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orqheuss · 10 months

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The sun does not weep for Icarus PART 4 FINALE

(Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/GN!Reader ANGST) Can be read as platonic, implied Ominis/Anne and Sebastian

Parts: 1 2 3 4

Summary:

The Gaunt boy didn’t remember if his closest friend even liked the taste of berries. The thought struck him as odd— what a mundane thing to worry about. So simple, so insignificant, yet somehow still so meaningful. *** It was time. Time to go to Azkaban; time to greet their best friend for the final time. Even with all their preparing, all their planning so their scheme would be pulled off perfectly, were they truly ready for this?

Word count: 9.9k

Tags: graphic depictions of child abuse, assisted suicide, emetophobia, major character death

AN: I’m moving all of my fics over from Ao3 to make them more accessible! These are my fics.

For this final chapter, I am recommending the songs "The Lament of Eustace Scrubb" by The Oh Hellos, "I Know the End" by Pheobe Bridgers, "Fourth of July" by Sufjan Stevens, and "Je te laisserai des mots" by Patrick Watson.

Chapter 4: I Am Not There, I Did Not Die

Light danced across the Transfiguration courtyard as the sun reached its lowest point in the sky, winking at the fast approaching night before tucking itself into the thick, white clouds for its nightly slumber. Shadows stretched across the stone floors, catching briefly on the statue that rested in the center atop a grand fountain. The woman in the sculpture was gaunt in form, small and malnourished; if she wasn’t made of stone she would surely blow away with a particularly strong breeze. Long hair flowed from her head and drooped down her shoulders, resting just below her hips, its edges frayed and sticking up in different directions like she hadn’t taken care of it in some time. She wore traditional wizard robes, a long beautiful dress with an intricately decorated cloak draped over her shoulders. The cloth seemed to fall from her body and pool at the ground like it was no longer form fitting; her bony collarbones peaked through the depressed fabric. Long, lithe fingers covered her face in anguish. Only the apples of her cheeks and her mouth were visible, her lips twisted into a sorrowful wail as silver painted tear tracks streaked downwards from her covered eyes. The statue was meant to be a symbol of heartbreak— the lack of care for oneself when something you loved was long gone from your life. Standing in her shadow were two students, hoods pulled over their faces to shield their watchful eyes from any onlookers milling about the castle, astutely unaware that they were resting in the shadow of their future. The tallest of the two craned his neck towards the overcroft walkway diagonal to them, listening carefully for any sign of movement. All that was heard was the skuttle of tiny animal paws against the cracked concrete; likely a cat, he mused. Nodding his head to his partner in confirmation, the duo sprinted across the large courtyard, careful to stay in the shadows and away from the bright rays of the setting sun. They had to be as discreet as possible— any wrong move and their entire operation would come crashing down around them like the end of the world itself. The pair of students made their way along the darkened walls of the Transfiguration courtyard, slinking through the exit on the other side and pausing behind one of the many stone braziers lining the walkway, carefully monitoring the Defense Against the Dark Arts hallway adjacent. It was around dinner time, so their peers would either be in the Great Hall or making their way there from each of the four common rooms. The only sound that could be heard was the cool wind outside blowing through the arches lining the walkway and the steady breaths of the two fifth years. Small puffs of fog bellowed out of their chapped lips before they were gently carried away by the chilled wind of winter. A shiver ran down their already taut spines, each tense with anticipation and unease. The duo gave one final scan of the hall, double and triple checking for any sign of life, before bolting towards the far corner where the secret entrance of the Undercroft lay. The smaller of the two quickly unlocked the mechanism and squeezed through the shallow doorway before ushering their companion through the entrance and down the stairs. The gunmetal gate whined at their return to the secret fortress in the underbelly of the school. Once safely inside, the pair shucked the hoods from their heads, panting slightly in perturbation, before turning to face the other head on.

It was time.

From under his robes, Ominis pulled out the invisibility cloak. It had taken slightly longer than anticipated to retrieve from Diagon Alley, a full week instead of a matter of days, leaving them six days to get to Azkaban and find their friend. The iridescent fabric caught the light of the floating candles near the ceiling and glimmered a multitude of colors, small flecks of rainbows dancing on the walls around them. It was just big enough to shield one of them from the eyes of the guards, the other would be disguised as someone else under a polyjuice potion. Ominis would be the one taking the potion, as he knew the mannerisms of the person they chose as the best fit, while he would be holding on to his friend under the cloak so they could lead him without his wand. The blinking light would surely give him away in the vast prison. He may not be as famous as the rest of his family, but he was at least known enough for others to spot his disability.

The two sat on the conjured couches at the center of the room, each taking one loveseat and placing the different parts of their plan onto the table before them. The invisibility cloak draped over the wood like a beautiful tablecloth, reminding the sighted fifth year of the place settings around Christmas. Atop rested three vials, one containing the putrid green polyjuice potion, one containing the golden, lustrous hue of felix felicis, and one containing a new concoction that they had created.

The two fifth years had snuck into the potions classroom the night before, testing out the invisibility cloak and how well it would work to their needs. In a mortar and pestle they crushed the small purple nightshade berries with its stems and leaves, which were just as if not more deadly than the fruit, together into a thick paste before dumping it into a small cauldron heated by an incendio charm. The plant brewed for an hour, distilling down to a fine syrup that was easy to drink. The fifth year had the idea to add some sugar to the pot in order to make it more palpable— something Ominis dryly laughed at. They were sweetening poison so it went down easier, what a stupidly caring thing to do.

The final vial was filled with their poison, the liquid inside swirling with shades of plum and red wine— little seeds of the berry still floating in it. The Gaunt boy didn’t remember if his closest friend even liked the taste of berries. The thought struck him as odd— what a mundane thing to worry about. So simple, so insignificant, yet somehow still so meaningful.

Ominis stared unseeing into the open space above the table, his eyes glazed over in deep, destitute contemplation. His hands were pressed together in a prayer shape, pointer fingers just slightly touching his lips and his thumbs resting under his chin; his elbows rested on his knees, his body hunching over like a statue at rest. Vibrations rocked through the couch under him and shook the table from his rapidly bouncing leg; nervous energy convulsing in his veins and ricocheting out of his body like a bullet in a chamber. The boy prepared himself for what he had to do— who he was about to turn into. He may not know faces, but he knew body language and speaking patterns, and this particular one haunted his nightmares more often than he had a peaceful night's rest. The vial of hair resting in his cloak pocket burned against his skin like one thousand suns. He had to sneak into his family home to get it, somewhere he hadn’t been in a very long time. There was no one that he hated more in this world than his family, and he was about to become one of them.

His friend stretched their arm across the table, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. They knew what he was about to do would be inordinately hard for him— to become someone he hated more than anything else in the world weighed heavily on his heart and sent panicked jitters through his limbs. His fight or flight would be kicking in at that moment if it hadn’t fizzled out long ago at the hands of the family that was meant to care for him.

He was just a child when his family first began their heinous torture— no more than the age of five when they first wanted him to wield dark magic against those who “wronged” them. His magic had barely shown itself, only little bursts of scattered sparks sprinkling from his fingertips had appeared at that point. He was a fairly late bloomer in the Gaunt household, which of course was blamed on his physical “defect,” as they so often put it. He was lesser than them in their eyes, not truly carrying the Gaunt name if he could not do everything that they did. Instead of strong, intimidating, and regal, he was nothing but a weak child— a stain on their good family name. The first time they had ever tortured him was when he was four, a tiny thing made of all bones and sharp angles even then. His mother had received his marks in the mail from the private magic school they sent him to; every Gaunt had to attend and keep up the family image. He had struggled with school when he was younger, unable to do things as easily as his peers without the gift of sight. He didn’t have his wand yet, so in layman's terms he was quite literally flying blind. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise that he would get terrible marks on his tests, both academic and skill based, but his mother was furious. She had shouted at him for hours in their large family room before his father came home. Ominis had always questioned the name of the space— his family never spent time together, even at dinner, so why would they have a room dedicated to something they most definitely weren’t? The question truly solidified in his mind that day when his father walked through the door. If his mother was furious, his father was absolutely seething.

The older Gaunt had never cared for his son, not since the announcement of his disability by the au pair taking care of his mother and helping her through the birth. As the youngest in his family of four siblings, he was already more of a nuisance than anything. Even his name, Ominis, did not match with the rest of the family; each of his siblings had a name starting with M, Marvolo, Morphina, and Metis, and he was ostracized before he even knew about the cruelties of the world— the cruelties of the sacred twenty-eight pureblood families of the wizarding world.

His father had entered the family room that day, an aura of daunting domineerance flowing from his person and permeating the air with the scent of his signature cologne and the pure, unfiltered rage that always seemed to follow him. He remembered the sound of his mother thrusting his terrible marks at his father, explaining exactly what his professor had said to her and his performance in class. They didn’t care that he was genuinely trying his best, all they saw was a disgusting failure— a black spot on their pristine family tree. His father had joined in the belittling then, spittle flying at him and littering his son’s face from the close proximity of his face to the young boy’s. Ominis determinedly willed himself to not cry, something a young boy of his age would have normally been expected to do. In his family, tears were seen as a sign of weakness— any shift in demeanor that wasn’t deemed “appropriate” was. His struggles were for naught, unfortunately, as in horror he felt a tear leak down his cheek and gather at the corner of his mouth. Everything seemed to pause, the space around him getting eerily silent. For a moment he thought that his parents had left the room, but he knew that they would want him to know that they were abandoning him there. They would want him to feel the sting of their absence. That was until he felt the sharp sting of the back of a hand connect against his cheek; the ring his father always wore with the Gaunt insignia adorning it carving into his face and drawing a small bubbling of blood to the surface of his ghastly pale skin. He had sat in shock for a moment, unsure of what he was supposed to do— how he was supposed to act . He had never heard his parents strike his siblings, the territory was entirely unheard of to the young boy. More tears pooled in his eyes against his will, and he fought valiantly to keep them tucked away behind his lashes. His lip wobbled with desperately contained cries, his teeth digging into the flesh to stop its incessant movement. But, just because he may not be able to see doesn’t mean that the rest of his family was blind. His father tracked the boy’s expressions, infuriated at the weak will of his youngest son. He would give him something to truly cry about. At that moment, Ominis felt the violent pain of the cruciatus curse for the first time. His tiny body crashed to the ground as he writhed in anguish, demented, childish screams clawing their way out of his throat as he struggled to breath around the incapacitating agony. His father had continued to scold the child, kicking him in the stomach and sending him heaving onto his side as he continued to spew nonsense about blood purity, the image of the family, and his role in their future. He remembered biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, pushing himself to silence his constant wails so he could avoid a worse punishment. Once he was released from the curse, only then did his mother and father leave— one last word about his disappointment on the family name hissing from their lips like a threatened black mamba. They had forced him to clean up his own blood from the pristine carpet that night.

Now, after so many years of avoiding the man, the reflection of Erebus Gaunt, his father, stood under the candlelight of the Undercroft. Ominis could feel the strength of his father’s shoulders resting atop his arms, the tautness of his neck and straight back that only came from years of training. His hands were the thing that unnerved him the most; they were so much larger than his, seeming to fill the entire space with their intimidating size. He refused to speak, the very idea of hearing his father’s voice come out of his throat sent tremors from the top of his spine to the bottom of his toes.

His friend stood just behind him in the reflection, looking at the boy in the man’s body in barely hidden disdain. Ominis had confided in them about the torture he underwent from his kin, and they wanted nothing more than to hex that insufferable Gaunt family tree into the next century. Alas, there would be other moments for such violence. As if they could see the thoughts spiraling in his mind, they spoke resolutely over his shoulder.

“You may as well say something now so you don’t startle yourself later. You can make him say anything you want, at least, so if there’s anything you want to get off your chest I would do it now.”

Ominis sucked in a breath and held it for a moment, thinking about what foul words he could spew from the normally regal man’s mouth. He could make him say whatever he wanted, whatever he desired most. Ideas filled his mind, each speaking over the other like a batch of rowdy bar patrons. Maybe an “I love you?” He had never heard that one before, at least not from his father. A simple “I’m proud of you, son?” No, he knew neither would sound genuine, nor did he want to hear the man say either of those to his face. If his father said those words to him, he was doing something incredibly wrong with his life. Instead, what he settled on was,

“I’m a huge fucking twat.”

His friend barked a startled laugh, letting it titter off naturally and smacking him gently on the back in pride. “There you go, absolutely brilliant as always.”

Ominis enjoyed their laugh. It seemed to fill the room with a little bit of sunshine, covering its normally dark and dreary existence for just a moment. He had to find things about his friends that he could latch onto— things that someone with sight would normally not notice. Instead of faces, he recognized voices, steps, heartbeats, scents, anything that he could hear or smell. His new friend sounded like sunshine after a storm, each word from them causing a small smile to creep at the corners of his mouth unconsciously. They smelled like the morning dew, and a little bit like gunpowder— like they had been around fireworks for a little too long. He found comfort in them.

Ominis turned from the broken mirror leaning on the Undercroft wall and faced his partner in crime head on. His stomach was alight with nerves, butterflies roughly smacking into the lining of his gut and sending flutters of tension into his throat. With a steady, minutely calming breath, he steeled himself for what was to come.

With a nod of his stoic head, the two students gathered the rest of their materials and set off into the great unknown.

The turbulent sea struck the side of their small boat as they approached the far away island. Azkaban’s looming shape towered over the waves, cascading foreboding shadows over the surf and sending a bone-chilling shiver up the spines of the two young magic users. Ominis could sense the danger nearby— feel the dread seeping into his soul from the plethora of dementors flying above their heads. Even this far from their horrifying forms, he could faintly hear the sounds of his worst nightmares plaguing his mind— Anne collapsing to the floor in agony for the first time in front of him, breaking a glass in her hand and nearly smacking into the corner of the coffee table; the sound of Sebastian’s cries, tucked away in bed with a hand over his mouth to muffle his sorrow the night before he was cast out of Hogwarts; the shallow breathing of his newest friend as they lied in a hospital bed, the smell of blood still clinging to their clothes after a particularly nasty bout of ashwinders took them by surprise, and the fear that he had felt about if they were going to survive or not. Ominis pushed it all away to the best of his ability, trying to get into the headspace of his arsehole of a father before they reached the coast of the prison. He prepared for the foul things he needed to say— the grotesque things he needed to do in order to get into the fortresses walls.

His hands shook around his wand at the re-emergence of his worst memory: the first time he ever cast the cruciatus curse on a muggle. The little girl couldn’t have been much older than he was. His older brother, Marvolo, had taken her off of the streets, laughing to his family later that night about how he had tricked her with a sugar-sweet voice and the promise of a nice warm fire for the night. He could remember her soft whimpers as he approached, the fear that permeated the air around her and mingling with the salty scent of her tears. His father had leaned down and hissed into his ear, promising him that if he didn’t do this and prove himself to the family that he would suffer a fate worse than the girl at the hands of his entire family— extended and all. He shuddered to think about what that punishment could have been, even to this day. His hand shook around his fathers wand, thrust into his chest not long before that and still burning with the residual heat of his previous spell, as he leveled it as best he could towards the girl. His mother had grasped his wrist harshly, twisting his arm in annoyance and pointing it directly at the little girl’s chest. He remembered the numbing pain in his chest, the fear in his mind at what his family would do to him if he failed. He wanted nothing more than to apologize to the little muggle; someone so frightened and unaware of why they were there and what was about to happen to them. If his parents weren’t there, he liked to think that he would have— maybe he and the young girl could have even been friends if he so wished it. In another world, another timeline, perhaps. The spell ripped its way through his wand arm and flew from the tip of his borrowed weapon, smacking into the girl and sending a torrential downpour of pain down her feeble body. He remembered her screams more than anything, the pleas of her tiny voice begging for mercy and for the pain to stop . Her wails filled his mind and haunted his dreams for weeks after that.

Ominis threw his head over the side of the boat, dry heaving at the bile rising in his throat and threatening to expel his dinner into the salty depths below, like he did that night— the moon illuminating his sickly pale face as he vomited into his mother’s flower garden all those years ago.

The two students reached the desolate island right as the moon reached its highest point in the sky. The terrain was incredibly uneven, leaving Ominis to already need to reach his hand out and grasp at the invisible cloak covering his friend for stability. As the pair approached the front entrance, the young Gaunt tried to morph his facial expression into one of his fathers. He had never felt the man's face, never wanted to really, so it was a guessing game at that point. He settled for a neutral scowl, his eyebrows slightly pinched together at the bridge of his nose in a look of constant annoyance. A Gaunt always believed that they were better than everyone.

Under the low lamplight, a guard came into focus. Ominis could hear his heartbeat, fairly strong and steady for someone surrounded by the worst creatures ever discovered in the wizarding world— likely not a good thing. His friend quietly whispered his description to the boy, and he wracked his mind for any inclination that he had met the man before. His father had many people that worked at the Ministry in the palm of his hand— he had to if he wanted to continue to get away with his blatant use of dark magic. The description did not seem familiar to him, but everything clicked into place when a whispered name came from his left.

“Yaxley.”

The name rang a bell in his mind; he had never met the man, but he had heard his father talking to him in his study before. Not that he was ever invited around his fathers friends in the first place— too much of a disappointment to the Gaunt name, he supposed. He could hear the man stand from his post, the illuminated tip of his wand casting over in the direction of his approaching form. He straightened his shoulders, switching into the persona he took on whenever he was forced to attend a Gala with his family, and confidently walked up to the guard.

“Halt! Who goes there?” The guard barked, an obvious, overconfident professionalism about him.

“Come now, Yaxley. Surely we can skip such formalities among friends, can’t we?”

The voice still felt strange dancing across his tongue, like someone had crawled into his mouth and was speaking for him from behind his teeth. He held back a shiver at the gusting cold winds spiraling around the island and tried to take on a laissez faire attitude, his face relaxing slightly as to seem calm and collected.

The prison guard laughed in astonishment, stepping forward and smacking Ominis lightly on the arm. “Erebus! What are you doing here? Surely you wouldn’t make the journey all the way out here just to see me.”

Ominis pretended to sigh in indignation, the crease in his eyebrow returning and his scowl growing deeper.

“Unfortunately not. I’m here to see the Sallow boy before his date with the dementors.”

There was a pregnant pause. Ominis could feel the trepidation streaming off of Yaxley, the moral dilemma of helping out a friend and doing his duty as a Ministry worker. Curiosity got the better of the two, and the guard inquired his reasoning for the visit.

Ominis thought on his feet, quickly coming up with a believable lie. “The cretin was a friend of my youngest— somehow made him softer, if that is even possible. Sallow had him gallivanting with a disgusting mudblood, of all things, doing Merlin knows what around the campus grounds instead of studying and making good of the Gaunt name. I would like to give him my two cents while he’s still conscious enough to hear them.”

It felt like he had swallowed a stone around the wizard slur, the mass in his throat pushing the degrading word down further and making it come out slightly stuttered. Ominis held his breath, hoping that the guard didn’t notice.

A sound of hesitation came from the man before him, “I don’t know if I can do that, Erebus. He’s in the east wing— lockdown. No one’s supposed to go in or out.”

The Gaunt boy leaned towards the guard, a demanding, insistent presence next to the meek man. A commanding aura filled the space around them, dripping from his intimidating stare and eroding the stones below like acid. His face morphed into a sharp smile, his fathers pearly white teeth shining in the moonlight and stretching the skin around his mouth like a snare drum. Ominis truly felt like a wolf in sheep's clothing. When he spoke, his words were laced with sovereign-like ire— like his drawbridge of canines and molars were the only thing separating the world from his fury.

“Yaxley, my dear friend. I invited you into my home; we broke bread together. I am inclined to ignore this slight against me this once, but it would do you well to remember the kinds of people who are in my debt.” He leaned forwards slightly more, nose nearly touching nose, “How is that family of yours doing? Maybe I should send one of my… other friends to pay them a visit. They are a lot less forgiving than I.”

Ominis could feel the fear shed off of the man before him in waves. He leaned back out of Yaxley’s space, cringing lightly at the smell of sweat coming from the guard and straightening his waistcoat.

“Now, what did you say his prisoner number was, again? I promise to make the trip quick and painless.”

Yaxley shrunk backwards, hands shaking around the lock adorning the large archway of the prison and stuttering out the Elder Futhark runes of Sebastian’s Azkaban identity, “ᛣᛟ263.”

The large doorway unlatched from the ground with a loud click, slowly rising into the sky like a portal to another plain of existence. Ominis could feel each creak of the gate resonate through his bones as he prepared himself for the horrors within the prison. With one final clang, the gate disappeared into the archway above, only its prongs poking through the top like a demented fork. Without another glance at the cowering prison guard, Ominis and his invisible friend entered the famed monument by the sea and began their search for their doomed friend. Sebastian Sallow was on borrowed time.

Before the pair stood walls upon walls of cells, each one filled with the most dangerous people known to all of wizard kind. Wails of grief, regret, and woe filled their ears and nearly sent them to their knees— the volume only getting louder as the sound waves echoed off the cathedral style ceilings. His friend took Ominis’ hand once they were in the clear and were now leading him through the maze of tortured souls, each one in a worse state than the last. Dark wizards lined the bays, some lying on their sides and clutching at their heads as they screamed in fear; their worst memories filling their minds on a constant loop. Some were pacing their tiny square cell, muttering to themselves and twitching like someone was flicking them every so often directly on the ear. Ominis had never heard anything like the sounds of Azkaban. It was like the dagger-shaped building harnessed the howls of the condemned and amplified it tenfold, floating it towards the very top of the building and sending it out through the skylight looming above their heads. He kept his head high and shoulders back as he walked the dreary halls, passing each guard with barely an acknowledgement to avoid suspicion. To anyone else, he was just a very important man making a quick visit, nothing more, nothing less. The two students made their way towards the east wing of the prison, creeping carefully up the decaying spiral staircase at the center of the large tower and stopping on the second floor. Once reaching the top, it was like they had suddenly stepped out of a whirling tornado into the still air of the eye of the storm. The hallways were eerily silent, not one cry to be heard. It was like someone had cast a silencing charm on the entire wing— nothing could be heard outside of its ominous silence. He could sense each person in their little, crate sized rooms, all looking exactly the same: their bodies curled against themselves, arms resting atop of their bent knees, and their faces either turned towards the wall or tucked into their chest. They had reached dementor alley, the land where no one ever returned the same as they once were. Every person on the floor had given up, either accepting their fate or simply pretending like they were already dead. Ominis couldn’t help but feel sorry for the people— their fate aligned with something worse than death: the destruction of their very soul. They were lost, deep in the chasms of their own minds without a safety rope in sight to pull them out.

The boy felt a tug at his cloak, his friend alerting him of the blockade before them. Ominis flicked his wand slightly out of his sleeve, activating the location charm and looking closely at what was in their way. Directly in front of them was another guard, leaning against one of the pillars between two cells. His face was turned away from the pair, so far unaware of their presence. His friend tugged at him again, whispering as quietly as possible.

“That’s Sebastian’s cell— 263.”

Ominis’ heart dropped slightly in his chest, a lump of anxiety quickly forming in his throat.

Shit.

They had to get around the guard somehow. He quickly scanned his wand around the floor below his feet, searching for something that he could use as a distraction. A spell would certainly alert the other man in the hall, and as much as he would like to think it, he wasn’t nearly good enough at wandless magic yet to do something to that caliber— an accio here and there, sure, but not something large enough to draw the attention away from the pair of magic wielders. The duo crept closer, steps gentle and precise like walking on a thin sheet of ice above the freezing cold waters of a frozen lake, before quickly skidding behind the nearest column.

