writes]

Bill and Fleur - Our Spot

A/N - I do not own these characters, this is a work of fiction. Fleur is an absolute darling and I absolutely adore her. Please enjoy this cuteness despite the awful writing from my wattpad. It was fun to write in my two best languages as well, even if the French is just in bits.

Warnings - mentions of other character death, fluff, bad English and French for 1.6k words. 

Summary - After the final task, Fleur finds herself in despair, and goes to the only spot she can think of to unwind, not expecting to be approached by a handsome stranger.

AFTER CEDRIC'S DEATH and the events of the maze, Fleur could be found in a hidden corner of the Hogwarts grounds that she'd discovered in her time there. She didn't realise anyone else went over there, until she heard footsteps. She didn't really want to be found, she was heartbroken and kind of traumatised. Inside that maze she'd encountered terrors that she never thought could be real.

She looked up, still wearing her blue velvet tracksuit in the faint moonlight mingling with remaining sunlight, and was met with the strikingly handsome ginger gentleman that she'd marvelled at in the stands, and in the relatives room much earlier on.

"Fleur is it? Are you ok?" he asked softly, going up to her and crouching next to her sitting figure. She wiped her eyes instinctively of mascara mingled tear tracks, even though they'd been dry for a while and met his eyes, nodding.

"Yes, I am ok merci. Cedric dying just upset me. Sorry, my Eenglish is not good. Comment t'appelle tu?" She spoke gently, seeing the man sit down next to her in the grass.

"Je m'appelle Bill. Nice to properly meet you." He held her hand gently and kissed it gently, making her chuckle a little but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "I don't speak much French, but I speak enough to get me through a conversation. and your English isn't too bad." He winked, causing her to smile again.

"I'm so sorry zat you found me here. I'm a mess, covered een mud!" She insisted, pointing to the patches of tried mud and blood stains all over her pale tracksuit, but Bill kept his grip on her hand firmly, so she let it happen, intertwining her fingers with his.

"You're beautiful you know?" He murmured after a moment of silence, making her flush a little despite constantly receiving compliments on her looks. She was startled also at how forward he was, and she felt special, like he really saw her. "I know you're part Veela, I can tell, and my brother said so... but it's not just that. You're beautiful even when you're dishevelled and muddy." He chuckled. "And you were so brave to take on that tournament. as soon as I saw you in the chamber and I saw your eyes, and then I saw you outside the maze and I was rooting for you despite Harry basically being my brother." he continued and she laughed a little.

"You should not 'ave looked at me before ze maze. Your handsomeness distracted me." a coy smirk began playing on her lips. She moved her spare hand up to brush some stray red hair off his face and tuck it behind his pierced ear.

She couldn't help but revel in him, despite her own good looks. He was tall and muscular, freckled with piercing blue eyes and a warm smile. He had quite long fiery red hair which was tied at the base of his neck in a little pony tail which suited him, as well as the fang dangling from his ear. Fleur had never felt this way about anyone before, she'd never been nervous around a guy due to her Veela heritage, but that didn't matter here. Despite only knowing him a short time, she felt that Bill could see who she really was beyond her billowing silvery blonde hair, perfect good looks and terrifying anger.

"You wanna talk about any of it? I don't have to get home for a bit, I was just visiting Harry in the hospital wing with mum, and before you ask, he's fine." He said, seeing the sorrow in her eyes, and she nodded. Bill sat down on the ground and pulled her velvet covered legs into his lap, allowing her to be comfortable.

"I feel like I failed me and my school in zis tournament. I did not complete ze second task in le... le lac. Ron et Harry saved ma Gabrielle. Et I messed up in ze maze, bringing shame on Beauxbatons et Madame Maxime. C'est mon année finalement, I wanted time to do somesing special and I failed. And Cedric-" She paused, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "We were friends, ze four of us. Because of this task. And now 'e is gone. I'm so sad he's been killed." 

A lump began forming at the back of her throat and all her pent up emotions from the past year were being released. Bill could somehow tell that she'd be shunned if she showed this emotion to her classmates or headmistress, so he let her cry it all out, wrapping a reassuring arm around her.

"Fleur, you didn't fail your school. You performed admirably in this tournament. It's designed to test you and put you out of your depths ok? Quite literally in that second task, and no one blames you. You were an admirable champion and you've brought glory to your school in your final year, that's nothing to be ashamed of. And Cedric. I know you were friends, Harry wrote to me. Cedric lived in the same village as my family, I saw him growing up; the same year as my brother-" He began, but was cut off by a confused expression from Fleur.

"Your brother eez en Harry's year, non?" She asked with a bemused face, perfectly illuminated in the moonlight, and he laughed, having to gather himself before continuing. He held her legs closer to him, absently drawing shapes on her joggers, but she didn't mind.

"I have five brothers and a sister," He said, and her jaw dropped in response. "There's me, I'm 24, Charlie's 22, Percy's 18, Fred and George are in 6th year here so they're 17, Ron is in Harry's year so 15 now, and Ginny my sister is a year below Ron, she's 13."

Even after he finished, Fleur still looked astonished.  She was admittedly a little awestruck, and it took her a while to speak, to find the words. Bill couldn't care less, he could sit with this beautiful young woman in his old spot under the stars forever.

"You 'ave a grande famille!" She said and he chuckled to himself, their oceans of eyes connecting and forming a bond. "It's just me and ma soeur Gabrielle, she eez almost ten." Her heart seemed to glow as well as her cheeks when thinking of her sister, and Bill could instantly tell they were close.

"Family's amazing isn't it? I want a family of my own one day, just maybe not with seven kids..." he said playfully, and her tears subsided, leaving her able to just enjoy his presence.

"It's ok that you're sad about Cedric, you know, a lot of people are, and you'll be able to go to his funeral. But the ones that love us never really leave us do they?" She nodded, a smile meeting her eyes this time. "There's that gorgeous smile. I know I only saw it at the start of the task and I've only known you, what a day? Properly, less than an hour, but your smile is wonderful." He marvels at her perfect pearly white teeth and her dusty pink lips. 

He didn't mind that she was donning a dirt covered tracksuit with mud and blood on her face, he didn't mind that her hair was messy and held together by a breaking hair bobble, he didn't mind that they didn't speak the same language or that she'd just cried to him. Bill just enjoyed her company and honestly never wanted their meeting to end.

"So, when school ends, what are you gonna do?" He inquired, breaking the silence and pulling Fleur in closer to him, she happily agreed and nuzzled her head in his neck.

"I'm working at Gringotts 'opefully, maybe just in a shop, to make my Eenglish better. Just for ze summer." She smiled before asking him a variation of the same question and seeing his eyes light up.

"I'm a curse breaker for Gringotts!" He grinned, and she joined him, her cheeks beginning to ache. "I was working in Egypt, but now things are getting bad here, I'm gonna work at the main building in England. Guess I'll be seeing you at work then." He teased and nudged her lovingly which she thought was more than amiable.

"You will 'ave to 'elp me," she gazed up at him with wide eyes and he nodded almost immediately in agreement.

"Anytime..." he murmured, their faces getting closer until their lips were inches from one another. "We shouldn't do this. we'll be working together and I'm years older than you." 

He tried to reason his desire, but couldn't even convince himself as their lips met in a lustful kiss. Their lips moved in unison, understanding one another, and they didn't dare let go until they couldn't breathe.

"Madame Maxime will want me at ze carriage now. Eet was nice to meet you, Bill Weasley." She blushed as she stood up and scrambled away, the moonlight reflecting off her hair, but Bill hurried after her and caught her wrist.

"Here." He said, slipping a hair bobble on her wrist. "Yours is about to break, and I know how often they go missing. A token to remember me by, until I see you next month of course." He flushed himself, his cheeks matching his hair, as she stood on her tiptoes to plant a kiss to his cheek.

"Fleur Isabelle Delacour. I come to England on ze 10th of July."

And with that, she ran off into the starry distance, he could see her small frame turn into a faint shadow as he smiled to himself. Maybe it wasn't so bad that someone found his old spot, maybe it was their spot now.

#fleur delacour #bill weasley #bill and fleur #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fic #weasley imagine #harry potter fluff #bill weasley imagine #bill weasley fluff #weasley twins #charlie weasley #ron weasley #ginny weasley #weasley brothers imagine #beauxbatons #harry potter ships #harry potter canon #hp imagine #hp fic #hp ficlet #harry potter blurb

[traucritters]

This is Hera Drakestorm. My mom bought her from Barnes and Noble when I was seven, and throughout my childhood she enjoyed the enviable position of Official Third-Favorite Stuffed Animal. She used to have wonderful glittery gold eyelids that matched her wings, but they have fallen off. I’ll replace those eventually, because they really do add a lot to her look. But her once bright-and-shiny metallic red toenails, which have dulled to black from age and lots of play, I will leave the same. Hera is old enough to know that time cannot be fought against forever.

