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ladyvesuvia · 3 years

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Inside of Love

PAIRING: James Potter x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Working at a diner that’s open all hours of the day on the night before Valentine’s Day, you notice that one customer has been staying there without ordering anything for the past hour. Starting a conversation with him might give you a little bit of insight on what you want to know. [Inside of Love by Nada Surf]

WORDS: 5.7k

WARNING(S): Valentine’s Day, mentions of 1981 commercials and celebrities, couples, mentions of Grease 1978, awkward moments, awkward lines, poor writing i’m on a slump mbad + not proofread

REFERENCE(S): Hemeling Lager 1981 Commercial, Super Trouper by ABBA

A/N: I’m honestly not so proud of this because it’s got more dialogue than anything else and it’s 06:00am and it’s been a while since i’ve finished writing something so excuse the mediocre narrations idfjeiw help i don’t even know hahashs

NAVIGATION || MAIN MASTERLIST || HP MASTERLIST

Watching terrible tv, it kills all thought

Getting spacier than an astronaut

The telly screwed to the upper corner of the room kept you awake on the 13th of February, 1981, probably the worst day to ever exist second to the 14th of February itself. Much to your dismay, in just three hours, it will officially be Valentine’s Day (or Day of Love, as your friends call it).

You lazily watched a man in the TV play the piano while singing with a bunch of his friends as they held their beer up high.

“Do some lagers taste soft around the edges?” said the narrator as the rest sang ‘She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain when She Comes’ together.

The man looked at his own beer, confused at how soft and flexible his glass is. You snorted.

“There’s a harder edge to the taste of Hemeling,” said the narrator of the commercial with vigor, “because Hemeling brew more sugar out so there’s more alcohol in. Result? A taste with a keener, harder—”

“Quit gadding about with the telly and get that poor couple their order!” your boss (and a close friend of your mother’s), Mrs. Campbell yelled from the open window slot of the kitchen. You preferred to call her by her first name Barbara but she had told you to call her Mrs. Campbell in the workplace.

She turned off the TV with the remote, furious.

You groaned. “Poor? How do you know they’re poor?”

“Heavens, child — look at them! They’re wet from the rain!”

“The girl has Jordache jeans and the guy looks like Tom Selleck, just how poor could they possibly be?” Groaning, you took the tray from the slot, obeying nonetheless. “Not my fault they’ve chugged down too much Hemeling and forgot an umbrella!”

“They can hear you!” hissed Mrs. Campbell.

“Oh, let them!”

Making out with people I hardly know or like

Carrying the tray of chicken wings and fries to the young couple at the second last booth of the diner in itself was a disappointingly tedious task. They didn’t seem to have heard your comment about them.

Stupid, you thought as you put the tray down on their table before laying their food in front of them. Before you left them alone to themselves, you caught sight of one guy sitting all by himself at the last booth wearing a maroon jacket, a bouquet of white lilies resting on the table instead of food. You had asked to take his order for about an hour ago and he had curtly told you he was waiting for someone. You studied him before leaving. Too edgy for my liking but . . . kinda cute?

You shook this thought aside. As soon as you got back to the counter, you hurried over to your boss, looking through the slot with a mischievous grin on your face.

“What now, child?” she said while flipping a burger patty.

You drummed your fingers on the counter. “Can I go home now?”

“Why, so you could kiss strangers?”

“Yes, so I could kiss strangers and or watch Fridays and see who the guest star is while eating expired yogurt,” you said plainly. “So can I?”

I can't believe what I do, late at night

“Oh, no, no, child, you stay here until Dalila shows up,” Mrs. Campbell declared.

“But Dalila is always late for an hour!”

Mrs. Campbell turned off the stove with a raised brow your way. “Oh, so you’re gonna leave me alone here with these shady people?”

“I thought you regarded them as a sweet wee couple?”

“Yes, but isn’t it dangerous to leave me, sweet and fragile Mrs. Campbell, all alone in this diner?”

You made a show of looking her up and down. “Eh, I don’t know, I’d say you look more butch to me — Ow! Fine, I’ll stay.”

“That’s what I thought. Now do us both a favor and get that lad’s order.” She gestured to the guy at the last booth who was simply unmoving, his eyes glued to the rain-stained window panes

“But I already did! He said he’s ‘waiting for someone,’ whatever that means.”

“He probably just got stood up by Lily.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t blame her. Why would he even ask her to go to this shabby — just kidding — wait, you know him?”

“Oh, I’ve known James ever since he began dating Lily! They used to be regulars here, you know. They stopped visiting since . . . I’m not really sure. I reckon they broke up a while ago.” Mrs. Campbell peeked through the slot, trying to get a better look at the guy sitting at the last booth.

“How come I’ve never seen them, then?”

“Ah, well, they don’t really come on a school year. See, they go to this boarding school and whatnot,” said Mrs. Campbell. “And they stopped coming a few months ago, this is the first time I’ve seen him in a long time. That right there was their booth.”

Back in high school, you used to take your boyfriend here every afternoon after classes and what Mrs. Campbell labelled this James and Lily’s booth was yours, too. “So you do know him. You take his order, then.”

She ignored you. “Such a shame, they were really good together like you and that Gilbert boy who used to come over a lot.”

“Ew, that was a century ago, give it a rest.”

With a whine, you practically dragged yourself over to where he was seated, a laminated menu in hand.

He didn’t look up much less give a grunt to acknowledge your presence.

“I could take your order,” you said with a monotone voice, “or not.”

Finally, he looked up, the dark circles under his eyes deeper than how you had assumed it to be.

“I know the sign says we’re open for twenty-four hours but I personally haven’t got all day.” You pulled out your notepad from your apron pocket, clicking your pen open. “So you want chicken wings or a burger? What?”

He scoffed. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“Is that someone death?” Your eyes went to the bouquet of flowers.

It started raining outside again, the silent song of its telltale tune painting mist and tears across all the windows. You leaned on the table with your hands supporting you.

“Listen, James,” you started. This time, he looked at you in the eye, disbelief clouding the very eyes that stared at you. “Just order some—”

“How d’you know my name?”

“Mrs. Campbell.”

“Oh, you mean Miss Glasgow?” he said absentmindedly as he craned his head to get a better view of the kitchen behind the counter. You turned around to find Mrs. Campbell peeking through the open slot of the kitchen window with a giddy smile on her face as she waved. You cringed.

James did a tiny salute with a wink before facing you again. “On second thought, I’d like the burger with extra cheese and a vanilla milkshake.”

I wanna know what it's like

On the inside of love

The blender’s sound was deafening and it smelled more like machine than it did vanilla; its tune made you want to just throw it to the ground and watch it shatter into a million pieces.

You turned on the TV again with the forlorn remote that was tossed to the side in an attempt to take your mind off of the provoking chords of the blender.

A rerun of Mr and Mrs played, a gameshow for couples with a grand cash prize. You didn’t really get the show’s mechanics but you watched it anyway to keep yourself busy. You cocked your head to the side, wondering what it would be like to be in love again just like the couple on the telly.

I'm standing at the gates

I see the beauty above

For the past long hours of your shift, you served happy and sad couples alike. There were miserable singles, too, and as much as you felt bad that they were having a hard time, seeing them come and go made you feel just a little bit better as their presence reminded you that you weren’t alone on the night before the most dreadful day of the year.

Mrs. Campbell bringing up your boyfriend from high school had you questioning yourself: Would it be that bad to ring him on his telephone? Is he okay? Would we still be dating now if I had just given him a second chance?

From afar, one would just assume you were invested on watching the show when you were anything but.

If your mind was a place, you were incredibly far away from where you stood: You’re in your room and it’s 1976; you’re opening the window for who you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with, your heart fluttering with that sensation you’re longing for today — the warmth and solace you can only find in another’s arms.

You forced yourself to snap out of it, your eyes lingering over to the boy sitting at the last booth, his own gaze trapped to the rain-stained windows, waiting.

He’s been sitting there for about four hours going on five now. You wanted to love someone that hard again enough to wait for them. You wanted . . . to love, just love someone no matter how pathetic and desperate that sounded to who you are right now.

Sighing, you turned off the TV before turning off the blender as well, shaking it on your own. Mrs. Campbell laid a tray with one cheeseburger at the center on the window.

You poured the contents of the blender onto a tall milkshake soda glass, and next came the whipped cream and sprinkles. With one curt glance his way, you poked the straw through the creamy drink.

A moment later, you handed him his order, setting the tall glass as carefully as you could, not wanting to have it break. Cleaning it up would be a whole new story; just imagine the foamy and sticky contents of the milkshake mixing with the threatening shards of the glass . . . Oh, look, it resembles my heart!

Cringing at this thought, you slapped the tray against your head out of instinct, wanting it to go away.

The guy looked up from his seat, clearly amused (you could tell from the already forming grin on his stupidly pretty face). “Did you just hit yourself with the tray?”

You looked at him, dumbfounded. “Er — depends on how much you saw.”

“Pretty sure I saw everything,” he jeered, his voice full of contained laughter.

“Everything except for the battle inside my head,” you said dramatically. Without thinking, you sat down on the cushioned seat across from him, taking off your striped visor and putting it beside his milkshake. “Tell me, James, what’s it like to be in love?” His brows shot up at this, and so you added hurriedly, “No, no, no, I’m not making a move on you, I’m just curious is all. I’m not interested, just wanted to know.”

“How could you not be interested in me?” he said, raking his fingers through his hair. With a grin, he slid his glass of milkshake towards him. Weirdly enough, seeing him warm up to you was relieving. “That’s the stuff,” he moaned after taking a sip.

Only when we get to see the aerial view

“You say you’re waiting for someone but you still couldn’t help but hump everything that breathes.”

James snorted. “I didn’t hump you.”

“Metaphorically speaking, yes you just did,” you chimed.

Hours ago from now when the sun was still out, you’d have thought he was worthy of being laughed at but right now with the ticking clock determining midnight’s arrival, you just needed something to pass your time with and he seemed interesting enough. “Are you going to answer my question or not?”

“Well, [Y/N], love is like a milkshake,” he said with a grin just right before he took a sip of his own drink. You let out a scoff.

“How do you know—”

“I have my ways with my sneaky tactics,” said James. “Kidding, you’ve got your name tag and all.”

“Oh, so that’s what you were doing, I thought you were staring at my jugs.”

“Please, I’m a gentleman.”

You watch as he takes a loud sip from his milkshake, the contents slowly draining. “I beg to differ.”

“Ooh, Miss Naughty-cal’s begging,” James joked, his eyes brimming with what he may call ‘tears of joy.’ “Get it, yeah? ‘Cause your uniform’s got stripes and . . . nautical theme and you’re . . . naughty — seriously, people gotta start appreciating my humor.”

“You hardly have any,” you tell him. “So why milkshake of all things?”

“Milkshakes make my brain freeze. Couldn’t think well when it does so.”

“Isn’t that a bad thing?” you asked, leaning on the table.

“Doesn’t have to be. See, sometimes when you take a sip too quickly, you’d be all ‘oh, yeah, that’s the stuff’ and then suddenly you want that cold feeling out but it’s all worth it in the end.” James stirred. “Anyway, on a half-related note, I’m waiting for someone.”

“I’d say that’s highly pathetic of you but I once went to school in a white gown and a curtain for a veil so I’ll let it slide.”

“You did what?” James laughed, effortlessly making you laugh as well. How the hell does he do that? “I have millions of questions but I’ll save it just for another time.”

“Good, because I have another question for you.”

“Shoot it, [Y/N/N].”

Will the patterns show, we'll know what to do

“How do you this?” With a short chuckle, you picked up the bouquet of lily flowers.

James reached for your striped visor from the table and put it on himself, parading it as he studied his own reflection on the window. “Do what, exactly?”

“Spending the night waiting for someone who’ll never show up.”

“Hey, she’ll show up, alright?” he said, hope clear in his tone. But you knew he was losing that very faith every passing second that this Lily girl doesn’t show up. “She’s just . . . under the weather or just late or maybe she didn’t receive my letter.”

“You sent a — I’m not asking. But late? For almost four hours?”

“Okay, I know it looks bad so let’s say she really doesn’t show up.”

“I already did.”

Once again, he ignored what you had said. “I’ll stay here until she comes because I promised I would.”

“Sounds painfully idiotic.”

“The word you’re looking for is heroic.” James took another loud sip, paying your scowl no mind. “My turn to ask you something, my pal.”

“Not your pal.”

He ignored you again. “Why are you spending your Valentine’s Eve working?”

“Just waiting for my shift to end so I could go home.”

“Home to your boyfriend or girlfriend or something?” he said, teasing you.

“Nah, I don’t have any of those.”

“Oh, why not? You don’t seem that bad.”

You yawned. “What a flattering compliment.”

“So what are your plans?” he asked, also leaning in as he set his almost done milkshake, then grabbing his cheeseburger.

“I kinda promised myself I’d go home as soon as I can just so I could stay up late and watch show reruns on the telly until the sun shows up so I could wake up in the afternoon and not deal with smoochy couples.”

“Wow, that’s inspiring,” James said, laughing. Maybe it was your drowsiness kicking in but that smile was something you didn’t know you needed to see. “Who hurt you so bad that you don’t wanna go out and do dates?”

I know the last page so well, I can't read the first

“Oh, I do dates. I just bail a lot.”

“Why’s that?” James asked.

It’s a question you always found yourself asking whenever you ended things with someone be it on just the first date or the real thing. So far after your breakup with your long-time boyfriend and now ex two years ago, you’d been out with a couple of people.

They were all great, you knew that. You started off optimistic at first, waiting for that sort of magic to come back again, that spark.

But it never did.

And little by little, you just assumed that it would all end in heartbreak just like your first love. With a long sigh and a not so thorough consideration you told this person you barely knew about it, not excluding the part when you caught your boyfriend with your best friend, making out, both of which were very, very drunk.

So I just don't start, it's getting worse

“D’you think it was a bad idea to not give him a chance?”

“Of course not! You deserve better than that foul git. If I were you, I’d have held him upside down by the leg and—”

“Woah, woah, woah, pipe down, we dated for four years.”

“All the more reason to hate him then.”

It was kind of hard to believe that two hours had passed as the clock hung on the wall behind James said so.

“And that’s how I ended up being sent home after wearing the gown.”

You were both busy caught in collective fits of laughter when the two of you spotter a woman with red hair walk by from outside. James’s hand immediately went to the bouquet of flowers’ end, composing himself in the process as to not seem like a fool if it was who he expected it to be. He almost looked as if he were confused.

He was. Did he still want to do this? Hours ago during the daytime, he struggled to use the red telephone booth as he called the Evans’ home phone, but still sure he wanted to win his ex back.

“Hello?” he had started, hoping for Lily’s voice to answer back.

“Who’s this?” said a familiar voice, one not of Lily’s; was her mother’s. “Hello?”

James hung up and ran to the nearest obscure place to Disapparate, hurriedly writing a letter telling Lily to meet him at the Diner at 8 p.m., his heart in his throat as he watched the owl fly away to send it to her.

James snapped out of it.

As soon as the woman got in, you leapt from your seat and exclaimed, “Finally, Dalila! Barb — I mean Mrs. Campbell, I’m off!”

He watched as you dashed to the kitchen while undoing your apron until you disappeared from view. His eyes went to the woman who just entered, confused at how anticlimactic it would have been if it were who he was waiting for. He set the bouquet aside to stare at his empty glass of milkshake.