Ominis could feel the polyjuice potion beginning to wear off— they had to act fast. He began to panic slightly, images of himself in one of the terrible Azkaban prison uniforms, locked behind heavy bars in a tiny room barely big enough for him to lie across the floor. If they got caught, they would get two years of imprisonment, at least . The thought alone made Ominis want to chug the poison hiding in his robes just to save himself the trouble.

The fifth year next to him quickly drew their wand, prodding the boy in his stomach to stop his incessant breathing. Now was not the time for panicking. They leaned around the curve of the pillar, checking both directions before leaning close to the thin boy’s ear, whispering their quickly concocted plan.

“You aren’t going to like what I’m about to say, but it’s the only option we’ve got.” They took a deep breath, “We need to use the imperius curse. I know how you feel about that kind of magic, so I am willing to cast it, but we need to act fast. You’re beginning to look like yourself again.”

Ominis winced at the ferocity of their words, shocked but also somewhat resigned to the idea. It was the best plan they currently had, and their goal was so close they could reach out and brush their fingers against the cold steel of the prison bars. His mind briefly flashed back to the day in Slytherin’s Scriptorium; their friend had barely known him at the time and yet still took the cruciatus curse so he didn’t have to go near it, nor hear his closest friend under the torturous effects of the deadly spell. They were so much stronger than he was, and he felt like he owed it to them to do this. He couldn’t let them step out from under the cloak; one wrong move, one prison guard turning around a corner at the worst time, and everything would go up in flames. Ominis could do this, he had to.

The young Gaunt sighed deeply out of his nose, the crease between his eyebrows beginning to feel permanent. He owed the person next to him, just the same as he owed Anne. He couldn’t turn back now, even with the devilish smirk of dark magic looming above his head like a macabre marionette puppeteer. He shook out his shoulders, swishing the rest of his wand out of his sleeve and raising it up to his chest. A dauntless visage crossed his features, his jaw was clenched and his eyes steely. Only those closest to him would notice the slight shake of his hands, the slight stutter of his breathing.

Some would say that being brave is just another word for being afraid. Ominis thought those people could go shove it.

The invisible student placed a hand on his arm, their warmth seeping through his belled sleeve and easing his shivers slightly. No words needed to be said, they knew what he was preparing himself to do.

They both stepped back into the dimly lit hallway, making their way to the cell holding their closest friend until his untimely death and the man that guarded the entrance. They only had one shot at this, so they had to make it absolutely perfect. Stopping just shy of the room, the blond raised his wand and leveled it at the chest of the innocent man— unaware of their quest and the heavy weight of grief resting on their conjoined shoulders. He mentally tallied how many years he would be sentenced to Azkaban for what he was about to do, the number sending stronger tremors through his arm and shaking the clear image he had in his mind from the locator charm. His friend stood just over his shoulder; their heart crumpling in their chest at the sight of the once resolute young wizard dissolving before their very eyes. They gently ran their hand down his arm, pressing their calming heat throughout his limb before carefully wrapping their fingers around his wrist and holding him steady.

Ominis blinked at the soft touch, closing his eyes and taking a shaky breath in, completely filling his lungs, before exhaling through his nose like a sleeping dragon.

They would do this together, just like how everything started in the first place.

In a hushed whisper, Ominis cast his first unforgivable curse in years. Imperio.”

From the tip of his wand flowed a soft, cerulean haze. The tendrils crept towards the prison guard, gently curling around and entering through any opening it could find— his nose, his mouth, his ears, his eyes— and lulling him into a sweet, peaceful oblivion. The glow of his irises cast a soft shadow on the young wizard before him, watching the eyes of his attacker make the final shift from an iridescent blue, the Gaunt family color, to a muted, milky grey without a care in the world. Ominis stood straighter, the hand of his friend falling from his wrist moving to lightly hold on to his bicep, and spoke in the most monotone voice he could muster to the human puppet.

“Open the door and stand guard outside of cell 263. Do not let anyone inside or near the room until we have left and are out of sight.”

The guard nodded his head, unlocking the cage and standing to the side for the two students to enter.

The new fifth year moved to enter the room, already slightly moving the cloak from their head and searching for the Sallow boy on the other side. Ominis grabbed at their shoulder, quick as a viper strike, and stood petrified with haunting fear. His eyes were wide in his skull, finally morphing back into his body, and his chest stuttered under the weight of his breaths. He didn’t know what lay on the other side of the old, creaking gate, and he was terrified of what he would see. Was Sebastian truly there? Was there any semblance of his friend remaining to save, or was he already gone? The dead eyes of the once exuberant, jocund male Sallow twin would hurt him worse than his death would. If he wasn’t there anymore, everything they had done for him, and for Anne, would be for naught.

A young, first year Ominis shook behind his eyes, locked inside his own mind as he desperately banged against the space inside his temple and begged his limbs to move— to do something. He didn’t understand why his body wasn’t running to his best friend and throwing everything, every emotion he had, at him. Sebastian was hurt, he was dying, so why was he doing nothing? The childish boy that still rested behind his eyes after all these years, unaware of how truly terrible the world could be outside of the four walls of the Gaunt manor, sobbed for his friend, his brother, and the terror he must be facing, but his body did nothing. The disconnect between his two sides felt like standing at the middle of a bridge overlooking a colossus chasm— to the left a pack of hungry cannibals stood ready to tear the flesh from his bones, while to the right stood his entire family in all its villainous, inbred glory, with their wands alight with red lightning raised directly at his heart.

Just as the boy was prepared to tuck his tail between his legs and turn towards a life of lineage and pureblood pedigree, a croaking, scream damaged, but still so young sounding voice broke through the diamond-crusted walls surrounding his last iota of hope and stopped his faltering heart in his chest.

“Ominis?”

Ominis turned tail and ran towards the cannibals.

Was he running towards something he should have fled from? Or should he have turned on his heel and run away long ago? Only time would tell, and time was a malicious bitch.

The sound of creaking metal swinging open filled the wretchedly silent hallway and alerted the arrival of the two young wizards to the long lost third member of their group. Sebastian sat tucked away in the farthest corner from the door, bare of everything except the thin material of the striped prison jumpsuit. Skin seemed to hang from his bones like a well cooked rotisserie chicken, making him look even more gaunt than his longtime companion. Black circles filled all inches of space under his lower eyelids making his face look similar to a skeleton, and his cheeks had begun to sink into his face leaving stark lines of bone stretching from his ears to his pointed chin. The only thing the same on the malnourished boy were his eyes— still a brilliant brown and shining like amber pools of honey were injected directly into the irises. Ominis could feel the soft warmth of his gaze across the room, and nearly wept in melancholic happiness. He was still alive, still breathing. Sebastian. His Sebastian.

Their new friend quickly cast the muffling charm just before the two boys flung themselves at the other, teetering on their feet and clutching at the cloth decorating each of their shoulders like the end of the world was knocking at their door and all they could do was sit back and let it take them. Sobs wracked the taller of the two, his bony hands clutching at the lapels of his brother and hugging him with every last bit of strength he had left. Ominis had one hand buried in Sebastian’s hair, grease and grime covering the once silken tresses, and the other pressing the boy as close to his heart as he could get, like if they moved any closer they would become the same person. He hadn’t expected this reaction when he had set off towards the island earlier that day, but nothing could have prepared him for the pure, relieved joy that filled his chest at the sound of the freckled boy’s voice. Tears clung to his eyelashes and spilled into the dry neck of his closest friend, washing the dirt from the patch of skin and wetting the collar of his uniform. He felt a third presence join the fray, and both boys gladly welcomed their newest friend into the embrace. The trio held each other for a few moments, time ticking by like sand through an hourglass, and grieved for all they had lost in their grand journey of life.

Sebastian was the first to leave the pile of limbs, taking each of his friends' faces into his shaking hands and looking at them like they put the stars themselves in the sky. He had so many questions for them: why did they come? How did they get there? How was Anne? How were the both of them holding up after everything? But all that came from his mouth was,

“Ominis, why are you wearing your father’s robes?”

The lithe boy chuckled softly, his hand coming up and pressing against the back of Sebastian’s resting on his cheek, leaning minutely into the comforting touch. He explained everything about their journey, bar their reasoning for now, beginning at the arrival of the Daily Prophet two weeks ago and ending at his intimidation of the front gate guardsman. Sebastian listened enraptured, fascinated and, quite frankly, so incredibly flattered at the lengths that his friends would go through to see him one last time. Tears welled in his eyes yet again at the heroic journey of the duo, quickly wiping them away with the palms of his hands before pulling them both into a hug once again.

He pulled back for a second time, a tearful smile adorning his features and making him look just the same as he did in the wide halls of Hogwarts. His eyes flickered back and forth over his two companions, the main question burning in his mind leaving his lips.

“Why are you here?” He stuttered at the forlorn looks crossing their faces, “Not that I don’t want to see you! But, why now?”

The pair remained silent, sharing a badly hidden glance of worry. Sebastian’s smile slowly fell from his lips, his hands falling from their shoulders and resting back at his side. He cradled his right arm against his chest, his left hand coming up to grasp at his right wrist before he began to pace around the small space.

“I know you didn’t come to break me out. You know that I belong here just as much as I do. So, why this mission? Why the need for secrecy?”

Ominis cleared his throat around the lump forming there. All thoughts in his brain flew out of his ears like the frost breezing across the grass on a winter morning. He reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a single, white Chrysanthemum— a few of its petals missing from the bundle of sprigs and its stem beginning to droop but still holding on to life with everything it had, and placed it gently into the outstretched hands of the boy before him. Sebastian stuttered slightly at the gift, looking confused to the new fifth year he had befriended what felt like so long ago. They looked away from his burning stare, gazing at the ground as tears welled in their eyes once again. The Sallow boy began to panic, thoughts swimming in his mind about what something as small as a flower could mean. He remembered the little garden his sister had at their cottage, tucked away in the far corner by the gate and far away from the chickens. He remembered her favorite flowers and their meaning— how each color coordinated with a message of sorts. Orange, if he recalled, meant happiness, red meant love and passion, and white meant…goodbye.

His breathing stilled in his chest, his heart ceasing to beat at the thought of what the message presented to him could mean. He did not want to believe it, didn’t even want to think about who could have sent them the flower, what they could be trying to tell him.

He turned towards the other boy again, distress shedding from him like autumn leaves in the fall, and desperately implored him to explain further.

“Ominis, what does this mean? Please tell me that this doesn’t mean what I think it does.”

The young Gaunt refused to meet his gaze, his overcast-colored eyes looking just over his shoulder and filling with silvery tears.

“No. No, please, Merlin, no! Ominis please, tell me it's not true— it can’t be!”

Sebastian choked on the air rapidly filling his lungs, one hand clutching at his chest and dropping the flower to the dirt covered ground. The other shakily made its way over his mouth, covering his woebegone expression and muffling his soft cries. His legs gave out under him, sending him stumbling into the wall behind and sinking down to his knees. The boy curled around himself, his hands now reaching to grab and pull at the hair at the base of his skull and lowering his forehead towards the cold ground. Loud wails flew from his already damaged throat, garbled strings of apologies to his dearly departed sister breaking through the earth shattering pain every so often. His friends sank to the ground at either side of the sobbing boy, running their hands along his spine and pressing their temples against his shoulder blades; sobs wracking their bodies as they grieved along with the last remaining Sallow. They slowly brought him out of his hunched over posture, gently placing him between the both of them with his back resting against the stone wall. Sebastian’s head was tucked under Ominis’ chin, the smaller boy stroking at his long gone curls and sending sweet shushes in their stead. His new friend had their arms around the freckled boy’s waist, their face against his shoulder while they pressed soft, fluttering kisses to his exposed skin. They could feel his heart shattering in his chest, each shard breaking off in pairs before stabbing their sharp edges into some other organ or patch of skin. Sebastian sobbed for his sister, for the life that she could have lived if he wasn’t so selfish. He lamented his own choices, his stubborn and headstrong nature. Never once did he ask his sister what she wanted, what she needed him to do for her in her time of need. All he cared about was his desire to not lose her, and that was exactly what had happened in the end. He was the last of his name, the last in his family line, and all he could do was wait for the inevitable downward strike of death's blade when it was his time to join them once again in the afterlife.

In that moment, Sebastian Sallow finally gave up.

Once his tears subsided enough, he leaned back from the comfort of his friends and retreated into himself— his dead eyes looking at the wall across from him in numbing acceptance. He had become like the others on his row, their dead stares and startling silence seemed to take over his body like a ghost. In a voice of resignation, he spoke to the two sitting next to him.

“So, what now?” A single tear made its way down his cheek, gathering at the corner of his mouth. He made no move to wipe it away. “Why else have you come?”

Ominis reached into his cloak once again, grasping at the small vial resting there and placing it into Sebastian’s open palm. The boy slowly looked down at his hand, regarding the tiny glass jar of swirling purple liquid with little interest. He leaned his head slightly in the direction of the other boy, indignation lacing his tone.

“Enough of the silence— I deserve at least that much. What is this that you’ve given me?”

The young wizard cleared his throat of the tears still lingering there, resting his hand over the lone Sallow twin’s and encapsulating the little sample between their palms.

“Anne had one last wish, before she—” He cleared his throat again, stuttering around the final words. “She asked us to save you in the only way she knew how— the only way that would guarantee that you both would see each other again.”

He looked over at his friend to continue, his voice lodging itself just under his jaw and refusing to exit the comfort of his soft palate.

The fifth year ran their fingers through Sebastian’s hair once again, bringing their hand back and resting it on his upper arm. “In that vial is a dose of muggle poison— we brewed it ourselves. It is in your hands now; you can either take the poison and be free from this all, or you can wait a few more days for the dementors kiss. We won’t make this decision— we can’t do that for you.”

Sebastian considered their words, rolling them around in his mind like a morose game of dice. His friend hummed in hesitation, the next words leaving their mouth against their better judgment and filling the fresh silence of the room.

“Please know, Sebastian, that this is likely the only way for you to see Anne, to see us again. The dementor will take your soul, and you will be nothing but a shell of a body and a barely beating heart.” They shut their eyes tightly, nails digging into their palms as if to relieve the pain building in their chest, “I don’t know what afterlife you believe in, if one at all, but we will be right here for you when you make your choice.”

Silence filled the tiny room once again, every ounce of happiness that once filled the space now sucked out with a giant black hole of despair. The three friends sat side by side, each with their hands in their laps, legs out in front of them, and head leaned against the wall behind them. Thoughts swirled through each of their minds— their subconscious trying to fill the silence that only the end of the world could bring. Sebastian muled his options around in his head, tossing back and forth his two fates. Some sick part of his brain wished that it would have been a harder decision, but he knew his choice long before the quiet fell across the cell.

He would travel to the ends of the earth for his sister, swim through the rivers of Tartarus if it meant seeing her again.

The young wizard, suddenly looking much older than he ever was, than he ever would live to be, closed his hand around the potion vial and uncorked the stopper; its soft pop pirouetted around the room and invited the sickly sweet scent of the berries to dance. Sebastian closed his eyes, a pair of twin tears falling from his lids and splashing onto the ground below, and whispered to his friends— his tiny family.

“Will it hurt?”

Ominis bit his lip to muffle his sobs, tears streaking down his face and collecting in the silk of his collared shirt. The other fifth year sniffled, before giving the scared, death-bound boy a small smile that didn’t quite meet their eyes.

“It’ll be like falling asleep.”

Sebastian nodded his head, looking down once again at the wine-colored elixir. He swallowed around the heart beating its way into his throat, before facing forward once again and lifting the vial closer to his trembling lips.

In a final, meager voice, he whispered to his best friends, “Will you stay with me?”

Ominis grabbed at the hand closest to him, holding it against his chest in a strong grip and pressing a final, feather light kiss to the boy’s knuckles. He leaned into Sebastian’s side, tucking himself under his chin and against his chest, right over where his heart beat steadily, and nodded his head.

The student on the other side of the boy placed their hand on his shoulder once again, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss on the side of his forehead. They leaned their temple against where they had just touched, tears softly cascading from their eyes, and whispered against his skin.

“Until the very end.”

Sebastian leaned softly against his friends, cherishing their closeness for a moment more, before bringing the tiny, deadly thing to his lips and drinking down every last drop.

There the three wizards rested once again, tucked together like a small group of sleeping owls in a roost, until the skin of their dearly beloved friend grew cold and his heart beat no more.

Under the glow of the rising sun, its light glittering across the top of the beautiful blue sea and sending small shimmers of sea-foam green against the side of their boat, rested two students. Both gazed across the vast ocean, feeling the gentle touch of a new day’s warmth spread over their frozen forms and slowly begin to thaw their comatose limbs. Their hearts would remain like tiny glaciers in their chests, each waiting for the other to take a pick and start chipping away at the layers of frozen earth.

In a mere moment, across the tides and back on the large, lonely island, the prison guards would begin their morning rounds once again. Tucked away in the far corner of the monument lied a cell, barely enough room to stretch from one side to the other comfortably. Inside, they would find the body of their dear friend, Sebastian Sallow, the very last of his bloodline. It would look like he was simply asleep, his soft brown eyelashes just slightly ghosting across his cheekbones in an expression of peace. Against his chest would rest a small, white Chrysanthemum— a tiny, frail thing. Its petals littered the ground near his head, scattered like an incandescent halo. Four petals remained attached to the stem, one for each of them— a silent promise to find each other once again in the next life.

The news of his death would spread around the school like a forest fire. The Daily Prophet would tell the world that it was from a broken heart— the news of his sister's death being just too much for him to take. No one would bat an eye; they knew how loyal he was to her. No one would come looking for the pair of students, tucked away from prying eyes in their secret hideaway in the underbelly of the school. There they would stay until they got too hungry, too thirsty; until the world would tell them to continue on living around the hole in their heart.

They both lost something that day— be that a piece of themselves, or a piece of something they loved, or maybe even a piece of something that they had long forgotten about, something tucked away deep in the toy chests of their minds only to be found again years down the line with a thin layer of dust coating the surface.

For now, though, the two would look across the horizon and let themselves mourn the loss of their dear friend.

They did not fear the future. They knew that they would be there for the other, no matter what would come their way— no matter the terrors that lied in the twisting clouds above.

And, maybe, a good few years down the line at least, they would be reunited with their family once again.

Atop of the small, lonely hill to the east of Feldcroft rested an old sycamore tree. The sun shone down on the earth and warmed the ground below, spreading its life as far as the eye can see. Not one cloud could be found in the sky, no dreary weather making its way over the horizon to end the glorious day.

Resting under the soft shade of the tree were two children, both with a set of mousey brown hair falling from their heads and a littering of freckles sprinkling across their cheeks and nose. They laughed together in the summer sun, basking in the gentle cushion of the soft grass below, and pointing out shapes that the shadows of the leaves above made on their clothes and skin.

Down the hill from the pair stood two more forms, one slightly smaller than the other, and the other slightly skinnier. Blond hair fell across the opalescent eyes of the scrawny one, his hand coming up to push it out of the way and shield his face from the light above. The other, new to the land and wanting to take everything in, spun slowly in their spot before spotting their friends just slightly out of eyesight. They called to them, their voice filled with happiness and laughter, and received a happy welcome in return.

The two twins made their way down to their newly arrived friends, bringing each one into a long overdue hug before dragging them up the gentle slope of the earth to their tree. Pure, unadulterated joy spilled from their souls and wrapped each other in a blissful comfort— happy to finally be home at last.

There was no pain, no suffering, no death in their little paradise. Everything stayed just the way it was, and that was how they liked it.

AN: This is my absolute favorite thing that I have ever written. I poured my whole heart into this one. It started off just as a one-shot but someone requested more and I thought "hell, why not?"

I sobbed like a baby writing this final chapter. Sorry for the emotional turmoil I've caused you

***

like what you read? here's more!

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siriannatan · 8 months

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Solutions to Insomnia - Scott fWhip

My quest to drag S1 fWhip through terrible situations with a comfort Scott on the since continues, it would seem…

fWhip could not sleep at all. Not an unusual occurrence. He became known for skipping sleep. Staying up later than healthy. Yawning and falling asleep in weird places. It became so normal even his closest allies, family stopped worrying. Just a fWhip thing, he'll be fine.

The only person who seemed to hate it was... fWhip himself.

He stared at the ceiling. Unable to sleep. Vaguely aware it was nearly midnight... So much for going to bed early. He stared at the ceiling and thought back to the worst moments of his accursed insomnia. When and why he chopped his hair off and is still refusing to let anyone fix the mess it is. Not like anyone expects him to be put together in any way. Not like his allies cared if he was doing okay. They would just leave him sleeping in their meeting room and not even tell his advisors where he was. Sending all of Grimlands into a panic.

But that was two weeks ago. Things were fine even if Gem was still unhappy with the whole Rivendell alliance and fWhip's arranged marriage to the younger prince. But that was fWhip's business. And Sausage and Pearl voted yes. And it wasn't like he was anything special himself. No half-dragon. No wizard. No Pearl.

Just plain, normal fWhip with only his brain and a bad knee. Totally useless without his crossbow and explosives. Not like he could have any good ideas that did not involve explosives.

He sighed, turning to his side for what felt like the millionth time that night. Why can't he just sleep normally? Why did he have that unplanned nap earlier, after running one last time over this year's plan to get the heating in town for the upcoming winter.

fWhip was about to go and find something to read or do until he passed out when there was a knock on his balcony door. He was not expecting any guests tonight. None of his allies would come to him with any issues. With a yawn and heavy, exhausted steps fWhip walked up to the window. Not bothering with the lone robe tossed over a chair.

To his shock, on his balcony was none other than his fiance Scott of Rivendell. Looking at it all like he didn't just fly all the way from Rivendell. Which he had to have done to get to Grimlands before any note made it. If one was sent at all which it should. "Oh... Hello... I apologize if I woke you up..." the elf chuckled as always oozing confidence.

"I wasn't sleeping anyway..." fWhip shrugged totally not sure what to do with Scott. "I won't have angry elven military knocking on my door looking for you tomorrow?" he asked to start with. Just to be sure and let Scott inside. It was slowly getting chilly in Grimlands.

"No, no, I told my parents I want to visit you... Since we're supposed to get married and stuff..." Scott clarified, looking about the dark room. "I kind of underestimated how long it'd take to get here, I was not counting on making it for dinner but still not this late..." he chuckled nervously. Looking briefly at fWhip's messy bed.

fWhip hummed and nodded along. Forcing his brain to try and think if any guest rooms are ready at all and ready enough to house his future husband. Unfortunately, he rarely had guests. "Unfortunately I didn't have any guests lately so I'm afraid my guest rooms aren't quite suitable..." he sighed, messing his already messy hair even further. He couldn't even offer to give Scott his own bed in it's current state.

Scott just chuckled. "I don't mind sharing if you don't. We are supposed to get married, eventually," he hummed, shooting fWhip a smirk that could only be described as flirty. "We don't have to tell my brother, he'd flip over something as simple as just sleeping in the same bed," he added, still looking over in a very flirty manner.

"I'm afraid I'd make for a terrible bed mate." fWhip chuckled regretfully.

"Why so?" Scott asked with a raised eyebrow. His short coat was already off and hung over a chair.

fWhip chewed the words in his mouth for a second. "Insomnia. I have trouble falling asleep and sleeping," he said, deciding Scott should know ahead of time.

The elf just giggled. A very nice sound to fWhip's exhausted brain. "Have you tried sharing a bed with anyone? It could help, let your brain relax, knowing you're not alone?" he offered, with another of his many layers being removed.

At this point, fWhip was ready to try anything to finally sleep well so he just shrugged and agreed. He could deal with consequences if anyone found them too early. And offered to loan Scott something to sleep in. The elf 'forgot' to pack anything. fWhip guessed he just wanted to leave the palace in Rivendell. Luckily at least some of fWhip's sleep clothes fit the elf. Why must Scott be so tall?