Hera is the headmistress of the very prestigious Drakestorm Academy. Any dragon who hopes to be anybody has to have attended Drakestorm, and every dragon that has graduated from Drakestorm has turned out to be somebody very special indeed. Notable alumni include Senator Antoine Alluvial, Glinteye Bank chairwoman Eleanor Boss, renowned poet Percy DeTumbleton Jakeney, and William Durgon-Krongore Sneerglaw, Esq.

Like any self-respecting dragon, Hera is proud, devious, and a little bit snooty. She knows the value of fine art, good food, and classic literature, and seeks to impart upon her students those same discriminating tastes. She’s too formal to admit to having a best friend, but she is very close to Stormfly Cowell.

Hera was made by the Douglas Cuddle Toy Company. Even though she’s much more fragile than she used to be, I’m pleased to say her lustrous red velvet body is just as chatoyant, soft and beautiful as it was the day she we given to me. She looks like a tiny jewel.

#stuffed animals #plushblr #dragon

[bonnissance]

hey so guess who has a lot of feelings about Hecate and cottages and also baking? this gal, that’s who!

part one of cottage feelings, Hecate Hardbroom (eventual hicsqueak + Hecate & Ada feelings) an amount of words, teen, CW: bit of regret/anxiety for past life choices, not being keen on sweet food/eating heaps, nothing major (despite the fact that it’s literally just Hecate’s internal thinking about literally everything bc my Hecate is healing!Hecate) 

~*~

Hecate has a cottage, a few hours flight from Cackle’s. Deep in the forest nearby a bubbling brook, a clear sky above a wilderness of gardens surrounding a home of oaken timbre and hardwood floors and a stonecast fireplace at the heart of it.

She doesn’t live there, not really, not with her heart and her mind at Cackle’s for so much of the year. But at the same time, she does: has a space all of her own where she can breathe and simply be, whenever she chooses.

She doesn’t visit on weekends, unless there’s some there she truly needs which simply cannot wait till the break between terms. Sometimes it's a spell book or a spare cauldron, or her second stash of anti-aching potions when her cycle is particularly fierce. Other times, it's just some peace and quiet which the ruckus of the castle cannot provide.

On those days, when things really become too much, she defers to Ada, who sends her to the respite of the cottage with barely a moment’s thought, only pausing to assure Hecate that she’ll keep an eye on her girls and there’s nothing to worry about until Hecate has her head together again.

She’s eternally grateful, for the way Ada seems not to need to poke and prod and pry. For the way she just understands whenever Hecate has something she can barely even communicate herself.

She doesn’t know what kind of a witch she would be if she hadn’t come to Cackle’s a decade and a half ago, and most days she doesn’t give it second thought. But on days like this, when she wrung out and tired and terrified, she can’t help wondering how her life would have turned out, if things had gone any other way.

Those thoughts never end well, full of more sorrow and anger and wretched worries that simply won’t leave her alone, and she knows this life is the best version of any she could have lived (except one, her traitorous mind always whispers, there could have been another. But whenever she entertains that thought, of what it might be like to rewrite three decades or more of her history, she always finds a way to ruin things anyway.)

This is simply how things are meant to be, she’s come to accept. And there are things she has now that she would never want to give up. 

Her cottage, buried deep in the wilderness, is one of them. She loves having a home away from home.

Granted, she’s never been good at sitting idle. And she refuses to finish a term with unmarked paperwork. So she never has anything to bring with her, when she returns home with the beginning of break to leave Ada to enjoy the the solitude of her castle. 

Once she’s spent the first night cleaning and fixing the interior of the house, so it’s back to being warm and bright and habitable again, and the next day working on the garden to get it back under control without quashing the wilderness that reins free when she’s not here to supervise and any other problems that might have developed in her absence, she does tend to get bored rather easily.

There’s always old spell books to revise, old texts to read over for new ideas to integrate into the coming curriculum. But she’s been over them so many times by now there’s never anything new, just things she hadn’t thought relevant before which the past term have made obvious might actually be a good idea. Her introductory texts get more and more use with each passing year, as the standards of the schools the girls attend before coming to Cackle’s fall lower and lower, and it’s up to her to fill in the gaps left over. 

Because it’s her responsibility to train the girls to become the best witches they can possibly be.

Sometimes she thinks it’s a thankless task, but she’s never once wanted to give it up; never once wondered what it would be like to do anything else with her life but this. She really does love teaching, moulding young minds into something better and stronger and brilliant. So they leave the care of Cackle’s Castel with everything they need to become the best witches of their age.

The only problem is the students; they don’t seem to want to learn.

Not all of them, mind—some meld themselves to her methods and grow to shine. Esmerelda Hallow amount to the brightest of her students, though now that fire has flickered out.

Some of them try their best, and learn well, but never truly take to witchcraft the way she wants them too. Maud Spellbody is something like that—smart, clever, and Hecate knows she tries hard; but there’s something missing, that last flicker of drive to become truly brilliant not because it’s expected, of from afraid of failure, but because it’s truly wanted.

Maud doesn’t have that yet, though Hecate wonders if she might come to grow it, if only she could stay away from Mildred Hubble.

Mildred Hubble, who is, without question, the most troublesome witch the corridors of Cackle’s has ever seen. But even she isn’t blind to the effort the girl puts in, even though she’s constantly failing or getting it not quite right. But there’s only so much she can do for the girl, when she doesn’t listen to Hecate.

But she doesn’t come to cottage to spend her time thinking about the school and it’s students. She comes here to get away from them.

So the spellbooks are quickly set aside, leaving Hecate with a immaculate house draped in reds and purples, wood varnish and velvet trim, jars scattered over top-high shelves and flowers drying for hooks hanging down from the ceiling and a forever crackling fire that never ever burns too warm and only ever goes out when Hecate returns home, with a tamed wilderness of a garden outside her kitchen window which gives her a wonderful view of the woodland just beyond, where more creatures to chase that even Morgana could hope to catch, and nothing else to occupy her time.

It’s why she bakes. 

She’s never been particularly fond of sweets. Never been fond of the way sugar rushing through her vines makes her feel flighty, twitchy, never quite settled. But she’s always loved the way a kitchen full of baked goods smells.

It reminds her of her mother, when she was small and could sit atop the countertop and watch her mother shuffle around the kitchen making magic they could eat—nothing at all like brewing a potion to cast a spell, but just the same. Exactly the same.

She’s always been gifted with brewing, balancing, blending components to make a greater whole with just a little of herself inside. It's why she excels at potions, why she's spent her life mastering the old ways: collecting and casting to conserve her energies, to balance the fundamental forces of nature against the power in her soul: a touch of this, a splash of that, a spark of her heart.

Baking is just the same.

(It’s called chemistry, she’s been told, in the non-witching world. Mildred mentioned it when she was flicking through a tome during detention one evening.

‘Mum says it’s just like cooking—mixing things to make a chemical reaction, except with food so you can eat it.’

Hecate was surprised the non-magical world was so sensible about the matter, with the way they degraded necessary tasks like cooking and cleaning. How they grouped types of kinds of skills and acted as if different meant lesser.)

But she still doesn’t really like eating sweets. Certainly not the quantities she bakes each day, in any case. But she knows Ada does, that her headmistress adores treating herself to sugary sweet foods throughout the day.

So she sends them over to Ada, alone in her castle; sends her something to brighten her day while she enjoys her huge stone castle, miles and miles away.

She knows Ada appreciates the gifts, just like she knows Ada enjoys sweets all the more when she can share them with others. So she invites Ada to visit, from time to time, to share the solitude of a different kind of peace and quiet. To give her something away from the castle, if only for an afternoon.

She always makes carrot cake when Ada comes to visit, so she can stomach eating a whole slice without making Ada seem rude for helping herself to a third when Hecate is still working on her first. She wants Ada to enjoy herself as much as she can, without remorse for Hecate’s own preferences.

She knows Pendall loves the chance to run through the woods with Morgana, and she takes that as further confirmation, that Ada isn’t just being polite, that she really does love Hecate’s company.

Besides, Ada shares her home with Hecate for nine months of the year, it’s only fitting that she should offer her house open to Ada, whenever she wants it, too.

#hecate hardbroom #i wrote a thing #part two is mostly written but it's been mostly written for ages and i'm sick of this one sitting in my drafts so it's getting posted now #the worst witch

[missrainbowpie]

Vienna in Wintertime

Summary: Sanctuary fanfiction. Harry Potter AU. Headmistress Helen Magnus and Professor Nikola Tesla share a belated Christmas celebration together.

