Summary: You can at least repay Hermione by showing her the same kind of grace she’s shown you.

Rating/Warnings/Tags:All (Post-Deathly Hallows; Bulgarian!Reader; Newspaper Columnist!Reader; Married!Reader; Married!Viktor; Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger; Wedding; the Burrow)

Challenge:“115 Words” by BonitaWolfSpirit on Lunaescence Archives.

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Grace

Bright shone the day you arrived in Britain for the long-awaited wedding. One minute you stood in comforting, familiar Sofia; the next, in strange, unfamiliar Ottery St. Catchpole. The long-distance portkey-ing left you too dizzy to walk immediately following your arrival. You’d never have found where you were going had you not been steadied by a firm hand at your elbow.

“Careful,” said Viktor in your shared native Bulgarian. “Are you all right?”

“The only thing I’ve hurt is my pride,” you assured him as you straightened yourself. “I’m still not used to traveling so far magically.”

He smiled. “You should come to more of my games.”

“And miss an opportunity for a great assignment that isn’tyour winning streak? I think not.”

The smile on his face widened as Viktor moved his hand to yours. “Come along. We don’t want to be late.”

To be honest, you would not have minded. You would not have minded missing the entire blasted ceremony. Going was important to Viktor, though, so you allowed him to pull you along beside him. He knew where he was going, at least. 

The wide field in which you had landed seemed to stretch into the horizon in every direction. Soon enough—too soon for your liking—a strange shape reared up against the landscape. As you drew nearer, you realized the shape was a house that had a large tent filled with people set up next to it. 

Sure enough, that tent turned out to be your destination. Viktor led you right to the entrance of it. There stood a young man with a shock of bright blue hair, waiting for guests.

“Friends of the groom or the bride?” asked the boy.

“Bride,” Viktor answered in English. 

The child nodded and made to show you to your seats. Before he could get more than a few steps ahead, however, he got a good look at Viktor and froze in place.

“You’re Viktor Krum!” he gasped.

“That is me, yes.”

One of the things you loved most about Viktor was his modesty. You’d been dating another member of the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team when the two of you had met. His teammate hadn’t so much as known the definition of humility, and you were quite glad now that the relationship hadn’t worked out. 

Then again, he probably wouldn’t have thought it a good idea to drag you to his ex-girlfriend’s wedding.

This boy did not seem not to be thinking of quidditch at all, though. He brightened upon confirmation of his suspicions before he headed off in an entirely different direction. “Auntie wanted to see you when you got here. Follow me!”

“If that is what Herm-Own-Ninny wishes,” Viktor said as he made to do so. His grip on your hand did not allow you to slip away unseen into the pavilion. “There is no need to be nervous,” he added quietly as the pair of you trailed after the child through the home’s cramped kitchen.

“Me? Why should I be nervous?” All you were doing was meeting your husband’s first love, the perfect, demure, brilliant woman who corresponded with him regularly to that very day. “I only worry about what the tabloids back home will say.”

The dark eyes he turned upon you sparkled with amusement. “Do you care what they say about you all of a sudden?”

“Of course not!”

“Neither do I. Don’t worry. You will like Herm-Own-Ninny very much.”

At that very moment, your youthful chaperone stopped at a door on the third-floor landing. He rapped on it before saying loudly, “Auntie! Viktor Krum is here to see you!”

Several seconds later, the door opened. A very pretty woman with bright red hair appeared there to ruffle the top of the boy’s head. “Thanks, Teddy,” she said. “Now get back to your post before Percy finds out you left it.”

“Okay!” Teddy sang, then pushed past you to race back the way had come from.

“Come on in,” said the woman, stepping aside to let you through. 

Inside the room were three other women: one blonde reading a magazine in the corner by the window; a brunette sitting at a large oval mirror; and a second blonde working on the brunette’s hair. Only the last did you recognize: Fleur Weasley, her husband, and her daughter had all come to your own wedding a year ago. The redhead looked enough like Bill that she must have been a relative. Beyond those two, you were lost in a sea of strangers.

When the door closed behind you, the woman at the mirror gasped, stood, and walked over to your husband to embrace him.

“Viktor. I’m so glad you were able to make it.”

“Hermione! You will ruin your makeup,” Fleur scolded. 

Hermione smiled sheepishly and stepped away.

“Not that Ron will notice,” said the redhead. “He’ll be too busy trying not to trip on his own two feet. He, Harry, and Neville got into the Fire Whiskey last night, so Ron’s going to be even clumsier than usual.”

“You look wonderful,” Viktor told the bride, and indeed she did. Though this Hermione did not radiate beauty like Fleur did, she had a quiet grace that you knew instantly Viktor liked. Her simple but flattering wedding robes only added to the effect.

“It’s been too long. I’m ever so sorry I didn’t make it your wedding. It was such a busy time at the Ministry,” Hermione said.

“I understand. Let me introduce you to my wife now: [F Name] Krum.”

“Hello,” you said uncomfortably. Your Bulgarian accent was much thicker than Viktor’s, as you’d had fewer opportunities to practice English than he had. It made you feel dumber than usual hearing it around that lot.

Hermione offered you her hand without remark. “Hermione Granger, soon to be Granger-Weasley,” she said, and the pair of you shook. “I hope you don’t dislike me too much for inviting you. I wanted to invite Viktor, you see, and Ron will feel so much better knowing you came along, too. Besides, I’ve wanted to meet you for ages! Viktor talks about you all the time in his letters.”

“He does?”

Viktor chose that time to turn his attention to the redhead. “So, Ginny, I hear that you and I will be having a rematch soon?”

“He does,” Hermione said before she leaned in closer to add, “and I can see that he wasn’t lying about a single thing he said about you.”

You felt blood rush to your face. That Viktor had been so kind about you in his letters surprised you. He wasn’t really keen on expressing his inner feelings to anyone but his closest friends. “He speaks quite highly of you as well.”

“He is a good sort of man, isn’t he? But enough about him. I’m sure you’ll be hearing about Viktor all night long. He tells me you work at the Bulgarian wizarding paper?”

“I do.”

“Do you keep a portfolio? Would you mind sending me some of your articles?”

“I could, but why would you want them?”

“I think reading the news from a Bulgarian point of view would be fascinating,” she answered, “and I’m told you’re a wonderfulwriter.”

You rolled your eyes, and at last offered Hermione a smile of your own. “What does he know? He only cares about quidditch.”

“Men.” Hermione laughed.

To your great surprise, you spent a very pleasant ten minutes chatting with Hermione, Ginny, Fleur, and the last woman (who turned out to be an oddity by the name of Luna Lovegood). Time seemed to fly by until Viktor took you toward the door so that you could find your seats.

“Goodbye, Herm-Own-Ninny. We will see you at the service,” he said.

A chorus of goodbyes followed you down the stairs. Before you could step outside, however, Viktor pulled you aside.

“What?” you asked him.

“Do you forgive her now?”

“Forgive who?”

“Herm-Own-Ninny. For dating me so long ago.”

You frowned. “It was never a matter of forgiving her. She’s just a little hard to live up to. But you were right. She is very nice.”

“She liked you, too. I could tell.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, then intertwined his fingers with yours as you left the house together. “Do you think there will still be seats in the back?”

With Teddy’s help, you found a couple. It wasn’t long after you got settled that the music started and Hermione appeared. For the first time, you were able to see her with clear eyes. She was beautiful, and blissfully happy with her own love. Hermione Granger-Weasley was no longer your rival. One day, she might even become your friend.

Summary:Severus Snape never asked for a distraction, but the one he receives the first morning of a new term will have to do.