Once they were in bed, Scott wasted no time cuddling up to fWhip. He was cold but not unpleasantly. More like comfortably chilly. fWhip could quickly feel himself drifting away as Scott chattered about helping him fix his hair as he played with it. He just hummed along as he slowly fell asleep in Scott's arms. Probably his best sleep in a long time...

If he didn't have THE dream. A red sheep looking at him with big, black eyes. Unblinking. With nothing but an endless shallow sea of blood and red fog rolling about. Dark grey sky with no clouds or sun. Blood Sheep, words came to his mind on their own. Technically the main god of Grimlands...

fWhip could not move or do anything other than hold the Sheep's stare. It felt like an eternity and like just a few seconds at once when She let out an echoing 'baaa'. And the vision was over. And fWhip woke up.

He was still in his bedroom. Still in Scott's arms. The sun has long risen. And fWhip felt rested like he never did. Weirdly thirsty...

#my stuff #my stories #empires smp #fanfiction #empiresshipping #empires fwhip #empires scott #scfwhip

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studentinpursuitofclouds · 1 year

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Resident Magnus lover I'm so sorry but I'm so happy he's finally getting that dilf but dateable marriageable fics he deserves 😭 can I squeeze in a request too though I wanna see more fluff with him 🙏 Like asking him to join the community activities more like the flower dance, or he talks with the children on how light magic works, showing them a few harmless tricks and even playing with the junimos oh god it's making me weak in the knees thinking about it already

What fic? Can you link where to read it, am I missing something? 👀 Ok, anyway...

Here are a couple of my headcanons about Magnus, his Farmer, and trying to get into the Pelican Town community. Enjoy dear anon 😊

Magnus didn't mind the sidelong glances of the Valley folk at the Flower Dance, he looked rather unusual, especially in formal attire and without his usual robes. But the dance with his s/o made the old wizard forget about everything in the world. And let those present not be surprised that some kind of fireflies unknown to man fly at the festival. It turned out even more beautiful.

Merciful Yoba, Lewis, stop looking at Magnus like that! What do you mean, decided to poison them in the Luau? This is completely disrespectful. The golden quality Super Cucumber is the perfect ingredient for a soup pot. The Farmer will confirm this, they themselves have put this thing in the soup for more than a year.

Magnus will definitely ask his Farmer s/o for help in communicating with Junimo, as his partner has been successful in this much faster. He never thought that farmed sweet starfruits would be the key to communication. On the other hand, everyone loves a treat.

Only now, the apple-like creatures started tugging at the wizard's robes and asking him to play with them. Looking at the Farmer, who was showing with all their appearance that "if you want to learn more about Junimo - play with them a little", they beat off Magnus's last hope for the opportunity to communicate calmly. He just hopes he doesn't look silly.

Gus was one of the first to accept the Farmer's partner without prejudice, and therefore, when he saw Magnus and the Farmer in the Saloon, he prepared frog legs for the wizard according to a special recipe. Magnus was extremely surprised by the skill of the owner of the Saloon and how tasty the dish turned out, jokingly asking Gus if he was also a magician by chance, since he "makes magic in the kitchen." The Farmer is incredibly happy that slowly but surely, Magnus is joining the Pelican Town community.

Perhaps Spirit's Eve is the only day of the year when Magnus will not only show all his magic in action when creating a labyrinth, but will also be able to show a couple of light magic spells for children who have been asking "uncle wizard to show tricks" for half an hour. Well, as long as it's safe, why not Besides, at least on this day adults will not be afraid of his magic.

Don't ask how Magnus on Feast of the Winter Star made the tree shimmer with decorative lights so beautifully that it's not like flashlights are blinking, but real gems are shining. And, without electricity. He has his secrets, plus he have to stay in shape and surprise his Farmer s/o, who looks at his magic spells with admiration.

#stardew valley #sdv #stardew valley expanded #sve #sdv wizard #sdv rasmodius #sve magnus #sve headcanons #thanks for asking!#I'm not kidding about cucumber #the golden quality super cucumber is the key if you want this soup turned out great and win some friendship #and remember: purple cucumber. not purple shorts #it's 12am #i need to sleeep #no I need more hc #sleep #ok sleep win #goodnight everyone 😴

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crucioslut · 4 months

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[ answer ] your muse answering a question meant for mine .

The slytherin common room was a delicious little retreat away from the blistering cold just on the other side of the window. Outside, the wind howled with abandon and wet snowflakes blanketed the view, making it hard to even make out the night sky. Inside the students were kept warm by the crackling fire place in their heavy winter robes, hot cups of steaming tea warming their fingers. Bellatrix Black lay quietly, lounged on the sofa beneath the window with her head propped up. Several books on "Defense Against the Dark arts" stacked on the floor neck to her, an open book rest at her knees while she scribbled notes down with an unusual rapid speed. The hottest music of a defiant crowd in the Wizarding world at the time played. Heavy guitar and drums. It was new and exactly the kind of thing a pureblood teenager's parents would absolutely loathe. Bellatrix loved it for that reason alone. The gentle acts of rebellion she could indulge herself in without letting what was important slip from her grasp. Rodolphus sat in the arm chair next to her, enthusiastically fixated on his own studies. They didn't speak when they were working. Unlike most, the pair had very real goals that they knew they'd need to dedicate their last few years at hogwarts to in order to acheive. Deja Vasilyev, a russian witch in Bella's year who was new to Hogwarts that year entered the room and Bella's gaze rose from her books to the interuption, watching as Deja sat herself down and began speaking to Rodolphus in a thick accent. Deja had chestnut hair, hazel eyes and rosy cheeks. And one hell of a rack too. She smelled like sweet cherry blossom. At first she spoke to Rod about the upcoming test, but it didn't take long for the conversation to become much more personal, and Bellatrix looked at her fiance with an amused half-smirk, rolling her eyes. Yes she'd seen this many times before. It never ceased to amaze her how much these girls took to Rodolphus Lestrange. Sure, he wasn't bad to look at. But was that truly all it took for a man to be desirable? For all Deja knew he could have been a total imbecile. But Bella said nothing, observing the scene before her silently from behind her books, paying close attention to how Rodolphus reacted to her. "What are your plans for the rest of the weekend once you're finished studying?" The russian girl asked, her eyes shining and a big, inviting smile on her lips. "Tomorrow night a few of us are visiting Hogsmeade to see the light display!" She explained, excitedly. "I've never seen it before, only heard of it. I've only just moved to England this year. Afterwards we'll stop for butter beer! I wondered if you'd like to come with." She was so wonderous and hopeful, and innocent. So genuine. it was sickeningly sweet. Finally, Bellatrix spoke up, lowering the book before Rodolphus had a chance to reply. "That's a very nice offer. I'm afraid we'll likely spend the rest of the weekend ravenously fucking." Bella said casually, not breaking eye contact with the the other witch. "Every which way. Doing things you've never even read about." Deja's eyed widened before her face flushed deep red. "This time of year can be very stressful, you know." Bellatrix continued, there's oh so much at stake. Helps to even things out." Bellatrix licked her lips, closing her book and sitting upright. "But tell you what, if I can fight him off of me for long enough, I'll send him right to you. How's that sound?" Bella smiled and tilted her head curiously. @rodolphus-lestrangex

#belladolphus #these whores love roddy #rodolphus lestrange #bellatrix lestrange #harry potter rp

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princeheir · 1 year

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˙ 🐍 profile .

BIRTH NAME : severus snape.

ALIAS / NICKNAME : sev.

TITLES : the half-blood prince.

AGE : 21.

DATE OF BIRTH : 01/09/60.

PLACE OF BIRTH : english midlands.

BLOOD STATUS : half-blood.

RESIDENCE : london.

EDUCATION : graduated from hogwarts (slytherin, slug club).

OCCUPATION : potioneer, aka, a potion maker. his prices do change on a whim but he is the best in the business.

SIDED : death eaters.

˙ 🐍 personal details .

GENDER : cis man.

SEXUALITY : sees himself as an equal opportunity bloke, isn’t exactly labelled nor cares about sex that much.

FACECLAIM : louis garrel.

TATTOOS : the mark on his arm.

CLOTHING : big & dark coats, suit and tie whenever he can, long & dark robes, green details here and there, snake skin, silver jewellery (especially earrings and rings). doesn’t modern fashion all that much.

HAIR STYLE : long-ish black hair. a little oily (which he doesn’t like, but doesn’t know how to change).

POSITIVE TRAITS : loyal, proactive, intelligent.

NEGATIVE TRAITS : cunning, cruel, closed-minded.

HOBBIES : beyond journaling, he enjoys reading muggle books but will go out of his way to hide that. he is also passionate about gardening and foraging (especially for poisonous mushrooms).

INSPIRATIONS : henry winter, canon&fanon snape, that one two hour video essay about snape wives., also beth from the queen's gambit for the family dynamics (his dad did leave but he'd spend the hols at hogwarts and would barely be home during the summer, so snape didn't actually notice until his sixth year).

---- CHILDHOOD , all i know is you said hello and your eyes look like comin' home .

His is the story of the scorpion and the frog.

There was no love in the Snape household, neither was there warmth. Often enough, there was barely sound, only soft inhales from Eileen Prince’s lonely bedroom, — she never quite got used to her husband’s last name, carrying with herself the prestige of the Prince bloodline —, long parted from the sheer moments of honeymoon glory. Sometimes, if Severus was lucky enough, he’d hear the sound of his father’s keys turning on the door, only for it to be taken away in a matter of seconds, a new business trip waiting for the muggle salesman. It was a cliche, really. A saddened housewife and an unhappy traveling salesman, a love-story straight from the all-British muggle books.

Happiness was fleeting. And then it was not. With red, oh so lovely red, consuming the afternoons the young boy spent alone in the meadow. Lily bloody Evans, his best friend, his first love, the personification of laughter. And goodness. And warmth. She was everything he wasn’t, and everything he longed to be. In their few, stolen moments, there was no blood purity. There was only a boy. And a girl. And so much magic between them.

---- SCHOOL YEARS , i get mean when i'm nervous like a bad dog .

The dungeons were almost home. They were just as cold, just as unlived in, but they were loud. They lacked the meadow, — and in consequence they lacked his best friend’s blooming smiles —, but they were filled with ideals. They boomed in the winter and were awfully quiet with the arrival of the last month of school. Severus was lonely, and he was misguided. And, well, he was the perfect recipient to whatever nonsense other snakes were willing to sing in his ears.

And, Saint Merlin, he was so incredibly envious. The others had it all, had they not? Barty had the wealth, Regulus had the name, but Severus? He had the anger. He had excellent penmanship. He had a brain that refused to stop. He even had the means to respond to those idiotic pranks without ever tarnishing his own name. Who’d think the prince of potions would ever turn every Gryffindor tie into a snake? They weren’t even poisonous.

What he did not have, however, was Lily. No, that was propriety of the Gryffindors. Of the people who had loving parents, wealth, a future in the wizard world. She wouldn’t, couldn't choose him, and he had no choice but to help her discover that. He was cruel, and sometimes he was be downright evil. Because if not him, who? Who’d show those foolish lions what waited for them the second they’d step outside from the bounds of Hogwarts?

He did what he felt needed to be done, no matter how terrible it could be. There was no regret, no moment of sudden realization of how the mark in his arm would change everything for everyone. He wanted the wealth, he wanted the name. Sometimes he even wanted the fame.

---- CURRENT DAYS , cause cruelty lives in the movies .

It was clear something had changed inside of him. From the little boy who longed for connection to a man who destroyed everything he got his hands on. Although loyal, it became known Snape was inconsequential, brutal, and always a little too eager to fulfill a plan in the Dark Lord’s name.

When it comes to his work, however, Snape is known to be a man of equal opportunity. No matter your affiliation, if you have enough money (and courage) to look for his help, he’ll provide you with a top-notch solution for your afflictions. Not even Severus himself understands why he does that, why he’s so willing to put poison in the hands of members of the Order. Maybe he’ll never know.

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maelstrom-of-emotions · 1 year

Text

Upside Down

This has been in my drafts for so long that I forgot it existed. It wasn't until I came across this again, that I remembered it. It's not all that structured or framed properly, but, oh well.

Sirius's childhood was like a never-ending winter in a land of perpetual gray skies.

The halls of the manor were silent, except for the occasional echo of his own footsteps. The only colors he ever saw were the dull shades of slate and stone, and the occasional flash of green from the dark and dreary grounds beyond. The only sounds were the howling winds that rattled the windows, and the creaking of old timbers as the ancient house groaned with age.

The interior of the manor was as cold and lifeless as the family that resided there.

The furniture was stiff and uncomfortable, the curtains hung in heavy, oppressive folds, and the paintings on the walls were all stern-faced ancestors, watching him with disapproving eyes. The floors were made of cold, hard stone that never seemed to warm no matter how long the fireplace burned. Even the air seemed to weigh him down with its dampness, its chill, and its musty scent.

His only solace was in the gardens surrounding the manor. But even they were a stark contrast to the whimsy and wonder of the rest of the wizarding world. The trees were gnarled and twisted, and the flowers were muted shades of gray and black. The only sound that filled the air was the rustling of the dying leaves as they fell from the trees.

His relationship with his parents was like a game of Quidditch, with constantly shifting roles and unpredictable twists. At times, his mother would swoop in like a bludger, her harsh words and cold demeanor sending Sirius reeling. Other times, his father would be like a golden snitch, offering fleeting moments of warmth and affection before darting away again.

He could still remember the countless family dinners where his parents would bicker and argue, their words like knives that cut through the air. He would try to block out their words, focusing instead on the glittering chandeliers above his head, the fine china plates that held his food, and the ornate silverware that he had been taught to use with precision.

He was forced to live in that world. A world that was devoid of magic and wonder, a world that was as bleak and gray as the sky on a stormy day.

For Merlin's sake, even the clothes he wore were of muted colors, drab browns and grays, and the occasional deep green.

He had been resigned to the fact that he would always live in that world.

Until James Bloody Potter went and threw his handsome face and messy hair into his life like a rainbow-colored grenade, blowing up everything he thought he knew about the dull, monochromatic existence of his pureblood family.

The loveable prat had decided to shop at Madam Malkin's at the exact time Sirius had been there. He still the first time he caught a glimpse of a boy with messy black hair and captivating and bloody mesmerizing hazel eyes.

James had been dressed in a vibrant red and gold robe, looking like the epitome of a ticking color bomb that was about to explode.

And, oh Merlin, what an explosion it was.

It was as though he was seeing the world for the first time. The walls of the shop were no longer gray, but a soft yellow, and the fabrics lining the shelves were rich shades of blue, purple, and green.

When James turned around to look at him, Sirius felt his heart stop. For the first time in his life, he felt a spark of something other than boredom and duty.

He felt alive.

And then, James smiled at him and it was like a beam of sunshine breaking through a cloudy day, a glimmer of hope amidst the gloom.

It wasn't the time of smile that Sirius was taught. The polite smile that radiates from a perfect set of teeth, rather it was a smile of intensity.

A smile that came from deep within, brightening his entire face. James' eyes crinkle at the corners, conveying a sense of genuine warmth and joy.

(Right then and there Sirius knew he had discovered the eighth wonder of the world.)

The colors around him seemed to intensify as if they were reacting to the electricity between them. From that moment on, Sirius' world was no longer just muted tones.

It was a kaleidoscope of vibrant hues, all thanks to the boy who had walked into his life and turned it upside down.

Note:

Right, that took a long time to complete. I know that canonically James and Sirius met in the train compartment in the Hogwarts Express, but I was re-reading the series, and Draco and Harry's first meeting felt like the perfect setup.

If you're wondering about the title name, it's a childhood song that I loved and was listening to while I wrote this. Here's the link to that, if you want to listen to it: Upside Down.

If you're listening to it and wondering why it feels familiar, Might I suggest looking at this video? It may jog your memory: Upside Down CG

#james potter #sirius black #bambibelle #fluff #james is a rainbow grenade #sirius loves that about him but then sirius black adores everything about james potter #sirius is smitten #my boy is whipped - as he should be #fluff and angst #sirius is in love - as he deserves to be #drabble #oneshot #Mentions of Walburga Black - don't worry just mentions #prongsfoot #sirius x james

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kohanayaki · 3 years

Text

.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 6

You continue the tale of how you, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter became known as The Marauders.

LINKS: CH 1 CH 2 CH 3 CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8

___________________________________________________________

Ch 6 .:The Making of the Marauders:.

~Previously~

“That was when they were first starting to put the map together,” you continued, “but that wasn't even the biggest secret they had. Of course, I wouldn't find out about that for another year. . .”

“So at this point I knew that they were hiding something else, but not what it was,” you told Harry, continuing on with your story, “But one night we had planned to meet up and use the invisibility cloak to map out the underground tunnels that ran through the storage cellars, and they never showed up. So I snuck into the Gryffindor common room through the secret passage and found their dorm completely empty. But what was there was our work in progress map. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1975 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This isn't going to work,” Peter said flatly, watching James and Sirius draw a large circle in chalk on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

“Not with that attitude it's not,” James said, “if there's a way we can speed up this process I'm willing to give it a go. I don't know how long I can go on with this bloody leaf in my mouth.”

“Is this even real?” Peter sighed, “it looks like what muggles think magic is.”

“It's real all right,” Sirius said, “old, but real. I mean, Transfiguration was founded on the principles of magic circles! I'm not really sure what these runes on the side mean, but it's probably not important.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Peter retorted, “Remus, back me up here.”

He turned towards Lupin, but he had long since dozed off, arms crossed as he leaned against one of the nearly decaying walls in the corner. Peter sighed, taking a piece of paper from the ground and crumpling it into a ball before promptly throwing it in the sleeping boy's face. Lupin jolted awake, realizing what had happened and chucking the paper back at Peter in annoyance.

“Not a moment of peace,” he huffed under his breath.

“Sounds awfully boring,” James said over his shoulder.

“Blimey, what time is it?” Remus said, panicked as he noticed the light had completely gone from the sky, “It's long past sundown.”

“So?” Sirius shrugged.

“So, we told (Y/n) we'd meet them to work on the map at dusk,” Remus said, “They're probably looking for us right now!”

“Oh, they are,” you announced your presence, an unimpressed look on your face as they jumped, whipping around to look at you.

“(Y-Y/n)!” Sirius stuttered, “how did you—”

You held up the map, raising a brow at the four guilty looking boys.

“Right. . .”

“You snuck into our rooms?!” James said incredulously as he saw the map, which he was sure he had left on his bedside table, in your hands.

“You've snuck into my shower before, Potter,” you glared lightly at him.

“Point taken.”

“Okay, look, I'm sorry we didn't show tonight, and I know we've been acting weird,” Sirius sighed, “the truth is—”

“Lupin's a werewolf.”

The color drained from Remus' face, slightly mortified that you already knew.

“Come on, guys,” you said, “the claw marks and you lot disappearing whenever there's a full moon kind of gave it away. You aren't exactly subtle about it.”

You could sense the intense nervousness in the room, especially from Remus. Ok, so maybe coming right out with it wasn't the best course of action.

“Look,” you said, “if you're worried about anyone else finding out, they won't. I mean, the only reason I even knew you were here is because I'm literally helping you make a magical map that details all the secret passages and shows where everyone is. I won't tell anyone, I swear.”

They still seemed a little unsure, and you bit the inside of your lip slightly.

“If it'll make us even, I'll let you know a secret of my own,” you said, “it can even be future blackmail me if you really don't trust me.”

“No, it's not that, (Y/n),” Remus said as he stepped forward, his throat feeling dry, “it's just, well, I've never really told anyone except the people in this room. Having someone else know. . . it's just a lot to process, but if had to be anyone I'm glad it's you.” He paused for a moment, feeling oddly self-conscious as he regarded you. “When I turn into a werewolf I can't recognize any human as someone I know. I have no control over myself in that state. In the worst case scenario, I could injure or even kill someone I didn't mean to. We originally started taking note of the secret passages and rooms to find a place where I could turn safely and not hurt anyone, and we settled on here. I don't remember much when I come out of it, but. . . I do feel this painful sense of separation each time. Werewolves are pack creatures by nature, so being isolated in that state is. . . agony, if I must be honest. They all figured, I can't recognize humans, but perhaps I could recognize other animals, so. . .”

“They're trying to become animagi,” you finished, “so you won't have to be alone. That's. . . that's actually really sweet,” you said, a breathy laugh escaping you.

Remus thanked Merlin the Shrieking Shack was as dimly lit as it was so his beet red face was at least somewhat less noticeable.

“I agree,” Remus said, turning to his friends and sharing a rare, genuine moment with them. “And, you don't have to tell us your secret,” he said, turning back to you, “it's okay.”

“Hey, I wanted to know,” Sirius said, Peter swiftly elbowing him in the ribs.

“I was actually planning on telling you anyways,” you said, “If you guys are trying to become animagi, I can help you.”

You took a few steps back, bracing yourself against the wall.

“Promise me you won't freak out.”

After receiving a few quick nods, you kicked off the wall. Your body seemed to morph in mid-air, shrinking and re-configuring so fast that by the time you landed on the floor you had been entirely replaced by a large, (e/c)-eyed wolf with fur reminiscent of your hair.

Peter yelped, instinctively putting Sirius in front of him who was gawking at the sight. Remus was in complete shock and you could have sworn you saw James' glasses slip down his face.

In your animal form your heightened senses could sense their fear, and you tried your best to assuage it. You padded around in a circle, sitting down and blinking up at them to try and show them you were in control of your actions. After you figured they'd seen enough, you crawled back into your robes, which had pooled on the floor when you'd transfigured, and willed your body to turn back.

James, Sirius, and Peter looked somewhere in the intersection of shocked and terrified, but Remus looked nothing less than impressed.

“That's amazing, (Y/n),” he said breathlessly, “your transformation was seamless, how long have you had this ability?”

“My aunt had me go through the process when I was nine,” you said, a bitter edge to your voice as you fastened your clothes back around you, “it's not fun, but obviously useful. And thank you, but trust me, it didn't come at all naturally to me. I spent a good part of my winter break stuck with a wolf's hind legs, which is just as inconvenient as it sounds.”

“But this proves that it's possible!” James said, a new rush of energy invigorating him, “we can actually pull this off.”

“If I can manage to keep this sodding leaf from choking me every ten minutes,” Peter grumbled.

“Here, this should help with that,” you said, drawing your wand and pointing it at Peter's mouth. With a simple sticking charm, he suddenly felt the odd sensation of the leaf in his mouth disappearing, only to find it had melded with the flesh on the underside of his tongue.

“It's a long process, but yes, it's possible,” you said to James. Your eyes drifted to the floor where the magic circle and pages of runes were still scattered about, “if you were thinking of taking shortcuts, you might have wanted to read the warning about this spell requiring a blood sacrifice.”

The quartet paled and you laughed at their dumbstruck expressions.

“Kidding,” you grinned, “but seriously, there's no shortcuts. Now look alive, boys. We have a lot of work to do.”

_________________________________________________________

From then on, you helped the four wizards along on their quest to become fully fledged shifters.

“In order to become an animagus, a wizard must keep a Mandrake leaf in their mouth for an entire month, even when eating and sleeping,” Peter read aloud from the book they'd snatched from the restricted section, “Next, under a full moon, the wizard must place the leaf in a vial full of dew that has neither been stepped on nor exposed to the sun. The resulting potion must be stored in a dark place, and the following incantation: Amato Animo Animato Animagus, must be recited every morning until an electrical storm arrives, at which point the potion can be taken.”

“Blimey, all that to turn into a bloody cat?” Sirius said, exasperated.

“Well we have the first part almost done,” James said, feeling the faintest outline of the leaf still under his tongue, “Next full moon we'll have to go dew-hunting, I suppose. Looks like you'll have to stick it out for a few more cycles, Moony,” he said to Remus.