A/N: Merry belated Christmas, @viennainspringtime!! SURPRISE! You're my best friend, so I wish I could have given you the epic 100,000 word slowburn AU you deserve, but alas I'm a vidder at heart, so this is the best I can do lol. Love you!!

AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13224429

Hogwarts Headmistress Helen Magnus sat in a plush armchair in her study, a cup of Black Canadian Iced Wine Tea Elixir (Nikola's latest potion) warming her palms, when Professor Nikola Tesla himself bounded up the spiral staircase and stumbled to a stop before her, his hair perfectly ruffled.

“You're back!” he said. Then he crossed his arms over his suit, his face transforming into the pathetic look of baby mandrake root. “Why didn't you tell me you were back?”

She took a sip of her tea, grimacing at the taste. Perhaps it was an acquired taste like the man standing before her. “I regret telling you the passcode to my office,” she muttered.

“How long have you been back?” Nikola persisted.

“An hour. You and Henry were engaged in a rather important conversation concerning the original Star Wars trilogy and how much better life would be if Carrie Fisher was a witch. I didn't want to interrupt.”

“Oh my dear, sweet Helen, when will you learn that you're the only truly important thing in this stuffy old castle?”

A slight blush creeped over her cheeks at his words, much to her annoyance.

“But no matter,” he said, grinning. He bent at the waist and leaned over her, placing a hand on either side of her armchair, trapping her. “You're here now, so let's go.”

“Where?”

“You'll see. No time to waste!”

“Nikola, I'd rather not. Can it wait? I'm quite busy with...” She looked around the room trying to find a more specific excuse, but found none.

“Oh yes, I can see that your tea desperately requires your attention. Of course, my mistake. I'd never dream of tearing you away from this incredibly urgent tea emergency.” He gave her his best puppy dog eyes. “Come with me? Please? I promise you'll like it.”

“Fine, I'll come. But only if you stop batting your eyelashes.”

He stopped. “Splendid!”

He held out his hand, and she took it, letting him pull her out of the chair and lead her down the spiral staircase. He grabbed her green and silver scarf from the hook by the door as they entered the main part of the castle.

“You're going to need this,” he said, wrapping it around her neck. “By the way, how did you like my tea?”

“No comment.”

“No really, what did you think?”

“Honestly... I don't think black tea and wine were meant to mix.”

Nikola glanced down at their still-linked hands as they walked. “I'd say they're mixing well right now.”

Nigel Griffin winked at her from a painting on the wall, then disappeared, turning the painting into a beautiful artistic rendering of a floating Christmas hat.

Helen let go of Nikola's hand before a student saw too. There were already rumors going around about their sordid romantic past; no need to provide fodder for present-day rumors, especially since there was absolutely nothing going on between them now. Absolutely nothing. Just friends, despite Nikola's constant objections. But if she was honest with herself, she was starting to object to their just friends status as well.

He led her in a winding path through the castle, lavish Christmas decorations still up even though the holiday itself was over. Fairy lights floated in the air like actual fairies, evergreen trees stood tall in every corner, dazzling stars on top, and the walls sparkled with enchanted frost. Eventually they stopped in front of the library, and Nikola pointedly looked up with a mischievous grin. He was standing under mistletoe. Again.

She rolled her eyes. “If this is the reason you dragged me halfway across the castle...”

“No, no, but since we're here...”

“No.”

He crossed his arms. “Fine. Then no Christmas gift for you.”

They stood at an impasse for a long moment, neither willing to give in. But eventually her stubbornness gave way to curiosity, and she pecked him on the cheek.

“Was that so hard?”

“Yes.”

She strode past him into the library, the smell of old books bringing back warm memories. He followed her, jogging slightly to get ahead and lead again. He grabbed her elbow and pulled her into the narrow space between two precariously stacked piles of books. “This way!”

After about ten minutes of walking through the infinite library, she was starting to wonder if they would ever get to their destination when he stopped to look at one of the book shelves. He rummaged through the books, his fingertips dancing over the edges, seemingly looking for one in particular. “Aha!” he exclaimed, finding what he was looking for. He tapped the spine of a vintage copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them with his wand, and suddenly the entire wall of books shifted backwards to reveal a secret room.

She followed him inside, stunned that there was a hidden room in the castle that she didn't know about. The cloudy sky outside was recreated on the ceiling above, snow just beginning to fall. Circular walls of mahogany extended up so high that she couldn't see the top, and they were completely covered in ancient books. A large book laid open on a pedestal in the center of the room, framed by a spotlight shining down on its displayed pages.

Nikola stepped up to the pedestal and waved his hand over the book. “Your Christmas gift,” he said.

She had to admit that it was impressive. Stepping up next to Nikola, she reached out to touch the illustration of a mermaid on the ancient pages.

All of the sudden she felt herself whisked away through the air traveling at breakneck speeds, wind rushing through her hair. Then she opened her eyes and found herself in an ethereal sunlit forest on the edge of a frozen lake. She let out a startled breath, which she could see in the cold air. A layer of pristine snow covered the ground, and icicles hung from the branches, charmed to look like strings of origami cranes. Snow finches chirped their songs in the trees above. The frozen lake reflected blue sky and snow-capped mountains in a mirror image. It was a breathtaking sight.

“Where are we?” she asked, turning to face Nikola who was still holding the portkey while straightening his suit.

“Just outside Vienna. That's Schneeberg over there.” He pointed to a tall mountain in the distance, partially obscured by wispy clouds.

“Snow Mountain... This is lovely, thank you.”

He beamed. “Shall we sit?” He gestured to a cozy picnic he had set up in the shade.

They sat down on the blue and bronze pillows underneath falling enchanted snow. A bubble of warmth surrounded them, as if they were sitting in front of a fire, but the snow and ice didn't melt. He handed her a stem glass, pulling a bottle of wine from an ice bucket with a flourish. Popping the cork, he poured her an exceptionally large glass before doing the same for himself.

“Merry belated Christmas, Helen.”

“Happy belated Christmas, Nikola.”

“God, you're so English...” He said in a breathy laugh.

They clinked their crystal glasses together and each took a sip. Crisp notes of black cherry and plum hit her tongue, contrasting with smooth hints of anise and vanilla. A sigh escaped her lips as the first taste spread relaxation through her body. Much better than having tea alone in her office.

“This cabernet is excellent. Where's it from?” she asked.

“Only the best for you,” he said, deftly avoiding the question. He fiddled with a tassel on one of the pillows, untangling it.

She narrowed her eyes and held her glass up to the sunlight, a faint rainbow forming within it. “This is from my wine cellar, isn't it?”

Nikola huffed. “Okay, yes, it is. But you have the best wine selection in the world. Why do you think I agreed to give up my extravagant life of adventure and spell invention for a drab professorship at Hogwarts?”

“Oh I don't know, I thought maybe our lifelong friendship had something to do with it.” She saw a glimmer of sadness in his eyes when she said the word 'friendship,' but he covered it quickly.

“Well... You may have been part of the reason I stayed.” He looked into her eyes for a beat longer than a friend would have. “A small part.”

The butterflies in her heart told her that she was the only reason he stayed. “But the wine is the main reason,” she said.

A toothy grin spread across his face. “Of course.”

“Well consider the wine cellar my Christmas gift to you. I'd hate to lose my best professor.”

“Really? Then my first decree as the new Hogwarts wine sommelier is to fire the Big Guy. You know he wouldn't let me in while you were gone? I had to bribe a ghost and bewitch a pair of candlesticks and sneak in through the catacombs at two in the morning. The nerve of him! The audacity! The injust--”

“Nikola.” She stilled him, resting her hand on his forearm. “You are not firing my butler.”

He pouted.

“But I will talk with him. From now on, you're in charge of the wine cellar and all its contents. It's the least I can do considering I didn't have a chance to get you a proper gift this year.” She knew he didn't mind, but she still felt a bit guilty.

“Speaking of proper gifts...” He pulled out a red, velvet jewelry box from his inside jacket pocket and set it on the blanket between them. Some falling enchanted snowflakes landed on the velvet like a dusting of powdered sugar then disappeared.

Now she felt even more guilty. He always did Christmas up big, showering her in expensive, thoughtful gifts. She, on the other hand, never remembered until mistletoe showed up in every room of the castle overnight. Nikola always swore it was just some kids playing a prank, but she knew better. Somehow he was always standing directly beneath mistletoe around the holidays. No matter where he was, mistletoe was guaranteed to be above him and a smirk was guaranteed to be on his face. The same face that was staring at her expectantly right now.