I wanna know what it's like

On the inside of love

A while later, he watched as you stepped out of the kitchen dressed out of your uniform and wearing your own clothes instead. You waved at him as a subtle goodbye while you searched the umbrella stand for your own transparent one until you did.

Your hands were already the door handle, ready to push it open to step out into the damp and empty street when you heard a glass whine. Alarmed, you turned to the source of the noise only to find James catch his almost toppling tall glass just in time.

“Wait!” he had called out, soon whispering words of charming apologies to the other people in the diner. He put the empty tall glass and plate to the side neatly before jogging over to where you stood, the same bouquet of lily flowers in hand. “You’re leaving?”

“Well, yeah. Only a few minutes before Valentine’s, gotta make the most of it, eh?”

“I’m coming with.” He reached out to the door handle.

“You’re what?” you gasped. “Aren’t you waiting for someone? Also, if you are, take that visor off.” You snatched it off his head, tossing it over to the counter.

“Eh,” he shrugged, grinning madly afterwards as he swung the door open. “It’s getting late, might as well mope, right?”

“That’s the spirit,” you exclaimed as you walked out first.

It was no longer raining but the puddles still sat where they were, unmoving as you walked by them. James followed suit, still cradling the flowers like a baby.

I'm standing at the gates

I see the beauty above

You walked together in the damp and cracked street in silence, your reflection’s presence in the puddles and the sound of your footsteps the only reminder that you were with a person you have only known for a few hours.

It’s kinda . . . awkward? It’s as if you two changed into two different people the moment you stepped out. Biting the inside of your cheek, you raised your wrist to check the time: fourteen minutes before the fourteenth of February.

All of a sudden, your first plan came into mind: Get out of the diner, stop by a club, make out with a stranger, go home, watch show reruns, stay awake until sunrise, and wake up when the day’s over.

“You know,” James started (you were glad he spoke first), “they said that the moment you’re with someone on Valentine’s, it’s a date.”

“Then let’s part ways in thirteen minutes.”

“You’re awfully desperate to get rid of me, aren’t you?” said James, feigning a look of heartbreak with his hand clutching his chest.

This time, you ignored him. “Where are you even going anyway? Because I’m taking the bus.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m taking the bus too.”

By the time you reached the bus stop, you ran into a young couple holding hands just across the street while talking and laughing. You stiffened next to James, and you knew he was cringing too without even looking at him.

Desperate to lighten the mood, you decide to speak. “Ew, so that’s what we looked like.”

“We?”

“Oh, no, I meant we as in me and the Gilbert guy I told you about not — not we we but us we but also not that . . . Okay, why is this so awkward?”

“I don’t know, but I think you might have fallen in love with me,” James said, smirking teasingly.

“Ew,” you said with a scowl, “I like you less, if anything.”

“I highly doubt it.”

“Okay, jokes aside, do you love this Lily girl?”

He turned to you, his eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but his inability to say anything caught him off guard. He had told you in the diner that they’d been broken up for a while now and only then did he realize that he just wanted that feeling as well.

“I did.”

“Did as in past tense?”

“Did as in past tense, I guess,” he confirmed not only to you but also to himself. “I guess it does suck to be stood up but I think I now understand why I waited.”

“Please don’t launch into a monologue,” you muttered. He only grins in response before talking anyway.

I wanna know what it's like

On the inside of love

“You know how you said you wanted that feeling?”

“Vividly, on.”

“I think I did, too. I guess I missed doing things for someone and being a romantic. It’s just — I’ve got this plan, you know? It’s set out before me and it’s all prepared and I never had a Plan B.”

“Is it weird that we’re bonding over our mutual lack of romantic dedication and commitment?”

“No, my pal,” he started, paying no mind as you corrected him again that you are, in fact, not his pal. “I think we should start a dance troupe.”

“Straying off topic there, pal,” you said as you played with your umbrella subtly. You sat down on one of the bus stop’s benches, putting it down beside you.

“Hey, you said it!” James exclaimed, gesturing at you with finger guns.

“Said what?”

“Pal — you called me pal!”

“Yeah but not my pal,” you countered.

He chuckled. “Either way, I’ll take it.”

I can't find my way in

I try again and again

You were talking to each other when a bus halted in front of you. James offered his hand to help you stand up then letting you go in first, but not without saying, “What can I say? I’m a gentleman.”

When you got in, you spot a few more couples seated here and there, their heads resting on their significant other’s shoulders. Some were even talking and laughing at whatever their topic was about. You lead him to the middle row, not bothering to go to the second floor as to avoid seeing more couples going about their day.

You take your seat by the window (James had complaints but you shut him down), watching countless vehicles drive by. “Isn’t it pretty cool that a lot of people are still awake?”

“Lots of people in clubs right now.”

“That’s sad,” you commented.

“Says the one who was planning on doing the same and going home to watch show reruns.” James turned to you again, his head craned to the side. “What time is it?”

You looked at your watch. “11:56, four minutes left before midnight. Driver better hurry up.”

I'm on the outside of love

Always under or above

“Harsh,” said James, drumming his fingers on his lap as he scanned the entirety of what he could see. “You know, I used to take Lily to that very booth in that very diner.”

“Yeah, Mrs. Campbell told me.”

“You mean Miss Glasgow?”

“What is up with that nickname?” you said with a laugh, eager to hear about it.

“It’s ‘cause when we first came in, we sat by the stools and she went up to us and went all weepy about how much young couples reminded her of what it was like with her husband.”

“. . .So?”

“Oh, right. It’s because she met him in Glasgow and they had this writing to each other thing back and fourth years and years ago. Then last year the Super Trouper song played on the jukebox so I was all, ‘Hey, Barbara! Look, it fits you both!’ And she—”

“She lets you call her Barbara? That’s unfair.”

“What can I say? I’m pretty charming if I say so myself,” said James. “Anyway, I began saying ‘I’d like a burger, Miss Glasgow!’ and it just stuck.”

I can't find my way in

I try again and again

You sighed. You already knew about how lovey-dovey Mrs. Campbell was with her husband but now you wanted to know more.

“See? I want that!”

“You want me to call you Miss Glasgow?”

“What? No! I mean, their love story is so . . . good, you know?”

“Please don’t launch into a monologue,” James cut in, quoting you. The two of you smile.

“Okay, so, I’m pretty sure I told you this already but when I was with Gil, I thought that was it. I thought I’d be walking down the aisle to say ‘I do’ to him and . . . have the kind of love Mrs. Campbell has with her husband and more. So when I cut things off with Gil, I thought it would be just as easy as it was with him but it just wasn’t.

“I dated around, positive I’d meet someone and start this epic love story pronto like the ones you read in books about and just — I didn’t. I didn’t get that. Honestly, I even thought I’d be married by now. I know it’s early but we talked about it, alright? He was literally the perfect guy and I let him go.”

James clapped in front of you, making you and a couple of passengers jump. He whispered a low apology, murmuring it to everyone near before returning his attention to you. “Hey, you didn’t lose him, he lost you. It’s his loss, not yours.”

I'm on the outside of love

Always under or above

Must be a different view

To be a me with a you

“Oh wow, that’s actually pretty sweet.”

“I know, right? It’s kind of my specialty.”

You only smile at him for a solid two seconds before turning away and facing the window as you felt heat creep into your cheeks.

One car passed by.

Another one.

And another one.

After the fourth one passed by, a drop of rain took you back to reality. You faced him.

“Tell me, James,” you say in a way that almost felt as if it could push the rain away, “why are you here with me? I didn’t know it only took a couple of hours to get you to break a promise.”

“Good things have to end to make way for—”

“Better ones?” you guessed.

“Nope, best ones.”

“I have no clue as to what you’re trying to say but okay, shut up now.”

Silence again.

“You know, you also broke a promise to be with me right now.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Your brilliant plan of avoiding Valentine’s.”

“Guess we both broke promises to be here right now. Is it even worth it?”

“Meh, it’s alright.”

I wanna know what it's like

On the inside of love

You always thought there was something curiously romantic about sitting shoulder up to shoulder in a moving vehicle especially in a train or a bus. Now that you were in that very moment, you weren’t particularly sure whether or not to regard it as a romantic moment when you’ve only known the guy you were with for a couple of hours.

Your eyes were about to close when you spotted couples kissing one by one; first it was the pair across from your spot and then more couples the next. You rolled your eyes as you leaned your head against the window. Maybe it was the late night but the window felt a lot more comfortable than you remembered it to be.

I'm standing at the gates

I see the beauty above

Yawning, you stretched your neck to find James stifling a laugh. “Sorry,” you whispered before rubbing your eyes. “I guess you’ve got a friend in me now.”

“Mhm, you’ve got a friend in you.”

“I have a what?” You felt your drowsiness leaving.

“Oh, I meant you’ve got a friend in — never mind, sorry.”

“You just got your friend card revoked,” you said, making a face.

“Whatever happened to staying awake till the sun rises?”

“Working at the diner longer than I thought I would happened,” you said, yawning afterwards. You look down at your watch, its face twisted away from you. Groaning, you lift up your wrist, seeing that it was already a few minutes after midnight. “Oh, Happy Valentine’s.”

“Happy Valentine’s, stranger,” greeted James, “I hate to break it to you, but you’re stuck with me.”

“Yeah? Well, not for long. We’ve passed that gas station. Means the route to my flat’s not so far from here.”

“Oh, you’ll be leaving?”

“Of course I am, stop making it so obvious that you’re obsessed with me.”

I wanna know what it's like

On the inside of love

The bus halted on its umpteenth stop since you got in and a couple walked by. They seemed to have come from upstairs, and they appeared to be tired, too. You watch as they get down, their hands still together.

“My favorite color’s green,” he said randomly.

“What?” you started.

“It’s Lily’s eye color.”

“I’m saying it again: What?”

James crossed his shoulders. “Didn’t they say if it’s Valentine’s and you’re with someone, that someone’s your date? Then this is it.”

“Bringing up an ex on a date? Foul move, pal.” You mimicked him, crossing your arms. “Well, my favorite color is blue because it’s Gilbert’s eye color.”

“How unoriginal,” said James. “Anyway, my full name is James Fleamont Potter.”

“Just when I thought it’s a tragedy being named James, then you let me know you have the word ‘Flea’ in your name? My, your life just gets sadder every time.”

“This is the worst date ever in history,” James said, laughing out loud.

“Nope, the worst date ever in history would be the one I had last year when my date brought me to his grandma’s funeral.”

“That alone sounds tragic!” He had to cover his mouth to keep himself from howling out loud. “What happened?”

“I guess you’ll never know because this is my stop,” you told him as the bus slowly came to a halt. It was still raining (it had lessened a bit, though), so you reached for your umbrella only to find that it wasn’t there. Must’ve left it somewhere, you thought.

“Oh, wait, take this,” James said, taking off his jacket and offering it to you. “I’d walk you but that would mean I like you.”

“And I’d say yes but that would mean I like you,” you teased back as you took the jacket and laid it over your head. “I’ll just make a run for it.”

“Good call.”

Of course I'll be alright

I just had a bad night

I had a bad night

“Thanks, my pal,” you tell him, turning back just when he called out to you and handed you the bouquet of flowers. James grinned but you stopped him before he could even point out that you’d just called him that. “Wow, so you’re just gonna give me flowers meant for somebody else?”

“Reduce, reuse, recycle because I am a nature guy,” said James. “Stop being picky and just take it.”

“Nah, you keep it. Consider it as my gift to you.”

“Should I be honored?”

You nodded. “Very. Oh, I have to go now.”

With one last wave, you ran over to the door, stepping out with the jacket over your head, unaware that James was watching you as far as the window would allow him as the bus went on.

He could’ve went out the next stop to Disapparate but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes were studying the flowers. This time, they had a different meaning, and so did he.

You’d think that was the last of it, but it wasn’t. Safe to say that the diner and the jacket would play an important role to that part of the story.

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JAMES POTTER TAGLIST: @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts @badass-yn @mjoubertt-1 @gold-russh @dlmmdl @sexysirius @justadreamyhufflepuff @prongs103 @i-love-scott-mccall @suditi-says-chai-is-trash @bellatrixscurls @ameliasbitvh @princess-jules47 @pottahishotasf @cupids-crystals @everythingisdefinitelynotfine @siriusbarnesslut @ferretboysupremacy @spxncervibes

#ves.writes #ves.writes james potter #james potter #james fleamont potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fluff #james potter x reader fluff #james potter angst #james potter x reader angst #james potter x reader headcanons #james potter headcanons #marauders #marauders era #marauders oneshot #marauders x reader #james potter fanfic #hpu

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ladyvesuvia · 3 years

Text

Armergency

PAIRING: James Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

SUMMARY: Writing yourself as an emergency contact on a drunk old school mate’s arm just in case he finds himself in trouble.

WORDS: 3.3k

WARNING(S): just fluff but includes alcoholic beverages, intoxication, drinking, and being drunk.

A/N: Okay, not that I’m deprecating myself but this is low key badly written cos I’ve been in a slump lately. I also don’t write for the Marauders much so they might be a bit out of character. Skdkwkwi IM SORRY I GOT A BIT LAZY AT THE END anywayyyy <3

[NAVIGATION] [MASTERLIST]

The next morning wasn’t as good as last night for James. See, he awoke to the loud chatter of his friends. They’d been betting on what time he’d wake up. Sirius won: James awoke after twelve in the afternoon, headache and all. All of them were seated on the couch eating pizza, and rounds of applause reverberated in his ears as soon as he stepped out of the bedroom.

“It’s the man of the hour,” announced Sirius, standing up to pat him hard on the back. “Where’d you run off to last night, Gretel?”

“I went to the bar early, I think. Didn’t you say we’ll meet there?”

“Actually, I said car,” said Remus as he set his tea down. “Too bad you didn’t come with us, Sirius got you a reindeer headband, it even lights up if you press the candy button.”

“Yeah, here,” said Sirius, throwing James the said headband.

“I’m not a reindeer, I’m a stag.” On a good day, James would’ve put the headband on. Today was not a good day; his head was hurting too much.

“Sure, Bambi,” Remus reassured, albeit mockingly.

After drinking a whole glass of water, James bent down to the pizza box, swinging it open and rolling his sleeves until up to his elbows.

“What’s that?” Remus asked, pointing at James’s arm. “Whose number is that?”

Sirius stood up to get a good look, raking his hand through his hair with an amused grin. “Call it.”

James on the other hand looked at his arm, dumbfounded. He could only remember coming back upstairs with a woman. “Is there someone else in the room with me?”

“No, just your barf,” laughed Sirius, earning more jeers from his other friends. “Yeah, call it.”

It only took a collective chant of call its for James to give in and use the hotel phone and ring the said number. An older man answered with a gruff voice. Bit by bit — although hesitantly — the man filled him in on the events of last night: he came into the bar, ordered a couple of drinks, got (a tad) wasted, and more. It involved a bartender writing the man’s number on his arm, a telephone box, and peas.

The group then came into the same decision together: Meet this bartender James met last night. He remembered little of last night, but he was eager to find out more.

Sirius had James shower and put on decent clothing first. When they got down to the lobby, the receptionist gave James a dirty look. It wasn’t a surprise; most people gave him that upon the first few times of meeting him, give but not take.

By the time they reached the bar, it was almost deserted, which was not a total surprise considering it was afternoon anyway. Remus urged him to go forward and look for the bartender who helped him out, but James suggested they stay away as far as they could (Sirius argued against this, but James got him to budge), and so James found himself leaning on the bar counter, waiting for someone.

A man in his forties came out from behind the counter disheveled. He looked James up and down. “You’re the weird bloke from last night, eh?”