Rating/Warnings/Tags: T (Physical Abuse; Black Eye; Professor!Severus Snape; Mentor!Severus Snape; Slytherin!Reader; Hogwarts Student!Reader; Implied/Referenced Child Abuse; Implied/Referenced Abuse; Implied/Referenced Sexual Abuse; Anxiety; References to Depression; Lily Evans & Severus Snape Friendship)

Requester:Anonymous

Request:  “Please the one where se*ually and physically abused slytherin comes to Snape for help, without the detailed description of the assault plz. She suffers from anxiety and clinical depression. Snape is cold at first and then gets really protective and angry.”

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Notes: Here’s another request from Tumblr, my first Harry Potter one. I’ve never written a platonic relationship between a student and teacher before (or a romantic one, for that matter)—and oddly this is only the first of a handful of these kinds of requests I have on my list now. I hope that I did a decent job.

Please keep in mind while reading this that some of things Severus says may not be the best thing to say in a situation like this. He’s a wizard, and not a trained Healer at that, so I tried to think of what he might say in this situation instead of what he shouldsay.

“Resourceful” Is Not a Dirty Word

Another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry began just as the ten prior for Potions Master Severus Snape. He ate a meager breakfast as quickly as possible so as to avoid spending any more time than necessary with students outside his house or classroom. He made forced polite conversation with Minerva until she finally handed over that year’s class schedule. And he settled at his desk at the back of the dank, cold dungeon to prepare for his first class in the last bit of peace and quiet he could expect until the Christmas holidays.

True, an undercurrent of anger buzzed throughout his body as he went through his annual routine. A typical year would find him more apathetic than furious before he had to deal with the odious task of teaching. But no matter what Severus did that morning, no matter what path he forced his mind to take, he could not keep his thoughts from turning again and again to the fact that Harry Potter now walked the castle halls. He tried to grit his teeth and bear it by manually writing the instructions for his first class’s assignment on the chalkboard. There was, after all, no reason to take out his temper until the boy himself reared his ugly head, and that would not be for some hours yet. Before that happy time, he had an O.W.L. class of Gryffindors and Slytherins and a gaggle of third-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to endure.

Then he heard the unmistakable sound of someone unlatch the door to the dungeon behind him. They opened said door only as far as they had to to slip inside, after which they pulled the door shut again with great care.

His hackles raised at once. Potter. The thought was ludicrous. Severus knew that as soon as it occurred to him. Potter would likely struggle to find his first class on time, let alone a place as out of the way as the dungeon. Yet Severus could not shake the feeling he’d had since he first set eyes on the boy at the Welcoming Feast the night before: James Potter’s son would not fail to torment him. James would have seen to that.

Severus spun, his black cloak billowing out ominously around him. The threat of taking points from Gryffindor was on the tip of his tongue when he spotted the actual intruder:

“Miss [Last Name],” he said in his softest voice. No one attempted to sneak up on him and got away with it, not even a member of his own house.

Sensing his displeasure, you frozen in the process of sliding into a seat at the very back of the room. Your expression was difficult to read that far away in the dim torchlight surrounding only Severus. He saw no reason to light the entire room up when only he occupied the dungeon. But one thing he could see very clearly: only one eye sparkling in the flickering flames. Vivid purple and green skin swelled the other shut.

“Good morning, Professor Snape,” you murmured.

He did not return your polite greeting. “I do not harbor students after they have been fighting in the halls. You may hide from Filch in your common room or you may turn yourself in to his tender mercies, but I shall not got involved.”

This being the start of your fifth year at Hogwarts, you ought to have known his feelings on misbehavior quite well. He did not care if Slytherins broke the rules so long as they showed brains enough to not get caught. Coming to him in the hope of help once spotted by another teacher or the caretaker would earn you nothing more than Severus’ ire.

Apparently this was one lesson you had not learned. You remained rooted to the spot rather than rushing away at this suggestion. Curious. After all, he made it a point to know the strengths and weaknesses of the students within his purview, and he had never noted you to be unintelligent. Perhaps a firmer hand was needed.

“I also do not appreciate when students come early to proffer their assistance,” he said. “I have no need for the aid of an unqualified witch. Your time would be better spent in the Hospital Wing, Miss [Last Name], and I expect that you will return from there at the proper time for class.”

Such a dismissal could not be mistaken for anything else. He returned his attention to the inventory list on his desk. Only a few lines in, Severus found himself interrupted once more.

“Oh, no, s-sir. I didn’t m-mean to—” The curl of his lips must have made you think better of stammering. You stopped, took a deep breath, and then went on a mite more calmly: “I didn’t come here to disturb you, sir. Or to help you prepare for class.”

“Then what is it that you do want?” he asked.

“Nothing, sir.”

“You would not have sneaked into my classroom while my back was turned for no reason. Spit it out. You are wasting my time.”

An inhale. An exhale. You looked nervously at the door.

“If you expect me to protect you from whomever you are fleeing from, you are sorely mistaken. You must be the one to finish the duels you choose to enter into.”

“I haven’t been fighting at all, Professor!” you protested.

Something about the pitch of your voice rang true. Things added up. He had never known you to pick fights in the corridors. Of course, the more boorish Gryffindors, such as their contemptible quidditch captain, would not care about that if they cornered you alone outside the Great Hall—but even that Severus doubted. Tensions between quidditch teams never rose so early in the term, and only two of the Gryffindors would dare to enrage Minerva before classes even started. What would they get out of doing so by picking on someone like you anyway?

Severus made his slow, calculated way down the aisle between tables to where you sat, back straight and stiff as a wand. Your bruise only grew uglier the closer he drew. Perhaps you knew this, for you ducked your head the moment he stood beside you.

“Look at me,” he ordered, and you reluctantly did so.

Your [color] eyes swallowed him whole. The entire process took a matter of seconds. He found himself standing next to you outside of the heavy door to the dungeon. True to your word, he could see no one in pursuit—and the ghastly muggle wound remained bright around your eye.

So he would need to go farther back.

He followed your memories backward through the morning, though your skipping breakfast, getting out of bed—Severus carefully skipped over your dressing for the day—sulking throughout the Welcoming Feast, and lurking alone in an empty corner of the Hogwarts Express. The black eye never vanished or faded.

“I see,” he said as he exited your mind.

The statement caused the color to drain from your face. “See what? Sir.”

“If you are not having problems with your housemates, I suggest you return to the Great Hall. Fifth year is difficult from the start. You will need your strength to get through my class today.”

“No, please, sir!”

You made a motion as though to grab his sleeve. Did you realize how lucky you were that he did not curse you on instinct for doing so? Severus doubted it. Narrowing his eyes, he took a small step backward and away from your grasping hands. At least you had the grace to look embarrassed for that disgusting display of desperation.

“Please let me stay here until class starts,” you murmured to your feet. “I’ll be quiet. I promise.”

“And how do you intend to keep such a promise?”

“I’ll read my textbook. You won’t know I’m here. Please, sir. Please.”

Upon the second please, you lifted your eyes to meet his again. The mark on your face reminded him unpleasantly of the face he used to see when he looked in the mirror during his days as a student—and more unpleasantly still of those who made his face look that way.

“Why?” Severus asked at last.

“I just…” Taking a deep breath, you plunged forward in as slow an explanation as he thought you could manage, “I don’t want the other students to gawk at me like they always do. Every time I get back from a holiday, it’s the same. I’m tired of it, sir. I just want them to leave me alone.”