She picked up the velvet box and flipped open the lid. Inside, a gorgeous pendant necklace rested on a black satin pillow. A circle of silver looped around an emerald gemstone at the center, a spellbound white flame burning within the crystalline structure. It appeared to be an ancient relic from their days spent exploring the ruins of a magical Celtic city back in the early 1900s.

Nikola gently pulled the scarf from her neck, and it fluttered to a heap on the pillows beside them. “Try it on,” he said, taking the box from her hands and removing the necklace.

She turned around and pulled her chestnut curls to one side as he fastened the clasp behind her neck. His cold fingerprints left a trail on her skin that sent a shiver down her spine. Leaning in close, his lips almost touched her ear. “You're even more stunning than usual,” he murmured, his words grazing her neck, lingering hands running through her long hair, putting it back in place.

She instinctively leaned into his touch, enjoying the familiar feeling of his cold, vampiric hands. But she only indulged herself for a moment before straightening up and turning around. “Thank you, Nikola.” She touched the pendant with a light graze of her fingertips. “It's beautiful.”

“You're most welcome,” he said, looping her scarf back around her neck. He left it open in the front so the pendant was still visible. “And now it's time for the show!”

He jumped up from their picnic in the snow and ran approximately fifteen feet to the shore of the frozen lake, then he twirled around, brandishing his wand. “Are you ready for the main event?” he called, punctuating every word with a grand hand gesture.

She held in a chuckle. “Stop grandstanding and get on with it!” she called back, fixing him with her best stern look.

He looked down at the ground, muttering to himself. “Such a spoilsport, honestly...”

She rolled her eyes, making sure to exaggerate the motion enough so he could see it.

“Fine,” he whined. He spun back around to face the vast expanse of ice. Aiming his wand at the flurries blowing across the surface, he yelled, “Dance, my pretties! Dance!” His voice echoed across the ice, then the flurries began to form into shapes. They were vague at first, but eventually the snow particles formed into dozens of ballet dancers, the beginning sunset creating red and orange sparkles in their pirouettes.

Nikola dusted off his hands and walked back up the incline to her, a satisfied smirk on his face. When he plopped back down on the pillows beside her, he pulled out a cassette player and tapped his wand to the large plastic play button, pushing it with a click. Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker Suite began to filter through the leaves of the forest, the notes as clear as if the orchestra were playing right in front of them.

She raised her eyebrows. “A cassette player? Really?”

“Well iPods are a stupid Muggle invention, and I'm not going to use Edison's phonograph, the prideful windcatcher.”

“First of all, cassette players are also a stupid Muggle invention. Second... What the hell is a 'prideful windcatcher'? I mean, it is an accurate description, but still.” She snickered, always getting a good laugh from his colorful descriptions of Edison. “And third, the man's been dead for eighty years, and he, too, was a Muggle. Don't you think it's time you got over it?” She playfully nudged him with her elbow. “'Tis the season of forgiveness.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “No-- Just-- Leave me and my eternal grudge in peace. Can we please just watch these masterful snowflake dancers perform The Nutcracker, and then cuddle for warmth? It's very cold being a vampire, you know.” He waggled his eyebrows.

She smiled, but said nothing, settling back into the pillows to watch the show. She sipped at her wine as the flurry dancers floated over the ice. As the warmth of the alcohol spread through her, she thought about her close call with death on Christmas Day. A thunder of Peruvian Vipertooth dragons had gotten loose in a small Muggle village, and she had been called in to help given her extensive background in magizoology. One of the dragons had shot a fireball mere inches from her head. The force of it had knocked her to the rocky ground, where the claw of another dragon would have impaled her had she not rolled away at the last second. It had gotten so close that it snagged the fabric of her jacket, ripping it to shreds. She could still feel the bruises on her skin from the ordeal, though the wine was dimming the pain. But she didn't mind the pain; it reminded her that she saved almost a dozen majestic dragons from being killed by terrified Muggles. She and her team used a memory charm on the Muggles, then relocated the creatures to an uninhabited area of the Andes.

But despite the success of the mission, she had realized something that day: she might have an endless lifespan, but she could still be killed by an errant Peruvian Vipertooth dragon claw. That fact hadn't particularly bothered her before, but now she had a life waiting for her back at Hogwarts. Someone waiting for her back at Hogwarts. So why was she holding back from him?

Nikola reached across her to grab the bottle of wine, then topped off their glasses. Settling back down, he crossed his legs at the ankles, the new position causing their legs to touch. She didn't move away, an electrifying tingle shooting over her skin at the point of contact. Even at her age, there was still something special about the feeling of accidentally touching then purposely staying that way, wondering if the other person felt the same sparks. She suspected he did. In fact, it was more than likely that he was creating the sparks. They felt a bit more... real. As did their entire relationship these days.

She and Nikola had been dancing around each other for months, ever since Hogwarts had reopened in September. When Hogwarts was under attack by Voldemort's forces almost a year ago, they had shared a passionate kiss just before their bloody plan went to hell. They had a complicated romantic history, but this kiss had meant something more – they both knew it. There had been no time to fully deal with the ramifications though because she faked her death and blew up the castle a mere five minutes later.

Chaos reigned for months as the castle was rebuilt. He hadn't even known she was still alive until she finally caught up to him in Napa Valley, drinking his sorrows away. So overjoyed at seeing her alive again, he immediately agreed to come back to Hogwarts, provided his office was rebuilt to be twice the size, of course. And here they were.

Things were just now getting back to normal, and while they always bantered and flirted, this felt different, like it might actually lead somewhere beyond words. She hadn't felt that thrill in a long time. In the past, Nikola had been her friend, her colleague, her springtime fling, and even her enemy for a time. Now he might be her soulmate. This was uncharted territory for both of them, even if they had dated for a few months in Vienna over a century ago.

She glanced at Nikola and caught him watching her instead of the performance on the ice. The sun was completely down now, and moonlight shone down on him, illuminating his slight fangs as he smiled at her in an oops you caught me sort of way. Then she caught herself thinking that his fangs were adorable, and she knew what she had to do. No more holding back.

She finished off her second glass of wine. “Thank you for the wonderful evening, Nikola. It's been such a chaotic week that I didn't have the chance to do anything so elaborate for you, but...” She trailed off. This was it. There was no going back now. The beginning of the rest of their eternity. “But I do have something for you that might make up for it.”

His bright blue eyes lit up. “Intriguing! Do tell.”

She tried not to smile at his childlike glee, but failed. “Close your eyes,” she said with a small laugh.

He obediently closed his eyes and sat with his hands in his lap. She took them in her own, and she saw his eyebrows raise slightly at the unexpected touch. Leaning in carefully, she waited for a moment, studying his pure, innocent, utterly dapper face, then closed the rest of the distance and kissed him. The moment their lips touched, his eyes flew open. Then he squeezed her hands and kissed her back. It was gentle, their lips joining together in a delicate pas de deux as the apotheosis of the flurried Nutcracker performance faded to silence on the frozen lake.

They separated slowly, lingering inches from each other. His eyes fluttered open again. They were full of questions.

She spoke in a near whisper. “When you apparated back into my life five years ago, you told me you had always loved me.” It was almost a question, daring him to say it again.

The corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile. “Then you shot a bunch of arrows out of your wand and into my chest. It hurt, but wow it was creative.”

She lifted her gaze from his lips to the deep pools of his eyes and moved a millimeter closer. “I'm not holding my wand now.”

“Damn.” He kept her gaze, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight, reflections of falling snowflakes dancing in his pupils. His thumb ran circles over the inside of her palm. “Helen, my dear, I do love you. Always have, always will,” he said with a shrug, as if it was an obvious fact of life.

Her breath shuddered. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage threatening to leap into her throat. With his admission, her own feelings were suddenly clear as day. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, which gave her the courage she needed. “I love you too, Nikola,” she confessed. “I can't say that I always have, but I can say with certainty that I always will.”

She leaned in to close the distance between them once more, but he released her hands and moved back, swishing his dragon heartstring wand at her.

She laughed. “Afraid I'll shoot you with arrows again?”

“Ooh promise?” He winked, then aimed his wand at a snow-covered branch above them. A string of heart-shaped icicles hung from it reflecting the silver moonbeams from above. He flicked his wand. “Viscum album.” Vines of mistletoe shot from the end of his wand and attached themselves to the branch, wrapping around in a candy-cane spiral. He smiled. “Perfect.”

Then before she could respond, he looped his arm around the small of her back and pulled her to him in a rush, crashing his lips against her own. She opened her mouth to him, tasting the black cherry and vanilla on his tongue, and they fell backwards onto the pillows, enchanted snowflakes falling off of them in disappearing waves.