“That’s me,” James answered with a friendly grin in hopes of getting on the man’s good graces. It didn’t work.

“I’ll go get [Y/N].”

Soon, you came out from the back bar, stacks of empty trays in hand. He introduced himself but of course, there was no need for this. The only thing needed was for you to recount the events that had transpired last night, which, to you was one of the craziest and most confusing one you’ve ever had.

You excused yourself and led him to one of the booths, carrying two cans of cola instead of alcohol. After all, after last night, you didn’t think the latter beverage would do well in today’s conversation.

———

On the twenty-fourth of December, 1984, you found yourself behind the counter of the hotel bar you were working at, mixing drinks for lonely and overenthusiastic customers alike. Sitting in the corner of the front bar counter was a guy you could only assume was your age, clinking two shot glasses all by himself.

Topping off the glass in your hand with grapefruit juice, you slide it over to the sulky woman at the other end of the counter then wiping the water rings forming on the surface before approaching the aforementioned man. He didn’t look up.

“Sad night?” You cocked your head to the sight to get a better look at his face, but he kept his head down still. “Hello?”

You jumped when he shot up from his seat, his feet toppling a bit from his stool’s stand until he regained his balance. You still didn’t see his face for he was turned away from you, facing the crowd with one of his shot glasses held high in his hand as he announced, “Drinks on me!”

Everyone cheered and let out several whoops. It wasn’t until he turned back to you and burped did you recognize him — James Potter. He was a year older than you back in Hogwarts, and it was a surprise to see him here in a world where he originally did not belong. “Potter?”

He squinted his eyes, but he didn’t seem to recognize you as you did with him. “Come again?”

“Just a heads up — Galleons don’t apply to Muggle purchases, honey.”

“Oh, okay. Well, in that case,” he stood up again and held up his glass. “Just kidding! I don’t have money!” He turned back to you and grinned, his face twitching. He didn’t seem to mind the glares and boos, or maybe he just didn’t notice. For a moment there, you considered inviting him home for him to rest, but it would’ve been a bit too . . . you didn’t know how to describe it. “Hey, you’re Mrs. Pettigrew!”

You coughed. “What — I beg your pardon?”

He mumbled something you couldn’t understand, and so you leaned closer to him on the counter. “Sorry?” you said, turning your ear to him.

“I forgive you,” he whispered to your ear with a melodramatic smile as he pat you on the shoulder unannounced. “It’s okay.”

He clearly wasn’t in his right mind. But then again, when was he? Little your interactions with him back in Hogwarts may have been, you weren’t oblivious to his consistent record in detention.

“Yeah, no, okay, stay here.” You stood up, walking away all the while keeping your eye on him as you retreated not so far away to grab a sharpie. When you got back, he was staring at nothing in particular. You gingerly took his forearm, pulling up his sleeve. You then began to scrawl something on his skin.

“What’s that?”

“Sharpie,” you answered briefly.

“Why isn’t it a feather? Don’t we write with feathers?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Some would say it’s en-deer-ing.” James laughed all by himself, wheezing. What? “Get it?”

You scratched your brow. “No,” you say with a disbelieving laugh, “I really, really don’t.”

James looked down on his arm as you finished and let out a theatrical gasp, backing away from his seat. You had to grab him to avoid him from toppling backwards. “You gave me a tattoo.”

“No, I didn’t. It’s just my number.”

“Mrs. Pettigrew wants to be Mrs. Potter,” he said, still not looking at you. He looked like he was trying to read what was written.

“No, I don’t. Read it.”

“Why not?” whined James, a pout forming on his face. “She doesn’t like James.”

“You’re referring to yourself in third person and it’s weird. Read it.”

James looked down on his arm, cocking his head to the side. “I can’t.”

You grab his arm again, holding it up. With a sigh, you point at it as you read it to him. “If lost, please call this number.”

James looked up from his arm to you. “That’s . . . a lot of numbers. I’ll just send you an owl.”

“No, don’t do that. You can’t do that. Where are your friends? Aren’t they here checked in a room or something? Who were they again? Lupin and —”

James pointed at something behind you, and so you craned your head and saw a mini dustpan. “I can ride that.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I may or may not be in the wrong place,” said James. “In fact, I don’t think we were supposed to go to the bar at all.”

“Really? You don’t say.”

“I say,” he said, nodding more to himself than to anyone in particular. Just when you were about to ask him what he meant, more people came in. It was getting more and more crowded. You mouthed to him to stay where he was as you found yourself taking people’s orders.

It was almost robotic, you serving the customers: Adding a dash of Worcestershire sauce and a bunch of other ingredients to finish topping off a Bloody Mary then handing it to a stranger; thinking about the recipe of a certain drink in your head as you followed it, one part to three parts gin and three parts tonic water then once again handing it to another stranger; and literally the same thing over and over.

By the time you had finished, James Potter was nowhere in sight. You made a trek around the entirety of the counter’s space to find the same faces you served just a while ago, but there was no sign of the cheeky bloke whose arm you wrote your manager’s cell phone number on.

An hour later, your manager came back with a scrunched up frown. “All these pestering drunks and flyers and posters and drunks — pestering drunks,” he cursed under his breath.

“What now?” you says as you put an empty glass on the shelf.

“I keep getting a call for an emergency! This is a new phone.” He held it up. Right, the brick. “It’s wasting the battery — God! People just can’t leave me alone, can they?”

“Well, it’s Christmas Eve, lots of trolls out there, what did you expect?”

The bar still wasn’t empty, and so you spent the remaining hours until midnight doing your job. When you were wiping the counter, you picked up two empty shot glasses and your mind went back to James. With that, you spiraled. First, you cleaned the shots, put it back neatly, turn back around to face the roaring crowd to find two people whose faces were . . . disturbingly mushed on each other. You looked up at the ceiling above them, spotting an unmistakable mistletoe. And at the sight of it, it jogged your memory to eight years ago.

You’d awoken one late night back in Hogwarts with a couple of gifts from your family. Not wanting to wake up any of your friends, you decided it was best to go down and unwrap the gifts there instead. You didn’t even bother to put on your slippers as you made your way down the common room, presents cradled in your arms.

“Hi,” said a voice, making you jump just as you were about to take a seat on the couch. “D’you want Cauldron Cakes?”

“No, who’re you?” You knew who he was.

“Why’re you giving me the hairy eyeball?”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are — I saw that! You rolled your eyes. I’m telling you, I don’t miss a thing.”

“Er — Merry Christmas?”

“Merry Christmas to you too, [Y/N].” You didn’t know how he knew your name much less recognized you, but it was sort of relieving not having to still introduce yourself. You reckoned that the least you could do was smile, and so you did.

He smiled back, and then looked up. You did, too, and situated right above the two of you was no doubt a mistletoe.

You hurriedly scooped the presents up again, taking a few steps backward and turning your head away from the light coming from the fireplace.

“Where you off to?”

“I gotta skitty,” you had said with a nervous laugh as you ran back as fast as you could to the girls’ dormitories, not looking back as you did so.

Crap, you thought to yourself as you wondered if he could still remember that night in the common room. Your eyes went back to the couple making out on one of the booths. Rolling your eyes, you shift your attention to making a drink for yourself.

You were just mixing your glass when all of a sudden your manager shoved a hand on your chest with an irritated expression. “Did you give my number to anyone?”

“Oh! Right, sorry, yeah. I didn’t have a phone so I thought —”

“You can’t just give away my number to people you don’t know!”

“Hey, I knew him, okay? He’s a friend.” You raise the glass to take a sip.

“He says he’s your husband.”

Safe to say that you just spit a generous amount of alcohol from your mouth. “He said what?”

Your manager was still mouthing curses under his breath even until you were on the phone already. “Hello?”

“Hi, wifey,” said a hoarse voice.

“James, is this you? Are you alright?”

Then, out of all the most ridiculous things a person could do, you heard one of the weirdest and most incomprehensible things in your life. It took you three to eight seconds tops to figure out that James was, without a doubt, beatboxing (or at least attempting to). If the phone was magical, you were sure there’d be spit coming out of the phone.

“James, where are you? Where’d you get a phone?”

He was panting and coughing by the time he finished. “Red box. With phone.”

“Telephone box? The hotel doesn’t have a red— James, are you outside?”

“Yes, and there’s a tall building near me! Are you psychic?”

“No.”

“Well, you should be. Oh, I also tried to recite the numbers out loud but it didn’t work then I found this . . . tall thing and it looked like the other way to go inside the Ministry so I clicked clicked the numbers and after this mean man answered —”

“You’re rambling, James. I’ll just pick you up, hold on.”

“Hurry,” he whispered. “It’s an armergency.” From the other end, you could hear him wheezing.

“Arm-what? Just stay where you are.”

“That’s a really, really difficult thing to ask of James but okay!” You hung up first and immediately went to your manager, who was busy restocking a couple of bottles. This time, you shoved his DynaTAC to his chest before untying your apron.

“Where you off to, [Y/L/N]?”

“He needs my help. It’s, and I quote, an ‘armergency.’ I gotta go.”

“You better do double shifts tomorrow!”

“Sure!” you yelled before disappearing from the bar and out the door and going down, down, down until the ground floor to fetch one of the people you expected to see the least on Christmas Eve. It was already a quarter to eleven when you got down and found a figure just outside looking up at the sky with something in his hands.

“Whatcha got there, buddy?” you asked nervously. “James? Are you . . . sane?”

“I think I got a tattoo on my way here.”

“No, it’s not a tattoo. Come on now, puppy.”

“No, you got that wrong. Sirius is the puppy. I’m the deer.”

“You’re anything but a dear and I have no idea what you’re on about. Come on.” You took his wrist and led him back to the hotel. On your walk back you asked him what room he and his friends were in. He didn’t answer.

So you stopped by the lobby, where Adam the receptionist was stationed. He’s alright, you thought. He asked you out twice and of course, you had turned him down the same amount of times. “Hi, Adam.”

“Hello, heartbreaker. Just kidding. Who’s this?”

“He’s James, could you check what room the name James Potter is on? Or Sirius Black? Or Remus Lupin, perhaps?”

“Only if you go out with me.”

You weighed out your options, and it certainly wasn’t favorable to agree to go out with him considering . . . well, you didn’t fancy him for one and you had the extra shift to cover tomorrow. You went with another option. “Actually, James is kind of my boyfriend. It’s pretty serious.”

“Then why’s he drunk on Christmas Eve?”

“Because I make good drinks. Come on, what room’s he in?”

“Why don’t you know? He’s your boyfriend.”

“Just — it’s a long story, okay? Please, Adam?”

“Alright, I’ll check,” Adam said with a groan as you adjusted your grip on James’s wrist. You hesitantly linked his arm over your shoulders to avoid him from falling over. “Under the name of Remus Lupin, they’re on sixth floor, room 605.”

“Thank you, Adam,” you say with a ginger smile. You made to turn away, but remembered something. “Wait, can I have a pen and a memo pad?”

Adam pulled something from behind the counter and slid a small springed notebook of memo pad across. “You owe me a new Michael Jackson memo pad and your number.”

“Ha-ha, funny except that no, I really don’t.” You gave a smile before writing something down on the note. After doing so, you slid it right back and went back to guiding your companion.

“Let me know if it doesn’t work out, I’ll call you!”

“It won’t, because it’s serious!” you answer back as you walked away.

It was a pretty long walk, and it wasn’t quite eventful. James mostly mumbled something under his breath about animals and whatnot. When you made a turn to get to the elevators, however, James exclaimed with a laugh. “Hey, mistletoe!”

There was no mistletoe. He was just holding up crumpled and shriveled up leaves in his arm up above both of your heads. Something green dropped from it, rolling on the ground.

“James, I hate to break it to you but that’s not mistletoe, it’s just a twig and a bunch of leaves and . . . is that a pea? Where’d you get a pea?”

He let his arm fall down. “Gas station.”

“There was no gas station nearby and I’m pretty sure they don’t sell it. You know what? I’m not even gonna ask. Come on.” You guided him inside the elevator, where you simply reached out to press the button to the sixth floor.

“You owe me two kisses,” he blurted out when you finally reached the fourth floor. You ignored him as he held out his fingers to count something. “No, make it three. From eight years ago.”

He remembers that?

You said nothing even when it finally reached the sixth floor, not even when you set him down on the doorstep in front of Room 605. Instead, you gave him a pat on the back, sticking the note on his shirt as you began to leave. “You’re not coming in, wifey?”

“What for?”

He didn’t answer again. He was only looking at the floor, dazed as ever. It was a lovely and tempting offer, but you decided against it and just smiled at him. “Goodnight, James. Merry Christmas.”

And with one look at your wrist watch, you reached out to knock on the door and hurriedly turned around and began walking away.

———

After you finished talking, James only let out an amused oh. “That sounds about right,” you said.

“Where’d I get the peas?”

“I dunno, beats me.”

“Also, I couldn’t help but notice that there’s also a mistletoe right above us again,” said James. And sure enough, there it was.

“Oh come on, you owe me a couple bucks for a broken shot glass and an extra shift, don’t pull that mistletoe crap on me.”

“You owe me four mistletoe kisses.”

“And that’s the last one ever.” It wasn’t.

“Say, if I were to ask you out, would you say yes?”

“I mean, why not?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Sure, mainly because I find you en-deer-ing, whatever that means.”

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ladyvesuvia · 3 years

Note

Ves, what about a brother's best friend with James, where he stands up for you during an Order meeting after someone talked over you?

James standing up for you during an Order meeting

——

this is a fem!reader one btw! some things might me inaccurate because i’m not sure where the original order’s headquarters was hshshs hope you liked this monique :) i’m sorry i keep making them long hHWHXJDHSA lmk if this is ooc i’m new to writing marauders characters <3

You cleared your throat in an attempt to get everybody’s attention. “I personally think it’d be best if we refrained from using Grimmauld Place as—”

“Hey, kid,” Edgar Bones who sat at the other end of the table called, snapping his fingers at you. “We don’t have time to go gallivanting around looking for shiny castles in real estate, get a move on. Now, as I was saying—”

“Hey, buddy.” James had stood up next to you, and everyone’s eyes were on him. Crap, you thought. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

“Excuse me?” said Edgar Bones, unenthusiastic about what James had just said.

“Yeah, excuse you. And your name’s what? Bones? That’s a real tragedy there, bud.” Your other friends were sitting in their seats, their mouths pressed into a thin line as to prevent themselves from laughing. “This is her house and if she says she doesn’t think it’s a good idea to stay here, then it’s not a good idea to stay here.”

“It’s my house, too, you know,” whispered Sirius, suspicious of how James had suddenly spoke up for you. Edgar Bones did not know who to look at: His eyes went to you, Sirius, and James, and back and forth and back and forth.

“Yeah, but this is not about you right now,” James joked, nudging Sirius. James then rested his elbow on Sirius’s shoulder as he stared Edgar Bones dead in the eye, forcing the latter man to break contact. “Alright, so it’s settled then: Stop talking over my girlfriend, alright, Bones?”

Sirius scowled at James, confused. “I’m sorry, girlfriend?”

James patted Sirius on his shoulder before breaking away to sit back down. “Not about you, Pads. Not about you.”

Before he settled down in his chair, you caught him flashing you a suggestive smile right before the chatter between the Order resumed progressively.