I just want them to leave me alone. Yes, he could recall the same words coming out of his mouth once upon a time, and exactly who he said them to, if not who about. He’d had so many tormentors that even staying at the school for Christmas could not keep him away from all of them. Likely you had discovered that yourself over the past five years. What was it that he’d overheard one of your dormmates saying just last September? Something about the red blemishes [L Name] tried to hide as she pulled her robes on in the morning. At the time, Severus had dismissed the conversation as the cattish gossip so typical of fourth-year girls; now he realized it had been something more.

“How long?” he said in his softest voice.

“Excuse me, sir?” Your single huge eye betrayed your feigned ignorance without any need for him to resort to legilimency this time around.

“How long has someone been hurting you?”

“No one has been…” But you trailed away upon noticing his scowl.

“Do not try to lie to me. We both know you have not been fighting with your fellow students, so where else would you have received such a wound? Let me guess,” he went on over your attempted objection, “someone at home did not appreciate your being sent your acceptance letter.”

Silence. Given how still you kept yourself, Severus expected you were concentrating on not shaking in his presence. He could not see that you so much as breathed.

“Five years, then. At least. That answers my first question. Now on to the next: Who?”

“No one you would know, sir,” you said very quietly.

“A muggle, then.”

“No!”

“Then who? Spit it out, girl! Do you think I care to expose your lineage to your housemates? I have better things to do with my time than facilitate drama for my students.”

Your mouth opened—but only for a moment before your lips clamped shut. Perhaps he should have expected he would have to pull the answer from you millimeter by painful millimeter. He had not wanted to tell Lily, after all, and she mattered to him in a way that Horace Slughorn never could.

“Miss [L Name], I cannot help you unless you talk to me. And if you refuse to talk to me, this begs the question of why you felt it necessary to interrupt my work so early in the day. You have taken up enough of my preparation period. You may not stay unless you begin telling me what I want to know.”

Time passed. With no ticking clock on the wall of his classroom, Severus could not say how long your stare down lasted. He could have entered your mind once more while he waited. Instead, he looked down at you wordlessly. You would leave if you valued your privacy over your pride. It seemed you favored the latter, for in the end you finally replied:

“My father.”

The raw anger he felt at hearing these words must have shown on his face and terrified you far more than any of his threats had that day. You hastily went on:

“He’s not my real father. I don’t know who is. Mum married Edgar while she was pregnant with me, and she left when I was just a kid. It’s just been him and me there ever since.”

“And he does not approve of you or your mother being witches?”

“I think he’s just jealous. He’s a squib, you see. Mum’s family arranged the whole thing before anybody knew, and by then it was too late for her to get out of it. Please don’t tell the other Slytherins, Professor! They think I’m pure-blood. If they knew the truth, between that and my eye and the other bruising, the girls in my dorm would—”

“What other bruising?”

Your face darkened until it reached a shade nearly matching that of your swollen eye. “Things got worse this summer. He—”

Severus held up a hand to staunch the sudden flow of your confession. “I do not need the details.”

“Yes, sir.” Ashamed, frightened, or chastised, you cleared your throat several times before continuing, “Anyway, sir, I just wanted to sit down here in the mornings until my eye fades a bit. Is that all right with you, now that I’ve told you everything?”

Under ordinary circumstances, it would not have been all right with him. He could not risk all the students in Hogwarts starting to believe he would offer them shelter from the harsh realities of life. But as he stared down at you, he thought of his childhood and all the pain and ridicule it had brought him at the hands of James Potter and his merry men. If Horace had offered him respite, would Severus still hate him so? Obviously. The situations were, however, quite different, as Severus doubted Horace had faced a day of adversity in his entire life.

“I will consider your request,” said Severus, “if you also tell me what you plan to do about your situation at home nextsummer.”

“Do?” you echoed.

“Yes, ‘do.’ Do not be dense. It does not become you. No one else is going to ride to your rescue. You will therefore have to rescue yourself.”

“But—But how? I’m not of age! In a few years, maybe I can move out, but until then—”

“That’s not good enough! I have watched you, Miss [L Name], as I watch all Slytherins. You are ambitious, clever, resourceful, determined. That is what makes you a true Slytherin, not whether or not you were raised by a blight upon wizarding society. So what, I ask again, are you going to do about it?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Think then. Have you contacted anyone at the Ministry? There are people in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who might be able to offer you assistance.”

“Oh, no, sir!” Tears sprang to your eyes. “I can’t ask anyone for help. I didn’t even want you to find out. What will some random Ministry official think? They’ll laugh at me.”

“Such a viewpoint is narrow-minded and foolish to a startling degree. Asking for help is utilizing resources. Did I just not tell you that doing so made you a Slytherin?”

You gave him a hesitant nod. If he let you go now, you would surely promise to owl the proper authorities and never do so. Your tormentor would have free rein whenever you went home until such a day came that you could bring yourself to leave. Who knew what he could escalate to if allowed that kind of freedom? Severus needed to get you acting now.

“Very well. We will forgo the Ministry for the time being. How will you go about fixing your problem by yourself, then? I am sure that you are fully capable of doing so.”

“No, I’m not! Professor, even if I were as smart as all that, I can’t use magic outside of school. You know that.”

“Except in life-threatening situations, I believe the rule goes. It seems to me that you are more in need of the reminder than I. Be that as it may, you don’t need to use underage magic to brew a potion, now, do you?”

An eager light dawned in your eyes as the suggestion sunk in. He could see your imagination unfurling with a hundred different plots at the very idea. Though he did not necessarily disagree with the sentiment behind these plans, he did feel it was his burden as your head of house to dissuade you from the messier ones.

“You cannot kill him with a potion, much as the man might deserve it. That would attract the authorities, both magic and muggle. But you could use your skill in potions to keep yourself safe for the duration of the summer,” he said.

Safe. You mouthed the word rather than say it allowed, savoring the weight and taste on your tongue. Two of your fingers lifted to gently prod the blackened corner of your eye.

“What potions, sir?” Your tone sounded much more confident than it had all day. “Please tell me. I’ll study them. I’ll know them by heart before I get back on the train.”

“I will do better than give you a list. I will teach you myself.”

Your jaw went slack in a truly deplorable display of shock. Severus chose to be relieved you did not hug him instead of frustrated at your surprise. It was unusual for him to invite students for private lessons, especially for students doing adequate work in his class. A few seconds went by before you were able to control yourself enough to say, “Thank you, sir.”

“It will not be easy,” Severus warned. “I expect you to do exactly as I say exactly when I say.”

He allowed you a pause to accept this condition. You did so with a quiet nod.

“Very well. First of all, you will be here in my classroom an hour before class begins each week, starting next week. Arrive late, and our agreement will come to an end at once.”

“Yes, sir!”

“I also have one other condition.”

The happiness dancing in your eyes faded somewhat. “Yes, sir?” you asked guardedly. As though he would ever put you in the same position as that sorry excuse for your so-called “father.”

“You allow me to escort you to the Hospital Wing this morning. I cannot allow your current appearance to distract the rest of the class, now, can I?”

At first, he could tell that you wanted to argue. Accepting help from him was one thing; showing anything to Poppy would be quite another. Most students at Hogwarts knew she didn’t ask questions about whatever magical maladies plagued them—then again, this was not a magical malady. Perhaps you knew his presence would stave off any attempts on Poppy’s part to get to the bottom of things, because after a moment of mental struggle you said:

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good,” Severus said as he went to the door. He made it all the way there while you remained rooted to the spot. “Come along. Unless you want to run into your dormmates on the way.”

With a start, you stood, grabbed your book bag, and rushed right past him into the hall. Severus stopped only long enough to lock the door behind you both. Then the two of you headed side by side toward the stairway leading to the higher floors of the castle.