His slight fangs dug into her bottom lip with a delicious pressure. She could feel his chilled hands running up her bare back beneath her sweater, and she fumbled with the buttons of his vest. Pulling away for a breath, she rested her hands on his chest.

The wind carried the faint tinkle of bells from St. Stephens Cathedral chiming at midnight as fireworks erupted in the far off distance. She hadn't realized it was the 31st of December.

He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Happy New Year, Helen.”

She kissed him softly, whispering against his lips. “Happy New Year, Nikola.”

He grinned up at her. “Care to join me in a reenactment of the last time we were in Vienna?”

“January's a bit early for a proper reenactment, isn't it?” she said, letting her hand flow through the enchanted snow.

He shifted beneath her to pick up his wand and flicked it at the snow-covered ground in front of them. Leafy green stems emerged from beneath the snow and grew into a moonlit field of large yellow sunflowers waving in the breeze.

“There,” he hummed. “Vienna in springtime.”

#Teslen fic #Teslen #Helen x Nikola #Sanctuary #Harry Potter #Helen Magnus #Nikola Tesla #viennainspringtime #HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!!!! <3333

[james-r-lupin]

Fanfic : Little Secret

Part 4

[Harry]

After the Sorting Ceremony, Headmistress McGonagall spoke to us, 8th years students:

"As you all maybe know, Hogwarts has been suffering from a war, just like our students. Because lots of the 7th year students of previous year had to fight in the war and lost lots of important lessons, tests and exams, they can catch these up in an extra year. We decided to build a separate part here, so that you can find courage by eachother. You will still represent their houses, but won't sleep in the dorms of your house. In the building, there are your rooms and your shared common room. Can I please ask you, 8th years students, to take care of eachother, talk when it's necessary and don't fight? We already have seen enough violence."

Her hands are shaking and her voice breaks a bit. We are all nodding. She stares for a moment at Draco and I, who are sitting together. I still can't believe we became friends, but it feels better than constantly insulting and calling eachother out.

"I hope we can make a peaceful year of this year, but I guess we'll succeed in that together", she finishes, while winking at us. Draco laughs a bit nervously.

After lunch (because it's 01:25 p.m.), we had to stay in the Great Hall. We have to give our preference for our roommates. Normally, I always go on a room with Ron, but it seems he doesn't want that. He talks with Dean, Seamus and Neville. Shortly, the three of them are watching me. In the meanwhile, I see Draco standing alone, watching his friends. I don't know if you still can say they are his friends. They have been ignoring him for a while.

"Okay! Boys, your turn to give the preference!", McGonagall shouts. I don't know what to do, until someone shudders my arm. It's Draco.

"I expect we share a room," he says, "we better don't provoke any fights on the room." Shortly, I nod. He is actually right. I also want some rest this year. I hope it can with Draco.

"Harry Potter, with who do you want to share a room with? I suppose the same choice as the previous years?", McGonnagall asks. Oh my, hell will burst out. I clear my throat:

"No, I'm going on a room with Draco Malfoy."

The silence in the Great Hall returns. Everybody looks at me and at Draco. "What a surprise... are you fine with that, Draco?"

Draco looks nervously at me, takes a deep breath and says loud:

"Yes, I am."

"Okay. That's noted. Follow me to your dorms and common room, please!", McGonnagall says and we all follow her. Draco pokes me in the neck: "What the hell was that? Man, I was scared of her when she asked me I was fine with it." "I understand you, I was feeling exactly the same", I say.

"Well, well... don't have to tell us, lovebirds?", I suddenly hear someone saying. We both It's Theodore Nott, together with Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. "Ugh, sod off you," I say irritated, "I really don't have time for your childish shit." Draco watches me with wide eyes. I guess I said something wrong.

"What did you say there, you little piece of shit?", Pansy shouts. "Enough you! There is nothing, but really NOTHING between us. Just go away now. Didn't you guys said once to me you would never talk to me again? Well, then just leave us!", Draco snaps. Pansy shocks and takes some steps backwards.

I take Draco's arm and drag him some meters forwards. "Hey!", he says when I start pulling his arm, "what was that good for?" "Let's not spend energy by arguing with children." Draco laughs.

Ron and Hermione are passing by. Ron runs into me on purpose. "Have fun with the ferret. Don't cry at ours if your dragon dumped you."

"ENOUGH! Leave them alone! Such a childish behaviour! How old are you? Eighteen? Because you're sounding like eight year old children!", the Headmistress yells.

(20 minutes later)

"Harry and Draco, this is your room. I suppose you don't want some more troublemakers on the room, so you get a room for two", and we got the key of our room.

When I enter the room, the scent of cherry chocolate and peppermint flows into my nose. Also Draco inhales deeply, to sniff the scent. Into our room, there is a big fireplace, with a large couch, covered in black velvet, with some little green and red cushions in it, with on the red ones the Gryffindor lion and on the green ones the Slytherin snake.

"How can it be that our room presents what we really want, Headmistress?", Draco asks. "I put a charm on it that makes your room personalized. Both of your preferences are in there, so that you both feel comfortable into your room"

We exchange a look and put our stuff aside. But then... we both realize that there was a little problem.

<<part 3 --- part 5>>

#harry x draco #drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #hogwarts #wizarding world #slytherin #hufflepuff #ravenclaw #gryffindor #fanfiction #fan fic writing #fan fiction #fanfic

[dezza-who-blog]