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JAMES POTTER TAGLIST: @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts @badass-yn @mjoubertt-1 @gold-russh @dlmmdl @sexysirius @justadreamyhufflepuff @prongs103 @i-love-scott-mccall

#ves.writes #ves.writes james potter #vesuvia’s 600 followers road trip #🛣 i’m going nowhere #james potter #james fleamont potter #james potter x reader fluff #james potter x fem!reader fluff #james potter headcanons #james potter x reader

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ladyvesuvia · 3 years

Note

omg congratulations !!! 🛣 with james and this prompt “Nothing has changed!” “Yes it has, and you know it.” (i forgot the number im sorry😔) where the reader pines and flirts with james publicly like how james pines and flirts w lily but it ends w fluff🙏

Making out with James in an alley leads to an evaluation of what your relationship is

——

PAIRING: James Potter x Reader

WORDS: 0.7k (763)

WARNING(S): alcohol, intoxication, making out. no smut but mentions of sex || SECOND PERSON

thank you baby!!! <3 i swear if you hadn’t said it ends with fluff i’d have blasted this whole thing into smithereens because i see a lot of angst potential hAHHAHAA idk if this is what you had in mind but voila THIS IS LONGER THAN I EXPECTED IT TO BE I’M SORRY

It’s a drunken night with the rest of the group, and you found yourself with James in a nearby alley, laughing with the stench of alcohol emanating from both of your mouths.

A while ago, the two of you were only exchanging flirty remarks in front of the others as one of them sang off-key to the song playing from the karaoke machine. But now you stood just shy of pressing your lips against his, your noses touching already and you could smell alcohol everywhere.

Was it from you? Was it from him? You’ll never know. Especially not when he’s this close to you, and the air’s now a conflicting and threatening mix of booze and confusion.

“Kiss me,” you say to the boy in front of you. He only giggles in response as his nose touches yours again.

James laughed again, louder this time. “No, you kiss me.”

You sobered up, gathering your thoughts and only then did it hit you: You’re in an alley with James. James who was about to . . . honestly, you didn’t know either.

But you were growing tired of how directionless everything else has been and so without the general thought of thinking for what may happen next, you leaned in and kissed him, shutting up the laughs you two were just sharing.

And soon you felt him kissing you back harder as if he could just kiss all your troubles away. It’s suddenly all so perfect and so true that you couldn’t fathom anything ruining it much less breaking this brilliant truth: His hands on your neck, your fingers unbuttoning his shirt until you heard the one word you dreaded to hear.

“No,” he said under his breath. You pulled away in response, conflicted. “No, no, I can’t.”

Clearing your throat, you chuckled nervously. “Why not?” you asked him, slightly on the soberer side of yourself. He didn’t answer. “Is it because of Lily?”

“No,” he started, “no, I don’t know, it’s just. . .I don’t know. Let’s just go back and pretend this didn’t happen.”

“So you were leading me on with those things you told me over the past few months?”

“It was all jokes, [Y/N],” he told you as he turned away, buttoning his shirt as he walked back to the open space outside the alley.

You scoffed. Without thinking (again), you took off your shoe and threw it as hard as you could to his head, to which he yelped as he cupped the back of his head. Knowing him well as the dramatic lad that he is, you watched him stalk back to you with his hands balled in fists.

“What in Merlin’s inflamed hernia was that for?” whined James.

“For you being a dick. So you just leave after kissing me and you insist on pretending it never happened? Heck, we almost had sex in an alley, James.”

“It was leading to that?” James said, dumbfounded. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks.

“I don’t know, but it could’ve!” you yelled.

“Nothing has changed! We were just drunk, [Y/N], we were just drunk.”

“That’s wrong and you know it. How about you tell me how it felt when you kissed me, James?”

Five seconds passed. You knew because it had became so silent the only thing you could hear was the ticking of your wrist watch.

“Right,” James murmured.

“Great, so that’s it, then?” you said, quitting. Furious, you fixed your jacket and yourself all in all, making your way to leave the alley until you felt his hand on your wrist.

James laughed. “No, I mean right in the sense that it felt correct. It felt right.”

“Oh.”

“That sounds right, too,” James teased. Though he enjoyed this new . . . thing, he knew better than to say something else that may burn out this newfound fire, and so he waited for you to say something.

“So are we . . . ?” you trailed off.

“Yes, we are.”

“Good,” you said, everything still strange to hear, “so you want to go back?”

James blinked, confused. “To what? Alley sex?”

“What — ! No! I mean go back to — with the others,” you added hurriedly.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and you heard the tinge of embarrassment in his voice. “Anyway, after you, m’lady.”

“Before you, m’gent.”

“Is that even a word?” James followed as you walked.

“You make up a lot of words, you’d know.”

“They’re called puns,” James said defensively until finally you two had left the dark company of the alley and soon what only felt once right now felt every good word in the world.

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#vesuvia’s 600 followers road trip #🛣 i’m going nowhere #ves.writes #ves.writes james potter #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter blurb #james potter x reader fluff #james potter x reader imagines #marauders #james potter smut

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ladyvesuvia · 3 years

Note

babe- yes. nobody's stopping you. do it. oh your asking me who? harry. him and you like this in ootp/hbp. ootp were he's tired of everything and snaps at you, and or hbp were he unintentionally ignores you because of the book and you get tired of his 'strange' behavior and you snap at him for not being a good boyfriend- i'll leave it there, you finish it <3

Letdown Countdown

PAIRING: Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: When loving becomes tiring. || kinda based on this scene and this.

WORDS: 4.1k

WARNING(S): cursing, arguments, angst

A/N: lyn, baby, thank you for this request. i needed angst. i’m so sorry this took long but here it is jsjdiw i hope it’s what you had in mind ;)) || also experimenting with a different writing style kfjrieiw

[NAVIGATION] [MASTERLIST]

It’s ten o’clock in the morning.

It’s a good day. She sees the disheveled boy in the doorway, his eyes watching everyone in the room curiously and all logic goes out and her arms are around him, tears of relief streaming down her face as she laughs more to herself than to anyone in particular. He’s angry, his eyes filled with something far from tears — he is furious. Angry, even.

But it’s still a good day, it always will be if he’s within reach. It’s still a good day even when he’s mad. After all, he has every right to be; the luxury of feeling is what the world owes him if not the truth. She could only watch as he said everything he’s been keeping to himself.

It was hard to get him alone the next couple of days, but she finally had the chance on one late night when they both found themselves seated in the table, glasses of water right in front of them.

“You’re a year older,” she says, not wanting to throw him off with the same worried questions everyone’s asked the days before. “I think that’s cool.”

“It’s haunting, really,” he says with a laugh to relieve whatever tension sat between them. “Sorry I was a bit — you know — when I first came back.”

“A bit salty? Yeah, that’s alright,” she says as well, and soon the two laughed together. For her, it wasn’t hard to love Harry. Not when he looked at her in the way she had always wanted to be looked at; not when on the off chance that he does smile, he happens to be the only thing she wanted to see. “Sorry I didn’t write to you — not that I didn’t want to. We weren’t allowed to tell you much, you know.”

She looks at her wristwatch. Surprisingly, nine p.m. has long passed.

“I know, I'm sorry.”

Silence again. She reaches out to hurriedly sip on her glass of water, watching him through the glass end of the cup. He’s staring at the fireplace, seemingly oblivious to her gaze and so she sets down her glass and turns to him with a smile.

“Hey, what’s bothering you?”

He only shakes his head in response and tells her it’s nothing.

“Come on,” she says, digging her hands into her pockets. A lint comes out, and so she searches her other pocket. “Listen,” she starts again, “I’d give you a penny so I could say ‘penny for your thoughts’ and the next best thing would be ‘nickel for your thoughts’ but I only have a sickle so . . . sickle for your thoughts?”

That smile again.

“That surely sounds better than a dime for my thoughts and I normally don’t take prices for my worries but . . . I’ll take it.”

“Perfect,” she says, tossing the tiny coin she got from her pocket to the table. He puts his hand on the coin, sliding it off the edge of the said table and slipping it into his own pocket. “Shoot.”

He talked and she listened — it’s a good day.

She’s there for him, she always is.

Harry and [Y/N]. It’s always been this way for as long as she can remember. Despite the defeats they constantly face, she loves him just as she loves the first time they shared that knowing look in a room full of people. She loves everything, especially the day they became each other's on that one fated night of the Ball, young love being more than just young love. It is love; it is love whenever she catches him looking for no valid reason at all. Love is everything in between.

She loves that he constantly looks after the people around him. She loves that he's spontaneous, that you never know what he's going to do next. She loves that he's hers, just as she's his.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“How many dreams now?” she asks him.

“Eight, give or take.” Harry shifts in his seat, adjusting his glasses to have something to do. She knows it’s more than that.

“You have to keep taking Occlumency with Snape, you have to tell Dumbledore!”

“I always have to do things, don’t I?” he says, but he’s staring at the fireplace, eyes unfocused. There’s no answer to that. At least, none she could answer.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Maybe it's just a trick,” she says in panicked breaths as Harry rummages through his trunk for his cloak. He isn't so fond of this suggestion, and she knows it. “Harry, listen to me.” She reaches out to touch his wrist, but he only shakes it away.

“A trick?” he spats bitterly, facing her with a scowl on his face. “My godfather could die, [Y/N]. Think about it! He might be. . .” She knows what he's worried about. “I just need to check, alright? I need to check. I need to get to that fireplace now. What, I’m s’pposed to let seven days pass and be a helpless child? Just — for once, could you please just let me be? Can you do that just this once?”

She loves that he constantly looks after the people around him, loves that his loved ones are his topmost priority.

There's nothing else she could do, and so she nods. She wants to tell him to not do it, that she could see all the many ways this could go wrong, but she knows he has a clear idea of what he's getting himself into. “Okay,” she says under her breath. “But I want to help.”

He looks like he's about to argue, but he eventually gives in and nods, albeit hesitantly. She could've sworn she saw a shadow of guilt cross his face as they left the common room.

Then came the time for them to ride the thestrals. She could feel all the hair stand up on her neck, but she looks at him and a bit of her fear melts away. She’s beyond terrified, but she trusts him. They exchange a knowing look before leaving, and it was enough to give her the push.

She loves that he's spontaneous, that you never know what he's going to do next.

And they kick off the ground.

They were going to what could possibly be their own deaths, but he isn’t scared, so why should she be?

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It's a good day again. He's playing with her hands in the comfort of the Burrow as she talks about all the things they couldn’t fit in this different world. She kisses his hand in return, laughing at how his glasses rests askew on the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t want to talk about the events that transpired months ago, and so they do not talk of what happened in the Ministry. He doesn’t want to, and she respects that.

She loves that he's hers, just as she's his.

Now they're in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. She's walking down the shelves with him for a minute, and he's gone the next. It's okay, she says to herself. He's probably with Ron and Hermione.

She finds it surreal that they're in the same place they’ve always been in years before, only that they’re here for their sixth year. They become older and older but today is similar to their second year; for in the length of Great Hall, he's nowhere to be found, and she's not sure if he wants to be. The answer to this was answered some time later when Harry slipped in accompanied by none other than Professor Snape, who appeared to be taking pride in the pathetic attempt at furtive glances being thrown in the young boy's way. He then takes his seat next to Ron, appearing to be disgruntled.

Later that night, she asks him what's wrong, but he only shakes his head in response. She leaves him be.

On the surface, they're alright. Some may comment on the lack of what was once there, but they appear alright nonetheless; he walks with her shoulder up to shoulder from this class to another, exchanging curt and brief words with each other. We are alright, she keeps telling herself more often than she should. We’re alright.

“See? I told you you’re meant to be an Auror,” she tells him after finding out about his success. “You never listen to me, Potter.”

He just nods, but she doesn’t mind. His head’s on her shoulder, and who is she to complain? She strokes his hair gingerly, feeling his breathing on her arm. She lets her hand fall down to touch his, and she plays with five of his fingers.

They’re the only people in the Gryffindor common room, and possibly in the whole world for the only sound she could hear was the steady flickering of the flames. It’s a good night.

It’s their first class with Slughorn, and she watches curiously as he hands Harry and Ron secondhand books. She thinks about the Felix Felicis and how little she could make out of it. Harry seems to think otherwise; she tries to catch his eye in hopes of asking how he’s doing but he’s only focused on his own cauldron.

She watches him.

She watches as he grins in triumph over his prize. Hermione doesn’t seem pleased, and Ron is curious more than ever, and so is she.

She wants to ask him about the book, but knew pushing it any further wouldn’t end up well. They’ve been together ever since that lovely fateful night of the Yule Ball, but they’ve been friends long before; long enough to know he wants to be alone.

Harry comes back tired in every time he returns from Dumbledore’s office, a weight on his shoulders always heavier than the last time. Maybe it’s far too heavy for him to do so much as smile. She lets this slide as she walks with him side by side on their way to Potions again.

“Didn’t you get your new book today?”

“Hm? Oh, er — yeah. Right here.” He holds up the book to her eyes. She sees the yellowed paper edges of the book, but doesn’t bother to mention it. If he wants to tell her, he will.

Whenever that is.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Sickle for your thoughts?” she asks, holding out a small coin during that dreadful night after the Katie Bell incident. Harry only shakes his head, staring at the fireplace. She drops the coin on the table, throwing a scowl at the book for Potions as she prepared to take her leave.

“Where’re you going?” Harry asks. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” she answers. “Just tired.”

“I’m tired, too,” he says in a tone she assumes is accusatory. “I just want a break from all of this but I can’t.”

She wants to say more, but doing so would make it all real. “I know, Harry,” she says. “I know.”

She’s about to leave but he stands up from the couch to wrap his arms around her and press a kiss on her hair. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” she says with a sigh, raising her hand to stroke his arm.

He doesn’t answer this question, possibly out of knowing it isn’t wise to do so, but she thinks it’s far from that. She knows he doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for, but she lets him talk. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to, it’s okay.” It isn’t. She could tell him right now that she’s tired of this and everything else in between, but she doesn’t. Her lips tremble as she talks, as if this alone is the most tiring moment of her life. She breaks away from him, not looking him in the eye as she bid him goodbye. “Goodnight, Harry. Sweet dreams.”

She tossed and turned in her bed until four in the morning when she realized there’s no hope in trying to sleep.

She keeps her eyes glued to the ceiling, but this is all for naught. It turns out telling yourself everything otherwise is a waste of good time, for it does nothing to keep her thoughts at bay.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The days pass by quickly, and the only thing she finds herself doing is watching the three of her friends fall apart. Harry kept to himself, but never away from that book.

It’s alright, she tells herself for the umpteenth time. He needs space. But just how much does he need?

As Lavender Brown walks past, she couldn’t help but envy the girl. Her and Ron are always on each other’s faces, and although it isn’t pleasing to look at, she wishes to have what they have. She used to have that with Harry, maybe even better. Oh, for sure it was better, and it was always a good day.

When was the last time they talked?

No, she shouldn’t question anything. He’s just busy with his noble quests and all that.

She wouldn’t add up to his piles and piles of problems, and so she only silently glides into the couch occupied by none other than Harry himself, sitting down next to him. They’re staring at the fireplace as if it’s the only thing living in the world.

“Sickle for your thoughts?” she asks with a smile.

“Not right now,” he tells her, not even looking her way. He doesn’t see her eyes reddening, her throat locking, tears threatening to dance of their own accord down to her cheeks. He only sees her nod as she slips away once more, only this time he doesn’t call after her.

There’s no easy way to tell a story such as this: She cries; she cries for the young love she thought she had. She weeps for the fun they had. It’s death without a funeral, death of a love she had yet to learn. But then again, it’s only puppy love, is it not? Isn’t that what they call it?