A tremendous waste of his time, taking a fully-functioning teenage girl to seek medical attention? Undoubtedly. But staying nearby to make sure you didn’t run off before Poppy finished with you did keep his mind off the imminent arrival of one Harry James Potter. And was it truly a waste of time to help one of his Slytherins get through a nasty childhood like his? As Severus watched Poppy tut over your black eye, he thought not—although no one would ever hear him admit it out loud.

Summary:Because the Herbology professor stole his date.

Rating/Warnings: T (sexual references; Herbology Professor!Neville; Charms Professor!Reader; set during Next Generation timeline)

Fic Trade Prompt: Why Didn’t the Skeleton Go to the Dance?

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Why Didn’t the Skeleton Go to the Dance?

After the fiasco that was the Triwizard Tournament, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry pretty much put the kibosh on anything related to the competition. This included balls for a good number of years–at least until the students’ cry for chaperoned romance became so loud that even Headmistress Professor McGonagall threw up her hands in surrender. Since that time, the school held one ball a year, each on the same day: Halloween.

It came as no surprise to anyone that Professor Longbottom tried his best to stay away from such festivities. A near-run-in with a troll on Halloween of his first year left him a little nervous about the day, even as a full-grown man nearly as famous as Harry Potter. That didn’t stop Professor McGonagall from trying to convince him to chaperone every year, but Neville preferred to spend the evening looking after his mandrakes.

When he wandered back into the castle that Halloween night, however, the ball was still in full swing. An unexpected frost had killed much of his stock, leaving Neville with very little to do outside of fit the rest of the mandrakes with scarves. The music was sure to continue for several hours, rendering an early bedtime moot. He lingered in the hallway, listening to sounds of revelry drifting from the great hall. At least the ball had food, and there was nothing to be afraid of except a few students getting a little too intimate with their dates.

Or so Neville thought until he heard some very strange banging coming from a nearby classroom. He nearly leapt out of his skin, then paused, waiting for the sound to come again. When it did, the bumps accompanied a cry of “No! Not like that. Oh, come on! It’s nearly over!”

He stepped closer and then closer still. Almost without thinking, Neville lifted his hand toward the room’s door’s handle.  Before he could work up the nerve to open the door, someone burst out of it–or maybe twosomeones. The first careened straight into his chest before he could get a good look at things.

“Oh!” you said as you pushed yourself off of him. “Longbottom!”

“Um…[L Name],” Neville answered with a frown.

One of your hands had encircled his arm so that you could steady yourself. Your other hand was preoccupied by the skeleton standing behind you wearing a set of dress robes. Once you righted yourself, your eyes followed Neville’s gaze as you brushed the hair from your face.

“Where are my manners?” you said, and tugged on the skeleton’s arm. The laugh that followed sounded distinctly uncomfortable. “This is Roger. Roger, this is Professor Longbottom.”

“Hello…Roger,” Neville said with a small wave.

Roger turned his head away as though he were disgusted by Neville’s appearance.

You elbowed Roger in the rib cage. “Roger! Be nice!”

By then, Neville was frowning at you. Your hair was in disarray, though you’d clearly tried to do it up nicely to go along with your dress. Your ditzy demeanor was nothing new, however; Neville often wondered how in the world you had convinced Professor McGonagall of all people to give you the Charms position. That did not stop him from being curious, though, especially as Roger began to drag you down the hall toward the ball.

“What were you doing in there with a skeleton?” Neville asked as you managed to get Roger to stop. He sincerely hoped it wasn’t what he often caught the sixth years at in vacant classrooms after dark.

At first, he thought that would be quite the feat, considering Roger’s missing several important fleshy bits, but then you turned a light shade of pink. A second later, you looked back at Roger, who quickly shook his head. You released his bony fingers and took a step toward Neville.

“You can’t tell anyone okay?”

“Uh…” was all Neville said in response.

He really, reallydidn’t want to know about your kinks. You both planned to stay at Hogwarts for quite a while still, and it would make talking to you in the teachers’ lounge difficult. Clearly, you had no idea where Neville’s thought were headed, though, because you continued in a pleading whisper:

“I just really wanted to go to the dance.”

“I…see,” said Neville, though he apparently did not.

“Please don’t tell Professor Pendragon!” you squeaked. “I was going to put Roger back as soon as the ball was over, and I was going to take the charm off of him, too!”

Slowly, Neville nodded. Then it occurred to him that feigning understanding would get him nowhere.

“Okay, I have no idea what’s going on here. Are you saying you charmed the Alchemy professor’s skeleton so you could take him on a date?” he asked.

“I didn’twantto,” you said in a rush. “But…no one asked me, and I…really wanted to go. If I danced by myself, I’d look like an idiot.”

Before you even finished your explanation, Neville was chuckling. Your last words trailed away into a tear-filled stare as you watched.

“It’s not funny! You don’t know how it is, being a single woman in a castle full of children and elderly teachers. I’m never going to get married, never!”

“You could date Professor Pendragon,” Neville offered, and got only a shove for his suggestion. “All right, all right. I won’t tell him. But it would probably be better if you went ahead and put Roger back. Won’t Pendragon notice when he sees you two dancing?”

Maybe you hadn’t thought of that, because you paled instantly at Neville’s words. Still, the look you threw Roger was one of great remorse. His only response was to tap his feet against the floor. You turned back to Neville.

“But…”

He reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll go with you. That way both of us have an excuse to be there.”

“You will?”

Neville nodded. If Roger had eyes, the look he shot Neville as you lifted your wand definitely would have been a glare. Unfortunately, the skeleton had no time to prevent his second demise. With a flick of your wand, all life disappeared from his bones, and you caught the collapsing structure easily in your arms. A moment later, Roger disappeared.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” you exclaimed, and took Neville’s hand. “I’ve never had a date with someone living before!”

Somehow, Neville thought to himself as you yanked him after you into the great hall, he wasn’t surprised.

Harry : I’m nervous about today’s quidditch match

Y/n : Against what house?

Harry :Slytherin

Y/n : Don’t worry, snakes have no arms

Draco : I HEARD THAT! *Slithering to the great hall*

Magnolia Final Part

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Mentions of blood and death

Summary: idk dude just read the other chapters first or this is gonna make no sense

A/n: I did this instead of studying for my finals, also it could probably use a neither round of editing but I was anxious to post it. And I really don’t give a fuck if this is historically inacurate all research done for this was from Pirate of the Caribbean.

Part 1 Part 2

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You considered the stars your friends, their predictability and reserve made them easy to get along with. You had been taught to read their language from your early days of ships and oceans. As a child, you would speak to them, whispering secrets from your bedroom window. Your young nights had been filled with time spent stretching from the top of your magnolia tree to try and grasp their beauty. Even now as you stared up at the heavens you wished to cradle them like priceless jewels, their wonder never faded. But you supposed their mystery is what made them so appealing, everyone wanted something they could never quite reach.

The news of your captured prince had spread like fire in a dry wind, the letters you had sent to Aldir and their neighboring kingdoms throwing many into action. Sirius’s kingdom was large, powerful, and merciless. Some wanted the prince for leverage, many others wanted blood; revenge driving them to empty treasuries and sharpen swords. At first, you had been sitting pretty, letters of bids coming to you at every stop you made. Eventually, prices got too high and kingdoms decided it would be easier to take than to pay.

Ash burned in the back of your throat, you stared at your feet as the second ship that week crumbled into the ocean. Its flames were heavy on your back, reflecting in the greys of the sea. A particularly large crack of the fire made the breath catch in your throat. Your fear of the element had persisted for years filling your nightmares with smoke and screams. 