Masquerade

"You are ridiculously gorgeous today." I rolled my eyes, taking a deep breath before turning to greet the man who had for SOME reason taken it upon himself to visit our shop each and every day for the last week. "Welcome back, sir. What can I help you with today?" He smiled the same smile as always, as I (also as always) ignored the compliment and plastered a sickly sweet smile to my face. "Another two calla lillies, please." I blinked. "That makes a dozen." He smiled a little wider. "I know." I huffed. "Buying a dozen the first day, sir, would have saved you nearly half of what you've paid so far." He tried to appear thoughtful. "Hmm. Is that so?" I closed my eyes and took another breath. "Yes sir. I suggested it to you when you bought the first two." The smirk was back. "I simply remember you saying they were your favorite. Perhaps I was too distracted by your beauty." This man. Good god. Did he never give up?? "Yes. Perhaps you were. Let me get those for you." I stepped away from the counter and out the back door to the greenhouse, taking time to carefully seek out the perfect lillies, knowing from experience the rotten man would accept none with a single blemish. Ugh. Damn those Hogwarts students! All so snooty and stuck up their own arses. And to think! Coming in here every day to buy flowers for some girl, and ceaselessly flirting with me in the process. Being rich and going to school in a castle doesn't make you special. Neither does being frustratingly attractive, or having gorgeous red hair and sparkling green eyes. I took a few deep breaths before heading back inside the shop. As I stepped inside, voices reached me and I stepped more quietly, listening. "She’s a Muggle, Frederick. I’d understand if you were just toying with her, but this is the 6th day. I feel like you might be getting attached." "Well I didn't ask you, did I George? It's harmless. Besides," there was a pause, "I'm not entirely certain she is a Muggle. If you saw how she was with the plants-" "Great, now you're delusional. Look, if there was a single drop of the old blood in her, the headmistress would have already come for her. Get yourself together mate." The angry retort was punctuated by the shop door slamming, and I continued into the room like I hadn't heard the exchange. Frederick collected himself so quickly I barely caught the glimmer of pain in his eyes before he covered it with his usual annoying grin. "Ah, they're beautiful!" he exclaimed, plucking them from my hands before I could even tie a ribbon around the stems. "No worries, I'm tieing them altogether anyways." A vein throbbed at my temple. Why the hell hadn't he just bought the dozen in the first place?? "Well, have a nice day sir. I hope your lady enjoys the lillies." He eyed me for a moment longer, then nodded curtly and left, letting the door bang shut being him. I felt a twinge of guilt at my attitude towards him, but quickly pushed it away. The students at that school were trouble, and this one had far too much nerve. "Dezza? There's a young man at the door for you." I groaned and sat up in bed. Why could I not have one peaceful day? The shop was closed on Sundays, why couldn't I just sleep in? And who the hell was here at this hour? I stumbled around the room, grabbing a pair of shorts to throw on but not bothering with a shirt. My chemise covered everything and I had every intention of going straight back to bed when I sent whatever git it was away. I slouched down the stairs and stepped past my father at the door to see who dared wake me, and catching sight of him, I immediately turned back for my room. "Miss! Please!" I heard the amused voice call. I threw a very unladylike hand gesture in his face, then stopped. I quickly made my way back to front door and shut it behind me in my father's laughing face. "How. Do you know. Where I live, sir?" A look of uncertainty crossed his face as he took in my irritation and wariness. "Well I didn't follow you if that’s what you’e thinking. Is that the type of person you think I am?" I laughed. "Am I supposed to think differently? From a man who clearly has a lady, yet flirts with shop workers while buying gifts for her? I already knew you were a creep, but this is disturbing." He froze, having the audacity to actually look hurt. "Who says I have a lady? Who are you to judge that?" I stared at him incredulously, not knowing how to respond. A hint of uncertainty trickled into my mind. He gritted his teeth, then merely shook his head, and, taking his hands from behind his back, pushed the long box he'd been holding into my arms before nodding sharply at me and turning on his heel to storm off down the lane. I closed my eyes and gripped the box, getting the feeling that I had been very wrong in my assessment of him. Thinking back, he'd really given me no reason to be so rude. The day he'd first come into my shop, it had seemed like he was more interested in staring at me than buying flowers or herbs, so I'd told him to get lost if he wasn't looking to purchase anything. He'd simply grinned and said he was looking for something for a lovely lady, and asked my recommendation. I gritted my teeth and looked down at the box with a sinking feeling. Opening the lid, I groaned loudly and plopped down on the front steps. As I'd feared, inside lay a dozen flawless white calla lillies tied with a red velvet ribbon. "So, care to tell me what that was about?" I startled, having not noticed my father join me on the porch, then sighed, not knowing where to begin. "I'm an idiot." He peeked over at the box, grimacing. "I'm assuming that was the Hogwarts chap who's been coming in and bothering you." I nodded. "The one who was buying flowers for a lady yet finding any excuse to flirt with you." I nodded again. "But from the looks of it, I'd say there was no other lady." I shook my head. "So this young man has come in everyday for a week, been a complete gentleman, and deliberately overpaid you for flowers, for you. Do I have all that right?" I dropped my head into my hands. Without warning, my father burst into loud, uncontrollable, laughter while I watched, unamused. Finally, he calmed down, wiping the tears from his eyes and gazing warmly down at me. "Dezzalyn. My sweet, fierce, oblivious girl. I do believe you owe that poor soul an apology. I'd start by reading the letter in the box." Then he leaned over to kiss my forehead and went back inside. Looking down, I realized I had somehow completely missed the envelope on top of the flowers. How? I could have sworn it hadn't been there a moment before. A little dazed, I opened it carefully and pulled out the two slips of paper. The first was a hand-written note. "Miss Dezzalyn, I apologize for the impression I seem to have left you of myself, and any bother I may have caused you over the past week with my incessant advances. I realize also that I am at fault for giving you the wrong idea of me, and assure you that I am not the sort of man to pursue any sort of relations with any woman, were I to already be in any sort of commitment to another. That being said, I hope you will extend to me the kindness of attending the annual fall masquerade at Hogwarts academy. If not to enjoy the event with me, I advise you come anyway. The food is amazing. And free." I smiled grudgingly. He was an amusing fellow. And then something hit me. I reread the note, and thought back to the confrontation we'd had moments ago. He hadn't known beforehand that I'd assumed he had a lady, and he'd been surprised and offended when I accused him of it. So how was it that this note was apologizing for giving me that impression? It was as if he'd sent the letter after leaving. But that was impossible and illogical. Yet I was certain there has been no letter in the box when I'd opened it. I glanced at the second slip of paper, finding it to be an invitation to the masquerade Hogwarts hosted every October 29. Some of the more influential people in town received the invitation yearly, but it was practically unheard of for someone with as little political pull as a flower shop owner to be invited. I'd heard that the students could invite a guest if they wished, but seldom did they ever befriend or take an interest in any of us normal people. It was two days away. I considered just ignoring it, not really finding the idea of being surrounded by the rich and notorious very appealing, but then I remembered the impossibility of the letter. I was intrigued by this Frederick and how he'd managed a trick like that. I had to go. I mean, after all, there was free food. "I'm glad you've decided to give the young man a chance." My father smiled warmly. "And, I would hope, an apology?" I grimaced. "Of course. He deserves that at least. I was horrid." I finished taming my long dark curls and grabbed the dress from my bed. I was lucky to have such amazing neighbors. Miss Aria was a regular customer at the shop, and because of us providing the arrangements for her father's funeral free of charge last year, she'd put together a beautiful design for me in less than two days. And it was green. Oh how I loved green. I smiled at my father and retreated into the bathroom to pull on the gown, then stepped back out to examine my reflection in the mirror. My father's eyes instantly filled with tears, and he rushed from the room, leaving me standing confused and staring at the door. He was back in a split second though, holding a small wooden box. Opening it, he lifted out a velvet mask the exact shade of my gown, adorned with a simple slip of black lace across it. It was beautiful. I knew without asking that this had been my mother's. He handed it to me, and pulled another item from the box before setting it down and moving to fasten the silver chain around my neck. I looked down and my breath caught in my throat. "But dad..." "No but's. She'd want you to have it." I swallowed, blinking back tears as I caressed my mother's pendant lightly in my hands. The tree of life. It was a simple piece, made entirely from hand-shaped silver, with a single emerald embedded in the base. I'd always loved it. It felt like her. "Enough of that now." His voice was gruff as he brushed away a stray tear escaping down my cheek. "Just look at you. All grown up." I finally spared a look at the mirror, and gasped. I could hardly recognize myself. The gown was perfect, with a sweetheart neckline and fitted bodice that cinched at the waist, and a skirt that flowed like water. The sheer over-layer and silver accents gave it an enchanted look, and my mother's pendant was the perfect addition. My father stepped behind me and tied her mask, adding the finishing touch to transforming me into a woman I'd never dreamed I could be. For the first time that day, I felt a glimmer of excitement rather than anxiety. Perhaps tonight wouldn't go so terribly after all. My father drove me to the town hall, where I was to wait with the other townspeople who had received an invitation, until the carriages from the school came to retrieve us. After a quick hug goodbye and a few deep breaths, I stepped into the hall and glanced around at the others. I fit in surprisingly well, though I'd been silly for doubting I wouldnt. I wasn't poor by any means, and Miss Aria was an amazing designer who probably created half the gowns being worn tonight. I'd hardly had time to even start guessing who was behind what mask before the clatter outside announced the carriages had arrived. There were about 20 of us, and we were ushered into 5 horse-drawn carriages straight out of a fairy tale. There was very little talk on the way to the castle. It was clear I wasn't the only one engulfed in nerves and excitement. Upon arrival we were led not into the castle itself, but down a short forest path lined with lights that twinkled like stars, and into a large clearing that had been strung with thousands more of the same beautiful lights. Off to one side was an area with quaint tables set with candles and white cloth, and further down, row after row of buffet tables filled with the most delicious looking food I'd ever seen. Steak, seafood, whole chickens, fruit, and of course dozens of deserts. I laughed to myself. Frederick hadn't been lying. It was worth it to come just for the food alone. I glanced around for any glimpse of that long, shockingly red hair, but to no avail. There were so many people, it was overwhelming. I stepped off to the side to take a breath and grab a drink, any excuse to be out