The girl wipes her tears away.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He’s running, sweat trickling down from his temple to his neck. He rushes to Ron, asking to borrow his book.

“Harry?”

He immediately stuffs Ron’s copy of their book for Potions inside his bag.

“Harry,” she says in an attempt to catch his attention.

“What now?”

She flinches, but she doesn’t stop. “What happened?”

“This spell, I tried it and — just — I can’t explain it!”

“Is this from your Prince guy again? Harry, I told you this was never—”

“Never a good idea. Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“Harry,” she breathes, and Ron’s watching them uncomfortably. Harry doesn’t even spare her a look before leaving. He simply dashes out of the room, bag in hand, his cloak dancing behind him.

The next time he saw him was the night after Gryffindor won, and they were seated once again in the common room, just the two of them like always.

She’s doing an essay for Potions on the table.

“I just remembered it’s our anni—” He takes a seat across from her, and she immediately stands up, the chair creaking backward. He looks up at her with a confused expression.

She begins to pack her stuff: Her quill, her ink, her half-filled parchment paper, her—

“[Y/N],” he starts. “[Y/N], what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t respond.

Her wristwatch tells her it’s one in the morning. The number one; it’s quite possibly the saddest number to exist, not even zero itself could amount to how alone one is. To be nothing would be better than to be alone, and she was every bit as deserted as the number one is.

“[Y/N], what’s your problem? Tell me,” he says, following her as she begins to shut her bag close. He takes her copy of Advanced Potion Making from the table, for she seems to have forgotten about it. “[Y/N], you forgot your—”

She snatches the book from him. “I know.”

“What’s your problem? [Y/N], you’re making me look like a fool here. [Y/N], what? What do you want? What, you’re tired? You want out?” He continues to follow her, his voice raising. “Come on, tell me. Are you tired? Do you want to end this right now? Do you—”

“Yes!” she spats in a fit of anger, her eyes bloodshot. “Harry, I am very, very tired!”

“What, you think I’m not? I lost people I love, [Y/N]. This whole thing is bigger than us whether you like it or not — I DON’T. You think we could have a normal relationship in a normal world? Think again!”

“This is the problem with you — you never want to let people in because—”

“Because I feel responsible for them, [Y/N]! Don’t you see? They’re throwing this Chosen One crap on me and expect me to save everyone and if I can’t, I’m the bad guy. And my friends! You, Ron, Hermione — every single person I know isn’t safe! And I hate that I can’t do anything about it, now will you please just. . .”

But she’s not listening anymore. She only watches as he continues on talking until she couldn’t take it anymore. She raises her hand, slapping him across the face.

It was silent once more.

"You don't see this working out, don't you?" she breathes out.

She loved that he constantly looks after the people around him. She loved that he's spontaneous, that you never know what he's going to do next.

She hiccups, and she couldn’t catch her breath. She doesn’t know what to say, and her lips are talking on its own accord. “Why can’t you take care of yourself for once? Why do you always have to be the stupid hero? What, you can’t ask me how I’m doing, can’t remember what this day means to us but this!” Laughing mirthlessly, she waves the book in front of him and begins to hit it against the couch beside her repetitively. “You always have time for this — stupid — fucking — book! This stupid prince of yours! Now look where it got you!”

She throws the book onto the floor stomping on it as she cried. She doesn’t care if she looked like a mere child throwing a tantrum. She’d been holding this back long, long ago.

“That’s your book,” he says, pointing it out as he puts his hand up to his cheek.

“Of course it is, because you just had to hide your own, don't you? Because it’s so precious to you!” She couldn’t breathe.

She leaves her items on the floor and storms to the couch, her hands obscuring her face. It was silent for a long while.

“Are you tired?” he asks, gently this time.

She nods, sniffing.

“Do you want out?”

“Harry,” she chokes out, her breath hitching. “I feel like” — she coughed — “I feel like I’m wasting my time on this. Like it’s more of a chore than something I want to do.”

“You don’t love me anymore?” he says under his breath, still not moving from the spot from which she had slapped him. He's not sure if he wants to know.

She wipes the tears from her face, turning around from her seat to look at him. She looks back down on the floor. Merlin, she must be looking like a mess right now.

“I love you, Harry,” she says. It doesn't help that this is the first time she's ever told him this, and looking down on the floor in an attempt to avoid him doesn’t make it any easier. “I love you more than anything I’ve ever loved, but I’m just so tired. I loved that you're mine and I'm yours but Merlin's beard, nothing has ever been this tiring before. I’m tired of telling everyone we know that everything is well, tired of assuring myself that every time we see each other maybe by some miracle you’d try a little bit harder — just a little bit — but I'm just tired of. . .everything.”

“Are you tired of me?”

She doesn’t answer, but he has a feeling he knows the answer to this. He watches her curiously as her back shudders from the crying.

“Do you want to end this now?”

She’s doesn’t answer again, and he takes her silence as a yes.

"Do you want out?"

"Please, just go," she says in between her sobs. "Please go."

“Consider it done.” He bends down to fix her stuff on the floor and with one last look at her, he swallows the lump forming in his throat, making his leave, leaving her alone until she fell asleep with the dancing flames emanating from the fireplace her only company for the night.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It's her turn to walk down the aisle and as she does so, she makes sure to not look at the groom's Best Man who, on the other hand, couldn't tear his eyes away from the girl approaching his end. He thinks of how different things could've been. . .

She stands not so far away from where Hermione will stand, and across from her is Harry himself. For once, she's glad Ron is tall enough to obscure him from view, but she keeps her eyes trained to the arch nonetheless, waiting for Hermione to walk in in a dainty and beautiful white dress. The Burrow's still, the tall grass dancing along.

Hermione walks the length of the dolled up lawn of the Burrow. It's a good day; everyone wears smiles on their worn out faces, for all the events that had occurred a while back has taken its toll on them, but here they all stand.

By the time Hermione reached the end, [Y/N] kept her eyes glued to Hermione this time, more than happy for her best friend.

Later at the reception, music played and as per request from the groom's mother, one of Celestina Warbeck's songs. All the people stood up to dance except for a pair in a certain table, both parties of which shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

And a sudden thought occurred to her: Maybe, just maybe, one doesn’t have to be a sad number. Their eyes meet for the first time in a long time, and it’s one of a kind; the now is not as unfortunate and bitter as it once was.

It’s just the two of them in the table, but it’s comfortingly familiar. He stands up from his seat to occupy the vacant chair beside her.

“Sickle for your thoughts?” he asks, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips.

“That sounds better than a dime for my thoughts and I normally don’t take prices for my worries but I’ll take it.”

He tosses a tiny coin on the table. She puts her hand over it, pulling it over the edge and holding it out in front of herself. “This isn’t a sickle,” she tells him, showing him the nickel.

“Well, ‘Nickel for your thoughts’ doesn’t sound right anymore because I got too used to the first one.”

“Me too,” she says. “I got used to it, too.”

“Well? I paid you a Nickel. Where’s my purchased thought?” he teases, and they’re both laughing just like they just did not so long ago. Just as they’re used to the sentiment of the Sickle, they’re used to each other; seeing the other smile, making the other smile, just. . .each other.

“Well, I was just thinking about how lonely it is to simply sit among a busy crowd."

He stands up, adjusting his tie as he did so. He then offers his hand to her. “Er — dance?” he says, quoting what he'd said long, long ago at the Yule Ball.

“Dance,” she replies, taking his hand without a second thought, and they just danced just like everyone else. From a distance, they'd only notice the main stars of the day — the groom and the bride. But between Harry and [Y/N], they're the only people once more. Nobody says anything, and both did not mind the other's company.

They don't speak of the times they almost lost each other, nor of the time they gave up on what they had, no. Because right now, as far as anyone's concerned, the only thing to say is that it's a good day — better, even.

And hopefully there'd be more to come.

A/N: kvlsjlvjwwo omfg finally finished this!!! i hope y’all paid attention to the numbers hAHAHAHAHA u can kinda tell i rushed the ending i’m sorry

Taglist: @gingerale2017 @maybanksslut @hey-there-angels @mrzweasley @gwlvr @booksarealwaysbettersworlds-blog @greenlyblue @henqtic @badass-yn @meiitanoia @gaycatlord-stuff @awakendevildays @crazy-beautiful @mistress-riddle @adoreyou976 @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts @rowena-ravenclaws-diadem @sfdlm

#ves.writes #ves.writes harry potter #harry potter #harry potter x reader #hjp #harry james potter #harry potter x fem!reader #harry potter x reader angst #harry potter x y/n #harry james potter angst #hjp angst #harry potter angst #harry potter headcanon #harry potter imagines #harry potter x fem reader #harry potter x fem!reader angst #harry potter masterlist #harry james potter masterlist #hp

881 notes · View notes

ladyvesuvia · 3 years

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@justadreamyhufflepuff: GSJSVSKSBSJD BABY CONGRATS- CAN I PLEASE GET A 🎠 -> Harry potter + soft love + fluff + prompts 9, 10, 32, 42 from prompt list 1. || for my 300 followers celebration

Prompts:

9. “You took all the pillows so I’m using you as one.”

10. “Stop moving and let me braid your hair.”

32. “Make a wish!”

42. “Darling I love you and all, but please step out of the kitchen.”

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Summary: Moving into your new house with Harry.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: fluff but with slight and subtle mentions of sexual activities + let me know if i missed anything!

A/N: omg yay harry fluff :DDD ok sorry go ahead btw this hasn’t been proofread yet mbad

After years of setting things up, they could finally move into their house. Of course, there were some parts of it that still needed fixing but they’ll eventually work it out. Right now, they wanted to bask in the comfort and triumph of their own house.

“Got your key?” said [Y/N], holding out her own key. She had already attached a duck keychain to it.

“Got it,” replied Harry, showing her his own. They both sniggered at his ridiculous bathtub keychain, which looked undeniably out of place but she was glad for it nonetheless. See, she had bought it years ago when they first talked about getting a house. “Will you do the honors?”

“You know, we could easily Alohomora the heck out of this bas —”

“Do the honors,” he teasingly urged, poking her on the waist where her tickle spot was and she recoiled. “Do it, [Y/L/N].”

“Ha! I’m Potter now, too. Ergo you’re not so special anymore,” she said as she marched up the raised porch. It was a lovely sight indeed — she could already imagine inviting the others to come over: roasting marshmallows either here or at the backyard and such. She giddily walked towards the door. This is it, she thought. “Wait, this is unfair. You carry me as you open it so I’ll be like a pretty wife.”

“That you are,” said Harry as he scooped her up into his arms. She let out a whoop of approval, patting his cheek as he put the key in and swung the door open.

All their boxes were on the floor already, with a lot more scattered all over the house. “Ooh, this is a lot of work. Wanna sleep it off?” she yawned, kicking some boxes aside on her way to the stairs. “What, you gonna protest, Mr. Potter?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Potter,” said Harry, and they both stopped and looked at each other, eyes narrowed while scrutinizing the name. “Mrs. Potter.”

“Does it sound a bit weird to you? I mean, no offense. I mean, I’ve waited for this half of my life but — you know?

“Yeah, like, [Y/N] Potter,” he said again, making arm gestures as if parting a curtain. She started to laugh. “I see what you mean.”

“You look like a . . . getching shooba driver but on land,” she said with a yawn.

“A what?” This time, Harry was the one stifling his laughter.

“Glitching scuba diver on land,” spat [Y/N], taking off her jacket. When she saw he’d been eyeing her with a dazed expression on his face, she made a show of getting off her right jacket sleeve with a suggestive smile on her face. “Wait, uh, can’t get it off. Sweat, I think. Help?”

“Will do, will do,” said Harry, approaching her and reaching out to pull it off her with a tight smile in an awful attempt to keep his laughter.

“Whatever. Can we sleep now, please? Where’s our bed again?”

“There,” he pointed somewhere in the kitchen room.

“I thought our room was upstairs?”

“Our room is upstairs, the bed is here.”

“Why would that be the ca—oh, no. D’we really have to assemble it?” she whined. They had to travel by Muggle transportation due to issues with the Floo network and they wanted to minimize suspicion, and the it was finally taking its toll on their entire energy: [Y/N]’s back was cramping from the long ride, Harry’s head was already hurting like hell. To make matters worse, neighbors were peeking through their windows so they had to go inside immediately.

“No, we can just bring the mattress up and assemble it all tomorrow, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said with a moan, tossing the jacket on the kitchen counter. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Oh, are we — ?” He shrugged hesitantly.

“No! I mean, do you want to? Now?”

“Do you?” The two chuckled nervously. They were standing there for probably around half a minute or one when the doorbell dinged and the two of them jumped. [Y/N] volunteered to get it.

A woman younger than her for about a year stood in front of her doorstep when she swung the door open, carrying a tiny baby probably about a few months old in her arms. [Y/N] managed a friendly smile as she wiped away a drop of sweat from her forehead.

“Hi, welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Karolina Martin. I live right across and I brought you something!”

“The . . . baby?” [Y/N]’s shoulders tensed as she thought about this over an over until she realized that was highly unlikely.

“No! You’re hilarious, though. I like you. I actually came here to give you” — the woman put down a bag she hung over her shoulder down on the floor — “this.”

Inside was a basket with a bottle of what [Y/N] could only assume was fine wine or champagne or whatever it was couples with a number of chocolates and cookies inside. She realized with a start there was also a pot inside.

[Y/N] laughed, holding up the pot. “Funny, because we’re Potters?” she asked, setting it back down again.

“You are?” Karolina said, impressed. “So which do you suggest I should start with first? Stoneware or earthenware? Ooh, what about fire clay?”

It took a few seconds before [Y/N] realized the direction of the conversation. “Oh! Well, heh, not that kind of potter.”

Karolina flinched, eyeing [Y/N] with suspicion. “You smoke — ?”

“No! Not that kind of potter. We don’t smoke po—Sorry, that’s on me, I should have clarified. I’m [Y/N],” she said. Karolina still looked confused. Composing herself, she managed a tight smile. “[Y/N] Potter.”

“Oh! Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry!” Karolina chuckled. “I was a bit confused, I’m really sorry. I haven’t met someone around here about my age.”

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the welcoming gift, by the way. I just moved in with my . . . husband.” It still sounded surreal to call Harry that way, but she liked it all the same. Her eyes fell on the chubby little kid.

“Right! This is baby Sydney, she’s turning six months old next week. Would be really nice if you and your husband could come — and kid or kids, if you have some?” Maybe it was the coos the baby made or her adorable eyes and hints of two teeth growing, but [Y/N] felt intimidated by the little kid. She was bigger than she thought babies would be. Is this what she’d push through her bottom? She shuddered. “Do you . . . want to hold her?” asked Karolina, oblivious to the thoughts going on in [Y/N]’s heads.

“Listen, I’m really grateful you stopped by but we’re kinda tired. I’m so, so, sorry! Thank you a lot for these stuff. We’ll definitely come by next week — me and Harry, just Harry and me.” [Y/N] chuckled nervously again, smiling at the baby.

“I totally understand. Me and Joey were also very tired when we first moved in, hence Sydney.” Karolina laughed. [Y/N] simply chimed in the laughter as well, not wanting to jeopardize a newfound friendship over a joke. “Have a lovely evening, [Y/N]. I’ll see you around!”

When she shut the door with the bag over her shoulder, she jumped in fright at the sight of Harry just behind the door with an amused grin on his face. “What?” said [Y/N] as she rubbed her eyes.

“Husband?” he mused. When she shot him a glare saying not to push it further, he resorted to giggling. “Sorry, my wife.”