As the distance between you and the defeated ship lengthened your heart began to calm. The air was thick with moisture, purple clouds bruising the dull sky. The ocean was frothy, waves lapping tirelessly at the sides of your ship.

Your mind felt dizzy, the taste of blood still thick in your mouth. Two more men had been lost in the fight which had taken place just minutes ago. One flung into the ocean and the other struck by a bullet. That was six bodies that you had been forced to dump into the sea the past month. 

You had to get rid of Sirius before more corpses were to be fed to the sharks. This had never been so strikingly obvious before yet, you hesitated. Nails dug into your palms, the voices in your head fighting a clamoring war. Your feelings were illegible, their messy colors smeared together in an uninterpretable painting. So you threw them away, ignoring the throb in your chest and taking a breath. Sirius was to be sold to the highest bidder and that was that. You felt your past’s grip on your throat loosening. There was only one way to get rid of what used to be, you had to kill it. 

Sirius had never been so bewildered before. His life had been a book that was written a thousand times over. The prince falls in love, the queen doesn’t approve, the love runs off, the prince finds the love, and then happily ever after. But life wasn’t as sweet nor simple as a children’s story and this may be the first time that he had ever truly realized that. All it took was the prince to be tied in the love’s basement ready to be sold to his death. 

Sirius woke with a start as metal clattered inches from his face. His heart pounded loudly in his ears as his breath slowly returned to his lungs. He stared at the plate which had woken him, it was piled higher than normal with two rolls dropped next to it. He peered up at the giver of this gift.

He recognized the small blonde as the one he had threatened a few weeks before, the fear he had seen in her eyes that moment now replaced with pity, bitter and soft like rotten fruit. 

“I wanna talk.” She said plainly, toeing the plate towards him like a bribe, he supposed that’s exactly what it was. 

Sirius sat up ignoring the hammer of his head. His hair stuck to his cheek, slick with sweat. The woman whose name he never learned dropped to a squat beside him, a small knife held in her hand. His eyes widened as it glinted in the small gas lamp hanging above his head. 

“Relax.” She sighed cutting the rope that tethered his hands behind his back. 

Sirius felt his shoulders groan in protest as they fell forward, his wrists aching and rubbed red. Hot pin pricks filled his fingers as he clenched and unclenched his fists. 

When he looked back up Adrie was now seated in front of him, her legs crossed. She glanced down at the food and then back up at him, “You can eat if you agree to answer some questions.” Her demands were simple. 

He let silence settle for just a moment, “Fine.” After all, what did he have to lose? His dignity? His pride? They had been sleeping with the fishes for ages. 

She pushed the plate towards him, watching him quietly as he began to eat, “You don’t look like much of a prince to me.” She hummed after a moment.

Sirius swallowed, licking his lips, “Does anyone after two weeks locked in the bottom of a ship full of scum?“

Adrie cracked a smile, “I suppose not.” 

She stared at him still, she was lying a bit. Years held prisoner couldn’t erase the royalty he was raised with, it stuck to him like wet stuck to water. Nothing and everything proved him a prince, you could take his crown but you could never take his title.

“How do you know y/n?”

Sirius was startled by the suddenness of the question but not remotely surprised it was asked, “She hasn’t told you?” 

“I wouldn’t be asking if she had,” Adire responded, her tone was blunt. 

He bit into a roll thoughtfully taking his time to chew slowly, she was patient, her blank expression, not faltering.

“I thought you were friends.” He mumbled with a full mouth. 

Her jaw tightened, “Y/n doesn’t speak of her past.”

“So you’ve come to me for information?” Sirius said mild mockery in his voice.

“Obviously.”

He eyed the woman curiously, she was not what he had expected of your right hand man. Sirius smiled loosely, “You sure you wanna disobey Captain’s orders?” 

“Start talking or I take the food and hang you by your ankles.” 

Sirius huffed glancing between her and his food, “Fine, you win.” 

“Good. Tell me everything.” She demanded.

Sirius felt his throat tighten around the potatoes he had swallowed, his mind ached with hazy memories of summer days and speeding hearts, “There isn’t much to tell.” 

“You’re a bad lair.” Adire hummed. 

Sirius sighed, eyes falling to the bright white scars which laced his hands. He wasn’t sure where else to start but the beginning. He told of a loud baker girl who snuck over the walls into his garden and brought him pastries and friendship. He continued with vague details, of growing up together with swords and stars, reliving each moment he shared. 

He felt his words stiffen as he spoke of falling in love with you. Part of him felt like he was talking of someone completely different. Someone who had burnt up with her parents in a small bakery a million miles away. What was left, muffling cries above him, was a shell of that girl her soul replaced with seaweed and smoke. He pushed the thought away, swallowing it with the lump in his throat as he continued to speak of a proposal he regretted and the consequences of disobeying his mother. 

The broken fairytale cut his tongue filling his mouth with a bitter taste. He attempted to wash it down with the rum his listener had brought to him but its flavor was just as bad, it’s only redemption was the warmth that filled his stomach.

Adrie looked at him blankly, "I don’t blame her for wanting you dead." 

Sirius wished she had stayed silent. 

"But I pity you, you don’t deserve death." 

He didn’t look up and instead finished his drink, "Your pity means nothing to me." 

She sighed standing to her feet, "I never thought it did." 

When her boots disappeared up the ladder he let his cup drop to the ground, it rolled knocking into his heel as tears dripped from his chin.

By the time you had dropped anchor just off of Haran, the moisture had dropped from the air. Dry winds and clear skies greeted your crew. 

Rowboats were dropped in the water quickly, the sun was setting fast and a night of cheap ale and cheaper women were in the forefront of many a man’s heads. 

You were tired, the happiness of your crewmates falling short at your feet. Exhaustion had replaced all anger and sadness you had harbored for the past weeks making your eyes grow dull as the bags beneath them. The satchel burned under your arms had a note you had written agreeing to the Yerith King’s price. You had singed your finger on the wax used to seal the envelope, it still throbbed a bit with the unsteady beat of your heart. You tried not to think about much on your way to land instead filling your head with that faint burn and fog of the setting sun. 

Adrie watched as you played with the diamond strung around your neck, a new piece she had only seen in recent days. She assumed you had taken it from one of the ships which had recently burnt into the sea. The bright stone was so different from the rest of your jewelry she was surprised you wore it all. Obnoxious gems had never been your type.

She was wrong on this thought, large jewels used to be what you would stare at as you passed shop windows, wishing you had the money to clutch one in your hand. They used to be a dream and a wish, now they were just things you stole and sold to the highest bidder.

Sirius had been briefly told of the plans for the evening. Two men whom he had become somewhat accustomed to during his stay had tied him up. The knots were tighter than usual as they were to be gone for the night. In his usual nature, Sirius complained about the ache of his wrists and the cramps in his legs. His grievances went unheard and his company disappeared from sight. The boat was quiet within the hour, nothing but the creak of old boards and calls of gulls far above his head breaking the silence. 

He drifted in and out of sleep for a few hours, time passing in its usual way, slowly. Finally, a clear thought came to Sirius’s head, he had the whole boat to himself. That meant there was no one to stop him from escaping his certain and quickly approaching death. 

Sirius tried to twist his hands out of the rope for what must have been an hour and only resulted in drawing blood from his wrists. Switching tactics he began to slowly shuffle and roll around the cabin he was in, searching for anything that could cut rope. As the sun’s light began to fade his task was growing difficult. Just before he gave in to his exhaustion Sirius found a bent nail sticking about a centimeter out of the ladder that led to the upper deck. The next two hours were spent rubbing his binds against the dull metal until they finally snapped. 