of the crowd. My anxiety was starting to eat at me again. I couldn't find Frederick either, and if I didn't, this whole night was a waste. The drink table wasn't far enough from the crowd, I still felt smothered. I ended up escaping back down the path to the school, stopping to rest against a crumbling wall that had probably been a part of an older wing of the castle. "Not enjoying yourself?" I spun around, coming face to face with a young man that had been sitting in what had once been a window of the wall. Christ. If I'd collapsed against the wall a mere two feet over, I would have sat on the man. How had I not seen him? "Um, no," I stammered. "I mean yes. Yes I was. It's just crowded. I needed to breathe." He nodded, seemingly thoughtful as he took in my appearance just as I was taking in his. Cropped blonde hair that was shaggy in the front in a way that still managed to be stylish, pale skin, grey eyes. Sharp, gorgeous cheekbones. Damn why did all of the students at this blasted school have to be so attractive? "Haven't seen you at these before." It wasn't a question, so I didn't answer. "Are you some new politicians daughter?" I tried to refrain from showing my disgust. "No, my father and I own the town flower and herbal remedy shop." His eyebrows shot up. "Really now? That's interesting. How did you end up at a thing like this, if I may ask?" "I recieved a personal invitation." "From who? I havent seen you with anyone." Warning bells went off in my mind. He hadn't seen me with anyone? That would mean he'd been watching me. But how, if he'd been here? I was fairly certain I would have noticed anyone leaving the clearing ahead of me. "I, um... I think I'm going to head back to the party." He hopped off the ledge to stand beside me. "I'll walk with you." It wasn't an offer, so I simply started towards the forest with him at my side. "I didn't catch your name, sweet lady." He smiled, reaching out to toy with a lock of my hair that had brushed his arm. "Dezzalyn. And you?" It was hard to speak normally. This man had some sort of air about him that I couldn't explain. It felt like... power. Not influence, or regality, but raw power. I thought back to the letter in the flower box, and how the boy seemed to appear out of nowhere. There was something odd about this place and these people. I could even feel it in the trees. "Draco." I startled, having forgotten I'd asked. It was a nice name. "Draco." I repeated, filling the silence. "Very... prestigious." He laughed, and I felt a bit more at ease. "Well, that would be my family for you. But I'm not that interesting. Let's talk about you." I swallowed, not liking where this was going. "You never told me who invited you. It's quite rare to see an ordinary Muggle at a thing like this. Not that I'd say you're unremarkable in any way." Oh jeez. I rolled my eyes on the inside. But there was that word again. Muggle. His eyes swept over my face and hair, seeming to drink it all in. His gaze froze once it reached my mother's pendant, his eyes widening. "Or that I'm completely certain you're really a Muggle..." I started to ask what the hell that word was supposed to mean, but by then we'd reached the clearing, and I was entranced by the masked couples twirling wildly beneath the trees and fairy lights. I was so caught up in them that I didn’t notice Draco move closer. “Beautiful,” he breathed, gazing at me. “The dancers. Aren’t they?” Of course he’d been talking about the dancers. I was glad for the low light as I felt the blush spread across my cheeks. I nodded. “Something about the suits, and gowns, and masks, and lights, all out here in the forest. It seems…” I trailed off, not wanting to sound childish. “Magical.” I glanced back to him and smiled. “Exactly.” “Seems a waste. You seem more magical than any of the girls here, and here you are, off on the sidelines, just waiting.” I felt my face go red again. Was he trying to make fun of me? “That came out wrong. I’m sorry. What I meant was- well, this isn’t usually my thing. But, would you like to dance? With me?” I stared at him, probably for a bit too long, but it was surprising to see this elegant boy grasping for words and looking just the tiniest bit flustered. I nodded. He smiled brilliantly and took my hand, leading me out to the center of the clearing, just as another song began. He slipped his hand down to my waist and not an inch lower, the perfect gentleman, and I let my free hand rest on his shoulder. Soon he was guiding me effortlessly and skillfully, and I was extremely grateful my father had me take those ballroom dancing classes I’d always hated. We danced for what seemed like both eons and seconds at once, gliding seamlessly into each new song. And with each step and turn and glide, I saw more of Draco. His eyes seemed to lighten, his posture relaxed, his smile came easier. He was beautiful. I found myself feeling sad that he felt the need to hide this part of him for some reason. I’d only known him for a couple hours, yet I had the feeling I’d already seen him more open than most of the people here. The slow song we were dancing to came to an end, but he didn’t let go of my hand or waist. He seemed to want to say something, but wasn’t sure how. “Dezzalyn..” “Please, Dezza. Call me Dezza.” He smiled. “Dezza.” Just then, I caught sight of a familiar tall, redhaired figure gliding across the clearing towards us. Draco saw him to, and took notice of my recognition. He smiled a bit bitterly. “I take it that’s your date.” Before I had a chance to reply, he’d reached us. "Miss Dezzalyn." He said, rather coolly. My heart froze. Had it been a mistake to come tonight after all? Would he even want an apology? I nodded mutely, and he turned his attention to Draco. "Malfoy. Can I help you with something?" Draco sneered. "You help me? Not a chance Weasley. I was merely showing Miss Dezzalyn here a bit of a good time.” He turned to smile at me, though there was a curious, almost worried look in his eyes. "I'll see you again." It wasn't a request, so I said nothing as he strode away. When all I wanted was to ask him to stay. "Well," I said, turning to Frederick and trying to lighten the mood. "I'm starving." I started for the buffet tables, but he caught my arm. "You shouldn't have come." I stopped. For some reason, hearing that had hurt, though I'd half expected it. "You invited me." "Well I shouldn't have. You should go." I bit back tears. "Look, I know I was a jerk-" "Ugh. Come on." He tightened his grip on my arm and started to pull me back down the path. "Frederick stop! You're. Hurting. Me!" I snatched my arm away stepped away from him. Something was very off here. "What's wrong with you? Why are you being like this? I came to apologize!" "I don't want your bloody damn apology. I want you to leave and not speak to me again." Fury rose inside me. "Me? It was YOU who came to my shop to buy me flowers every day. It was YOU who wouldn't stop pestering me trying to get me to like you, and it was YOU who delivered those flowers and that damn invitation to my house. It was-" I stopped, eyes widening in realization. "It wasn't. It wasn't you." He sneered. "What are you talking about?" But I saw the confirmation in his eyes. "It wasn’t... But... how..” It hit me. “Twins,” I gasped. He froze. "Twins. You're not Frederick." He stood, stunned, and I heard leaves crunch behind us. "You're damn right he's not." Frederick barreled forward, knocking down his twin and driving his fist into his face. I started to step forward, but apparently the single hit was all he'd wanted, and his twin wasn't fighting back. No, he was still staring at me. Without warning, Frederick gathered me up in his arms and crushed me against him. "Dezza. I'm so glad you came. I was so scared you'd still be furious." I laughed. "I had no reason to be angry in the first place. I was an idiot. You've been nothing but kind to me. I'm sorry." He stepped back and took me in with his eyes instead. "No worries. That dress is all the apology I needed..." I smacked him on the arm and turned to face his brother again. "You must be George." They both gaped. "Sorry, I overheard your exchange at my shop the other day." They both cringed. Then George looked at me again, half ashamed, half curious. "Sorry I overreacted. I didn't mean to be a total dick, or to scare you. But he's my brother. I don't want him hurt or mixed up in things he shouldn't be." He took a steadying breath. "And it's amazing that you can tell us apart. Our own mother can't, you know. But still... I don't want him fooling around with a Muggle and getting himself into trouble." Frederick growled and moved to jump at his brother again, but was interrupted. "Don’t you dare speak to her like that!” Draco snapped, stepping out of the shadows and grabbing George by his collar. “Acting like she’s not worthy of your precious brother's affection. What a joke.” He pushed George back down and stepped away, composing himself again. He glanced over at me, and his eyes were cold. I suddenly realized Fredericks arm was still on my shoulder and stepped up to let it fall, but Draco had already looked away from me. “What the hell do you care?” George spat. “Why are you even here?” Frederick straightened his shoulders and glared at his brother. "Draco is the one who told me Dezzalyn was here, and that you were with her. He caught your attitude and figured you probably weren't the one who invited her, but that she didn’t realize that. It doesn’t matter if she’s a Muggle, you prat, my choices are my own." I glanced over at Draco, surprised that he'd caught on so fast and went to the effort of finding Frederick. Draco scoffed. “She’s not even a Muggle.” Both twins stared blankly. Draco sighed. “Do I really have to point out even the most obvious things? Gryffindors, I swear. The pendant. Look at her pendant.” Both obliged. George’s face paled, but Frederick took on a look of awe. “Definitely not a Muggle.” They spoke in unison. I gripped my pendant protectively as something in me snapped. “Damn It! Will somebody PLEASE tell me what the hell that’s supposed to mean?” Amusement glinted in Dracos eyes for just a moment. “It means, dear lady, that you’re a witch. “ Nearly a month had passed since that night. Frederick and George alike had both tried to come see me or get me to at least talk to them. I refused. They were obviously crazy. Me? A witch? And they honestly wanted me to believe they were wizards? Yeah. Sure. I'd gotten my father to ban them from the shop, and he kept them away from the house. I stepped into the shop and dropped my bag behind the counter before starting the coffee. My father had informed me we had a new hire. Surprising, since this was our family business, but I guess with mom not here anymore... Well, things would definitely be easier with another pair of hands. The new bell on the door jingled. Ah. That must be him. "One second!" I called. Pouring a quick cup and dumping a couple spoons of sugar in, I grabbed my mug and headed to the front to greet our new employee. "Today I'm just going to be showing you-" I froze. "The door. Showing you the door. Get out." Draco smiled lazily, leaning against the counter and drinking in my appearance in that way he had. I still wasn't sure if he was judging me or checking me out. "Morning beautiful." Ah. Checking me out then. "Leave." He finally seemed to realize I was serious. "No way. I worked my ass off at that interview. Your old man is not one to be reckoned with." "Why are you even here? You don't need a job!" "Ah," Draco said, smiling widely, "but I want one. And who would your father be to deny a young man the right to learn true responsibility and self-worth? His words. Not mine." This could not be happening. No way. "Just leave. Me. ALONE!" I snapped and pushed him, but that wasn't all that happened. As soon as my hand touched his chest, a pulse pushed out and knocked him clear across the room. I froze. He laughed. He clambered back to his feet, that stupid brilliant smile stuck on his stupid beautiful face. “Tell me I’m crazy now!” I stared at him, then down at my hands. If he was crazy, so was I. I didn’t notice he’d moved closer until my hands were in his. I looked up, and was caught in the emotion showing freely in his eyes. Happiness, excitement, and a tiny bit of what felt a lot like longing. “Don’t be scared,” he murmered. “Let me help you. Let me teach you.” I hesitated. “Please, Dezza.” His voice cracked, and my heart crumbled. "Okay."