“That's alright,” he said, “I've made it this far.”

“He won't be alone for those,” you said, “I'll spend the full moons with him until you guys are ready.”

“What?” James said, looking at you like you'd just told him you were off to join Voldemort, “not a chance, that's way too dangerous.”

“Aw, don't act like you're all concerned about me all of a sudden, Potter,” you smirked. When his expression didn't change it took you aback slightly. He was actually worried about you. “Look, I'm probably the best suited for it anyways,” you said, coughing a bit to coast through the awkward tension, “Remus and I are both wolves, or at least partly. If one of you end up turning into a sheep or something you might be dead meat, not to freak you out or anything.”

“That's reassuring,” Sirius said under his breath.

____________________________________________________________

“You really don't have to do this,” Lupin insisted as you sat on the floor together in the Shrieking Shack later that month.

“I want to,” you assured him, “take it as a thanks for helping me pass Arithmancy. Besides, it's a perfectly fine excuse for me to practice interacting with other animals in my animagus form.”

The boy beside you was quiet for a moment, shoulders tense and jaw set tight. It wasn't that he wasn't happy you were here, he was more grateful than you could know, but he was terrified that he was going to end up hurting you. On top of that was the fact that he didn't want you to see him as he transformed. It wasn't pretty, and it was visibly painful. He didn't want you to think any lower of him, though he knew that fear was irrational.

The calming jazz record that spun on the other side of the room was the only noise between you two for quite some time, but you understood that he needed time to gather his thoughts. This was something so deeply personal you were surprised and a bit honored he allowed you to be here at all. You noticed the photograph that he held in his hands; it was of Hogwarts, taken from the very edge of the forest. The sun was peeking over the horizon, spilling out between the complexly constructed towers that made up the castle's exterior, and casting a warm, golden hue over the landscape.

“It's beautiful,” you said, “the picture.”

“It is,” Remus smiled to himself and nodded, “James gave it to me, as a reminder. He said that matter what happens during the full moon, the sun will always rise on us again.”

“Huh,” you mused softly, “perhaps he isn't such an insufferable jerk after all.”

“Oh, no, he is,” Lupin chuckled, “but he is also a very good friend, and endlessly thoughtful even if he denies it.”

You let that sink in for a moment. You supposed he was.

“Well,” you said, laughing a bit as you shifted in your seat, “this isn't as deep and meaningful as the photo, but I brought something for you.” You reached into your bag, retrieving something that made Remus' eyes widen.

“Where did you get that?” he said, elated as you held out his favorite chocolate bar which had been out of stock at Hogsmeade for weeks now.

“You guys have a secret tunnel that goes right to the Honeydukes cellar and you've never taken advantage of their storage?” you grinned.

Lupin hesitated as he held the bar in his hands.

“So you stole it?”

“I left five dracma in the tip jar,” you rolled your eyes, “I'm not a death eater.”

His smiled returned at that, and he ripped open the familiar foil gratefully.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“It's the least I could do,” you said.

“It's really not,” he said, turning to face you fully. You were left a bit breathless as the unexpected intensity of his eyes. “None of this is the least you could do, because the least you could do is nothing,” he continued, rambling, “we were so horrible to someone you consider a dear friend, and you were willing to look past that. You're risking your life by even being with me right now, (Y/n).”

“You don't—”

“I do know that,” Remus said sharply, “I've never been in contact with anyone as a werewolf. The one time I was, I. . .” he trailed off, and it hurt you to see his pained expression, “I just don't know how I'll react.”

“You're saying that as if something bad's already happened,” you said gently, “it'll be okay.”

“How can you be so sure?” he asked quietly, equally full of frustration and admiration.

“I'm willing to put my trust in you, Remus. I think it's time you put some trust in yourself.”

Lupin's heart pounded a little harder in his chest. Had you ever called him by his first name before? You looked at him so reassuringly, so confidently. He couldn't understand it, but your words reached him to his core.

“(Y/n). . .” he trailed off, blinking rapidly. A shaky breath escaped him, and your stomach dropped.

“Remus?”

Suddenly you saw something shift in him. His breathing became heavy and his pupils dilated, completely filling his irises in a matter of seconds. He braced himself against the wall as he stumbled to his feet, his skin slowly taking on a gray hue.

“It's happening,” he said, voice deeper and strained, his neck convulsing, “you have to transform, now!”

You didn't waste any time, taking the shape of your wolf form and padding away a cautionary distance. Your stomach churned as you watched Remus yell out, his expression full of pain as his body grew in size, his cries slowly becoming reminiscent of howls. His face contorted in agony as his head morphed into a more animalistic shape, ears growing from his scalp and fur appearing as if his werewolf was fully formed inside him, physically escaping through his skin. You've seen werewolves before, but seeing someone you know actually turn into one, it was completely different. Nothing could have prepared you for this. Seeing anyone in this much pain made your chest tighten harshly.

At last it seemed the transformation was complete. Remus Lupin was gone, and in front of you stood a creature of at least eight feet, perched on his hind legs and towering over you especially in your animal form. You could hear how ragged his breathing had become, his body convulsing with the motion; growing and retracting like a beating heart. You heard a whimper escape his throat, and you could tell he was still recovering from the pain.

You steeled yourself, making the decision to alert him to your presence subtly. You tilted your head upwards, releasing a similar sounding whimper to his. Immediately the werewolf across from you was on high alert, his head snapping towards you and his lips pulling back into a snarl as his ears lowered. You took an instinctive step back, lowering your head slowly. He seemed puzzled by your behavior, which made sense seeing as Lupin told you he never interacted with any other animals during the full moon. His head tilted inquisitively and he took a heavy step forward. You forced yourself to not back away, testing the waters. His eyes narrowed again as he saw you standing your ground, but you quickly sat down, your head tilting to expose your neck slightly. You made doubly sure not to show any signs of aggression; you knew you had no chance against a werewolf at full strength.

However, he seemed to take your queues well. His tail seemed to relax a bit, his eyes returning to their full, round shape as he looked at you with curiosity. You sniffed up at him and he hesitated, but eventually circled around you and did the same. You could almost see the turmoil in him, as a werewolf you doubted anyone he came across treated him with anything less than terror in their eyes, but you were completely relaxed.

He whimpered again, and you were shocked at the sign of submission. You rose to your feet, and he didn't back away. You let out a friendly yip, which he returned, and you felt the weight lift off your chest. You leaped to the side, and he followed you, running alongside you as you bounded across the room, practically leaping off the walls. You jumped at each other playfully, rolling across the floor in a mess of fur. You smiled inwardly as this continued throughout the night, no longer seeing fear or pain or aggression in his eyes when you looked into them. Even if he wouldn't remember most of this, you hoped he would at least feel better in the morning than all the times he had to go through it alone.

Exhausted from all the playing around, you padded softly back to your robes, crawling inside yours and and gesturing over to him with your head. He followed you, coming down to all fours before laying beside you. You weren't sure when sleep came over you, but it was like the world's most comfortable blanket had been thrown over your shoulders, and your eyes drifted closed of their own volition. . .

“Merlin's beard, just what were you two doing last night?!”

You and Remus both jolted awake at the sound of James Potter's aggravatingly loud voice but quickly came to your senses. Remus' arms were wrapped around you, your back facing him. You were just barely covered by your robes with nothing underneath as a result of your transformation. As you scrambled to get decent your face heated even more as you saw Remus was currently without a shirt, his pants ripped considerably. You scrambled away from each other, trying to make yourselves decent.

Peter was howling with laughter, James looking smug as ever. Sirius was oddly quiet, but you were too wrapped up in the embarrassment to notice his behavior.

“What was that about being 'endlessly thoughtful'?” you grumbled to Remus.

“Right, I completely take back what I said,” he scoffed, “ 'insufferable jerk' is much more accurate.”

“Close your eyes, you perverted git!” you yelled at James, who was blatantly staring at you, “toss me my clothes at least, would you?”

James bit back a smirk as he grabbed your bag that was sitting in the corner of the room— clothes you had brought with the intention of changing into after returning to your human form when Lupin fell asleep. He tossed it over to you and you began to change under your robes. As his back was turned to you his mind began to wander. You'd always been attractive, sure, but since you'd always been his rival he hadn't really given you a second thought, especially when he'd been trying to get Lily's attention for ages. But just now, thinking about how downright adorable you looked when you'd yelled at him, something in him shifted. He shook it off quickly, turning to Lupin with a grin he'd managed to put on concernedly fast.

“You cheeky bastard,” he said to Remus, who was furiously changing into a new shirt, “you just wanted her alone, didn't you? Do you really need us to become animagi after all?”

“You're the worst, Potter,” the werewolf glared at him.

“Don't listen to him, Remus,” you grumbled, straightening out your tie as you slipped it on over your shirt, “he's an even bigger idiot than he looks.”

“Are you implying I look stupid?”

“Implying may not be a strong enough word.”

__________________________________________________________

It had taken months of brewing the potion and getting all the necessary preparations in order, but they were finally ready. Remus sat with you in the grass, wand at the ready to undo any untoward transfiguration that happened on accident. Peter, Sirius, and James stood across from you, standing at the edge of a stone ledge about five feet off the ground. You'd said that a leap of faith is what would best trigger their first transformation. They looked nervous, but they were prepared as they'd ever be. Over the last year you had grown considerably closer to the four boys you had miraculously come to know as friends.

“Remember, focus on your emotions,” you said, “you need to pick a strong one, let it fill your body and flow through you. If you block the magic off from any part of your body, it's not going to be pretty.”

“Right, but how do I—”

“James, I swear, I'm really rooting for you to be a mute animal.”

“But how do you choose-”

“Just do it already!”

“Oh, sod it,” James squeezed his eyes shut, not giving himself time to second guess before jumping off the ledge. For a moment he was certain he was about to land face first in the dirt, but then it happened— a moment where time seemed to freeze and his body felt completely weightless. He felt this sensation where his arms and legs vibrated with an intense, foreign energy. Images flashed through his mind in that brief moment in the air; Sirius manically laughing as they ran away from Filch, Remus snapping off a piece of chocolate to offer him after he'd lost Gryffindor a Quidditch match, and, unexpectedly, you. A feeling of warmth spread through his chest, and he grasped onto it, letting it flow through his body like you said. In an instant he felt torso shift, his shoulders narrow, his neck elongate; and when he landed on the ground he still landed face-first as he predicted, but in a completely different form.

He could see you and Lupin in front of him, mouths agape. He was about to say something when he found his vocal chords only allowed him a gruff whine. Shocked, he lifted his head, which felt much heavier than he'd last recalled, and as he looked down at himself he was taken aback to be met with a pair of hooves right beneath him. He staggered to his feet on wobbly legs, of which he now had four. As he tilted his head he could see the shadow of a pair of antlers twisting into brilliant shadows on the grass.

“Potter, you did it!” you exclaimed, “you actually did it!”

“Well how about that,” Remus chuckled, “a stag.”

“It fits him, I think,” you grinned, looking over at Sirius and Peter who looked determined and terrified respectively. “Well go on, it's your turn now!”

Sirius braced himself for the jump, but somehow he found no fear in his system. After seeing James shift in the air right before his eyes, he knew he could do it. He looked over at Peter who was nearly shaking.

“Come on, Peter,” he said, “we'll go together.”

“I-I don't know about this, Sirius,” Peter said, “I'm not ready, I don't think I can do this.”

“It's just a little jump,” Sirius said encouragingly, “you can do this.”

After a few nerve wracking deep breaths Peter gave him the smallest nod one could manage.

“We'll go on three,” Sirius said, “Ready? One—”

“AaHH!”

Sirius shoved Peter off the ledge, knowing he wouldn't jump on his own, before taking the plunge himself. Peter's screams became higher and higher pitched as he shrank at an alarming speed, almost an undetectable size by the time he hit the grass. A small brown rat scurried across the field towards you and Lupin.

The stag in front of you made a sound, dragging his hooves across the grass in what you could imagine as James' unadulterated laughter at his friend.

Sirius began to morph almost as soon as he left the ground, something you were surprised by. He landed on his hind legs, landing gracefully as his front two followed, and a shaggy black dog looked back at you with mischief in its eyes.

You couldn't help but go over and pet him. You laughed as he nudged you with his nose, a resistance that was quickly halted as soon as you started scratching him behind the ears.

“I have to say, I didn't think you would actually manage that on your first try,” you said, secretly prouder than they could have known, “but if anyone could have done it, it's you three stubborn goons.”

James huffed as he saw you continue to pet Sirius, using his antlers to prod the dog out of the way. Sirius barked, lunging at him playfully. It was quite a scene to see the two interact.

“Honestly, this is a pretty solid group,” you said, “you've got James who blends perfectly with the surrounding wildlife so he wouldn't be suspicions, Sirius who could probably do a fair bit of damage as a dog if he needed, and Peter who can fit through small spaces and snoop around the castle virtually undetected.”

“Quite an odd pack,” Remus chuckled.

“Definitely,” you agreed, “but a pack nonetheless.”

And that very week, Remus Lupin was able to spend his first night as a werewolf with his four friends by his side.

__________________________________________________________

“So, how did we choose which animals we turn into?” James had asked you the next day at breakfast, “I specifically tried for a dragon.”

“You don't get to choose,” you rolled your eyes, “You're a stag, that's the end of it. It's pretty much up to chance.”

“I'm sorry, you're telling me I could have turned into a fish and died right there on the ground?!”

“If only,” you sighed dreamily, earning you a playful shove from James. “Alright, it's not completely random, but you're definitely in the unknown the first time you turn,” you went on to explain, “and once you turn for the first time, that's it. That's your animal. A wizard takes on the animagus form of whatever animal most closely resembles their personality. So, a horny bastard for James, a loyal little puppy for Sirius—”

“A bitch for you,” Sirius quipped.

“Never heard that one before,” you scoffed, purposefully messing up his hair.

“Hey, watch it!” he shoved you off him, twisting each of his curls back into form.

“Well, look who's a high maintenance pup,” you chuckled.

Around the same time that year, you finally completed the map. It came together beautifully, each different way of folding the paper revealing a different level of the castle for easy navigation. You'd included the surrounding forests as well as the parts of Hogsmeade that applied for the secret passageways, all of which were marked with symbols and the unique names you'd all come up with. Every student and staff member at Hogwarts had a tiny scroll with their name that appeared in their location. Remus had added the nice detail of including footprints at the last second, so you could see which way they were facing and walking as well. It was fireproof, rip proof, and prone to insulting anyone else who tried to read it. It was the pinnacle of your magical (and slightly illegal) achievement.

“We should write our names on it,” James said, looking down proudly at the finished map, “it belongs to us, after all. We don't want anyone else taking the credit.”

“Yeah, fantastic way to get caught,” Sirius rolled his eyes, “what if Filch comes across it? That's like leaving your signature at a murder scene.”

“You should use code names, then,” you suggested, “I know you guys call Remus 'Moony' as a joke, but I kind of like it.”

The scarred boy blushed lightly at the compliment, a brow raised to his other three friends.

“Alright then, I guess you should all say hi to Rudolph over here,” Sirius said, jutting his thumb in James' direction. The bespectacled boy narrowed his eyes before shooting back.

“Right! And this is my good friend, Snuffles.”

Sirius lunged at him and James swatted him away in laughter.

“Come on, you two,” Remus said, “or we won't put anything down for you at all.”

“I've got an idea for Peter,” you piped in, “When my mom used to garden she said she didn't mind having rats there because their tails resembled worms, which were an old a sign of healthy soil, I know it's odd, but I think Wormtail sounds pretty cool.”

Peter seemed to perk up at your acknowledgment and nodded. It suited him somehow.

“Should we pick animal features too, then?” James mused, “I guess Antlers doesn't really sound that cool. What's another word? Horns? Give me some analogies, guys. What else do they look like?”

“Yours honestly kind of look like a couple of bent forks,” you snickered.

“Prongs?” Sirius snorted, the laughter that followed nearly splitting his sides.

“Oh, go on, what have you got then?” James scoffed.

“I was thinking Padfoot,” Sirius said, “like a dog's paw prints.”

“You know, for someone who was just making fun of code names a second ago you sure have given a lot of thought to yours,” you teased.

“Shove it,” he smirked, “What about you? Can't very well have a second Moony.”

You stared at him in momentary disbelief.

“Me?”

“Well, yeah,” Sirius chuckled.

“We couldn't have done any of this without you,” Remus reminded you with a smile.

“I think you've more than earned an honorary title as one of us,” James said.

“That is, if you want to,” Peter said timidly.

You looked at the four of them, genuinely touched.

“I. . . I don't know what to say,” you smiled.

“You could say 'yes',” James piped up.

“Alright, you loons,” you laughed, “if you leave Severus alone for good, then yes.”

“Hey, I think we've been pretty good about that lately,” James pouted.

“Yes you have,” you admitted, “It's the only reason I bothered to give you the time of day, but this time it's a promise.”

James rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face was undeniable. He'd never admit it out loud, but being friends with you was more fun than messing with Snape ever was.

“Alright, fine. (Y/n) (L/n), I solemnly swear that I will leave tormenting our dear old friend Snivelus behind us forever,” he said dramatically, putting a hand up at his pledge.

“Oh, bother,” you laughed, “the only thing you'll 'solemnly swear' to is that you're up to no good.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

“Then that's settled,” Remus smiled, “you'll need a code name too.”

“Let's see,” Sirius hummed in thought, “What other defining features do wolves have besides. . . well, their. . . fangs?”

“They're canines, you numbnut,” you huffed.

“Close enough, I'm writing Fangs.”

“Oi, I didn't agree to that!”

“Too bad, I'm already writing it~”

“Okay, well if that's the stupid name I'm getting saddled with them I'm going to write it myself,” you said stubbornly. You actually didn't mind the name at all.

“Well that's it, then,” James said, “Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, and Fangs. We could join the bloody circus.”

“All we need is a group name,” you said, half joking.

“We've already got one,” James said proudly.

“Oh? Let's hear it, then.”

“The Marauders.”

“. . .”

You kept your face straight for exactly three seconds before you burst out laughing. The four boys flushed with embarrassment.

“The Marauders?” you chortled, “what are you, pirates?”

“It's what McGonnagall called us the first time we got ourselves into proper trouble,” James defended himself, his cheeks reddening, “You rowdy mob of marauders, she'd said.”

“Huh,” you chuckled, coming down from your laughing fit, “Well, then I suppose that would make this The Marauders Map. I'll admit, it actually kinda has a ring to it.”

And despite your group's joking quips and bickering, they couldn't agree more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wait,” Harry said, eyes wide at your story, “So, my dad was an animagus too?”

“Sure was,” you smiled warmly.

“This whole time I thought 'Prongs' was just because his patronus was a stag.”

“Your animagus form is usually the same animal as your patronus,” you explained, “In some very rare cases they can be different, but they work in the same emotionally driven vein of magical ability, so it would make sense that they'd be linked. Your father was extraordinary at both, because as much as he would deny it, he felt everything very deeply.”

Your eyes drifted to the wall opposite you in the living room, and a small but sad smile graced your features.

“Love is often the most powerful emotion a witch or wizard can draw from,” you said softly, “but you already know that.”

Harry followed your gaze over his shoulder. There, posted on the wall among a collage of photographs from the Order was a picture of his mother and father. It was one he'd seen a hundred times, and one he had his own copy of: them in each others' arms in a London park, autumn leaves swirling around them as they danced without any music. Even from this distance he could see the emotion in their eyes as they looked at one another— like they were the only two people in the world.

“Yeah,” Harry said, wiping a stray tear from his eyes, “I do.”

Read chapter 7 here!

Taglist: @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi @nxstalgicnxbxdy @calaryssia @aleksanderwh0r3 @juggysgirlfriend @beautifulsweetschaos @kattirin @mialupin1

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ncoincidences · 2 years

Text

a new experience

JILY CHALLENGE December 2021 @jilychallenge | @ncoincidences vs. @chierafied — thank you, Chie, for all the encouragement and hearts ♡♡

Winter + "it’s new year’s eve, we’re the only ones drinking alone at the pub and you've been staring at me for the last half an hour. how about we be each others new years kiss?"

“Have you ever had a New Year's Kiss?” James asked Lily, and that was the second thing he said after approaching her.

“Nope.”

That brought out a spark, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “Well, then, let's get you one!”

Read on AO3 or under the cut.

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃

“Uh, get me one?”

“Yes! Oh, don't make that face,” James said with a false expression of indignation. “It's New Year's! Kissing will make it much less boring than it is now.”

“I don't think so,” Lily said, biting her lip unsurely. It wasn't a bad idea, per se, just… it sounded not quite up her alley.

Her nose twitched as James leaned closer, his strong woody perfume permeating the air.

“Not even one try, Lily?” James looked at her with such a winning gaze, said her name with such a charm,—he rarely called her by her first name—that Lily was momentarily lost for words.

She searched his face. He was so close. The gold flecks in his hazel eyes were brighter than ever. “You are strangely insistent on getting me a New Year's Kiss,” she pointed out, finally, instead of answering.

His eyes shifted. “Well. It's been a stressful year for all of us, but especially you. Not to mention how uncertain the future is. I thought it would be a fun way to start the next year. You know, new year, new experience.” He took a sip from his goblet, smiled. “Besides, this is our last year, Head Girl.”

“Which means it's my last chance to get a New Year's kiss in Hogwarts?” she said, her lips stretching into a small smile to mirror his.

“You got it.”

Lily looked down at her goblet, golden, containing a pink punch, as she considered the idea once more.

It was quite thoughtful of James to think of a fun distraction—because that's what this was, wasn't it? or was it something more?—for her; to have noticed how stressful these past days were. But then, he’d proven to be quite observant and a good friend this past year, so it wasn’t all that odd.

Lily just felt touched.

A New Year's kiss, she said in her mind. She pursed her lips, lifted her eyes to look at the partying crowd. Would she kiss one of them? Which one?

... was she considering the idea, after all?

Admittedly, New Year's kissing was something she hadn't tried before, and it sounded both harmless and exciting—the type of fun she liked. She looked back up at James, and found she couldn’t resist his insisting.

“Alright,” said Lily. James beamed, his cute dimples deepening. He looked dazzling and dizzyingly handsome in his burgundy robes, she thought, and felt her smile widen.

“Well then!” he said excitedly and set down his goblet on a passing server's tray and offered her a hand. “We have around three minutes left for New Year's and there are about a hundred witches and wizards here, so we'll have to decide very quickly whom you will kiss and make sure they agree.”

She nodded and accepted his hand, feeling a silly feeling snuggling her sternum. His skin was warm and the hand largely enveloped her much smaller one, squeezing it as he cut through the crowd. He started to discreetly point people out. There were a lot of people invited to Slughorn's party, including older people as well as magical beings, and James seemed to know most of them—if he didn't, Lily did.

But James seemed to be the most up to date on the gossip: which witch was dating which wizard, which wizard didn't date, which wizard or witch wasn't the best kisser, and so on. She laughed at most of his descriptions, which, while being apt, were not the most forgiving ones.

As they were short on time, it was best to play the game of elimination, where they quickly crossed out the older wizards and witches they saw. And strangers of their age as well, as Lily opted to search for a familiar face instead: a friend that wasn't already snogging someone or in a relationship.

Most of her friends seemed to be rather engaged in making out and James' friends were nowhere to be found, coincidentally.

Yet, those who were single were people she'd rather not kiss, or she found them not her type. Well, except one charming French wizard from Beauxbatons, but before she could approach him, he locked lips with the girl beside him.

“I didn't know you were such a picky person,” James commented, but not unkindly. They'd crossed out almost everyone in the dungeon, so he was right.