    After a month of being held prisoner, freedom left him stunned. He stumbled up the ladder until he reached the ship’s deck. The warm breeze which washed over him felt like a gift from the gods. A smile stretched his aching cheeks and for the first time in a while Sirius Black let out a genuine laugh. 

He quickly found a small boat which he could lower to the water. He could be miles away before the sun rose and you found his binds cut. Judging by the port you had stopped at he was only a few days’ row from neutral lands. There he could gather himself and write for help. He was saved.

Sirius’s glee was cut short as he realized that he was missing one vital thing; you. The only reason he was out here in the first place was for you. He had spent years following rumors across the sea, he had given up his place as king, he had spent hundreds of thousands on supplies. But the truth was even if he hadn’t done all that, even if he had stumbled across you within a week and spent no more than ten doubloons he still wouldn’t leave this ship alive unless you were by his side. 

Sirius cursed, slamming his fist into the deck. His eyes darted around in what felt like panic. He was trapped between your love and his life and while he had chosen the former weeks ago he had no way of securing it. 

In the dark, a glint of light was seen. A crate of liquor stowed next to the captain’s quarters revealed itself to the pale moon. The man’s mind buzzed, he realized quickly that he would need to act fast, the hours of the dark he had left must be well used. 

The deal had been easy, one glance at the large gem and you had a buyer offering hundreds. You walked away with 400 doubloons knowing it was worth much more. Not that you cared, you had been hours from chucking the necklace into the sea. 

It was late at night now, the golden light of pubs and brothels spilling onto the gravel road you walked. Your legs still felt weak, they were accustomed to the sway of boats on sloshing waves not the strange sturdiness of the ground. You hadn’t been able to sleep well on land since you had stepped off it, you had always opted for a swinging hammock over a still cot. 

You swung your bag of coins round in circles as you made your way to the beach. The water was smooth save the ripple of waves drawn by the full moon. Sand glistened silver under your boots, the light crash of water on rocks echoing around you. 

You had never intended to spend the full night on land, your crew was well aware of this fact and none would be surprised to find you gone in the morning. You shoved one of your beached row boats back into the water, splashing about ankle deep before leaping into it. 

When you reached your ship, you sensed something was wrong immediately. The small voice which you tended to ignore was screaming in the back of your head. As you climbed onto the deck the strong scent of liquor overwhelmed you. You heard a soft splash and glanced down to look at the puddle you had stepped into. Swiping two fingers through the fluid and plopping them into your mouth you hummed. There was no mistaking the sharp taste of gin. You looked around to find the leak and instead locked eyes with a figure who stood about 20 meters in front of you. 

“Sirius?” You asked though you already knew it was him, you didn’t think you would ever forget his face, even if it was obscured by the shadows of the moon. 

He gapped at you, unsure of what to say.

You took a step closer and caught a glance of the bottle he held in his hand. Its thin neck was stuffed with a piece of cloth, the soft glow of a gas lamp flickering behind him. The second you realized what he had planned your gun was pointed at his chest.

“Drop the bottle Black.” you hissed with a steady voice despite the fact that your gun was rattling in your hands. Your thoughts were now fogged with fear, plagued by smoke and flames.

Sirius had suddenly found his voice, “I know you’re not stupid enough to fire that. One spark and we’ll both go up in flames.”

Your breaths quickened, vision blurring as tears welled in your eyes. “Why are you doing this?” You croaked. “Why do you want to ruin everything I’ve built for myself?”

“I’m not leaving without you y/n.” He shouted, “I can’t live without you. Just come with me. Please. Just come with me and it will all be fine.” 

You shook your head, “No.”

“Please, please! I need you y/n, I can’t go back without you!” He begged, snatching the lamp from behind him, “I won’t be able to live.”

It was in that moment that you understood he was just as desperate as you, just as lost and hopeless. You dropped your gun to your side, tears sliding slowly down your cheeks. Your throat tightened holding back a sob, “Okay.” You said with a broken voice.

Sirius cracked a small smile, “I knew it.” He sighed, “I knew you still loved me.” Setting down the lamp he opened his arms walking towards you. You met him halfway burying your face into his rough jacket.

“God I missed you y/n,” he whispered as you slipped a knife from under your sleeve.

“I’m so sorry Siri.” You mumbled in response before plunging the blade into his back. 

You held him as he collapsed forward, choking back on his own blood. You had begun to sob, hand still clutching the hilt of the blade which was lodged into him. Eventually his weight became too much to bear and you both fell to the ground. Sirius rolled off next to you, his hand still clasped around your own. The two of you started up at the stars listening as his breaths slowed. Just before they stopped completely you felt a small squeeze of your hand and for just a moment you saw the soft pink of a petal floating towards you.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, staring up at the sky but it was long enough for you to finally realize that you were the villain of your story. It was an odd thing to recognize considering in all of the books you had carried as a child you took the place of the protagonist; the one who swung the sword to save the kingdom You had always been the one to end your life with a happily ever after. 

Now you had realized that you had never been a hero. You had spent your life as a villain in the making, each step you had taken leading you closer and closer to your undeniable fate of evil. You had your chance to be the princess trapped in the tower, but you had ignored the prince and now took the shape of a witch. A witch who stole and killed and burned all that she hated. Some had to do it after all, we can’t all be heroes. There is no story without a villain, at least not one worth reading.

As much as the small baker girl who rested amongst the magnolia tree would have hated you, the woman you saw when you looked in the mirror was okay with who you had become. And if she was okay with it, then why did it matter what the past would have thought? You had been running from it for years and now you would never have to again. Because now your past ran from you. 

taglist:

@april-showers-and-flowers@fleurmoon@chaosinparadise@re-zerohora@pregnant-piggy@approved-by-dentists@theweirdobella@fific7@whitewashedghanianlol@artemis1orion@justmesadgirl @bberree @songforhema @wangmangagavroche@evyiione@atomicpunkrock@fairywriter-oracle @moon-zodiac @secretsofageek @accio-rogers-blog@roslea@k3nz-doodl3@theseuscmander@sleepingalaska@chloe-geoghegan1@obsessedwithrandomthings-blog@coldlilheart @suseptiable-bur-siriusexual @inglorious-imagines @the-natureofme@trickylittlewitch @layaa-layaaa @teheharrypotter @sarcasticallywitty15 @rosieweasleyy @dracosgoodgirl@inglourious-imagines

so many of u changed ur urls so if I have the wrong person tagged or the wrong username let me know

Masterlist

4k Drabble Celebration

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First of all thank you all for 4k followers im quiet literally blown away. Since I’ve been so inactive im actually closer to 4.2k at this point but I thought I’d just celebrate the bigger milestone lol.

Request a Drabble!

As celebration im going to be asking you guys to send me prompts for drabbles ill write. This is partially to get me writting again so my apologies if the first few are shit.

Rules:

• follow my request rules which you can find HERE
• these will be short probably from 100-500 words or so
• PLEASE SEND ME CREATIVE STUFF, tropes that have been done 1000 times can get really boring to write so please send me some unique stuff
• Send this through my ask box only, I will not be taking them through messages and keep it to ONE ask and ONE ask only

Thank you guys again for 4k!!

one gift i need /// h.p.

one gift i need

harry potter x reader

summary: it’s the last day before winter holiday, and y/n and harry find themselves flustered while gift exchanging!

warnings:none!

words: 1k

y/n ran down the castle stairs, panting heavily as she swarmed past classmates and uttering a sorry to those she may have bumped into. She weaved through the masses that were getting ready to leave Hogwarts, for it was (after all) the last day before winter break. Friends beckoned their goodbyes, hugging tightly and telling each other they would ‘see them next year’.