#Harry potter #Potterhead #fanfic #fanfiction #fiction #HP #AU #Weasleytwins #twins #Weasleys #Malfoy #Draco #DracoMalfoy #FredWeasley #GeorgeWeasley #ball #masquerade #magic

[bonnissance]

pippa owns a small secluded cottage in the forest/countryside and invites hecate over for the weekend

so fun story, I sat down and wrote two whole other sections of this theme before I decided to focus on she/they high femme nonbinary Pippa Pentangle and their home away from the castle (which they’ve secretly always wanted Hecate to be a part of), and idk if the parts mesh together into one fic, so y’all get this one on it’s own for the moment

Pippa Pentangle(/Hecate Hardbroom), 1.5k+, teen. CW: references to nonbinary exclusion, few references to transphobic rhetoric (hmu if i’ve messed anything, this is an area of writing i’m unfamiliar w), gay pining (when isn’t it?)

Pippa has a cottage, a few hours away from Pentangle’s, more hours away from Cackle’s, the furtherest away from Hecate, in the middle of both then off to the side, on the farthest edge of Darkwood and a few miles more: a strange sort of diamond that spans across the coast to encompass the woodland of the country side.

It’s in the middle of clearing in the heart of the forest, hidden far away from prying eyes and further away from the responsibilities they spend their days fulfilling, upholding, taking up themselves to push herself and the students to become the best magic casters they can be.

Pippa loves Pentangle’s dearly, but sometimes they just need to get away.

And she’s had it for years, decades—a home to come back to, while they worked their way up and down the country moving from teaching position to different school, never quite finding her feet on solid ground in any of them.

It was hard, in the earlier years of their career: the more traditionalist academies hated Pippa’s disregard for rigidity and blind obedience towards authority, while the schools that claimed modernity, that Pippa had hoped were more their style, still clung to assumptions Pippa had long since realised simply weren’t necessary.

Like keeping witches and wizards segregated to limit the possibilities of what magical children could grow up to be.

That’s what get her fired from her last position, before they took over Pentangle’s when their Aunt had passed away a year later and entailed the family school to Pippa.

‘Absurd,’ the headmistress had said. ’Of course you can’t teach wizards witchcraft, what utter nonsense.’

She’d practically laughed Pippa out of her office, in the wake of Pippa’s request to take on a new applicate from a nearby town: a young boy whose magic didn’t seem to sit right in the school where an old friend was the school nurse. An old friend who’d thought of Pippa when the wizard kept coming into the ward with depleted energy and almost not casting to show for their spent magic, and there was nothing she could do to help them.

Pippa had been desperate to help, positive they knew the root of the young caster’s problem, but no one was willing to listen, no matter how much they begged. The headmistress had demanded Pippa’s resignation not long after, citing a pile of complaints made during Pippa’s time at the school, from parents with problems with their teaching methods, the results, the way they introduced themselves during parent’s evening.

It was the last one that truly stung.

Pippa almost spat in the witch’s face before packing her bags and leaving the grounds: the staff had known what they were getting when they hire Pippa, they’d never hidden who they were, never shied away from curious, harmless questions about their dissertation—still making waves more than a decade on—and the witch who wrote it. And what drove Pippa’s research in the first place.  

But no matter how much the rest of the teachers listened, very few of them every really understood. And even fewer really cared.

So, Pippa left and never once looked back at a society that kept magic casters divided to make sure there was nowhere welcoming for the type of witch they’d become.

They made a quick detour to visit her friend on the way, to offer their services to the wizard in her care, before coming home to the cottage their great-grandmother entailed them a decade ago.

It had been a bit drab, when they’d first inherited it. Dusty like it hadn’t been used in half a century (67 years, to be more precise, since Great Aunt Petunia, the famous family hermit, had passed away and left it to Pippa’s grandmother), decorated like it was the 80’s—1880’s, that is—and Pippa always was more of a twentieth century sort of person.

The first thing they’d done was redecorate the whole house, inside and out: painted the exterior champagne and pale with blue trim on the window panes, the inside peach sweet and light and adorned with long velvet curtains in warmest purple (they’d considered a crushed pink, when they were deciding on decor, but there was something about the purple that caught her eye. They thought it blended well with the red of the armchairs by the fireplace, at first; it took almost a full year to realised it was the colour of Hecate’s sash when they were at school).

They’d installed bookshelves along every wall, bare and empty at first, but swiftly filled to the brim with tomes and textbooks and grimoires: ancient texts that ground their research, studies that reach all around the globe with broaden it, newer text to further it. A balance between the ideas that delight her, and as many that contradict: to be as thorough as possible, of course, by putting the skills she’d developed when she was young and determined to find a suitable, useful gift to give Hecate every year, so she could see her best friend smile.

Pippa knows why they’re drawn to the most archaic of texts and does her best to forget (they don’t need to anymore: the biggest gift of all).

Nonetheless, their collection grew. More so with her first pupil: in Pippa’s care for a year, where they watched the young caster bloom with promise, until her Aunt had died.

He’d been Pentangle’s first new enrolment, coming with Pippa as they took over as Head Teacher; their first graduate, too, and Pippa couldn’t be prouder of the caster they grew up to be, the youngest member of the magic council.

But as proud as Pippa of all the students in their school, that doesn’t mean they never needed time away. And when she does, Pippa comes here, to her home away from the castle, with only Artemis to keep her company, usually perched high on the extra armchair Pippa really doesn’t need, no matter how fond her familiar is of it, especially given he has a handcrafted tree of his own, (and if the trunk of Pippa’s creation also happens to be a scratching post, it’s simply to keep her birds claws in check, nothing at all to do with the needs of any other familiar. Certainly not).

She used to have chickens, once, in a coop along the far side of the house. But when Pippa took over Pentangle’s they soon realised the longer hours required she be on-site, that taking paperwork with them wherever they went really wasn’t an option, and it simply wasn’t feasible to keep the brood caged away with no one to care for them.

So Pippa brought them back to the school during the first summer holiday. Set up an area on the east side of the castle, the expanse of overgrown grass that no one ever seemed to be able to tame or replace, where Pippa added few trees for shade and a dash of magic to help things along and made them all the beginnings of an orchard.

The teachers hadn’t known what to make of it, yet one more new thing to accept now that Pippa ran the school, but the students had loved it, even more when new chicks hatched, and their collection of fowls had almost tripled in the space of one spring.

The goat had been their Deputy’s idea, and by the end of Pippa’s second year at Pentangle’s the school had the makings of an entire farm, a vegetable patch even bigger than the one Pippa has at home.  

They hadn’t realised why they needed such a huge patch, why she’d plotted but never planted. Why they just let it grow whatever it wanted. Not till that tried to tame it, stripping it back in time for the spring break and Hecate impending visit: the reason Pippa had made it in the first place.  

Because it’s always been Hecate, even when Pippa thought she hated her: the colour of her curtains and the extra chair by the fire, a quite wilderness just outside a kitchen stocked like a baker lives in the same cottage Pippa has spent half their life perfecting.

And it is, perfect: almost, that is. Almost perfect with it’s always burning fire and enough books to keep even the most particular of occupied on rainy days, and a calendar on the wall that that marks nothing besides the passing of the moon and their loves next visit.

A calendar with a pink circle marking this very day: a day practically perfect in every way.

Pippa looks out the window, see a silhouette on the horizon coming closer and closer: the missing piece, only just out of reach.

But not anymore, because Hecate lands other side of the hip-height picket fence, cloak flapping in the breeze while she strips off her gloves, before making her way to Pippa’s front door.

Pippa meets her there, welcomes her in before she can knock: holds her closes, kisses her cheek, draws her inside. Goes off make tea while Morgana begins to sniff around the house; brings the tray back to see Hecate making herself at home, here, in front of the fire, sitting in a red velvet armchair with a book already in her lap.

Comes back to find Hecate has made herself comfortable here, in Pippa’s home, just the way it should be.

#goblinsnacks #pippa pentangle #hicsqueak #i wrote a thing #the worst witch