“What can I say? The Head Girl wants only the best for herself,” she said lightly. But her chest felt tight. There were only around fifty seconds left.

“Would I qualify?” said James, suddenly, his tone light-hearted but his gaze solemn, conveying that the offer was serious.

Lily stared at James. His silky mop of hair swept the rim of his golden glasses as he stared back, a hint of nervousness showing in the way he readjusted his glasses and played with his hair.

She wondered absently, amidst the rapid whirling of her mind, what it would be like to run her hands through his dark hair, to mess them up further.

“Of course you would,” she blurted, then.

James' lips parted. “Are you sure?” he said, like he couldn't believe it.

The crowd started to chant. Thirty seconds. Half a minute.

Lily swayed closer, setting her hands gently on his broad chest. “Yes.”

He swallowed, (she stared at his throat) but quickly wound his arms around her waist.

Fifteen.

Her eyes roved over James once more. The golden lining on his collar. His sharp jaw, the smooth skin. The way the tips of his ears were flushed pink.

Eight.

They leaned closer, James moving down and Lily arching up, and as she got a whiff of his scent once more, her heart started to pound in her ears, almost louder than the crowd's chanting.

Five! Four! Three!

They kissed at two seconds before midnight, soft lips pressing together, slow and warm. Her hands held his face, her fingers stroking the sharp lines of his jaw and beyond his ear, the short tufts of hair. He caressed her hair, the warm skin of her neck. The kiss was short but bright, and her lips tingled as it ended and they seperated. Her eyes half-closed. James gazed at her, eyes crinkled, his cheeks flushed.

“Happy New Year,” he whispered, hoarse, with a smile as bright as a firecracker.

“You too,” she said, pressing closer and winding her arms around his back, hugging him with warmth in her heart.

What a lovely way to start 1978.

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃

#jilychallenge #chierafied #new year's kiss #new year's eve #my fic #jily #james potter #lily evans

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seriouslysnape · 3 years

Note

With a student aged Sev, could you do one where the school is having a ball, and it’s girl’s choice where the girls are the ones who ask for dates. Sev hears a rumor or something that his friend that he loves has asked some other guy, so he’s devastated. In reality, that’s not true, and she’s always planned on asking him, but has just been busy. He’s all down, but then can’t believe it once she asks and is unbelievably excited and stressed over what to wear and so on. And the ending is just a lot of fluff and romance, please?

SO. CUTE. I actually got a little emotional writing this, hahahahah.

(Below the cut) :)

The Spring Formal

Young Severus Snape x Fem. Reader

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 2,191

“How many times have we heard things about other students that weren’t true?”

It had been all the rage through Hogwarts for the last couple of weeks. Hogwarts was hosting a spring ball, somewhat similar to the Yule Ball that always took place in the winter. Hogwarts’ witches and wizards would dress in their most formal clothes and have the time of their lives for one night of the year. Young wizards would shake in their robes when trying to ask their witch of choice to accompany them.

However, everyone soon learned that there was a catch.

For this dance, the girls were to ask the boys.It was a totally different idea than everyone was used to. All the boys were on their best behavior in hopes that they could get the attention of the cute girl from their Potions or Charms class. It was a totally exciting role reversal.

The only person who wasn’t thrilled about this was young seventh year Severus Snape.

Severus had always been reserved, and everyone knew it. He kept his head lowered at all times and only spoke when spoken to (and sometimes not even that). He was textbook insecure and doubtful of everything about himself. He was sure that no girl would want to go with him, but there was one that he desperately wanted the hand of. You had been his friend for years now. You were strikingly different than he was, which is why he supposed he was just so fond of you.

He could only ever dream of being as outgoing as you were. With this hope in mind, he found himself in your presence more than usual.He would walk you to your classes that you didn’t have together, sit next to you in the classes that you did, and even carry your books for you most days. He tried to be more talkative, striking up conversations that he normally wouldn’t.

He would compliment your outfit and ignore the burning blush that embarrassedly appeared on his cheeks when he did so. He wanted nothing more than to go to this spring formal with you. That wish fizzled out into disappointment, however, when he heard some classmates talking in his Potions class.

“Can you believe that she asked Remus Lupin to the dance?” A young Slytherin boy said from in front of Severus.

His friend leaned over, matching his friend’s whisper, but still loud enough that Severus could hear every unmistakable word.

“Yeah, I know. [Y/N] had the pick of the litter and that’s who she went with? It’s a bloody shame. I could’ve shown her a better time.” He sneered.

Severus felt his heart seemingly sink into his shoes. It was true that lots of wizards were hoping you’d ask them. You were rather popular after all and stunningly beautiful. Severus had just had a glimmer of hope that you would’ve seen something a little different in him. That you’d want to ask him over everybody else. He supposed he was wrong.

In his saddened focus, he accidentally tipped over his cauldron spilling the beginnings of whatever potion he had been making. The class erupted into laughter, causing the tears that were already stinging at Severus’ eyes to go spilling down his pale cheeks. He ran out of the class in a hurry, not wanting to see anyone for the rest of the day. His robes were drenched with this sticky potion, the bottoms of his shoes making this horrible squelching noise with each step he took. He was zooming through the halls to get back to the Slytherin tower, but stopped when he bumped into someone else.

He didn’t bother with an apology, but felt his blood run cold when he saw it was you.You briefly shook your head to recover from almost getting knocked over, smiling casually when you saw it was him.

“Woah, hey, Severus!” You piped, readjusting your own robes.

Your smile faded into a frown when you saw the orange colored potion dripping from his clothes, and his reddened, glassy eyes. Before you could ask, he brushed you off and ran down the hall.

“I have to go.”

He was hurt, and now dreading going to this dance alone. He avoided you at all costs now, which you noticed was odd in comparison to the way he had been right on your heels. You tried to reach out to him, but he just gave you the cold shoulder at every attempt. The next week went by, and the more people that had dates, the more irritated Severus became. It was already bad enough that he had a hateful passion for Remus Lupin, along with his other friends that made their lives about torturing Severus.

You were so kind, so loving. He couldn’t make sense of how you could possibly go with someone like him. The dance was only two days away now, and Severus was beginning to toy with the idea of not going at all. He didn’t want to be the only one without a date, and he definitely didn’t want to be alone all night. He sulked as he fiddled with a stick out near the Quidditch fields.

He sometimes liked to get away from the castle when things were rough. He lazily dragged the stick through the dirt, poking at a small beetle as it scuttled by with a fellow pal.

Lucky beetle.

He sighed heavily as he continued to pout, almost not noticing the new presence that had placed themself next to him. He looked over hesitantly, and had to fight the urge to get up and leave without saying a word. But you just looked so concerned that he couldn’t bring himself to go. So he stayed put, but returned his gaze to the stick in his hand.

“Hello.” He said dryly.

“Hi,” You acknowledged him. A silence went by, so you pressed on; “You want to tell me what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He lied.

You scoffed, forcing him to look at you.

“Please. You know you’ve been ignoring me. If I’ve done something, I want you to tell me.” You said almost as a plea.

Now it was his turn to scoff with a scowl.

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend? Since he’s so interesting and all.” He barked, tossing the stick away in an aggravated manner.

You were annoyed with his tone, but more confused as to what he was he was on about. You furrowed your brows and scrunched your nose at him.

“What?” You queried, completely lost; “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“So I guess your date to the dance is just a friend?” He asked sarcastically.

You were beyond puzzled. Boyfriend? Date to the dance? Where was he coming up with this stuff?

“Severus, enough. Just tell me what you’re talking about.” You said, fed up with his guessing game.

“Lupin, [Y/N], I’m talking about Lupin.”

That’s when you felt the lightbulb go off in your head. Realization came crashing over you like an ocean wave on a shore. You had heard the rumors that you had asked Remus Lupin to the spring dance, but you denied them, considering that they weren’t true. Remus was already going with someone else, but you had wanted to ask someone else. A knowing smile crossed over your face. Severus was brutally jealous.

“Oh, Sev...” You breathed out; “I didn’t ask Remus to the dance.”

You swear you saw a shimmer of joy wipe across his dark eyes. His heart did a happy leap.

“You didn’t?” He asked softly, suddenly ashamed of how he had been acting.

“No!” You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder as you giggled.

“But...they said that-”

“Come on, S. You should know by now how stuff gets started around here,” You pointed out; “How many times have we heard things about other students that weren’t true?”

Severus pondered on that for a second. You had a fair point. Hogwarts was notorious for meddling, gossiping kids. He was relieved, but a new question crossed his mind.

“The dance is in two days. Are you going to ask someone?” He asked, not even thinking that you might want to ask him.

“Why else do you think I’m out here with you now?” You posed.

He paused hard, hardly believing what he was hearing.

“You...want to go with me? Why did you wait so long to ask?” He questioned.

You were a little offended that he asked you that, but were mostly amused. You lifted your head from his shoulder and looked at him.

“Well, I’ve been trying, but you run away from me every time I try to talk to you. On top of that, I’ve been slammed with work,” You explained; “But better late than never, right?”

He agreed with a shy smile, apologizing for his behavior and making up with you. It wasn’t until you left that he felt a surge of a thrill. He had a lot of preparation to do.

He sprinted back to his dorm and to his trunk, digging through his clothes trying to find something spiffy to wear. His outfit had to be nothing less than perfect. He liked you a lot, and he wanted to make you look good. Although, you’d look amazing with or without him in his best clothes.

He tossed pants, shirts, socks, and everything else that wasn’t good enough over his shoulder. He went through all the way to the bottom of his trunk before finding something suitable. He bounced up with relief, thankful that he found something on such short notice. He made sure to try it on to make sure that it still fit. Much to his pleasure, it did.

After the outfit was settled, a new concern sprang to mind. Should he get you flowers? Chocolates? Maybe a present? He was sure he was overthinking everything, but he wanted to be the very best date he could be, as your friend and possible future lover. With a little help from his Herbology professor, he was able to get a hold of some flowers that would be ready the afternoon of the dance.

He was bright with giddiness. He could barely wait for Saturday.

Saturday night came around, and Severus was shocked that he didn’t collapse when he saw you. His breath caught in his throat, he became lightheaded, and his heart raced like a car on a track. However, he was able to keep his composure and attend the dance with you. And he had the time of his life.He danced with you, laughed until his sides hurt, and he was sure that his cheeks would be permanently stuck from how much he had smiled. He never knew how amazing one person could make him feel.

By the end of the night, you both had sore feet from dancing, but happy hearts from being with one another. To get away from the hustle and bustle of everyone else, you two took a stroll around the outer perimeters of the castle. You both needed some fresh air and some quiet.

You were both still laughing and soaking up every moment together. You had both hit a positive spot in your lives. You stopped at the edge of the lake, mesmerized by the way the half-moon was glittering on the reflection on the surface. You stood side by side, now silently looking over the water and the small ripples.

“I had a really nice time tonight, [Y/N].” He spoke lowly, afraid for a moment that the feeling wasn’t mutual.

“Me too. I’m glad you came with me,” You replied; “This was the best night I’ve ever had.”

Suddenly, you felt a warm presence in your hand. Severus had slipped his hand into yours, entwining your fingers.

His thoughts were racing. He thought about how everything in his life had led to tonight...this exact moment. He always wondered if everything happened for a reason. He wondered if every second of life was connected. Had his small choices determined the big things in his life? The good and the bad things? If he had made one tiny, menial different decision somewhere down the line, would that have prevented him from making it to this moment in time?

Whatever the answer was, he was glad for whatever choice brought him here.

You saw that his eyes were dead set ahead, but the blush on his cheeks were evidence that he knew exactly what was he was doing. You could tell he was nervous, and he hadn’t been the entire night. You knew what he was thinking.

“Hey, Sev?” You called gently, his eyes diverting to you.

“Yes?” He replied.

“Just kiss me already.” You said with a smirk.

Before he could overthink it, his lips crashed into yours. His hands went to the sides of your face as yours settled on his shoulders. A million spastic fireworks were going off in your mind, body, and soul. Severus didn’t have a great life, but always felt like he’d know the moment that his life did finally begin.

And that moment was now.

#severus snape #severus #severus snape x reader #severus snape x you #severus snape x y/n #professor snape x reader #professor snape #professor snape x you #Harry Potter

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spxllcxstxr · 3 years

Text

Being Regulus’ S/O and Watching Him be Corrupted by His Family • Headcanon

(GIF not mine)

Warnings: angst! The Dark Mark, Voldemort, the Noble house of black deserves their own warning, death mention, poor regulus

Request: hi beautiful! could i request headcanons for regulus black's s/o? a female one if it's not too much trouble:) could i get some angst with reader saying "All I ever wanted was your approval, because I didn't know I was allowed to want anything else." if that might be too triggering, please feel free to ignore that part. maybe regulus is being "corrupted" by his mother and starting to turn into what she wants him to be? and the reader disapproves and tries to get him to realize that what he's doing is wrong? take care of yourself, luv <3 — @lucellence

A.N: oops I like this, I think. There’s more dialogue than I thought but that’s ok. I hope you guys enjoy! And love you all ❤️

Your boyfriend, Regulus Black, started acting odd after winter break in your fifth year

Sure, he was always soft spoken and a little distant before, but this was different

He wanted to be alone more often and always looked like he never actually slept at night

Avery, Mulciber, and Rosier started hanging around you, Regulus, and Barty in the Great Hall

You could deal with Barty, he and Regulus were friends since they were 11

But the other three?

They were known bullies and blood supremacists

They made you uncomfortable

“Reg can we please go somewhere else?”

“(Y/n)—“

“Please Reg?”

He looks so torn. Glancing between his new friends and the love of his life

“Yeah, ok”

So you go and sit at the top of the Astronomy tower or in the far corner of the library

But he doesn’t look all there

He’s listening to you and smiling at you

But he still looks like he’d rather be with them

And it hurts

He also stops complaining about his mother and his other family members

In fact, you try to talk to him about the many letters he gets from his mother and sometimes even Bellatrix, but he refuses to acknowledge them

He doesn’t open them at the table, he stuffs them in his robes and opens them in private in his own dorm

“They aren’t important, ma colombe (my dove in French according to Google). So don’t worry about it.”

“If they aren’t important, then why are you getting one from Narcissa’s boyfriend as well?”

“He just...wants to get to know the family better, (Y/n). You know he’s planning on proposing to her soon.”

“Yeah...I guess that makes sense.”

But if it was such an innocent letter, why was he hiding it from you?

You notice that Regulus’ eyes never settle

His light grey eyes constantly flick around like he’s suspicious of every little movement

This continues until you have to part ways at the end of the year

He’s not allowed to visit you

You’re not allowed to visit him

“You’ll stay safe, right Reg?”

“You worry about me too much, ma colombe.”

“Well when you live with that Merlin awful mother of yours—“

“Honestly, she’s not that bad, (Y/n).”

“Not that bad? Regulus are you serious?”

“No, I’m Regulus—“

“Ugh, you’re lucky I love you.”

“Indeed I am...” He mumbles under his breath

But the train finally stops, meaning Regulus has to rush off to meet his father in the platform

He presses a quick kiss to your lips before rushing out, barely promising to write over the summer

Regulus writes to you here and there

Not as often as usual

Then, in July, he stops writing altogether

This could be for a number of reasons, honestly, and none of them good

You hope he’s alright

You get one letter late in August

The script is shaky and barely legible

Smudged in certain places like he didn’t wait for the ink to dry before sending it

Dearest (Y/n),

Sorry for the late reply, mother wanted visit our cousins in Germany Bulgaria their estate in France.

I truly wanted to write back, but you know my family. I never had time alone. Always watching, they are.

It sounds like you’ve had an amazing summer, and I can’t wait to see you on the train.

Be careful out there,

RAB

The uneasiness doesn’t go away

Because you know he’s lying

You don’t send a reply, knowing full well that you won’t get another letter from him

You meet him on the Hogwarts Express

The hug is quick and is only with one arm—his left one staying at his side at all times

Much to your dismay

You have to share your compartment

You’re squished next to the window, Regulus next to you, Barty next to him

Avery, Mulciber, and Rosier across from you

You hate every minute of it

They sneer at you the entire time

You study your boyfriend the entire way to school

How he has darker bags under his eyes

And his hair isn’t as neat and proper as usual

His clothes are stiffer and heavier on his smaller frame

Skin paler, eyes duller

He tries to act casual, his left arm just out of the way of the action

But you notice as he sometimes winces during a turn or cradles it closer to his body

You grow suspicious

Let’s flashfowards a bit to....November

It’s the middle of the night and you’re following Regulus down to the library

He’s alone, looking like he doesn’t want to be caught

He quickly starts rummaging through the Restricted Section

Which isn’t bad, everyone sneaks into the Restricted Section at least once in their Hogwarts careers

But then he starts flipping through books about Dark Magic

And the sleeve of his grey jumper starts to roll up

And you see it

The Dark Mark

Black and wriggling against his pale flesh

“What have they done to you, Regulus?”

He whips his head to your frame so fast, his books clatter to the ground

His eyes widen in fear

“(Y/n), I can explain.”

“You can explain?” You’re starting to shout

“(Y/n), let’s take this somewhere else. Please—“

“What? You don’t want me to expose you? Expose you for being a Death—“

“Silencio!”

And suddenly your screams are cut off, you look at him, tears in your eyes

“Oh Salazar, I’m sorry.” He looks like he’s about to cry, pacing in front of you, fingers tightly grasping his hair in panic. “I’m so so sorry, (Y/n)...”

He reaches out to you

“I’m going to take you somewhere, ok? We need to go before we get caught. Please. Please just trust me.”

Reluctantly you follow him to the Room of Requirement

Which has taken the form of a similar library

Shelves lined with books and other magical artifacts

He quickly reverses the spell once the door is closed

“What the hell, Regulus?”

“I—“

“Let me see it.”

You push his sleeve up to once again reveal the inky snake and skull tattoo across his forearm

“Oh Regulus...”

“I couldn’t stop it.” His voice wavers and he’s trying to push back tears. “They brought me and a few others to his manor, and I was forced—“

“We’ll go to Dumbledore—“

“You don’t understand, (Y/n)! I felt him! I felt his cold hands wrapped around my arm! His veins fueled with raw power! Dumbledore won’t be able to stop him. No one will!”

“Please, Reg! You were forced, I’m sure it can be reversed if you just tell the Headmaster now—“

“They’ll kill me, (Y/n)! Don’t you understand? They already suspect my doubt! That’s why I’m being watched. Monitored even at school. One wrong word, one slip of the tongue and I’m dead!”

You wrap your arms around him, careful to avoid his searing arm

He returns the hug, tears dripping into you as he chokes back sobs

“I’m sorry...I’m sorry...I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to do this, Reg. I swear.”

“Of course I have to. I have no other choice.”

“You can be like Sirius! And live with the Potters. Or with me.”

“And when the Death Eaters come hunting you down? When they burn down your house with you inside? Tortured? Screaming in agony? That’ll be my fault.”

He looks absolutely terrified

Eyes wide, lips wobbling

He can barely catch his breath

“No, (Y/n). I can’t do that.”

“You’re not your mother, Regulus. Or Bellatrix, or Narcissa. You can be like Andromeda and Sirius. You can get out. There’s still time.”

“They’re manipulating you, Reg! Corrupting you! You aren’t a bad person or a dark wizard!”

You bring your hands to cup either side of his jaw

Your own tearful eyes lock onto his

“You’re my boyfriend. You’re sweet and caring...and—and...Merlin Reg! I can’t even describe you, you just mean so much to me. I can’t lose you, Reg. No, I refuse to lose you.”

“I—I don’t want to die...” He sobs, so openly and freely

You’ve had enough of this

You take him by the hand and lead him out the door, which is easy in his weakened and fatigued state

The two of you march through the corridors to Dumbledore’s office

He’ll know what to do

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco @mullthingsoverinthehotwater @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts

Regulus Taglist: @lunalovecroft

#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black angst #regulus black Headcanon #regulus black imagine

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harrypotterbrainworms · 3 years

Text

Found Family

Summary: “hi! I hope u r having a great day!💛 I was the one who request the ron x trans male reader and I have to say that I loved it! it was beautiful! if u are ok with it can I request one about how the weasley family would react about the reader first vacations after the transition? fluff please? a george x trans male reader pleaseI love ur fics! thanks for reading!” (request)

Pairing: George Weasley x Trans Male Reader

Key: (Y/N)- your name

Word Count: 1812

(A/N): Took a while to get this done, but I really like it and it was very sweet.

“Oh my god, they’re gonna hate me. My hair is too shaggy, it got too shaggy, didn’t it? My face, oh no. I look nothing like I did. My voice, my face, me.” (Y/N) moved uncomfortably running his hands through his hair every second he could. He felt as nervous as he did at the beginning of the year.

“It’s gonna be fine, love. They already love you, I promise they’ll just love you harder, knowing them.” George Weasley, his beloved boyfriend, grabbed his hands holding them gently in his hands with a sweet smile on his face.

“But-“

“No butts, but mine, my dear.” George replied pointing at the beautifully round mother who came running toward them, one hand carrying a bag of lunch for the car ride home and the other ready to pinch any one of her kid’s faces.

“Here goes nothing.” (Y/N) sucked in a long breath and exhaled with a huge smile on his face. He was happy to see his basically second mother, but more nervous by the seconds that passed.

“Oh my boys! It’s been so long since I’ve seen your beautiful faces” She kissed each of the kids except (Y/N). The anxiety really started to build up when she turned around to face the twins not even acknowledging his presence. He was starting to spiral fast, quickly grabbing Geogre’s hand for support.

“Fred. George. I didn’t get many complaints. Good job.” She said sterningly, a cautious finger pointed at them as she looked around for someone, oh no, (Y/N) thought. She didn’t get the 20 letters he’d sent or maybe she’d make him stop dating George. No way this was gonna work.

“Thanks, mum” The twins sighed with a slight smirk on both their faces, even with the instant hurricane (Y/N) was pulled in, he wondered what they were planning.

“Well who’s this?” Molly asked, turning to (Y/N). His nerves hit an all time high and his heart stopped for a moment.

“It’s-uh-“ He stuttered out, of course she didn’t know who he was. He was so different, he felt like running away at this point.

“I’m just messing with you, deary! We missed you so much (Y/N)” She laughed giving him a huge hug and a pat on the back. He laughed nervously and steadied himself again. Her “pats” were devilishly strong.

“I missed you too, Mrs Weasley” (Y/N) said self-consciously, he wasn’t usually so formal with her. He’d known her for years now, but it felt like he was presenting a completely new version of himself.

“Don’t be so formal, my dear. Molly will do just fine, now boys and Ginny. We have a long trip and a lot of food to eat” She was smiling wide as she helped (Y/N) pull his trunk up from the ground.

The car ride was long and tiring as usual as he watched London pass and the country come into view. He was especially nervous about tonight’s big dinner. George squeezed his hand and smiled as they both looked on to the unfolding countryside.

“It’s gonna be great. Dad is gonna get drunk and we’re gonna laugh. Just like old times” He tried to cheer his boyfriend up, but it weighed on his heart more.

“Just like old times.” A phrase he didn’t particularly enjoy in his life right now.

Arthur Weasley loved winter, especially when he was downing glass after glass of fire whiskey as he tried to make jokes and fork at his meal. He stood up suddenly and everyone knew what was coming-

“A toast! I would like to make a toast” He shouted a little too loudly as he brought his glass up to the air.

“Oh no. Dad’s drunk toast.” Fred huffed out nudging George’s who was too busy dazzling (Y/N) for the 10th time that day.

“Oh Merlin.” He whispered back and mentally buckled up for the ride.

“To this wonderful family, a wonderful evening and most importantly to this lovely gentleman for coming!” Arthur pointed not so subtly at (Y/N), a deep crimson starting to appear on his face.