However, the corridor’s bustling energy was no match for y/n as she continued to weave through her classmates. Her eyes struggling to fixate on who she was looking for. She stood on her tippy toes, peering above what seemed like one hundred heads. Finally, she caught her eyes on a rather tall boy with orange hair. Harry must not be far behind, y/n thought to herself. She hurried towards the red-head’s direction, and sure enough, the golden boy was at his side.

Y/n ran to Harry as if her life had depended on it. Before she could reach him, he turned in her direction, catching a glimpse of her happy face. He, too, ran to meet her and embraced her tightly as they met. They stayed together for a moment before breaking away gently

“You didn’t think I’d leave without saying goodbye, did you?” She remarked, cocking her head with a smile.

Harry laughed breathlessly, “Never.”

Their brief moment alone was seized as Harry’s friends came to greet y/n. Ron placed his hand on both Harry and y/n’s shoulder’s, bringing then a few inches closer together; causing a blush to warm up y/n’s cheeks. “Any good plans for holiday, y/n?” Ron practically bellowed.

Hermioneshushed him, earning a shrug of the shoulders from Ron. y/n only giggled at the two. “Nothing too exciting, just going to my Aunt’s in Ireland for a bit then back home before next term starts again,” she replied sweetly.

“How wonderful,” Hermione pipped. “A country holiday sounds like fun!”

Y/n nodded her head. Ron only waved his hand in the air, “Please, Hermione. We all know that nothing could be better than the Burrow during Christmas time.” He laughed at himself.

“Ronald!” Hermione scolded.

“What,” he rolled her eyes. “Even y/n knows it’s true. If only she could have joined us this year again.”

Harry, embarrassed, shook his head, “She does have family, you know.”

“Just saying,” Ron threw his arms up in defense. Harry and Hermione shook their heads at the boy, while y/n smiled knowingly.

y/n patted Ron’s shoulder, “Maybe next year.”

He shook his head at her offer, “I’ll take you up on that.”

She snorted and mumbled an okay. Harry then shot a look towards Ron, trying his hardest to shrug him off. Hermione quickly picked up on it, grabbing Ron’s arm.

“Well,” she stated cheerfully. “We wish you a good holiday! See you when term resumes!” Quickly wrapping y/n up in a hug, Hermione then shuffled Ron out into the midst of the corridors and back into the hub of students saying goodbye.

Harry took y/n’s hand and flashed a smile in her direction. He led her slightly out of the way into a corridor just out of sight. Pushing against the masses, they found a moment of peace. Harry was blushing feverishly and fiddled with his fingers. His eyes darted downwards for a moment, as if regretting his decision.

“Harry,” started y/n with care in her eyes. “Is everything alright.”

His eyes blinked back up to meet hers and he took a deep breath. “You know how rubbish I am at these sort of things, y/n,” he shook. “And I guess I don’t want to make a fool of myself, that all.”

“Oh, Harry,” the girl cooed. “You could never make a fool of yourself, especially not in front of me.”

She then laughed, setting Harry a bit more at ease. “Well, I think you already know how very much I like you,” He smiled, as she knowingly nodded. “So, I thought that I would find you something special, for the holiday, you know?”

Y/n covered her smile with her hands, overwhelmed at his gesture. Harry, she sighed lovingly. He reached into his jumper and pulled out a small box that was tied with a silver ribbon. Harry hesitantly reached out to give her the gift, and as she took it Harry shook his head.

“I really hope you like it,” Harry nervously stated. He watched intently as she opened the packaging. y/n opened the box, revealing a small brooch. It was shaped as a golden snitch with a gemstone placed in the middle.

“It’s a mood reader,” Harry explained. “So, that way I never miss a chance to cheery you up or embrace your happiness. Of course, I got the stone from a divination store, so who knows if it actually works.” They both laughed, as she clutched the brooch to her chest.

“I absolutely love it,” y/n exclaimed, beaming with happiness.

Harry shuffled, blushing fully. “And I’ve got a matching one!” He excitedly beamed, pointing to the spot on his collar in which he paced it. y/n smiled hard as she placed a kiss onto Harry’s cheek. “You’re too sweet, Harry. Thank you,“ she gratefully exclaimed. y/n then turned excitedly, "Okay, my turn!”

Y/n outstretched her hand to reveal a palm sized box, wrapped neatly with dancing snowmen paper. Harry took the box and unwrapped its contents gracefully, folding the paper back neatly. He opened the box revealing a thin gold chain, with a slim golden circle that lay in the center. It was engraved with the wording, ‘always with you, though far apart’.

"You know,” y/n slowly spoke. “So we always know each other is near even if you’re away at your Aunt’s or away just because.” Harry closed the box back up and held it to his heart, a small tear slipping down his cheek. y/n covered her mouth slightly, surprised by the boy’s actions. She had never seen him this vulnerable before.

“What is it?” y/n provoked kindly.

“It’s just,” Harry paused. He caught himself, as he quickly swiped the tear on his face away. “I’ve only just realized that nobody has ever done anything for me like this before. Growing up I used to get Dudley’s old socks and now here you are. Giving me the most beautiful present, I’ve ever received. I don’t know what else to say besides thank you.”

“Harry,” she took his hand. “You deserve every bit of love and more. Seeing you happy is the only present I will ever need.”

Harry then wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. He whispered sweet nothings into her ears, telling her just how much he loved her. They stayed together like that for a while. Utterly embraced in each other’s love. y/n was the first to pull away; she looked into his eyes with all of her admiration.

“Happy Christmas, Harry.” She smiled.

“Happy Christmas, my love.” He smiled back.

(a/n- thank you so much for reading! this is the first installment of my holiday celebration! i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it. please, feel free to message me or send an ask of you would like to be added to my holiday taglist! reblog are appreciated! see you someplace magical!)

pairing:draco malfoy x female!reader

summary: reader has secrets of her own. a party at the malfoy manor reveals them.

a/n: i had to rewrite this bc im dumb n my first draft didn’t save which was Very upsetting but anyways i hope you like it :“) 

“Well, don’t you look dashing.”

Draco’s eyes snap up in the mirror.

[Y/N] is standing in his doorway, having somehow opened the door without him noticing. She has one shoulder leaning on the doorframe, arms folded over her chest, eyebrows raised. There is a glint in her eye that Draco knows all too well; that of playfulness, of fondness. One he has long since associated with safety.

He breathes out a short laugh. “How long have you been standing there?” Draco asks, ringed fingers deftly resuming to work on his tie, but he isn’t having much success. He feels far too jittery, and as a result he keeps accidentally knotting it, only to unwind the silk and try again, over and over like some messed up routine.

Watching her through the mirror’s reflection, he sees [Y/N] step into the room. She’s wearing a plain black dress; lace sleeves, collarbones in display, the silver necklace he’d given her hanging around her neck.

“Long enough to find out that you’re a grown seventeen year old who doesn’t know how to tie his own tie.”

Draco still has it in him to roll his eyes, to let out a short-lived laugh. “I do,” he mutters, yanking a little at the fabric in frustration. “It’s just..”

[Y/N] swiftly pads across his room to join him at the dresser, a tiny grin playing across her lips. Standing in front of him, she gently knocks his hands away so as to work on his tie herself.

“Nerves?” she says quietly. The grin on her lips falls slightly as she fixes her gaze on his tie, hands quickly working to loop the loose ends together.