“Shut up, Harry,” she said. “Now, where’s that damned mattress?”

“Worry not, I got it upstairs already, all we gotta do now is take a quick shower and go to bed.”

After they finished dressing into more comfortable clothes, they made it a point to plop down as hard as they could on the mattress. To her relief, Harry had settled a plain white bedsheet on top of it earlier while she was talking to Karolina. She was the first to jump in, stretching her legs all over. “Finally!” she exclaimed.

“Your turn,” she said, pointing at a spot right next to her. Harry took off his glasses and was about to jump in next when she asked where the pillows were.

“Er — Accio pillow!” She could hear the sound of boxes moving downstairs bumping each other when a pillow came hurtling in and landed on Harry’s chest, forcing him to plop down on the mattress.

A shrill squeak sounded, and the two of them froze. [Y/N] narrowed her eyes, pointing her finger at him in accusation. “Did you fart?”

“No, we just still haven’t removed the plastic from the mattress.”

“You want to remove it?” she suggested, ready to get up and get her own wand when Harry gently nudged her back down.

“Okay, where’s my wand?“

[Y/N] looked left and right until she found it tying on an old bedside table he managed to set down earlier that day and said, “There! Bedside table.”

“Eh.”

“Agreed, let’s just say you did fart.”

“Agreed,” said Harry, who unconsciously wrapped his legs and arms around the pillow on top of him and closed his eyes to sleep. [Y/N] was quick to act. Not to take his pillow, but to turn him into one — metaphorically, of course. She laughed at the thought of using Transfiguration to turn Harry into a literal pillow.

Just as he wrapped his limbs around the only pillow, [Y/N] did the same to him. He woke up with a jolt, but did not take her off him. “I’m the little spoon?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes, and I happen to like little spoons a lot,” she said casually. Harry turned his head in her direction, with a wide grin on his pretty face. “Okay, that sounded wrong. It’s just that you hogged the only pillow so now I’m using you as one.”

“Well, do you want it?” he offered obliviously.

“Nope, I like this set-up. Go back to sleep.”

And he did — they both did. At some point during the night, they turned each other into a pillow. Harry, however, awoke to the sound of her snoring. It wasn’t like his Uncle Vernon’s, though. Looking at her face seemed to dull it all out. It wasn’t exactly an endearing sound, but the sight of her was more than so — tousled hair, mouth slightly open. . . . With one last smile on his face as he watched her sleep, he felt himself drifting off into a deep slumber.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

A loud clanging from downstairs awoke Harry. Had he overslept? He found that his back ached whenever he did so much as move, but knew better than to bide his time if there was danger nearby. He reached out to the bedside table to grab his wand, but realized he had to put his glasses on first.

Harry ran downstairs, clutching his wand tightly with his outstretched hand as he listened for anything there was to hear. He paused. A stranger walked out of the kitchen, and he pointed his wand at them.

The stranger held their hands up with a bewildered look on their face until [Y/N] came out of the kitchen all sweaty with a frilly apron. “Harry!” she cried in bewilderment at the sight of him pointing his wand at their new neighbor. “Alright, uh, Karolina, this is my husband, Harry; Harry — stop pointing your . . . stick at her — this is our neighbor who lives across from us, Karolina.”

“Er — hello, Karolina. Sorry about the wa—” [Y/N] shot him a dirty look. “—ander. Wander. Sorry about the bad . . . wandering. You know what? I just woke up on the wrong side of bed and I got paranoid with the . . . new house and all.”

“He tends to get jumpy,” said [Y/N] in hopes of wrapping this up immediately. “Anyway, five minutes left till it’s done. Thank you so, so much for the help, Karol! One last thing, for the whipped cream, do I. . .”

He then noticed that some of the furniture were already arranged such as the sofa and the dining table. Some cabinets were decorated with non-magical framed pictures of them. Harry begged to disagree, though. Each picture there was more than just ma— Is that a baby? Sleeping in a car seat on their couch?

Harry blinked. It stirred, eyes fluttering open. Harry was now holding his breath in anticipation. It was watching him curiously. When he did not move, the little thing started to giggle. Smiling sheepishly back, he made a show of raking his hand through his hair and walking into the kitchen.

It was still messy, but the fridge was on now, and some condiments were put where they belonged.

Karolina was washing a bowl on the sink when the baby outside started crying. She washed her hands quick and ran out, excusing herself while smiling apologetically at the two of them.

[Y/N] opened the oven, pulling out something that smelled of a scent that made Harry’s mouth water.

“Is that Treacle Tart?” he blurted out.

[Y/N] almost dropped the pan of delight she held in her mittened hands. She cleared her throat in an attempt to maintain her composure as she set it down on the counter and pulled off her mittens. Still panting, she looked at him and said, “Harry, darling, I love you and all but please step out of the kitchen.”

“Sorry,” he muttered as he pressed a kiss against her head.

“Don’t do that, my hair stinks. I haven’t showered yet,” said [Y/N].

“What do you mean? It smells just fine.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s greasy. Is it greasy?”

“Yeah, you kinda look like Snape from where I’m standing. Ow! Sorry, bad joke. Okay, keep doing what you’re doing while I. . .” he trailed off as he grabbed her wrist gingerly and pulled off the scrunchie off it and started braiding her hair whilst she shook the whipped cream. “Could you just stop moving and let me braid your hair?”

“Oh, shut up! This tart’s for you, anyway.”

“So it is a Treacle Tart?”

“Uh, Doy,” she said mockingly. “It’s for your birthday, genius.”

“But it isn’t till next month,” said Harry.

“Eh, well, thought we could spend some time together in our new house without a crowd for a while. Why’re you even braiding my hair?”

“That baby got me thinking about it,” said Harry, as the child’s sobs started to cease. “You know, like . . . do you think we’re ready?”

“Well, what will be, will be.” She squeezed whipped cream on each side, scanning the final product with narrowed eyes. Harry tied the poorly-done braid with the scrunchie, letting her hair fall down to her back. [Y/N] turned to him. “Honestly, I’m kind of scared about the whole thing, you know? Like, aside from the . . . bloody pushing, it’ll be a huge responsibility. And I want to know if you’re up for it.”

“Okay,” he found himself saying so casually.

“Okay?” [Y/N] repeated to him, with an expression the combination of excitement and disbelief. “Okay as in, ‘okay let’s start trying?’”

“Okay, yes! Let’s start trying now!”

“Okay, but not right now, though,” said [Y/N] under her breath.

“Why not?” he said. Merlin, I have to stop.

“For one, Karolina’s right there at the doorway with Sydney.”

Harry shifted his gaze from [Y/N] to Karolina, who was now trying hard to stifle her laugh with a sleeping Sydney in her arms. “Okay, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t just hear that,” she said with a suggestive smile. “I’ll get going now, [Y/N], Harry.”

“Oh, you won’t try the Treacle Tart out?” called out [Y/N].

“Nah, we’ve eaten a lot of that already. We’re having cheesecake for tonight. Anyway, see you two.” With a friendly wave, she went off her way, leaving the two of them alone in their house.

Harry expected her to berate him, but she was already facing him with a slice of a tart resting neatly on a plate with a lousy candle set in the middle of it. “Make a wish,” she told him.

“Uh. . . I’m bad at wishes, you know that.”

“Then wish to be better at making wishes then make a better wish next month,” she said.

“Okay, I wish to be better at making wishes,” said Harry before blowing the candle out. [Y/N] pulled off the candle and lead him to the living room, where she put down the pan and separated the entire thing to put it on an adorable floral plate she loved.

“Happy super advanced birthday, Just Harry,” said [Y/N], kissing his head this time. “Have some Treacle Tart. I tried, okay?” Laughing, she put a fork on his plate and went to slice one for herself.

“Thank you, soft love,” said Harry as he helped himself to his slice. “Merlin, this is per—”

[Y/N] bursted into laughter, a couple crumbs spitting on the table. She had to get a tissue and wipe the table as she bellowed. “What’d you say?”

“Soft . . . love. Does that mean something bad?”

“No, no, no. It’s just funny to hear it from you. Say it again,” she said, resting her elbow on the top rail of a chair, eager to hear him.

“Soft love?” said Harry hesitantly.

“Oh my— Who told you to say that? Where’d you learn that?” choked [Y/N], wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Okay, sorry.”

“Er — you see, before we left to go here, Ron told me to experiment with . . . pet names.”

“So you delivered?”

“Do you not like it?” said Harry, his fork frozen in mid-air.

“Oh, I do. I so do,” she replied, chuckling. “I’ve had enough of tough love, I could use some soft love. But d’you know what it means?”

When Harry shook his head, she took one step forward to run her hand through his hair, grinning. “Means you accept all flaws instead of trying to build up a wall just to better and correct those flaws.”

“Then what’s so funny?” he asked with genuine curiosity rather than annoyance.

“Oh, Harry. Nothing! I just find you trying new stuff very, very amusing. Moving in here was a good choice, you know. Now I get to find out new things about you,” said [Y/N].

Harry smiled back, his cheeks a tad warmer than usual. “So which do you prefer? Tough love or soft love?”

“Eh, a relationship can’t work with just one of the two. Both works. Now eat your slice before we get working on this house,” said [Y/N] as she snapped her fingers, picking up her own plate and savoring her own work. “Chop chop.”

“You mean home?”

“Yep, I mean home,” answered [Y/N] without any hesitation. Oh, and, just one small update: they didn’t remove the plastic wrap of the mattress until next week.

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ladyvesuvia · 3 years

Note

HELLO CONGRATS ON YOUR MILESTONE !!🛣🛣🛣 with anything sixth yr quidditch captain harry PLEASE im dying of the lack of it

Harry getting you to try-out for Chaser

——

PAIRING: Harry Potter x GN!Gryffindor!Reader

WORDS: 0.7k (740)

WARNING(S): not proofread. || SECOND PERSON

i’m so sorry this took long i felt too uninspired agkjsdjek HOPE U LIKE IT MY BBY this was also longer than i had in mind but I hope u like it :*

“If there’s anyone else here not from Gryffindor,” roared Harry, his face contorted in annoyance, “leave now, please!”

As soon as Harry got everyone lined up in the respective positions — which took drastically long — they were trying out for, he called out the column of aspiring Chasers, an assortment of brooms held by an assortment of hands.

A while after almost the majority of the line of Chasers had tried, Harry approved of Katie Bell and Ginny Weasley already but so far none of those who followed did even an ample job. He put the two in charge to take note of it while hovering over the other students taking their time practicing: younger Gryffindors stood at the hard ground of the Quidditch Pitch, checking their brooms; second years trying to make laps around the vast entirety that is the Pitch; and a lot more.

Harry was hovering near the stands, close enough for you to call out to him. “Harry!” you half-whispered and half-hissed, not wishing to go any louder as to not turn anyone’s attention to you. “Psst, Harry!”

To your relief, he turned to you. “Yeah?” he said before realizing who he was talking to, looking at you and Hermione respectively. “Oh, [Y/N], Hermione, didn’t see you there.”

“We don’t know what’s going on from here, so how’re the try-outs going?” you asked. Hermione seemed to be preoccupied with looking through the Pitch.

“Brilliant,” he says with too much enthusiasm, leading you to the conclusion that it was in fact anything but. “Got Katie and Ginny as my Chasers.”

“That’s good!” you exclaimed. “They’re great, aren’t they?” Harry nodded at this in agreement. “So it’s good now?

“Actually, doesn’t the team require three Chasers?” said Hermione, snapping out of her daze.

“Oh, yeah! Don’t you need one more?”

Harry wanted to point something out about Hermione suddenly having something not bad about Quidditch but refrained from doing so. “Er — yeah, that’s a problem because” — Harry leaned in, his broom inching closer to the stands as to avoid being heard (at this point Romilda Vane was glaring at you and Hermione, possibly murder in her mind. The other girls were just giggling while someone mirrored Romilda’s face) — “none of those who came in between them and followed next did and do well. I want to, you know, make a good impression as my first time as Quidditch Captain and it’s just not looking good.”

You nodded, acknowledging his sentiments. “What about Demelza Robins?”

“What about her?”

“She seemed alright from where we were sitting, right, Mione?” She didn’t respond. You scanned the large space of the Pitch in an attempt to spot her only to just end up looking back at Harry. “She was good at dodging Bludgers. Wait, Bludgers, right?”

“Oh, right, her. I don’t know, I guess I just thought maybe you’d want to try out.”

“Please, me?” you scoffed. “I don’t even know the proper terms of the balls. I used to call the Quaffle as ‘the ball that sounds like Waffles’ whenever we went to anything Quidditch-related but even now that I know what it’s really called, I still confuse the Quaffle and the Bludger for each other!”

Harry raised a brow at your denial and so did Hermione. “We could make that work.”

Sighing, you giddily stood up. “On second thought, fine, I’m trying out, I’ll just run back to get my Shooting Star real quick.”

“Thought so,” said Harry as he watched you pick up your jacket. “You sure? Don’t want me to Accio it over here to save you some time?”

“No thank you, Mr. Big Shot, I’ll consider it as a warm-up,” you replied, jogging away only to turn back around to him, worried. “Wait, don’t you think they’ll hate me if you let me in late?”

“Probably, but I like you,” said Harry.

Hermione looked up, eyes wide, almost as wide as yours. “What?” both of you exclaimed.

“As a Chaser, I mean, yeah, as a Chaser.” Harry cleared his throat. “Now scoot.”

“Oh, then I guess I like you,” you said, earning the same look from Hermione, but this time with Harry. You begin to jog away again only to yell back, “As a seeker, I mean!” By the time you were already far away, you made a wall with your hands around your mouth, yelling to Harry again, “And as a Captain!”

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ladyvesuvia · 3 years

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POTTERVERSE MASTERLIST

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this masterlist is now archived and will no longer be getting any updates. click here to view the new masterlist.

NAVIGATION || MAIN MASTERLIST

GENERAL ೃ⁀➷

— 400 Followers Writing Challenge

THE GOLDEN TRIO ERA ೃ⁀➷

— Draco Malfoy

— Fred Weasley

— George Weasley

— Harry Potter

— Hermione Granger

— Luna Lovegood

— Ron Weasley

THE MARAUDERS ERA ೃ⁀➷

— James Potter

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ladyvesuvia · 3 years

Text

Sink to the Bottom

@mentallymarriedtohjp: hi! how r u? hope ur doing well! i wanted to ask for a harry x reader fluff umm maybe they dating in ootp with umbitch and everything he he, i’m just rlly soft today for ootp harry... hope u have a nice day! baii

Pairing: Harry Potter x GN!Gryffindor!Reader

Summary: Being there for Harry after Umbridge sends him to detention. [Sink to the Bottom by Fountains of Wayne]

Words: 2.1k

A/N: this is the first time i’ve written first person omfg ok hehe hope u like it babe! HSHDHEIS MY FORMAT IS SO INCONSISTENT IM SORRY

[NAVIGATION] [MASTERLIST]

I saw the way they looked at him. Everywhere he went, alarmed expressions drew up to the faces of those who stood by whenever he came near, muttered opinions that were exaggerated. And just as I hadn’t been ignorant of how they treat him, I was also aware of how he’d been treating himself.

As we sat in our first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the year, I couldn’t help but risk a glance his way here and there. Dolores Umbridge clasped her hands together, a bright smile on her face (Or at least, that’s what she’s been trying to convey. I wondered if it would help if I told her my vision darkened whenever she comes into view. Of course, it wouldn’t. Would’ve been one heck of a shot, though).