“Cheers!” The twins chanted in unison, egging their father on. Trying to length the speech as much as they could for entertainment of course.

“And might I add! To my lovely wife and her big beautiful bosom-“ Mr. Weasley was about to go on about his beautiful wife’s beautiful bosom, but was thankfully interrupted by Molly spitting out her drink as he was pulled back into his seat.

“Arthur.”

“Ham. Her big beautiful ham, always the best cooking in this house of course.” He added from his seat raising his glass once more, everyone raising their own glasses to toast Molly’s “ham”.

“This family” George whispered into (Y/N)’s ear causing him to giggle as he was clinking glasses with the room full of people.

He sighed in bed as he rolled over to look at George who was actually reading for once, but he suspected it was for prank research. He kissed forehead lightly and grabbed his night robe.

“I’m going to get some water”

“Cool, love you”

“Love you too, idiot” He sighed and walked down the rickety stairs of the burrow finding him and George were probably the only ones awake at this hour. He didn’t really need a glass of water, just a quiet moment alone as he watched the snow fall from the kitchen window.

In his silent moment he must’ve lost track of everything in existence because he barely heard Molly coming down the stairs and sitting in the chair besides him.

“Hello, dear. Can’t sleep?” She spoke up making him jump.

“Yeah.”

“Let me make you some hot chocolate” She pushed herself up from the chair and pulled out a pot and ingredients.

“That’s oka-“ He tried to answer, but it wasn’t really a choice. He didn’t really mind. It was just about 2am and he didn’t want to cause her any troubles.

“Nonsense, we’re having hot chocolate” As she filled a pot with some milk, cocoa and sugar. He liked that she didn’t really use magic when cooking, it reminded him of home. Finishing their drink she placed two mugs on the table and sat beside him once again, staring into the window with him.

He sipped on his warm drink a little awkwardly, he wanted to ask what was plaguing his mind. He just never knew when was the right time, he took another sip and sighed.

“Um- Mrs- I mean Molly. You don’t think it’s weird?” He asked quickly before his courage faded.

“What is, deary?” Molly said absentmindedly, looking at him a little puzzled. He darted his eyes back and forth before looking down at himself and she then understood.

“Oh. Not at all, dear. I’ve known many young wizards such as yourself, very upright young men” She smiled warmly at him, his eyes widened a bit in hope and excitement.

“Really?” He said, a question no one really needed to answer. He knew the answer now.

“Of course. I’ve been around, my dear. Meet a lot of people” She put her hand on his and he choked up a bit.

“So you-“

“Yes, dear. Family is family. I would accept you in any form and way no matter what. You’re a Weasley and I’m proud of you” She knew what he needed, she had. He looked at her with so much love in his heart as his eyes started to well up.

She immediately put their mugs down and embraced him tightly as he silently sobbed into her clothing.

“Oh my, dear. It’s okay, you always have a place at this table” She hushed him as she rubbed circles around his back.

“Thank you, Molly” He said, looking up at her and she just smiled sweetly.

“You don’t need to thank me. It’s what a mother does, I have your back and every one of my children’s back.”

“Of course you do” He laughed a little and really let his thoughts ease up as he embraced him.

“Now, finish that hot chocolate and get to bed. I bet George is very worried about you right now” She said snuffing a bit as she stroked his hair as he continued to cry a bit. He gained composure and nodded into her.

“Yeah” He said, muffled by her nightgown.

“You’re a fine young man, my dear. George is lucky to have you, you keep those hooligans in check and most importantly. You love him and he loves you very much” He looked up at her pulling away from the hug, he swore he could see a few tear drops threatening to fall.

He took one last sip of the now room temperature drink and hugged Molly again, she gave him a kiss on forehead and sent him on his way.

He climbed up the stairs, his anxieties in the back of his mind as he rode his new found rush of happiness all the way back to George’s room.

“You smell like hot chocolate- oh no. Did mum talk to you? I hope she didn’t say anything weird, that woman is mad” George said as (Y/N) entered his room, but when he looked up from his copy of “Inconvenience Creation”, he saw the happiest smile on his boyfriend’s face. His heart felt warm and full, he was glad it went well.

“No actually. She said she was proud of me” (Y/N) smiled as he sat on the side of the bed, staring into space.

“Woah. She never says that to me, it’s worse than I thought. She’s replacing me with a better son” He teased and pulled his boyfriend into the bed with him, putting his book down. He breathed in his scent, his mum’s hot chocolate.

“Must’ve been some talk” He yawned and hugged his waist.

“Just don’t replace me anytime soon” He teased further earning a scoff and an eye roll.

“Shut up, asshole.” (Y/N) hit his arm and held his face up, planting a kiss on his forehead.

“I told you they would still love you.” He smirked at him reaching up to give him a soft kiss on the lips, but yawned mid kiss making (Y/N) laugh.

“I shouldn't have expected any different” (Y/N) pushed his hair out of face with a huge smile on his lips as he pulled the duvet over them.

“Damn right.” Geogre replied tiredly.

“I love you” He planted another kiss on his forehead, hugging him tight as he rubbed his boyfriend’s hand on his chest softly.

“Mhm. Me too” He snuggled his face into (Y/N)’s neck, he just stroked George’s hair until he heard soft snores coming from his boyfriend. He sighed happy and exhausted as he slowly fell asleep himself.

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jenroses · 2 years

Text

My fashion statement is "shut up, it's comfortable" but from a practicality standpoint, I know that it can be hard for autistic fat people like me to find clothes that fit and are comfortable, so I'm going to break it down for you.

From the top:

Face masks: I use a surgical mask with a double-layer cotton mask over it whenever I'm in public. The cotton mask is from Sleeping Baby Productions and comes in sizes, and the design is excellent. I will put the ear loop mask on, put the cotton mask over, then unhook the ear loops. I put a little elastic on the ribbon, and that goes behind my head, so it's very pop-on-pop-off without requiring repeated tying, and it holds the paper mask in place extremely well. My ears get very tired from elastics, so this lets me mask longer without pain.

Hoodies are magnificent items of clothing, but jewel-toned tunic trapeze hoodies with big front pockets are even better. They're kind of like a wizard robe but without the trailing skirts. They go to the thighs and they are wide wide wide at the hem, so nothing binds anywhere at all. Currently getting mine from the unfortunately-named "Woman Within" because while they're a little over-gendered in the name, their clothes run the gamut from Aunt Marge's flowered Muumuu to Star Trek Genderless Alien Monochrome. Whole lotta options in between, including, often, the deepest selection of plus sized plaid I've ever seen. They're currently carrying about six different hooded tunics. Sizes range from M-5x

Under that, Ava and Viv long sleeved t-shirts, made of cotton, modal and spandex. These are the holy grail of sensory friendly shirts, they are more comfortable than nudity. They are not just sensory neutral, they're actually calming. Plus sizes only (but look for modal/spandex blends for whatever shirts you need to be soft and stretchy) and although I normally wear a 5x, their 4x fits me fine. I wear the short sleeve in the summer.

On my legs, back to Woman Within, their 7 day knit pants are inexpensive, come in sizes from small to 6x, petite, regular and tall, and have deep enough pockets to hold a whole full sized cell phone. They also come in straight, wide and slim leg, full length, capri and shorts in the same "7-day knit" which also includes skirts and blazers. Target also has a knit blazer, and if you MUST wear a jacket to work, invest in some knit blazers, they feel like sweats, only softer, but look snazzy enough to not raise eyebrows. Black and navy are fine, but they also come in a lot of colors. When it's colder, velour is a godsend for me, smooth on the inside, sensory-positive texture on the outside, and they've got those, too. Feet: SOCKS. I hate almost every sock I've ever tried, due to sensory issues. I've pulled almost 100% of my buying away from Amazon, but socks are one of my three big exceptions, because Yomandamor doesn't sell anywhere else that I've seen. They have bamboo diabetic socks in a range of shapes, colors and lengths, but every one I've tried has met the following high standards: They're soft, they have no annoying toe seams, they stay up most of the time, they don't bind my ankles, they fit my calves, and they are better than barefoot. The thickest winter socks they have are less than $3 per pair. The standard ankle socks I usually wear are less than a buck fifty a pair. Oh, and they fit my giant feet.

Shoes: Summer, Alegria sandals. Winter, either Alegria leather shoes or Merrell Moab II hiking boots. Let me tell you about these boots... they have room for orthotics. They don't bind my toes AT ALL which makes them much better for preventing annoying toe stuff, and they are comfortable everywhere. Also, I can just step into them if I put stretchy laces on them. Hiking boots that SLIP ON. I swear the first time I put on a pair of these, the heavens opened and choirs sang.

To save my sanity, I just buy enough of each of these in colors that won't bother me if I mix and match (lotta black, lotta jewel tones) and thus I don't have to think about clothes other than making sure I have enough of them clean.

Oh! Hands! I have RA and EDS and need hand support, but a lot of arthritis gloves are too dislocating for my EDS hands. I have no clue whether the copper matters in the various Copper gloves that you can find (As seen on tv, copper fit, copper hand, there are different types) but they're usually soft, just enough support and relieve pain well, probably more due to the compression than anything. Durability varies. I will also use padded-palm weight lifting fingerless gloves with a wrist strap when my hands need extra support. If the seams on the weightlifting gloves are bothering me I'll put copper gloves underneath. I have typed easily a hundred thousand words wearing gloves like this.

#sensory friendly clothing options

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vina-writes · 3 years

Text

The Pink Paradox

Written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: Metamorphosis!

Rating: T

Length: 1.6k

Summary: Draco Malfoy has pink hair.

Notes: Thank you so much @fw00shy for betaing!! Also just hire me for all your graphic design needs because hot damn I am proud of myself

(i)

Draco Malfoy has pink hair.

That’s not entirely correct when one gets down to the facts. Draco Malfoy has blond hair— a light, airy blond, the color of sunlight on snow. Harry Potter knows this because he’s spent many an adolescent winter watching Malfoy walk the grounds of a frozen Hogwarts and noticing it. The fact that he’s observed Malfoy that carefully is neither here nor there, although Ron would say it’s there (there being the Janus Thickey Ward). Harry’s Malfoy-stalking tendencies occupy their own corner of his mind however, and certainly don’t apply to the here and now.

Because here and now Malfoy has pink hair, and that’s not something unique to Harry’s observations. There’s not a witch or wizard alive who wouldn’t notice that head of bubblegum bobbing between the Auror cubicles.

It’s far too early for a Monday morning (nearing noon), and while their coworkers have been diligently ridding the Wizarding World of crime, Harry and Ron are tossing Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans into each other's mouths and gossiping over Lavender Brown’s pregnancy cravings. They were, that is, until Harry caught sight of Malfoy's pink hair.

“Kneazle got your tongue?” Ron asks after Harry fails to finish his sentence for the fifth time. Ron can make fun of him if he wants— his chair is facing away from Malfoy and that rosy fringe. The fact that Harry has never passed up a chance to watch Draco in all their years of training and employment (with or without pink hair) is irrelevant. The pink is distracting, and it’s more so on Malfoy.

“Malfoy,” Harry repeats to himself quietly, just to feel the familiar shape in his mouth. It’s lacking the venom and suspicion it should have on principle.

Ron turns unpleasantly green at that. “Malfoy’s got your tongue?” he asks.

“What?” Harry finally looks away from Malfoy. “No. Ew. Of course not.” He says it far too blandly, like a child denying their love of sweets, and Ron gives him a Look. Harry tries (unsuccessfully) to change the subject. “What’s he doing with the— why did he— what’s… erm.”

Ron regards him like he’s lost his mind. He seems to think Harry is confused about Malfoy’s business in the DMLE, when he’s usually with Hermione down in Mysteries. While that is out of the ordinary, it’s not nearly as pressing of an issue as Malfoy's pink hair.

“He’s consulting,” Ron explains slowly, “for the Finley case?” Then, when Harry only stares back blankly— “Harry. Can you even read?”

“Occasionally.”

“Tacky romance novels don't count.”

“Oh. Then, no, not really.”

“It was in our missive just last week. They’ve pulled in the Unspeakables. I was hoping they’d send ‘Mione, since she and the Ferret work together, but no such luck.”

“Oh.” Harry turns back to watch Malfoy shake Robards’ hand. Robards' grip is strong, and his thick fingers nearly engulf Malfoy’s delicate wrist. Harry doesn’t like that.

“Are you worried he’s going to cause trouble?” Ron asks. His voice sounds different, and when Harry glances at him again he’s got both feet slung over the armrest of his chair. Robards will skin him alive if he sees.

“No!” Harry says too quickly. He coughs. “Just wondering about the— er, how long has he had…?”

Ron doesn’t seem inclined to help him out.

“For fuck’s sake, Ron, when did he go and do—” Harry waves his hands frantically “—that?”

“Do you mean the hair, mate?”

“Yes, the bloody hair!” Harry’s had his fair share of existential crises in his life. He’s well acquainted with the feeling, and this one is going near the top of the list.

Ron, the bastard, shrugs. Shrugs! Like a pink-haired Malfoy is not only a normal occurrence, but is even expected.

“I didn’t notice it at first, to be honest,” he says, and Harry throws him a look of such vicious resentment that the potted Dragon Snap in the corner stops smoking and curls its leaves over its head. Ron just gives him a shit-eating grin in return.

Discouraged by his apparently un-threatening aura, Harry glances away in time to see Malfoy get a hearty pat on the shoulder (he doesn’t like that, either) and turn towards— towards them.

“Er, Ron?” Harry asks. “Who was assigned to the Finley case?” He knows the answer before he gets it, but still can’t look away from the cutting figure Malfoy makes as he saunters towards them in swirling black robes.

“That would be us,” Ron says cheerfully. “Buckle up and tuck in, mate. Your hard-on is showing.”

Harry is not hard, not even a little, but his panicked struggle to tug the mercilessly short Auror robes over his lap leaves him wrinkled and guilty-looking when Malfoy reaches them.

“Gentlemen,” Malfoy says cooly, and Harry thinks his cheeks must be the color of Malfoy’s hair.

“Harry’s hot for your hair,” Ron says. Harry chokes. “He’s also not read the case file, so I’ll leave you two to it. Don’t come looking for me, I’ll be taking an extended lunch. Looking forward to working with you.”

He throws them both a saucy wink and leaves with all the smugness of a man who’s done his yearly good deed. Harry’s going to murder him before the day is done.

Silence descends over their cubicle. Malfoy eyes Ron’s chair, but wisely chooses to remain standing. Harry notices belatedly that his robes are trimmed in silver, the same shade at his eyes.

“Potter.”

“Malfoy,” Harry acknowledges with a polite nod. The stillness around them is most certainly plummeting towards awkward.

“I heard you like my—”

“Have you read the—”

They both speak at the same time. Malfoy blinks, startled. When he doesn’t finish his sentence, Harry tries again.

“Have you not been debriefed on—”

“I noticed you changed your—”

They wisely decide to shut up. There’s a used staple on the corner of Harry’s desk, and he reaches over to fiddle with it just for something to do.

“Staples,” Malfoy says out of the blue. He looks like he regrets his volume, and it occurs to Harry that he probably feels just as uncomfortable. This is the first time they’ve spoken beyond polite greetings in four years, and neither is sure what to expect. It makes Harry feel better, somehow, to know that he’s not the only one feeling utterly wrongfooted.

“Yes,” Harry says. “Staples?”

Malfoy swallows. His neck is a long expanse of smooth skin, and Harry vaguely wonders what it tastes like. “We might make use of them on the case. Staples, I mean. Have you any more?”

Harry frowns, his discomfort dissipating. “Yeah, in the supply closet. But we just use Sticking Charms— don’t you?”

“Yes,” Malfoy says quickly. “We do. But we could try staples from the supply closet.”

It’s Harry’s turn to deploy the Look. Malfoy frowns at him like he doesn't get it, but Harry’s not really in the mood for deduction.

“So,” Harry says instead, “Auror work. Are you looking forward to it?”

There’s a shift in Malfoy’s stance, and his grey eyes skim over the lines of Harry’s body. “Parts of it,” he says. His tone is a little off. Husky.

“Sore throat?” Harry asks in what he hopes is a sympathetic manner.

“Sometimes,” Malfoy says cryptically. Harry’s not having the greatest time puzzling out his strange behavior and responses— they leave him floundering for something else to say.

“Are you going to tell me what’s in that fancy file or do I have to read it?” Harry finally asks, jerking his chin towards the papers tucked under Malfoy’s arm. He sincerely hopes Malfoy will volunteer to summarize for him. It’s because Harry’s glasses are giving him a headache and not at all because he likes the sound of Malfoy’s voice.

Malfoy’s cheeks flush a little. Harry wonders if he’s coming down with something, even as he struggles not to think of the color as attractive. “Protocol dictates that you read case information yourself,” Malfoy says, “but I suppose I wouldn’t mind speeding things along so we can get started. Maybe… over coffee? Or lunch?”

Harry tries not to let his dismay show on his face. “We have to work through lunch?” he asks. It sounds pathetic even to his own ears.

“Oh my fucking Merlin, he’s asking you out!” Cho shouts over the cubicle wall. Harry and Malfoy both jump.

“No, he’s not!” Harry shouts back, cheeks flaming.

“Yes, I am,” Malfoy says. Harry drops the used staple.

“You are?”

“Am I?”

“I don’t bloody know!”

“Well,” Malfoy starts, but seems to realize he doesn’t have a leg to stand on. “Well— you like my hair.”

“And that’s enough reason to ask me out for coffee?”

Harry really has no idea why he’s arguing. This is Malfoy— pink-haired, blushing Malfoy— handing himself over on a silver-trimmed platter, and he mentally slaps himself for putting up any sort of resistance.

“I like your hair,” Malfoy admits. He seems to regret saying it, and tries to make up for his embarrassment by adopting a suave position leaning against Harry’s desk. He misses and stumbles slightly before righting himself.

“Don’t worry, Malfoy,” Cho calls again. “He’s been wetting himself over you for years, he’s bound to say yes.”

“Well, he’s not saying it,” Malfoy mutters.

“Yes I am.”

“You— you are?”

“Am I?”

Malfoy stops and stares at him. Opens his mouth, frowns a little. There’s a wonderful feeling in Harry’s chest.

“I’m just fucking with you,” Harry says over a smile. “Let’s go.”

Malfoy orders a strawberry milkshake at lunch. Harry doesn’t get dessert, but he still feels very… pink.

Read on Ao3

#drarry #prompt #drarrymicrofic #it was for the prompt so ill tag it as micro lol #vina writes

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panda-noosh · 3 years

Text

lost in translation {draco malfoy x reader}

words: 11.8k

summary: draco finds a notebook filled with beautiful, painful words. he keeps it for himself. he promises he’ll give it back to the rightful owner when he eventually finds them.

genre: angst

notes: support my writing or ask about commissions! - masterlist - i literally don’t know what plot is any more okay. also i listened to i love you by billie eilish on loop whilst writing this so feel free to put that on if you want.

---

draco sees the words every time he closes his eyes.

repeated stanzas, never leaving him alone. a mouthful of words no mind should ever be able to conjure. a haunting imagination capable of driving even the sanest people out of sanity.

he found the book on a winters day at hogwarts. christmas time was just round the corner, meaning most of his friends had already fled the castle in favour of homes, somewhere out in the muggle world, where they could spend the holidays with families who cared for them as families often cared for each other.

draco decided to stay at hogwarts.

he didn’t want to - not really. his father was just being difficult, and he wanted to face the man even less than he wanted to spend the holidays with people like potter and teachers who didn’t like him because of his family name.

he is entirely on his own this holiday season, and it depresses him more than he would ever be willing to let on.

because, you see, the thing with draco malfoy is, weakness has been a taboo subject amongst his family for as long as he can remember. his father drilled into his conscience that malfoys always have their heads held high, that they must be able to cope entirely on their own in any circumstance, because that’s what strength is. needing no one. fending only for yourself. living life to get what you want without worrying about anybody else.

this is why draco doesn’t sit with the other students during the christmas feast. instead, he finds himself traipsing through the library, poking at spines of books so old the writing has been smudged and worn, the contents made up of words once spoken in england, now lost to time.

the place smells dusty. it makes him sneeze, and he grimaces when he pulls his finger away from a shelf to see it coated in a thick layer of dust which he hastily wipes on his already gravy-stained robes. his stomach grumbles with the reminder of the christmas feast waiting downstairs for him - all he needs to do is pull a chair up and dig in. none of the teachers will mind. the students might be a bit iffy, but when has draco ever cared about what they think?

instead, he slumps against the wall, pulls a book into his lap and starts to read.

he’s so engrossed in the old text that he doesn’t hear the library door opening. he doesn’t hear peeve’s taunting cackles until they’re right over his head, peeves pointed toes very nearly scraping his slicked back hair.

draco’s head snaps up. above him, the poltergeist laughs, throwing his head back.

“peeves!” draco scrambles to his feet, swatting at the poltergeist. “oh, for christ’s sake, do you ever give it a rest?”

“all alone for christmas, are you, malfoy?” the poltergeist taunts. “surely daddy can afford you a way home with all that money the dark lord’s been shovelling into his pockets!”

draco’s face burns. “go away, you annoying little roach, before i get the hoover!”

peeves only laughs harder. “what a threat that was! wait till i tell the headmaster about that one.” and before draco can say anything else, peeves has grabbed a single, tiny book from the edge of a bookshelf and dropped it on draco’s head.

it crashes against the crown of his skull and bounces to the floor unceremoniously, flipping open upon the carpet. draco makes to yell, his fury bubbling over, but his voice is lost to the sudden emptiness of the room as peeves does what peeves does best and disappears.

draco groans through gritted teeth, rubbing the spot the book bounced from. it aches a little bit, which is surprising considering the size of the book. not a textbook. not really anything any of his teachers would ask him to check out of the library. instead, it’s spiral bound, the words not typed, but handwritten in sloppy scrawl, like the author was in a rush when transferring their thoughts onto paper.

draco frowns; why should a book such as this be in the schools library?

he picks it up by the corner, as if afraid the book might bite him - it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. the book, however, makes no strange movements. draco feels no strange, magical pull coming from the pages. in fact, if he were to use his common sense, he would believe the book to be straight from the muggle world.

that alone should have been enough to deter him, but his father isn’t here, so he opens it and starts reading.

the first few pages are awkward poetry. awkward essays, a person’s thoughts and opinions filtered with the fear of someone reading over their shoulder, perhaps. draco can tell the author was holding back, but the further he flips, the looser said author seems to become. they start using words. just words, so beautiful and magical and heartfelt that draco finds himself enraptured with every one. he struggles to put the book down, curling into his tiny corner in the library, enamoured by such language. he wonders for the brief moment he is able to take his eyes off the page if perhaps the book has been cast under a spell, if perhaps there is a spell in this world that puts heaven and hell into words and has transferred it to the very book he holds in his hands.

draco has spent so long getting lost in the talents of wizards that he sometimes forgets muggles have talents and hobbies, too. there are creatives in the world who can create emotions from such small things. there are people outside the world of magic and wizardry who can do magical things, too.

he has the evidence in his hand.

---

he keeps the evidence in his hand all throughout the year.

he comes back to it after particularly stressful classes to remind himself that not all is bad; that’s the magic these poems and essays have on him. he could probably recite each one word for word, but he never does, because they belong to him now. he’s claimed them as a comfort blanket, something he needs to get through the day. he’s found an addiction within these words that he can’t let go of, not just yet, not until he figures out who wrote them.

and that’s really all it boils down to - he wants to put a face to the mind that created the world he so desperately wants to share.

it’s a tuesday afternoon in feburary when blaise asks him about the book.