She made us hide our wands. My eyes met Harry’s. I was seated right next to Hermione. But my mind was elsewhere. From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Hermione’s raised hand. But just like I said, I was somewhere else. The sound of our new teacher’s voice made me want to snap my wand in two, but that will not do so I resorted to trying to calm myself down.

If I closed my eyes just a bit, I could see myself in the Burrow with the Weasleys, seated in one of the seats of the dining table, and blowing a spoonful of soup before gulping it down. This fantasy was soon broken by Harry’s booming voice.

I froze. He was talking back. I tried to capture his gaze, shaking my head vigorously. Either he did not see me or did not want to acknowledge my disapproval, for he kept talking to Umbridge as the entire class tensed. I turned to Hermione, sweat dripping from my neck down to my back.

Tried as I might to listen, my head was aching so bad that the only thing I heard was Harry mentioning the Dark Lord’s name. It was when Dolores Umbridge determined he was to be sent to detention that fully jolted me back to reality. Whatever his punishment was, it couldn’t possibly be good. I’ve been on the receiving end of Professor Snape’s detentions, and they were far from bearable.

She sent him to Professor McGonagall. As Harry made his way to the door, I thought about how I could easily send him a look that asked, ‘what were you thinking?’ but thought better against it and gave him a worried expression instead. He gave me a tight and reassuring smile. I know something was better than nothing, but I just had a bad feeling about this.

Something had to be done. I took a deep breath. Hermione looked at me, alarm in her eyes as I raised my hand. Dolores Umbridge was still panting from sending Harry to detention, and when her eyes fell on me, I could tell she was furious even as she cleared her throat and called up her toad-like smile.

“Yes?” she managed. I can see the threat in her eyes, but I paid no mind to that. Screw this.

I stood up. The entire class was looking at me now as I yawned and stretched my arms. “D’you know Voldemort?”

Hermione tensed beside me, kicking my foot lightly as she tried to catch my eye. I could see some of my classmate’s shoulders tense at the name. Who can blame them? Even I tensed at the mention of the Dark Lord’s name. Umbridge was not pleased.

Before she could speak against me, I pulled out my wand from my bag and started flinging it around like a worthless stick.

“Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Vol —”

Safe to say that Dolores Umbridge was furious and livid enough to send me away.

“STOP THIS INSTANT!” she bellowed. If it weren’t for the tense atmosphere of the room, I’d have laughed at her face. “Fifty points from Gryffindor.”

Everyone was silent for a moment. They didn’t even falter at the deduction of the points. Surprisingly, even Umbridge was quiet. She did not send me to detention. “Aren’t you sending me to detention for saying ‘Voldemort’?”

I could see that she flinched from the mention of his name. “Do you want me to, dear?”

“That’ll be lovely, thank you.”

“You will stay here. I am your professor, and you will do as you’re told. Take your seat.” I didn’t. “Take your seat now.”

“If what Harry said was a lie, why are you so scared?”

“We do not speak of the Dark Lord. What’s your name,dear?”

“[Y/N] [Y/L/N], dear.” I deadpanned. She was not impressed.

“Alright, [Y/L/N]. It will most certainly do you better if you take your seat and keep your mouth shut.”

“Voldemort, Volde —”

“I WILL NOT TAKE THIS DISRESPECT.” The woman — hardly, but I’m trying to make a point — balled up her fists in indignation, furiously scrawled something on a sheet of paper, trudged to where I sat and handed me a slip. “You will bring this to Professor McGonagall and —”

“I have detention with you, duly noted. Great, more quality time!” Snatching the slip from her, I stood up from my desk and hung my bag over my shoulder before marching to the door.

Before leaving, I turned around and looked back at the others looking at me. Then I looked at Umbridge. She was redder than ever. I thought the touch of red on her face would look good as a dress.

“Stop fearing his name so much, he’s not Beetlejuice,” I said condescendingly before swinging the door open but before I pulled it shut again, I retreated back to the classroom. “Get it? Because if you say Beetlejuice three times, he’ll . . . poof in front of you,” I said lamely. Only then did I realize how weak of an exit line it was. I’d have dragged my hand down my face if it weren’t for the students who shared a look of fright while Umbridge flamed in anger. “Oh, don’t worry. Voldemort won’t appear in front of you, he’s busy gathering his dance troupe. Bye-bye.”

On my way to Professor McGonagall’s, I hummed in triumph. When I arrived, I found Harry seated, shoulders tense. He was eating a cracker, I think?

“Good heavens, you as well?” gasped McGonagall. Sighing, she adjusted her glasses and gestured at a tartan tin lying on her desk. “Have a biscuit too, [Y/L/N].”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

We walked in silence for a little while, but after I finished eating my own biscuit, I decided to break the silence. He hadn’t spoken to me in a while. “So, you liked the snack?”

“What’d you tell Umbridge?” Harry asked, keeping up with me.

“What she had to hear,” I said, licking my lips. “What everyone had to hear. You shouldn’t have talked, you know. She’s mad. Like, mad mad.”

“Then why’d you talk back to her, too?”

“Not on my watch am I gonna let you go alone. Our detentions are scheduled on different days, but at least we got to eat a cracker with Professor McGonagall.”

“Sorry,” he said. He did not meet my eyes.

“Ew, what are you sorry for?” I teased in an attempt to better the mood.

“Well, for getting you in trouble.”

“Don’t be. I like you for that.”

It was time for dinner, so when we made it to the Great Hall, we both plopped down on the benches, groaning.

I could tell news about what happened during our Defense Against the Dark Arts class earlier this day had spread. I don’t know how, but it was probably because whatever news involved Harry and the Dark Lord was considered

“But you still shouldn’t have done that,” said Harry, shaking his head. “Now they’re gonna think you’re mad.”

“Good,” I remarked, leaning in the table to take a chicken leg. “That’s a good thing to be.”

“Both of you should not have done that,” Hermione hissed as she tossed her book aside. “She could have gotten you two expelled!”

“Would’ve been nice,” I said, getting a reproachful look from Hermione. “Well on the bright side, people don’t like her even more now.”

“That was established right from the start,” said Ron.

“Ron’s got a point,” said Hermione. Ron straightened in his seat, but Hermione ignored him. “The only thing that’s changed is they don’t like you now even more, too. I mean saying Vol — Voldemort’s name like that! Quit it, Ron. She’s really going to get you expelled.”

“You kept raising your hand,” I said defensively.

“I was asking questions. Now, on to more important matters. . . .” I didn’t really hear what Hermione had said, nor did I hear what Angelina Johnson told Harry. Something to do with Quidditch try-outs. Or practice. I don’t know.

When we got back to the common room, I practically plopped down on the couch. Harry sat down right next to me, leaning back and groaning. I looked up to find him frowning, staring at nothing in particular.

I sat up right away and beckoned him to lie down on my lap instead. “Go on now, I’ve been told I make good company so you don’t have to worry.”

Harry then obliged, albeit hesitantly. This was a first for us; we’d only started dating before we came to Hogwarts. I don’t blame him for being nervous. Heck, even I’m worried. What if he doesn’t like my lap and all stupid questions. Stupid concerns but, well, I can’t just not worry about everything. I can’t just not worry about Harry.

I’d fallen asleep as soon as Hermione mentioned our essay in Herbology again, and I dreamt I killed a rat.

When I woke up, I forgot about it for a while but as soon as I gained my consciousness, I remembered the dream: I was walking in the Great Hall when a rat bit my toe and I just . . . stepped on it. It was a weird dream. But I recalled a friend of mine from before I went to Hogwarts telling me about a dream similar to mine. Apparently, killing a rat in your dream was a good thing. It was disgusting, so I shook it off, not wanting to think about it any further than I already have.

As I became more aware of my surroundings, I also realized I’ve been sleeping on Harry’s lap. I bolted upright.

“I’m sorry, you can lie down now.”

“No, no, it’s okay! You looked tired so I — er — let you sleep.”

“Sorry, Harry,” I told him, taking his hands into mine and rubbing circles on it as gently as I could.

“Come on, lie back down,” he said.

“No, it’s okay, I’m wide awake now.”

A moment of silence once more. We stared into the fireplace, the flames dancing as if in a waltz.

“They’re gonna think you’re mad, you know,” he said with a laugh. I sat closer to him, leaning my head on his shoulder.

“I know, I know.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“They’re bringing you down! If there’s anyone who’s willing to go down with you, that’s me,” I teased. To my relief, he laughed.

“I wanna sink to the bottom with you and that’s that,” I said, staring into the fire. It kept dancing. “Like it or not, you’re my boyfriend — hard to believe but I’m not complaining — and I will literally be there for you whether or not you need me.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

I pulled away and looked at him with feigned anger. “I launch into a romantic monologue and I just get, ‘Thank you?’”

Harry chuckled, and it was hard not to do so as well especially when his laugh is every bit as infectious as his smile. “I love you,” he blurted out. “—smile. Your smile. Love it? Love your — I love your smile.”

I inched away from him with narrowed eyes.

“Did you really have to add the smile part?”

“Did you want me to?”

“Nope, I feel the same way.”

“Okay, uh, sorry for blurting it out. But I do, though. Is that okay?”

“Is it okay to love me?” I asked jokingly. I would’ve laughed but he looked like he was about to shit his pants so I simply smiled. “‘Course it is!”

He smiled a bit, but I could tell he didn’t seem so satisfied.

“Oh, cheer up. I love you too, you dork.”

“Thanks.” What he said alone was enough to send me wheezing but for his sake, I decided it was better to not laugh at all. But his breath of relief. . . Heavens, this boy will be the death of me.

“What?” I choked, trying not to laugh.

“Er — nothing.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. That’s more like it, mister.” Grinning, I rested my shoulder on him again. All worries were nothing but distant. Detention? Screw that, I’m lying next to him. No time to worry about things not worth worrying about.

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ladyvesuvia · 3 years

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🛣 i’m going nowhere - Harry x reader; fluff

Road trip with Harry and he starts complaining about the music you’re listening 😈🍷

Road trip with Harry and he doesn’t like the song you’re listening to

——

song’s oops…i did it again by britney spears because i don’t think he’d be such a big fan of it hHAHAHAHA yep this is probably a blurb or drabble idk anywaayyy it’s a but different too mbad i’m sorry

Your shoulders danced along to the beat of the song while you drove. “I think I did it again,” you started, singing along in the most Britney-like voice you could manage. “I made you believe we’re more than just friends — by the way I do not mean any of this, I love you, don’t worry — it might seem like a crush. . .”

Harry stirred in his seat, just looking out the window as you continued to sing along.

“Hey, you’ve been quiet,” you said with a laugh. “Are you alright? Ooh, could I get one of those cartons you’re drinking?”

Harry didn’t speak as he reached out his arm to the back of the car to fetch you a chocolate drink. He only put the straw on and handed it to you before settling himself back in his seat and proceeded to look out at the world passing by.

“What do you wanna do?” you asked jubilantly before taking a sip of the chocolate milk with your one free hand. “It’s Britney, bitch,” you add under your breath with a snap of your fingers as you took a turn in the highway.

“Er — I dunno, maybe we could switch stations or something,” said Harry, pertaining to the radio.

“Why? Wait — ooh baby, baby, oops I did it again, I played with — Hey!”

With a huff, Harry had turned off the radio and sat back with his arms crossed triumphantly. “I did what I had to do.”

“Shame on you, mister,” you told him just before you turned it on again. “Oops, you think I’m in love, that I’m sent fro — STOP TURNING IT OFF!”

“It’s Harry, bitch,” he said, imitating the snap you did earlier.

Laughing, you turned to him in disbelief. “Oh — excuse me?”

“Just kidding, I’m sorry, I love you too.”

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ladyvesuvia · 3 years

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@firewhiskyss: 🎢 harry with either “That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?” or “I’m afraid I’ve been thinking…” “A dangerous pastime.” because my heart can’t handle angst rn 😋☝🏼|| for my 300 followers celebration

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Muggle!Reader

Summary: Being stuck in the elevator is bad enough, but being with a stranger makes matters worse.

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: not proofread, light cursing, elevators, power outage + let me know if i missed anything

A/N: too bad u cant handle angst i could’ve found ways to sneak that into this hehe jk anywaaayy ok i felt uninspired sorry hydagjih

Harry held a bag he did not own in his hand. His shirt was a bit muddied and moist on one side, but he didn’t mind. He stood in front of the eighth door he’ll be knocking on in hopes it was the owner of the bag. It still wasn’t, though.

Instead, a woman his age greeted him with a smile. She was pretty, sure, but she wasn’t what he was looking for. He apologized for interrupting and went ahead to knock on the ninth door.

It swung open, and Harry let out a long sigh.

AN HOUR OR SO AGO

“Hold the door!” said a voice from the lobby. Harry pressed the open door button in haste, the doors doing as it was told to do. The figure rushed inside, hair dripping wet on the tiled floor of the elevator. He kept his eyes trained to floor as she moved his way to press the button to the eighth floor. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

The girl next to him began to dry her drenched hair with a purple towel, patting herself dry. Harry risked a brief glance in her direction — she was wearing a floral one-piece swimsuit which she layered with denim shorts. When she caught his eye, they both inched away from each other uncomfortably. To their relief, the elevator started to move up.

Nobody seemed to be coming in just yet. After all, it was six p.m. and most were probably outside biding their time for night swimming. Harry, on the other hand, just came down to get a box of doughnuts for Mr. Weasley, who he can only assume was changing into his swimming trunks in their hotel room. The rest were probably doing the same.

Harry was waiting for it to reach the ninth floor when the elevator lurched to a stop on the seventh. While Harry refused to meet eye contact with the girl next to him, she was busy trying to convince herself it was alright.

It’s okay, she thought to herself as she made a show of more aggressive patting of her hair in more of an attempt to calm her drumming heartbeat than to really dry it. Another passenger was probably just entering.

But she knew better, they both knew better. The lights above them began to blink in an inconsistent manner. To her dismay, the doors did not open nor did they continue to go up.

They both turned to each other with a bewildered look on their faces. Harry made to reach for his wand, but held himself back. Then the lights went out along with the tiny ones coming from the buttons. Harry froze. He heard the stranger next to him shift, probably wrapping the towel around herself. She had stopped pretending to pat herself now. Harry watched as her as she dropped her bag down on the wet tiled floor and pulled out a bulky gray block from it. Harry stood there awkwardly as if a statue while she kept on fumbling with the block thingy he now recognized was a flip phone. A light glowed from it, her face looking similar to that of a ghost.

She pressed it against her ear, but it seemed to not be working. She then raised her hand higher in hopes of getting better reception to no avail. Harry cleared his throat. The girl’s head whipped to his direction. “The emergency call button,” said Harry.

“I know,” she spat, reaching out for the buttons. But instead of clicking that particular button, she clicked the button for opening doors. Harry noticed she seemed to be shivering a bit even with the towel.

The girl was still dripping, albeit lesser now. She kept pressing the open door repetitively with her wrinkly fingers. Harry remained stiff, unsure if he should use his wand. “What floor are we currently?”

Taken aback, Harry didn’t respond for a couple of seconds until she reached out to his shoulder to check on him. “Oh, er — seventh, I think.”

He then heard her click a button he supposed was for the seventh, then a bunch of other buttons the next.

“We’re gonna die, we’re gonna die, we’re gonna die. . . .” Harry found that he preferred the constant clicking noises from the buttons over her constant reminder of their ‘impending doom.’ It was like fourth year all over again when their Divination teacher Professor Trelawney kept telling him he was going to die an early death. She kept chanting to herself in hysterics.