“are you ever gonna share what’s in that notebook you keep carrying around?”

the question startles draco. he thought he was being so subtle. he hardly ever brings the notebook out to face the light of day, only ever reading it behind the curtains of his poster bed in the dorms.

nonetheless, he doesn’t deny it’s existence. he doesn’t want to sound stupid.

he pokes at the vegetables on his plate and, without looking up, mumbles, “not really any of your business, is it?”

blaise scoffs. “alright, be like that then. you carry that thing around like a little girl and her secret diary.”

“are you trying to tease me, blaise? because you just sound stupid.”

blaise rolls his eyes; he’s one of the few people that don’t get properly offended when malfoy fails to bite his tongue.

“and anyway,” draco continues, “i don’t carry it around. it stays in my bed.”

“oh, really?”

“yes, and that’s where it’s staying.”

“so is it yours, or did you take it from someone?”

draco pauses. “it’s mine.”

“i’ve never seen you write in a notebook before. not even in class.”

draco shrugs; he hasn’t got a very good answer to that, because the statement is true. he tends to get others to write his notes for him when he can get away with it.

blaise sighs. he leans back in his seat, folding his skinny arms across his chest. “so are you a poet now? some kind of shakespeare?”

draco raises a brow. “some kind of what?”

blaise waves a dismissive hand. “it’s a muggle thing. just answer the part you understood.”

“i’m not a poet,” draco grumbles. “the poems in the book aren’t even mine. i found it when i was in the library a few months back, and thought it was interesting.” he shrugs like it’s no big deal, like this notebook has always just been a background prop in his everyday life. “it’s stupid, really. muggle stuff.”

“so why are you so obsessed with it?”

“i’m not obsessed!” draco’s grip tightens on the edge of his chair; he’s tired after a long day of quidditch practice, and honestly, he doesn’t want to deal with his friends bullshit any longer than he has to. “now, blaise, can you start minding your own business before we have some issues?”

that shuts blaise right up. together, they eat the remainders of their dinners before draco excuses himself and leaves the table. his mind is reeling, heart thumping both with embarrassment and annoyance; he knows he’s popular amongst the slytherins. in a way, he asked to be centre of attention when he started mouthing off about the importance of the malfoy household all those years back, but it’s frustrating that he can’t even do a bit of light reading without getting asked about it. he thought he was being so subtle, keeping the curtains closed every time he read, never taking the notebook from the confines of the dorms, never uttering a word about it to-

his shoulder crashes into yours.

“shit.”

draco stumbles back, catching himself on the wall. he’s too dazed to say anything, but his anger is rising, and he’s prepared to start yelling-

but then he opens his eyes and sees you there, fumbling with a pile of posters that have spilled across the glossy corridor floor. draco blinks, glancing from you to the posters and back again.

“i’m so sorry,” you mumble. “so sorry. i knew the pile was too high, but hermione had to go to-”

“why don’t you just-” draco flicks his wand. immediately, the posters gather in a whirlwind and fly into his outstretched arms, a neat little stack, good as new.

you look up, dazed. your eyes are gorgeous, plagued with evidence of exhaustion, but riveting nonetheless. draco recognises you only vaguely, and the few memories he has of these quick glimpses have never left him dissatisfied.

“oh,” you say after a moment. “right. spells. magic. i forgot about that.”

draco narrows his eyes.

you stumble to your feet, wiping trembling hands on your robes. it leaves a streak of dirt against the black, and that’s when draco sees the red and gold lining of house gryffindor.

“sorry,” you repeat. “i mean, thank you, for - like - helping me. i completely forgot i could just-” you swish your hands in a mock gesture of wand-movement before laughing awkwardly. “weird, right? that i would - uh - forget that in a school of magic. when i’m a wizard. ha ha.”

draco nods, because he really has nothing to say. he can’t keep his eyes off you, your awkward movements, the way you don’t even flinch at the sight of him. most gryffindor’s would be hurling insults at him by now - hell, he would be hurling insults at the gryffindor’s, too, but his words are caught in his throat and he can’t even properly function.

so he looks down at the pile of posters in his arms.

“CREATIVE WRITING 101!”

you snatch the first poster off the pile as if that will stop draco from reading it. “it’s nothing. something stupid, really.”

he looks at you again. “you like creative writing?”

you shrug.

“that’s such a muggle hobby to have. where’s the fun in it?”

and for the first time this entire meeting, you scowl. you hastily snatch the posters out of draco’s arms, struggling to keep them neat and tidy in your own, but when draco raises his wand to help you out a second time, you swat his hand away and say, “i don’t need your help.”

“you’re going to drop them again-”

you’re already backing away. “you don’t need to come, you know. me dropping these in front of you wasn’t a bloody invite.”

draco blinks. “i didn’t mean it like-”

you run a hand through your hair, nearly stumbling over your own shoes yet again. draco lunges forward in his attempts to catch you, but you yell something incoherent in his direction, apologise profusely to a first year you nearly elbow in the nose before you turn on your heel and head back the way you came.

draco stares at your retreating form, unable to fully comprehend what he did wrong. he doesn’t think he said anything offensive, let alone anything that would prompt you to nearly wipe yourself out in your attempts to get away.

but then again, he isn’t really sure why he cares.

----

it’s weird how - after one brief meeting - you suddenly appear at every corner draco takes.

he never noticed you in his potion’s class before, but now he can’t avoid you. you sit at the back, a pen lodged between your teeth, brows furrowed together; despite your eventful meeting with draco only a few days prior, you don’t seem to have nearly as much interest in his sudden presence as he has with yours. he keeps glancing at you, not-so-subtly turning in his chair every now and then just to make sure you’re not some kind of illusion. nobody in the classroom is acting like anything is out of place, so maybe you have been his classmate for a while, and he just never noticed.

he finds that a little hard to believe, but he has to take reality as it comes to him, or else he’ll go insane.

he doesn’t talk to you for nearly a week, because he’s a little afraid of what you’ll have to say. he’s a little afraid you’ll say nothing at all, that you might have forgotten who he is entirely.

it’s you who makes the first move.

it startles draco nearly out of his skin. he’s packing up his stuff, ignoring goyle’s ramblings to his left, when you slip your hand in his robe pocket. he jumps, spinning around just enough to dislodge your grappling fingers, and he’s seconds away from whipping out his wand to hex you when he freezes, eyes meeting your own, heart immediately plummeting into his stomach.

you smile, wide and polite. “hello, old friend.”

“can you get out of my pockets?” draco hisses, swatting your hand away when you make another attempt to dive into his robes. “what do you want?”

“a pen,” you reply. “i broke mine.”

“i don’t have a pen.” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his quill. “i have a quill.”

“aaaah, my bad.” you snatch the instrument from him before grabbing his hand. he yelps, stumbling a little bit. he beams bright red when the noise he just made actually registers in his head, and he makes a mental note to scold goyle for snickering behind him.

“what are you doing?” draco demands. he tries not to get too flustered at the height difference between you - your head could very easily rest in the crook of his neck, and he hates that he kind of wants to experience what that feels like.

you scribble words into his palm. “this is the time and place for the creative writing clubs first meeting.”

draco blinks. “what?”

“time and place for the-”

“why do you want me to go?”

you scowl, not once looking up from the jagged lines of draco’s palm. “i don’t, but hermione’s asked me to gather as many people as i can find, and i think you kind of owe me one after being so rude the other day in the hallway.”

draco falters; so you remember.

“i wasn’t being rude at all,” he grumbles. “you’re just sensitive.”

“maybe.” you drop his palm and shove his quill back in his pocket. “if you want to come, be my guest; it’s going to be a lot of fun. lots of - uh - writing and stuff, i can assure you.”

draco scowls. “i won’t be going.”

“okay.”

“so this entire conversation was pointless.”

you fold your arms over your chest, as if challenging him. “okay, draco. i’m not forcing you to come if you don’t want to, but - you know - i’ll save you a seat or whatever.”

and draco doesn’t understand why that is the promise that tears him down, why that is the thing that makes his mind up for him. even as he gives you no solid answer, he knows he now has plans automatically built into his schedule to see you again, no matter how much he dreads the thought of it.

he looks down at the writing on his palm, and his heart stops.

just for a second. a brief moment of death, before life is pushed back into him when his brain kicks into overdrive and he’s certain he’s going to pass away for real with how fast his heart is suddenly beating.

he blinks rapidly. goyle is saying something, and the students are filtering out, but draco is lost, lost, spiralling as he recognises the messy scrawl, smudged even though it shouldn’t be, messy but coherent, familiar and amazing.

he’s read heaven written in this exact same handwriting. he’s read heaven, and hell, and earth, and space, and the moon, and the stars, and he’s experienced an entire new existence written in this very handwriting. it’s the same handwriting that covers every single page of his sacred notebook, hidden in his pillow case back at the dorms. it’s the same handwriting that gives a form to the aches and pains and anxieties of the person who has just walked away from him, the person who’s brain draco has lived in since christmas.

----

“you’re actually going?”

“it’s the least i can do.” draco fixes the collar of his robes, ruffles his hair a little bit. “i did nearly wipe them out in the hallway a few days ago.”

“that was an accident.” pansy throws herself across draco’s bed, as she often does when she wants the attention he has never given her. he simply glares at her reflection through the mirror, silently willing her to get up and leave so he can set off for the history of magic classroom in which the creative writing club is meeting tonight.

pansy, however, doesn’t take the hint.

“i just think this y/n person is trying to get in your head,” she continues. “your head, your bed, all of the above...”

draco’s face warms. “you can think whatever you want, pansy, but i’m going whether you like it or not. in case you’ve forgotten, you have absolutely no say in the way i live my life.”

pansy rolls onto her stomach, tugs on the back of draco’s robes. “oh, you’ve made that very clear, malfoy. don’t come running back to me when you show up to this stupid muggle club and get ostracised for being who you are.”

draco clenches his jaw, stepping out of pansy’s reach all without turning round. he knows she’s right, of course - there is no doubt in his mind that he is going to show up tonight, only to be met by the usual hostile glares he gets from everybody outside the slytherin house. he brought it upon himself, and he knows that - but he’s trying to fix it. he’s trying to prove himself as a good person to you.

to the world. not just you.

he swallows and turns. pansy stares up at him, hands curled beneath her chin, that sleezy little smile on her face. draco grimaces, points to the door and says, “the girls dorms are up the other staircase.”

pansy’s smile falls. she scowls, stands up and leaves without another word. draco doesn’t care that he’s pissed her off - pansy, in recent months, has become a little bit too much. he’s given her the most wiggle room he can provide, and she has done nothing but bombard him further.

he shakes the thought of his friend from his mind as he walks over to his bed and digs around in his pillow case. inside, he finds the poetry book he so desperately cares for, flicking to a page he has marked; he’s highlighted a few passages, and he reads them over as he steadies his breathing. this is such new territory for him. if his father finds out what he’s up to right now, he’ll be getting a very stern speaking to, possibly even a back-hand to the face if his father is in a particularly bad mood.

but then draco remembers your expression, your hand digging around in his pocket, your stumbled words that somehow manage to pull together so beautifully when you want to express yourself.

he has to see you tonight, whether it’s in a creative writing club or not. he’ll take just running into you in the hallway again, but to reach that point, he has to actually leave the dorms.

he stuffs the book back into his pillow case, flattens a particularly frustrating strand of hair, and walks out the door.

---

the history of magic classroom is dimly lit.

draco has seen pictures of muggle poetry readings before; they kind of remind him a little bit of exorcisms, and the set-up he’s currently walking into is no exception.

there’s candles lit upon every desk, the lights dimmed to create some kind of ambience that draco doesn’t understand. people are sat in a circle - people in every colour of robe, though draco is the only slytherin, it seems. this makes him a little nervous, and he hovers in the doorway, eyes tracing the scene in desperate search of you.

he spots you in a matter of seconds. you’re leaning over a candle, frowning into the flame like you can’t quite understand why it’s flickering like that.

draco makes a b-line for you.

you look up only when he’s by your side, and immediately your expression brightens. those eyes of yours widen a little bit, a smile adorning your face. you straighten up, grab draco’s arm, and he’s certain he’s going to explode.

“you made it!” you exclaim. “i can’t believe you actually came, mate; full of surprises, you are.”

draco frowns, feigning frustration, like this is something he went out of his way to attend. “why are you staring at the flame so intensely?”

“i’m staring at the flame so intensely-” you put on a pompous british accent, just to tease him, and draco doesn’t mind, “-because apparently you can turn the flames a different colour with the right spell, but it’s not working for me. watch.”

you elbow draco in the side, prompting him to shuffle over and give you more room. draco folds his arms over his chest, watching as you kneel down until your cheek is very nearly pressed against the desk. you point your wand at the flames and wave it, just once, but nothing happens. the flames barely even flicker.

you blow it out in frustration. “fuck that.”

draco laughs. he doesn’t know where it comes from, but it’s bursting out of him at the sight of your furrowed brows, and your pouting lips. you scowl at him, and it startles him how unsurprised you are to hear such a noise escape a man like draco malfoy.

draco shakes his head and nudges you to the side. “watch.”

you grab his wrist. “no. nope. absolutely not.”

“what? i’m gonna-”

“you’re gonna show me up, is what you’re gonna do, and i didn’t ask for it.” you pluck his wand from his fingers and stuff it back in his robes. draco has to fight the urge to shudder, your fingertips tracing across his ribcage as you fumble for his inside pocket.

you pull away then, shaking your head. “it doesn’t even matter, anyway; you show me up in every other class we have together.”

draco scoffs. “and i can assume you’re going to show me up tonight, so we’re even.”

you grin, because draco is right, and you both know he is right.

you make a bit more idle chat before the final people make an appearance, and you’re finally asked to sit down. draco is confused to see hermione granger being the leader of this group of creatives, as he’s almost certain he’s never read anything more beautiful than your work; surely you should be up at the front, guiding people through the craft of writing, a craft you have so brilliantly perfected.

draco sits beside you and says nothing. he fiddles with his fingers, coughing into his fist, rolling his eyes anytime someone makes a stupid suggestion. honestly, granger can talk forever, and draco is starting to get bored within the first ten minutes. all he wants is to hear you recite something, or for you to just. . . say anything about any of your pieces; draco could probably do it for you if that didn’t look creepy and uncalled for. he could stand at the front of this group and recite whatever piece of poetry he wanted from the notebook he took so long ago, and then maybe you’d get the recognition you deserve. maybe then you’d be able to share your potential instead of just sitting by draco’s side in a circle of poet-wanna-be’s.

finally, hermione turns her attention on you, however.

“y/n,” granger chirps. you jump, fumble with your wand, let it drop on the floor to roll beneath draco’s chair. he rolls his eyes and picks it up for you as you struggle to respond to hermione’s summons.

“uh, y-yeah? yes? did you ask me something?”

hermione’s brows furrow. “do you ever pay attention to anything i’m saying?”

“sometimes,” you reply, sheepishly. “definitely sometimes.”

hermione rolls her eyes. “anyway - i was just wondering if you’ve done any writing recently that you’d like to share.”

draco tenses. he flicks his eyes to his left to see you awkwardly ringing your hands in your lap, biting your lower lip.

“uh....”

“none?” hermione demands, eyes popping. “but i thought-”

“i’ve been a bit busy,” you grumble. “it’s not that big of a bloody deal, hermione, goodness me.”

“well, yes, i - i know that, but-” hermione gestures vaguely. “this is a creative writing club. i asked all of you to bring something with you. do you not even have an old piece of writing you could share with us?”

“nope.”

draco’s heart leaps. “what?”

and suddenly, all eyes are on him.

he slouches in his seat, but keeps his gaze on you. you stare back at him, eyes wide, clearly shocked at his contribution.

“you’ve got nothing?” he prompts.

you can’t even reply. you just stare, and draco knows he’s being confusing, is aware that maybe he should just shut his mouth. or, better yet, do everyone a favour and walk out before he says any more stupid things that will do nothing but embarrass both you and him.

“okay,” he grumbles, folding his arms over his chest. “okay, fine. that’s fine.” he looks up, meets hermione’s eyes. “you know what, granger, i don’t think this little club is my cup of tea. i’m going to head back to bed.”

hermione blinks. no one says anything when draco stands and walks out, but he expected nothing less. he wasn’t welcome there in the first place. he should never have even made an appearance. he should have stayed in bed and let his feelings fester until he fell asleep.

feelings are stupid anyway.

----

he ignores you.

in fact, he starts treating you how he treats everybody else - like they’re beneath him. a habit he once wanted to escape from has yet again become his comfort blanket, the thing shielding him from talking to you. every time you try making conversation, he sneers and walks off, barely even giving you the time of day.

in truth, he knows what happened is no big deal. everyone probably forgot about it as soon as he left the room, getting absorbed in their own works of poetry. however, draco knows you want to discuss it, that you probably want answers he is far too afraid to give you. if he starts explaining why he said what he said, he’ll have to talk about the notebook, and then you might ask for it back, and draco is selfish because he doesn’t think he can give it back just yet. it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

and so, he just ignores you.

he sits in potions and pretends you don’t exist. he walks past you at lunch and doesn’t even give you a smile. he looks over your head every time you stand to wave at him. he doesn’t want to risk any inkling of conversation trickling in between you.

pansy notices this, of course, but draco isn’t surprised. with how closely pansy has taken to watching over you and him, it would be more surprising to think she hadn’t caught on to the situation.

she sits beside him at lunch, slamming her tray of greens down just loud enough that a few heads turn - including your own. draco quickly snaps his eyes down to his plate, trying to pretend he wasn’t just staring at the back of your head.

“so,” pansy begins.

draco licks the stuffing from his fork.

pansy leans in, elbow hitting against his. “so. how did it go?”

“how did what go?”

“your little date with y/n! you never updated me on it!”

draco scowls. “that was days ago, pansy.”

“exactly. so now that i’ve got you trapped, you can fill me in on all the details.” she leans even closer, if that is possible. draco can smell the old woman’s perfume wafting from her robes and has to take a glass of water to quell the itch it summons to his throat. “y/n doesn’t look too happy with you, i’ll say that much. i sit behind them in care of magical creatures, and they’ve been awfully quiet since the club meeting; care to explain?”

“why is it any of your business?”

pansy grins. “because i told you someone like y/n wasn’t worth the trouble; a gryffindor, draco, really? were the robes not a big enough red flag for you?”

draco scowls. “first of all, pansy, y/n and i are just friends, and have always been just friends. i’m not doing anything to impress them.”

pansy scoffs, finally moving away to start spearing at her dinner with her fork. “how stupid do you think i am? how stupid do you think we all are? goyle doesn’t keep your little infatuation a secret, you know. he told us all about how close you and y/n get in potions together.”

draco’s grip tightens on his fork. “close isn’t really the right word.”

“the bickering? the way they make you laugh? the way you help them with their potions when they’re struggling so snape won’t tell them off? that sounds awful close to me, draco.”

he has no answer to that. his chest aches, memories of such delightful times flooding his mind and making him crave it all again. he remembers those times when he would glance over his shoulder to see you running your hands through your hair, struggling to comprehend what on earth snape has just ordered you to do; if it was anyone else, draco wouldn’t have given them the light of day, but seeing the fear in your eyes every time snape gave you even the briefest flicker of attention saw draco abandoning goyle to come save the day at your desk.

“so what went wrong?” pansy continues. “a lovers tiff?”

draco closes his eyes. “it was nothing, pansy; just me being an idiot again.”

pansy gasps, eyebrows shooting up her forehead. “you? being an idiot? and you’re openly admitting to it! goodness me, y/n must be a lot more skilled at magic than they let on, huh?”

“i don’t know what to do.”

it’s a plea. draco knows it’s a plea. in his heart, the cracks are beginning to form, and he can’t pretend any longer. he watches the back of your head - has been watching the back of your head since the meeting, because that’s the only glimpse of you he will let himself have. it hurts to see you laughing, smiling, slapping ron weasley on the arm. it shows you’re healing, moving on from your attempts to get draco to listen.

he’s ruined everything.

pansy leans forward. her voice is softer now, surprisingly kind. “draco, are you serious about this? i know i’ve been teasing, but do you actually like y/n in that way?”

draco bites the inside of his cheek. he remembers the times he had with you, how he used to laugh so freely with little care as to who heard. you teased him and made him feel normal, and he isn’t sure when his appreciation for you went past the poetry you wrote and emerged into you as a human being, but it’s happened, and he’s nodding to pansy’s question before he can think better of it.

pansy draws back, letting out a shaky breath. “wow, okay. . . this is definitely new territory for me. for you. i’m not sure how to go about it.”

“i took their notebook from them,” he mumbles.

pansy raises a brow. “their - their notebook?”

“y/n writes,” he explains. “beautiful things. addictive things, and i found their notebook in the library over christmas and i kept it for myself. i only found out it was theirs a few days ago, but. . . i never told them i have it. i got scared to.”

pansy pauses. draco’s never used that word in a sentence before. it sounds fake, like he’s made it up and just thrown it at the end of his sentence for the fun of it.

“well, that would be a good place to start, i think.”

his eyes snap up. “what?”

“give them their notebook back.” she says this like it’s obvious, raising her brows. “it’s a good way to start a conversation, and once the conversation’s been breached, you can go on to explain everything else - it’s pretty simple when you get your head around it, draco.”

he blinks. it does make sense, but again, there comes that burning protectiveness he can’t seem to shake.

selfish, selfish, selfish.

he glances over at the gryffindor table. you’ve got your head thrown back again, laughing so loudly and so carefree that draco’s heart trembles because he isn’t the one making you laugh like that. it’s ron. it’s harry. it’s everyone who thinks he’s an awful human being, bringing joy to the one person who’s ever seen him as decent. they’ve probably told you a joke about how draco’s scum, how he’ll never amount of anything, how he claimed his spot at the top purely because of his father.

fury pools in the pit of draco’s stomach. he spears his food with his fork, pushes away from the table and walks out of the dining hall before giving pansy an answer as to whether he simple plan is one he’ll actually take into consideration.

but now that he’s storming through the halls towards the slytherin common room, he knows it’s not something he can just consider. he can never move on with you with your notebook stuffed in his pillow case. he needs to be honest, and he needs to apologise, and these are all things he struggles with greatly, but all things he needs to learn before he loses you for good.

---

the notebook hasn’t seen the light of day past draco’s dorm since christmas.

it feels weird carrying it so freely now, slowly making his way through the halls with it pressed against his chest, the spirals digging into his lower arm. people look at him, but nobody bats an eye at the notebook, and why would they? it’s not suspicious. most of them probably think it’s nothing more than a school notebook, used for taking notes in classes.

still, his anxiety runs at a million miles per hour. he wants to yell at anyone who even glimpses the tiny square peeking from over his arms. he wants to tell them it’s none of their business.

but he doesn’t. he keeps walking until he’s reached the gryffindor common room.

it’s just his luck that ron weasley is the one stood outside. the ginger lad spots draco immediately, and it’s reflex when draco scowls and says, “got nothing better to do, weasley?”

ron glares. “what are you doing here, malfoy? the slytherin common room is back the way you came.”

“good thing i’m not going to the slytherin common room.” he nods towards the portrait hole. “is y/n in there?”

ron pauses. “what do you want with y/n?”

“i need to talk to them.” he swallows before gently unravelling the notebook from his arms. “i accidentally grabbed this in potions - i need to give it to them.”