“Have you tried . . . the emergency call button? The one with the bell?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” said the girl. To his surprise, she picked up her bag again and aimed it at the elevator door before swinging it right in the middle. She then started banging her fist hard on the doors, pounding. “Help! I’m stuck! I mean, we’re stuck! Hello? I’m wi —”

“There’s a press to call thing here,” pointed Harry.

“Good,” she remarked as she practically run to it when the elevator made a creaking noise from above. The girl let out a shriek as she fell backwards and pulled Harry down with her. “Lie flat or we’re both gonna die!”

“Why — ?”

“JUST DO IT.” He did. Both of them sprawled their legs and he felt the damp floor wet his back a bit, but he was still weighing the pros and cons of pulling out his wand. Of course, if it were up to him, he’d pull it out in a heartbeat but the Weasleys’ vacation was on the line and he couldn’t jeopardize that by—

The elevator whined, and it felt as if it was moving a bit. “We’re gonna plummet to do our death!”

“Calm down,” said Harry, hardly knowing why he even bothered in the first place because he didn’t know what to say next especially with the girl’s expectant eyes on him. He thought of what Hermione had told them when they first came here, who then attempted to calm the others down about their feelings on Muggle Elevators. “Er — elevators are one of the safest ways of transportation with only the fatality rate of zero point zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-something-fifteen percent per trip.”

“Oh, shut up, stranger,” cried the girl. “There’s still a fifteen in that end. We’re gonna die, accept that!”

“You seem to be the one having troubles accepting that,” argued Harry back. She shot him a glare.

“I haven’t written my will and we’re gonna die. You see — you hear that rumble? We’re slowly falling down and we’re gonna die. I should have — should have taken the stairs. Please, please, please let me live! I swear I’ll start eating vegetables! This is it stranger, we’re gonna die.”

“That’s a bit melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“We’re about to die and you have time to think? Lie with your chunkiest bits on the floor to increase our chance of survival.”

He wanted to argue, but he resorted to inching further away from her and stretching his limbs awkwardly.

“Damn it, you shouldn’t have kept the door open!”

“How is that my fault? If anything, I was being nice,” said Harry.

“Being nice? You just sentenced me to my death and now I’m dying in this cramped space in a swimsuit and shorts that aren’t even for swimming!”

Surprisingly, the elevator whined to a stop. They remained on the floor for half a minute. Eventually, she was the first to stand up. Dusting herself and not meeting Harry’s eye, she smashed the bell button with her finger. It buzzed for a few seconds before a guy’s voice answered.

“Hello,” said the operator. The intercom seemed to be having troubles.

“Uh, hello, hi,” replied the girl.

“So are you currently stuck in the elevator?” Harry could hear the girl turn to him in the dark and call up the look of utter disbelief, as if wanting to reply, ‘No shit.’

“Yes, very much.”

“Okay, are you alone?” asked the operator.

“Unfortunately, no. I’m with . . .” she trailed off, turning to Harry with prolonged contemplation. “With stranger. I’m with stranger. A stranger. With a stranger, I mean.”

“May I know your names please?”

“Uh, sure? I’m . . . Papier Matchen and this is —”

“Har — Neville. Neville Longbottom, sir,” answered Harry. The operator did not respond. “Neville Longbottom.”

“Are you both guests?” asked the operator.

“Yes,” said [Y/N]. “Wait, are you a guest?”

“I am a guest,” said Harry stiffly.

“He’s a guest,” she added, as if in an attempt to keep whatever morale is left high. The operator didn’t respond again. “Hey, uh, operator? It would really help if you didn’t keep disappearing on us.” She chuckled nervously.

“What floor are you currently on?” said the voice with a bit more static.

“Uh, well,” she said, turning to Harry, “last time we checked, it was on the seventh but it moved down a bit and we might be in-between floors seven and six.”

“Alright, thank you. We’re currently experiencing a city wide power outage, and it appears that the back-up battery in Elevator Three has not yet been replaced since the last brownout. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Yeah, you should be sorry. So, uh, is any of your authorities gonna come and pick us up?”

No response. She pressed the button again. And again. And again. No sound came, not even static. “Hello? Hi?”

When no one responded again, she slumped to the floor once more, her hair still wet but no longer dripping. “Sit down,” she said, pointing at the spot right next to her. Harry obliged. “You can sit across, I don’t care. I know I smell like chlorine right now.”

Harry sat across from her, leaning back against the wall. She didn’t talk either. This went on for about five minutes until Harry had the urge to do something or at least say something.

“I’m afraid I’ve been thinking,” he started.

“A dangerous pastime, you should be afraid. Go ahead,” she said, gesturing a finger gun his way.

“Shouldn’t we try to get out of this?”

“Who are you, Bruce Willis? Need I remind you that you are Nev . . . Bottom?”

“That’s not actually my name,” said Harry.

“Same, I just said Papier Matchen off the top of my head. Like papier mache but witchy. My name’s actually pretty good, I think. I’m [Y/N] [Y/L/N]. Oh, wait, nope, don’t like it.”

“I think it’s good.” [Y/N] turned on her phone and shone it around until it landed on his face. Harry realized he had kept the box of doughnuts in the corner when she made them sit down. “I’m Harry,” he said when she finally turned off the phone.

[Y/N] turned it on again and directed it to the box of doughnuts. “Are those doughnuts to make us super tiny like Alice in Wonderland or something?”

“Oh, those are for my friend’s father.”

“Let’s eat it, I’m hungry,” said [Y/N].

“It’s for my friend’s father.”

“You have to realize that that is so not a good enough point. We’re trapped in an elevator with no means of communication with that musty man and eating that is the only thing we can do. Unless you want to do something else?”

“Er — What?” choked Harry, clearing his throat. “Okay, fine, uh, doughnuts.”

She made a triumphant sound Harry couldn’t explain, but paid it no mind as she reached out to grab the box of doughnuts from the corner. She set it in front of her.

“Hey, these are from my aunt’s bakery.”

“They are?” asked Harry.

“Yeah! The one across the street from here?” asked [Y/N], to which Harry nodded. “Ooh, you got the one with Oreos? Nice! I helped design those.”

“Okay, uh, can I have some?”

“I thought it was against your will to take some of these from your ’friend’s dad?’” teased [Y/N], but she handed him a doughnut anyway. Harry began to eat just like she did. “Sorry I forced you to lie down here. . . .”

She looked at him, waiting for something. What? Harry furrowed his brows, confused.

“Sorry, I mean, what’s your name again?” asked [Y/N], hints of the chocolate stuck between her teeth and some on her lips.

“Harry Potter,” replied Harry, who debated against himself whether or not he should point it out. After all, she seemed to be having a good time and they just started to lose the tension. “You’ve got uh, something on your, you know.”

“I know,” said [Y/N], but she didn’t do anything about it. “Anyway, can you believe six and seven are lucky numbers yet here we are, stuck in the wretched elevator between them?”

“No, that’s why I don’t really believe in those . . . things.”

“I’d say that’s insulting, but I’m dripping in my swimwear while I’m stuck in the elevator with a total stranger, so fair enough.”

Harry didn’t know how long they were talking, but it just went on. He was pretty sure there were times he even laughed. Harry reached out to grab another doughnut when he realized she was holding it as well. They both let it drop back to the box.

“Oh, no, it’s yours,” said [Y/N].

“It’s okay, you can have it,” said Harry.

“I ate more than you did, you can have it. Just go,” said [Y/N].

“You can —”

“You know what? Let’s just split it.”

[Y/N] ripped it in half, handing him the bigger slice. Just when Harry was going to offer to exchange, she swallowed it whole.

“Too late, I ate my half already.”

“I can see that,” said Harry. He began to eat his own half, savoring it with three more bites.

“Sorry I smell like chlorine again.”

“Eh, I don’t know, it’s kind of growing on me,” said Harry. “I shouldn’t have said that, sorry.”

“On a good day, that would sound like an insult but it’s anything but a good day, so, thank you, I guess.”

The two shared a laugh (and most definitely three) the entire time when the lights turned on. They could see each other clearly now. There was no denying they felt quite vulnerable — like finally meeting an friend you only send letters and emails to for the first time, but she smiled to make it feel lighter.

Suddenly, it started to move up again, [Y/N] kept them seated just in case it started plummeting again. It didn’t, though. It opened on the seventh, as the indicator told them so.

The intercom buzzed once more and different operator spoke. None of them stood up.

“Hi, power’s slowly being restored. How’s everyone?”

“We’re good,” said Harry. [Y/N] smiled in the shadows, tossing the towel in the corner. “Wait, you’re — er — good, right?”

“Yeah, surprisingly so,” she said.

“Good to hear, we’re currently doing the best we can to cater everyone’s needs. Has your, uh, elevator moved yet? Sorry, I’m new here. Anyway, has it?” asked the operator.

“Currently open on the seventh floor, but we’re both going up, all’s good now, don’t worry,” answered [Y/N]. She stood up, taking the towel with her.

“Okay, great, thank you and take care!” said the operator before the intercom buzzed off. Harry and [Y/N] stood there as the elevator door closed shut and began to move up and open again to the eighth.

“So,” started [Y/N], “this is me. My floor, I mean.”

“Right,” said Harry

“Well, I still don’t like elevators and I may or may not ride one ever again so I can’t believe I’d ever say this because it’s hella cheesy but thanks for making it bearable.”

“I feel like I should say, ‘you’re welcome?’” said Harry.

“Oh yeah, you should.”

The door began to close, but Harry pressed the open door button.

“Okay, you’re welcome.” The two shared lighthearted laughter. “Anyway, er — thank you, too. See you around?”

“Yeah, yeah, see you around. Bye.” [Y/N] waved as the doors closed between them and Harry was once again all alone in the elevator.

He noticed what a mess the floor was, and went to pick up the empty box of donuts. His hand went to where he kept his wand to clean up and looked around for cameras and found one tucked in the upper corner. Harry let his hand down and dusted his shirt with his hands when something caught his eye. A beach bag in the corner, resting carelessly.

The door finally opened to the ninth floor. Harry was frozen, looking directly at a long hallway of doors. It took a few seconds until it whirred and shut close. Not knowing what to do, Harry picked up the bag and swung it over his shoulder.

He tapped his foot as he waited for the elevator to go up to the twelfth floor until it began going down again. He pressed the button to the ninth floor again.

Ten.

Eleven. A couple his age entered, probably about to go down. Narrowed eyes landed on him and his dirty shirt and pants, but he paid them no mind.

Twelve. The couple started to talk about their plans on the honeymoon tomorrow. Harry busied himself by playing with the straps of the beach bag. He realized just now it had her name inside one of the straps lazily written with a sharpie. [Y/N], it stated.

Eleven again.

Ten again.

Nine again. The door opened, but he did not step out. Of course, the couple began to eye him with suspicion now as he reached out to press the button to the eighth floor.

Eight. When he stepped out, he heard the hushed but relieved sighs from both of the other two behind him as the elevator proceeded to close shut and go down.

Harry knocked on the first door. A man in his pajamas answered. Harry muttered an apology as he walked away to try the second door. He heard the first door swing shut.

The second door was equipped with a sign on the doorknob saying, ‘Do not Disturb.’ So, of course, Harry moved on to the third. He heard loud sounds of children playing inside. When he knocked, a tired woman carrying a toddler in her arms answered. Harry apologized once more and moved on.

Harry’s shoulder was aching, so he let the bag down and simply held it in his hands.

The fourth door was answered by a middle-aged man holding a glass of wine.

The fifth door’s knob held the same message as the the second — ‘Do not Disturb.’

As you may recall, Harry held a bag he did not own in his hand. His shirt was a bit muddied and moist on one side, but he didn’t mind. He stood in front of the eighth door he’ll be knocking on in hopes it was the owner of the bag. It still wasn’t, though.

Instead, a woman his age greeted him with a smile. She was pretty, sure, but she wasn’t what he was looking for. He apologized for interrupting and went ahead to knock on the ninth door.

It swung open, and Harry let out a long sigh.

An older woman greeted him with a pleasant smile. “Hello, dear,” she said. He took a shot and asked if she knew anyone by the name of [Y/N] [Y/L/N]. Unfortunately though, she did not.

Harry finally made it to the last door. He knocked once more, holding the bag tighter now. A little kid answered, with her parents and siblings in the background, eating pancakes. They did not know of someone named [Y/N] [Y/L/N], either.

Shoulders slumping, Harry made his way back to the elevator. He pressed the up button.

“Excuse me?” called out a voice from behind him. His heart skipped a beat. Wait, don’t skip, he thought to himself.

It still wasn’t her. It was the same girl from the ninth door. “Yes?”

“You’re looking for [Y/N]?” she asked. “[Y/N] [Y/L/N]?”

“Er — yes. Do you know her?” asked Harry.

“Yeah, she’s in the shower. Is that her bag?”

“Oh!” He almost forgot that he was holding it. “Yes, yes it is.”

“I can give it to her,” called out the woman. She closed the door behind her, making her way towards him. When she was close enough, she extended her hand.

The elevator dinged open. Harry was about to hand it over to her, when he decided something else.

“Er — no, uh, I was actually hoping if I could see her.”

She let her hand down, grinning. “You must be Elevadork.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s an inside joke,” said Harry.

“You can wait inside,” said the girl. “I’m Karolina, by the way. She’s just showering because she’s, and I quote, ‘will be too unlovable if smelling like chlorine.’”

Harry chuckled as Karolina led him to their hotel room. It was just like every other room he had seen, then he saw the same towel she had with her just a while ago when they were stuck with only each other’s company.

“He was nice, though. I wouldn’t mind seeing him again. By the way, we’re out of hair conditioner. My hair badly nee — Harry!” [Y/N] tumbled backwards to the bathroom with a different towel wrapped around herself. Harry’s eyes widened, and he turned around.

“He wanted to return your bag and ask you out,” said Karolina.

“That’s not what I actually said,” whispered Harry, turning crimson.

“Honey, trust me, it was definitely what you said,” laughed Karolina, patting him in the back. “You might want to change first.”

“I guess,” added Harry.

[Y/N] rushed to the get her clothes from one of the two beds and ran back to the shower, where she hastily pulled on her shirt and checkered pajama pants.

“She’s done changing, by the way,” said Karolina, patting Harry on the shoulder again as she left to pour iced tea for herself.

[Y/N] led Harry out, earning two thumbs up from Karolina, who was beaming up at the two of them. “How’d you find me?”

“Fate,” said Harry mockingly, as if from a show. She giggled. “I knocked on all the doors in this hallway.”

“To return a bag?”

“Sure, that, too. But mainly to ask if you’d like to get some — er — doughnuts with, uh, me. I really want to bring some up to —”

“Your friend’s dad, right,” [Y/N] cut out. “Are we still taking the elevator?”

“Yeah,” said Harry.

They finally reached the elevator, where they stood side by side.

“Aren’t you going to change first?” asked [Y/N].

“Nope,” said Harry, pressing the down button. He turned to [Y/N], looking at her shirt. “Does that say ‘Treacle Treat?’”

“Yeah, like as in Trick or Treat. See the pumpkin?” She pointed at the bottom part of her shirt.

“Oh, there it is.” The two were laughing even when they stepped into the elevator. They exchanged a knowing glance at the sight of scattered crumbs of doughnuts on the floor, not daring to talk about it in front of one another guest.

As the elevator began to go down, Harry realized he might as well believe in the lucky numbers. After all, if it weren’t for six, seven, and nine, he wouldn’t be here right now standing shoulder up to shoulder with the girl wearing a funky shirt.

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