“right, give it here then.” ron reaches for it, and draco stumbles back. he stumbles, not even bothering to swat ron’s hand away as pure panic seizes him. ron pulls back hastily, eyes widening at draco’s response.

draco, through gritted teeth, says, “just go get y/n for me, will you?”

ron stares at him a second longer before turning on his heel and walking back into the gryffindor common room. draco tries calming himself down in the minutes it takes for ron to reappear with you at his side.

the attempts are futile.

the minute he lays eyes on you, his heart starts thundering in a way that confuses him to no ends; he shouldn’t feel like this over someone so ordinary, and in truth, that’s what you are. you’re a student, just like him, struggling through school life, just like him. you go about your day in almost the exact same way as he does, and yet he’s never before felt so intrigued by another individual.

when your eyes meet his, you don’t smile. you don’t even look surprised. you grip the front of your night gown, glaring at him, not saying a word in greeting; draco’s mouth has gone dry, however, and saying anything is the absolute last thing on his mind when you’re standing in front of him, hair a mess, more beautiful and casual than he’s ever seen you.

ron is the one who has to break the silence. “he said he’s got a notebook for you.”

draco inhales sharply, suddenly remembering the artefact clutched in his hands. your eyes drift to it, and for a moment, you look puzzled. your eyebrows scrunch together, head tilting a little before you say, “that’s mine?”

draco thrusts it in your direction. “please take it.” he turns to ron. “and you - please leave.”

ron looks offended, looking at you for back-up, but your eyes are peeled on the notebook, not paying even the slightest bit of attention to ron. in the end, the weasley man rolls his eyes and stalks back into the gryffindor common room, leaving the corridor empty besides you and draco.

and draco feels every sliver of tension like it’s been injected into his bone marrow. flashes of his behaviour play on loop in his brain, the way he ignored you, the amount of times he scowled at you every time you tried speaking to him; he never meant any of it, of course, considering you’re the most fascinating person he’s ever come across, but he did it anyway, and that’s what he has to patch up.

somehow, he has to patch this up.

he looks to the floor, tucking the notebook back against his chest when you don’t take it from his hands. the silence is crushing, but draco has absolutely no idea what to say to fill it in - pansy made this all sound so easy; he would hand you the notebook, and a conversation would immediately stem from that.

but no. draco’s mind has gone completely blank, and you still look furious, and neither of you are doing anything to resolve the mess he has made.

finally, however, draco can’t take it any more. “i found your notebook.”

“yeah. ron said.” you pluck it out of his arms. “where did you even find this? it’s so old.”

“in the library.”

“the library? what was it doing there?”

draco shrugs. “how would i know that?”

“considering you’re the one who stole it-”

“i didn’t steal it. i just didn’t know who it belonged to.” a lie. he shouldn’t be lying. that’s a bad way to go about things. “i mean, i took it back to my dorm with me, kept it safe, but - like - i was of course going to give it back once i figured out who the owner was.”

you hum. “i’m sure you were.” you flick open the pages, immediately spotting a passage draco has highlighted in bright orange pen. “you tabbed it?”

he shrugs. “sometimes i read it when i got bored.”

“i should be angry at you for that, you know - that’s a big invasion of privacy.”

“yeah. you should be.” he looks up sheepishly. “are you?”

you pause, eyes continuing to drift over the pages of your own work, work you haven’t seen or reread since at least christmas time. you don’t look impressed, or angry, or anything at all, really. you just read the lines and nod, as if taking inventory.

then, you look up and say, “i’m more angry at the way you’ve been treating me this past week.”

draco wilts. he knew it was coming, that this was the main source of hostility for the both of you, but he really thought the presence of the notebook would somehow buy him some time, maybe make this conversation a bit easier.

you snap the notebook closed, shoving it into the pocket of your night gown. “you didn’t even tell me what i did wrong!”

“you didn’t do anything wrong!”

“then why were you acting like that? why couldn’t you just talk to me?”

draco squeezes his eyes closed, trails his hands through his hair, tries to calm down before he says something he’ll immediately regret. “you know, it’s a lot more complicated than you’re making it out to be.”

you pull back, puzzled. “how is it complicated? you’re nearly eighteen years old, draco! it shouldn’t be complicated to talk to someone when you’re mad at them!”

“ i wasn’t mad at you! i thought you were mad at me!”

you throw your head back and laugh, and this is the very noise draco has been craving for days, but he doesn’t want to hear it now, not here, not in this context. you’re not taking him seriously. you’re not listening.

“this is the stupidest thing i’ve ever heard,” you cackle. “is this about the fucking club meeting? you think i gave a shit about what you said?”

draco shakes his head. “again, love, it’s not as simple as that.”

“then explain it to me. explain to me what the hell was going through your head to make that switch flip so suddenly.”

something inside draco snaps, a string he didn’t even realise was being pulled so taut.

“do you wanna know what’s been going through my head recently?” his voice drops, your expression faltering. “it’s that fucking notebook of yours. it’s been all i can think about for weeks, because i can’t wrap my head around the idea of you being the author of those poems.”

you blink. “w-what?”

“you’re so carefree. you’re so. . . so you, y/n, and it seems impossible to me - unfathomable! - that you could be thinking such harrowing thoughts and not a single person has picked up on it besides me - and i’ve only done so by complete accident.” he inhales, runs a hand through his hair. “i’ve read your poems a thousand times over, and even though i know they came from you, i still can’t put your face to the words. i still can’t figure out how on earth you and that notebook are related in any way, and it’s been driving me insane. i want to help you, and it’s driving me insane.”

again, you blink. the corridor goes quiet. draco’s breathing slows, stabilises, and he has no idea what he’s just said, or if any of it makes sense, but there is a weight off his chest that provides such a great amount of relief he wants to cry.

finally, you swallow. your knuckles protrude from your hand with how tight your grip on the notebook is. your eyes stray to the ground, throat bobbing, mouth opening for just a second before you seem to think better of it and go silent again.

draco takes a step back. “look, you can have it back,” he says. “i don’t want it any more. i don’t - i don’t need it any more. but i just want you to know i’m sorry, and i never wanted to hurt your feelings. i was just. . . feeling things, and it wasn’t normal for me, and i got scared.” he raises his hands in mock surrender, taking another step back. “feel free to never talk to me again. i’ll understand.”

he waits for another second. hope springs to his chest, hope that you will tell him not to go, that you’ll forgive him on the spot and the two of you can live happily ever after, but it doesn’t work that way. you meet his eyes and nod, before turning on your heel and heading back into the gryffindor common room.

---

“how did you mess that up again?”

draco presses his knuckles into his eyes, as if pushing goyle’s words out of his brain. he should never have told the other slytherin about his encounter with you, but goyle was the first person on the scene, and malfoy just lost control; he needed to rant to someone. he needed to get it off his chest.

and it seems now goyle has suddenly developed a perfect memory, as two days after the meeting in the corridor, he has not let the subject drop.

the two sit together in defence against the dark arts; their teacher has long since left the classroom in search of some more work sheets for them to get cracking with, and the class has erupted into an expected chorus of conversations. draco wants nothing more than to put his head on the table and ignore the world, take this break as a chance to catch up on some of the sleep he has been robbed of these past few weeks, but goyle doesn’t let him go that easily.

the bigger boy leans over and taps draco on the back of the head. “come on, man, talk to me. there’s got to be something we can do.”

“there is nothing,” draco barks through gritted teeth. “and i’m sick of repeating myself, goyle, so shut your trap before i shut it for you.”

goyle sighs, leaning back in his seat. “so y/n just. . . didn’t even say anything? they just walked off without a word?”

“they did, which i took as a clear sign they never want to see me again.”

“do you not think you might be looking too deeply into that reaction?”

draco glares, eyes bloodshot, probably more terrifying than they have ever been. “tell me where on earth i could have looked too deeply.”

goyle shrugs. “well, you did admit to spilling this massive, emotional speech over them in the middle of the night - maybe they just didn’t know what to say at the time. i bet if you go up to them now and ask for a follow-up conversation, they’d be more than willing to sit down and discuss everything.”

“there’s nothing to discuss. i said everything i wanted to say, and y/n rejected me - i’m man enough to take it at face value and move on.”

a lie, of course, but draco just wants goyle to shut up. he wants to continue sulking on his own, because that’s what he does best. he doesn’t need friends patting him on the back, trying to cheer him up. he knows he’s messed up, and he’s willing to suffer in solitude for his stupidity.

“i’ve just never seen you act like this around anyone.”

draco’s head snaps up. “what do you mean?”

but he knows exactly what goyle means, because goyle is telling the truth. nobody has ever made draco this stupid. nobody has ever plagued his mind like this, and it’s driving him insane.

goyle folds his beefy arms across his chest. “i’m not saying it’s a bad thing, draco; sometimes it’s nice to see you unravel a little bit. god knows you’ve had a stick rammed up your ass for long enough.”

draco rolls his eyes. “well, there’s no point in dwelling on it; nothing is going to happen. whatever friendship y/n and i had is gone, and i’m just gonna have to accept it.”

goyle scowls, but draco pays him no attention. instead, he goes back to idly tapping his pen against his bottom lip, trying desperately to put his own words into play. he just needs to get over you. he needs to go back to the cold hearted, uncaring wizard he was raised to be, because that was the only version of himself that never got hurt. he never let himself get hurt. it’s strange how you walk into his life, and suddenly that entire side of him is being stripped away, replaced by this oversensitive, overthinking, annoying piece of shit who suddenly relies on someone else to get them through the day.

draco hates it, but he hates the idea of not having that even more.

----

“so are you going to tell me why y/n won’t talk about you?”

draco looks up, his scowl a reflex when he makes eye contact with ron weasley. he stands over him, arms folded over his chest, wearing a set of school robes with little burn marks pecked into the material; draco has half a mind to tease him for it, before finding he has absolutely no energy to do such a thing right now.

instead, he leans back against the tree he has been sat under, gazing at the sky as mountains of homework piles up in his dormitory - piles of homework he has yet to touch, because every time he tries focusing his mind on a single task, it veers off and he can’t do anything.

ron raises a brow at draco’s silence. “no? you’re both gonna keep your mouths shut?”

“i don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

“no, of course you don’t.” and then, ron does the most surprising thing - he slumps down next to draco, their shoulders clicking. “i’m gonna take a wild guess and say you fucked things up again.”

draco swallows, closing his eyes. “again, none of your business, weasley.”

“good answer. it makes perfect sense now.” ron nudges his arm. “what happened?”

and draco knows it’s out of character. of all the people he could rant to, ron weasley should - and always has been - the absolute last on his list, but he looks at ron and he’s reminded that he is your friend, that ron makes you laugh, and he’s probably cheered you on during this uncomfortable time with draco. with that knowledge comes a sense of warmth, a gratefulness he’s never felt before, one he doesn’t completely understand.

but he leans into it, because he’s too tired to fight it off. with his cheek pressed against his knees, he tells ron the whole story, from start to finish. he goes back as far as christmas, that god-forsaken day in the library when he wanted nothing more than to enjoy a nice bit of light reading whilst he ignored the rest of the students downstairs, how peeves had dropped that notebook on his head, and he’d grown attached to it, rereading the poems every day until the day he had to surrender it back to you.

“sounds quite stalkerish,” ron comments.

draco scoffs. “it does, doesn’t it?”

ron sighs, shifting slightly. in the distance, a group of first years run screaming away from the whomping willow. a stone gargoyle shakes its winds atop the astronomy tower. such beautiful sights, and yet draco can’t feel a thing.

“okay, look,” ron says. “don’t get any of this twisted, alright? i still hate you. more than i thought humanly possible.”

“cheers.”

“but, i care about y/n. a whole lot. they’re like family to me. they’ve been miserable these past few days, and it’s starting to take a toll on me. so, i’m here to give you a bit of advice.” he turns, leans in, lowers his voice. “don’t give up so easily.”

draco jerks away. ron snickers, leaning back against the tree, gazing out at the green grass without a care in the world; draco, however, is stunned, heart racing though he doesn’t even know why. those words just hold so much hope, a hope he hasn’t let himself feel since it happened. he was slowly coming to terms with the idea of never talking to you again, and here ron weasley walks into the scene, ruining everything - like always.

draco splutters, swallows, pulls himself together. “w-why do you say that?”

“i thought it was obvious, mate,” ron replies. “y/n clearly has a soft spot for you. god only knows why, but that’s neither here nor there. all i care about right now is the fact they’ve been moping around for days, not even laughing at my jokes or anything. it’s getting exhausting when all you need to do is talk, and this entire thing could be resolved.”

“it’s not as easy as that.”

ron raises a brow. “oh? and why not?”

draco opens his mouth to respond, because he’s certain he has one. however, when he thinks about it, there really isn’t a decent answer to that question; he’s young, dumb, embarrassed. he stole your notebook, gave it back, confessed his feelings and then fled the scene - the only reason he hasn’t spoken to you since that fateful day is because he doesn’t want to bring up his own embarrassing gestures ever again. the quicker he buries them, the better.

but at the cost of you? maybe he should rethink it.

ron laughs. he stares at the side of draco’s face, pure amusement dancing across his features. draco scowls, because that’s what draco always does when he sees even the slightest flicker of joy on the weasley boys face; it’s become routine by now, even if he doesn’t feel the same contempt he’s so used to.

“it’s bizarre, isn’t it, that i’d be the one giving you relationship advice,” he says.

“it’s bizarre you’re helping me out at all, to be honest.”

“i’m not as heartless as you like to think i am, malfoy.” he stands, wiping his hands down his robes, smearing muck on the already dirty cloth. “if anyone asks, we were arguing and i won.”

draco blinks. “thank you, weasley. i mean it.”

ron rolls his eyes. “i’m sure you do. now never speak to me again.” he turns on his heel and strolls back down the hill without a second glance in draco’s direction.

----

draco’s heart is going to burst from his chest.

he’s been in this state far too often these past few weeks. he wants it to stop. he wants to go back to a life where he didn’t have a care in the world, where he owned this school, where he had the confidence that has carried his family name for decades.

the only way he’s going to reach that point again is by sorting things out with you.

or at least letting you know how he feels, because he can’t deny any of it any more. he can’t go around pretending you mean nothing to him. no, he still can’t explain where these feelings came from, if they started with the poetry and grew, or if they started that very day he laid eyes on you in first year and thought you were the prettiest one of his lousy classmates. he can’t explain any of it, but he doesn’t need to try. he doesn’t need to go as far back at that. all he needs to do is talk to you, let you know that you have changed him in very scary ways, and then he can move on. no matter your reaction, he can move on.

at least, that’s what he tells himself as he walks through the school corridors in search of you. it’s already getting dark, the january days lasting what seems like only a handful of minutes. students are flooding from their last classes of the day, and it’s only when draco spots a gryffindor bustling through the crowd does he stop.

he grabs the unsuspecting student by the arm, not even surprised nor offended by his look of pure disgust. draco simply grins, because that’s reflex for him, before saying, “have you seen y/n l/n anywhere?”

the boy furrows his brows. “i saw them talking to filch when i was walking to class. what do you want with them?”

draco raises a brow; talking to filch? what could you possibly want with argus filch of all people?

draco shoves the gryffindor away, thanking him with a nod before he turns and starts towards the caretakers office. he’s never been there before, mainly because he’s never wasted his time trying to hold a decent conversation with the caretaker, but he finds it in good enough time - an ordinary brown door, decorated only with the name ‘argus filch’ written across it in what looks like normal, muggle sharpie pen.

draco racks his knuckles against it, uncertain if he’s doing any of this right. in all his years at hogwarts, he’s seen filch in his office only a handful of times, and even if he just happens to be in his office now, what will draco even ask him? what he was talking to you about? if he somehow knows where you went after the conversation was over?

he waits there, however, because he has no other leads, and he needs to talk to you. he needs to get this over with, or else he won’t be able to sleep, and he can’t afford to be groggy during quiddith practice; he’s been performing bad enough these past few weeks, and if he can just get this off his chest-

the door swings open.

it isn’t filch.

“argus, i promise i’ll be done in-”

you pause. your eyes widen. your mouth snaps closed, grip tightening on the door frame, and draco is certain he’s going to explode at any moment.

“y/n.”

your name is a whisper, barely audible over the sound of his racing heartbeat. he doesn’t even know if he said it, or maybe it was just a thought. at this moment in time, the two things are interchangeable.

“draco.” you swallow, shuffle awkwardly, look to the floor in a rare look of timidity. “w-what are you doing here?”

“i was looking for you.” he speaks fast, like he’s running out of time, and maybe he is. maybe you’re only giving him a few seconds before the memories flood back and you slam the door on his face, ruining his chances once and for all. maybe you think his attempts are idiotic, embarrassing, and you’re only letting him talk out of pity.

but you don’t slam the door on his face. not at all. you stand there, looking more beautiful than draco has ever seen you, even though nothing has really changed.

draco swallows, curling his fingers into fists. “someone told me you - you were in here.”

your eyes snap up. “i didn’t tell anyone where i was. that was kind of the whole point.”

draco nods like he understands, because part of him kind of does - hiding away, pretending you are the only person to exist. it’s a comfort sometimes.

“what do you want, draco?”

and just like that, everything he wanted to say is swept from his brain.

you fold your arms over your chest, one foot tapping rapidly against the floor. “d-did you have anything to say to me?”

you almost sound hopeful.

“ron told me not to give up so easily.”

you pause.

draco rushes on, because he knows he hasn’t done this right. he’s gone so far off script, and he hasn’t even got to the main point of his argument.

“i don’t listen to weasley - ever. quite frankly, his advice is usually more detrimental than helpful, but - but he told me earlier to come find you. he told me you weren’t doing so good-”

“ron-”

“and i don’t know if that’s true on your end, but it’s true for me.”

you blink.

draco exhales shakily, running a ringed hand through his hair. “i’m not doing so good, y/n. i don’t like the way we left things. i don’t like the fact that we left things at all. i should have explained myself a bit better, or come to you sooner, but you know how i am. god, you know how i am better than anyone else in the world, so please, please understand that i’m trying so hard to put my dignity aside to let you know how much i care about you.”

there is a silence. a silence so heavy that draco feels crippled beneath it, unable to do anything but wait in anticipation for a response he might not even deserve. he’s done so many things wrong - not just with you, but with life in general. he is a bad person, and he knows this, and he’s trying to change, because you don’t deserve a bad person.

you swallow. he watches your throat bob.

“i don’t know if i believe you.”

your words are a whisper, but they shatter everything around him like they were screamed at the top of your lungs.

he shakes his head dumbly, like that is answer enough. he wants to say something to argue his case, but his tongue feels heavy and a cloud has passed over his brain.

“draco, i don’t know if i believe you,” you correct, sounding almost desperate. “y-you treated me like shit for no reason. you took my notebook and didn’t give it back. you’re a dick to my friends-”

“i know,” he bursts through gritted teeth, like he is in physical pain. “y/n, i know. i know, and i’ve been beating myself up over it for weeks. but that’s what i do - that’s what i’ve always done. i play the victim card and blame everybody else for my wrongdoings, and it’s childish. i’m trying to stop. i’m really, really trying.”

you open your mouth to respond, but draco takes one look at the tears in your eyes and barrels on, suddenly desperate to dig himself further into the dirt.

“you know what? i don’t even know why i’m here. i’m sorry. i should just - i should just leave you alone and let you get on with your life. you and i were never meant to be together, and i just need to accept that and move on.” he can’t stop talking. he can’t stop hating himself. “i’m sorry, though. for everything i did to upset you. for every stupid thing i said or did - know i didn’t mean it. from the bottom of my heart, y/n, i would never hurt you. never. so that’s why i’m gonna go. i’m gonna leave you alone. i’m g-gonna support you in whatever you want to do in the future. as long as you’re happy.”

he tries for a smile, because that’s the way you’re meant to end these things, isn’t it? you smile, and you shake their hand or something, but draco can’t bring himself to do that, so he turns on his heel instead. he turns away from you, knowing this will be the last time, that there is absolutely no going back, no matter what horrible advice ron weasley gives him. he needs to get over you. he needs to let you go once and-

“draco.”

you grab his wrist and he stumbles. he stumbles because of your grip, but he stumbles, too, because his name on your lips will never get old. it’s music to him, music he never listens to because his father always said it was a waste of time. he basks in it, spinning around to meet your eyes, and his heart crumbles at the tears now rolling down your cheeks.

his own eyes widen. “y/n-”

“you’re so stupid,” you sob. “so fucking stupid, do you know that?” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a desperate hug. you sob into his shoulder, and draco is frozen, hands hovering over the small of your back, unsure how to take this reaction. “you’re literally the most idiotic person i’ve ever met in my life. how is it you? how is it always you?”

draco blinks. “how is what always me?”

“everything!” you wail, hugging him tighter. “it’s just always you, draco. always.”

and draco still has no idea what you mean, but he’s learning to understand that maybe he doesn’t need to know what you mean all the time. maybe he just needs to be there for you to yell and cry and make no sense, and that will be enough.

he wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. he’s never been any good at hugs, but he’s melting into this one.

“idiot,” you whisper into his neck. “thinking i’m just gonna let you leave like that. . . thinking i don’t like you back. . . thinking i’ve stopped thinking about you for even a second these past few days. . .”

draco holds you tighter.

you pull away after a moment, quickly swiping your hand beneath your eyes. they are puffy now, red-rimmed, and draco knows he will have to explain this to ron in some way or the other without giving ron the benefit of knowing his advice might have actually been beneficial for once.

“i think we both messed up a little bit,” you mumble through sniffles, wiping your nose on your sleeve. “my reaction wasn’t exactly very helpful, was it?”

“well. . . no, but-” draco exhales. “i meant what i said, y/n; i never meant to hurt you. i would never do that.”

your smile trembles. draco has only a second to smile back before you’re throwing your arms around him again, pulling him in for a hug that he is getting strangely fond of.

----

your pen scratches against the paper. draco can’t sleep; he doesn’t really want to sleep, despite the hours of classes and quiddith practice he has to endure in a few hours time.

you never sleep. not really. draco is convinced you live entirely off caffeine and words, staying up into the early hours of the morning with that notebook of yours, your muggle pen darting back and forth over the pages. he scolds you for it sometimes, but he’s always smiling, and you always roll your eyes in response.

now, however, he has one arm thrown over your shoulders, watching you work. it’s already three in the morning, but he’s too enamoured to bother falling asleep; he’d rather stay up and watch you work.

“bic,” he says out of nowhere, shattering the hours of silence the two of you had collected.

you pause, looking up. your eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot. draco smiles.

“what?”

“bic.” he nods at the pen in your hand. “that’s the name of your fancy muggle quill, isn’t it?”

you frown, taking another second to catch onto what he means, despite the clear explanation he has just given. however, it eventually dawns on you, and you frown even more.

“oh, right. yeah. bic. that’s the brand name.” you place it in draco’s hand. he holds it close to his face, squinting to read the tiny letters written in the plastic. “the best pens in the world, i’d say; much more practical than those bloody quills we have to use in class.”

“nothing wrong with our quills,” draco says, tilting the pen back and forth, examining every inch of it. “mine cost me a good lot of money.”

you scoff, snatching the pen back. “i’m sure it did. waste of a good lot of money, too, when you could have just bought a pack of twelve bic pens for a fiver.”

draco furrows his brows. “a fiver? what’s that in real money?”

you roll your eyes, smiling fondly, and it’s that very smile that has draco leaning forward to peck you on the lips. it takes you out of your work, which he knows will frustrate you in the morning when you wake up to see you didn’t get as much done as you might have liked, but for now, he doesn’t really care. not when you’re melting against him, dropping your dumb bic pen into the crease of your notebook so you can cling to him with both hands.

there are some days when draco thinks you love him only out of pity. he was the boy who lost himself to his feelings for you. he was the boy who came crawling back, the boy who was lost when he didn’t have you by his side. some days, draco has to ask you if you really want to be part of this relationship.

but then you go and kiss him like this, and he is left with no doubt that you’ve meant every single “i love you.” then you go and hold his hand at the gryffindor table, smile fondly at him as he bickers with your friends, and he knows this relationship is not a chore for you. maybe, if he lets himself hope, he can convince himself that you love him as much as he loves you.

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