Draco inhales sharply. His palms are clammy, his heart is beating too fast inside of his chest—to say that he’s dealing with nerves would be an understatement.

”You could say that,” he decides, curling and uncurling his fists at his sides. When she looks up to meet his gaze, he tries for a weak smile, if only to quell the storm inside his heart.

”It’ll be fine,” [Y/N] tells him with a pursed smile. She’s done tying his tie. Her hands move to rest on his shoulders, which are covered with his suit jacket. His mother had insisted he wear it, just as her own mother had no doubt insisted [Y/N] wear her dress; it is somewhat of a special occasion, after all, although what they are celebrating is hardly something that neither draco nor [Y/N] feel too ecstatic about it.

”There’ll be drinks,” continues [Y/N] with a lilting tone, thumbs smoothing over the creases of his suit. “And..”

She trails off. There isn’t really much to say.

”Dancing?” Draco suggests half-heartedly.

There is one brief second in which their eyes meet, and both of their lips are already beginning to quirk up at the corners, and then the next they are both breaking out into laughter. And it’s not the kind that hurts your stomach or has you pounding your fists on the ground, but it’s laughter nonetheless—a little rigid, a little heavy-hearted, but it’s just as relieving.

[Y/N]’s shoulders wrack with subtle giggles. “Yeah,” she agrees, nodding. “And I suspect Greyback will be giving a motivational speech.”

Draco feels his lips tug up into a crooked grin. “Hear my aunt might skip out on the party. She’s got knitting to do, you see.”

Both of them let themselves paint a picture inside their head: the infamous, untamed Bellatrix, sitting in a quiet corner with a quilt in her lap, humming a little tune to herself.

[Y/N] throws her head back in a loud laugh, and this time it’s not quite as tense. Draco watches her, laughing quietly on his own, and suddenly his heart doesn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

He watches as the last of her giggles dissipate, and she is smiling down at her shoes again, and then back up at him.

“We’ll be okay,” she tells him softly, once more reaching out, but not to tie his tie or to smoothen out the creased fabric of his suit, but to card her fingers through his hair the way she knows relaxes him.

Staring down at her—holding her gaze, which is warm and comforting and reminiscent of simpler times, like when she would sneak into his bed at Hogwarts and they would whisper and laugh quietly into the night, taking care not to wake up any of his roommates—Draco allows himself to breathe. To feel like himself again; a boy in love and nothing more.

”Yeah,” he says, closing his eyes, leaning forward to lean his forehead on hers. “Yeah, we will.”

—

Gatherings at the Malfoy Manor were usually a grand event; peacocks would mill about the lawn, some wandering past the large castle doors and into the drawing room, where the guests would stroke their feathers in admiration with one hand and hold a glass of the finest mulled wine in the other as they spoke among themselves, laughing and boasting offhandedly about the ancient living room set they’d imported from France or their children’s future careers. Sometimes one would have enough courage to bring up the notion of arranged marriages, only for Narcissa Malfoy to turn them down and say that Draco would choose for himself when the time came, veering the conversation away towards things like ministry connections.

Parties happened often back then—not as much to celebrate as to fill up the overly large halls of the manor with pointless chatter—but things have changed. It’s been a while since the Malfoys last opened their doors to guests.

Does this count as a party? Draco wonders to himself, watching Death Eaters filter into the drawing room, some wearing sickening grins and others looking dead inside.

There are no more wandering peacocks. No more music, no more friendly guests eager to wed their children into the Malfoy family. There are only murderers. Death Eaters. There is laughter, but the kind that has Draco feeling uneasy.

Things have changed. Draco wonders if it’s for the better.

He knows he and [Y/N] can’t hide here forever—at the edge of the shadowed banister overlooking the entrance hall—but they stay there for as long as they can, until his grim-looking mother comes up the staircase and beckons for them to join the party.

Party. Ha.

So Draco and [Y/N] trail after Narcissa, who leads them into the drawing room, where most of the Death Eaters have gathered. No peacocks, no music, but there iswine, and almost everyone is clutching a glass of it.

He feels [Y/N]’s fingers graze against his. Looking over at her, she sees him staring placidly in front of her, meeting no one’s gaze, but she seems to feel his eyes on her—so she turns her head to the side, and Draco sees her facade slip away for the smallest of split seconds as the look on her face softens and she gives him this small, reassuring smile.

He can almost hear her voice inside his head: we’ll be okay.

Draco swallows. Nods just a fraction of an inch.

People clap him on the back as he passes, congratulating him and [Y/N] for a job well done at fixing the Vanishing Cabinet. Draco nods mutely and lets [Y/N] do the talking—she has always been better at keeping her composure, masking her true thoughts.

"Could never have imagined it,” cackles Alecto Carrow, marching up to them in the middle of the large room. Her cheeks are already tinged pink with intoxication, voice a higher pitch than usual. “Most I expected from you lot was.. well, nothing, really. Doubted you could even fix a dresser, much less a whole bloody cabinet!” she shrieks with laughter, some of the wine from her glass spilling onto the floor.

[Y/N]’s gaze is stony. “Thank you.”

Alecto’s nose wrinkles, her chortles dying down. “Thank you?” she repeats. “S'that all you have to say?”

For a brief, horrifying moment, Draco almost thinks [Y/N] is going to bite back with a sarcastic remark—but things have changed and there is a mark on her arm now, so instead she says, flatly, “It wasn’t an easy feat.” A slight pause. “We’re just as surprised as you.”

Alecto grins. She seems satisfied. “Well, ‘course it wasn’t an easy feat, or at least for you.” She takes a big swig out of her glass. “Could’ve done it myself in ten minutes, isn’t that right, Amycus?”

Her brother Amycus snickers but doesn’t reply. Draco knows it’s because he doubts Alecto’s claims just as much as they do; she doesn’t seem capable of writing even a bloody paragraph on her own.

“Well,” says [Y/N]. “We appreciate your.. praise.”

Draco almost snorts. It’s uncharacteristic of her to be so formal, and most of all to take the high road when being insulted. He knows that if things were different, if their lives weren’t on the line, she wouldn’t be standing here at Draco’s side—no, her wand would be at Alecto’s throat.

But that little bit of humor quickly fades when Draco finds Amycus staring at [Y/N], uncouth eyes roaming from her lips to her exposed collarbones, the skin hiding just underneath the lace of her sleeves, the dress hugging her figure—

Draco feels anger flare up, hot and heavy inside of his chest. Unconsciously, he finds himself stepping forward, urged on by that unpleasant feeling worming its way into his stomach, curling his hands into fists, tinging the tips of his ears red as his fingers edge closer to the wand inside his pocket.

¨What are you looking at, boy?¨ Amycus sneers, meeting his gaze.

Draco thinks, at that moment, that magic would hardly be fit to put this ugly brute of a man in his place—no, he´d much rather use his fists, pummel them into that crooked nose of his until he kneels at [Y/N]’s feet and begs for her forgiveness, because no one should look at her like that—

[Y/N] is whispering something, but he can´t hear it through the blood rushing in his ears.

But all of a sudden, Amycus’s gaze changes. He is no longer looking at Draco; rather, at something over his shoulder, and then he is bowing his head, eyes downcast.

All it takes Draco is a brief glance behind him to realize why.

He hears [Y/N] now: he’s here. He’s here.

An odd hush has fallen over the large room. The cause is easy to pinpoint; the Dark Lord has appeared at the entrance of the large drawing room, bringing with him a familiar sense of foreboding as everyone’s breath seems to hitch. It’s funny, in a sick way, how easily the atmosphere has shifted from something like ease to suffocating tension. How Alecto, who had been cackling into her glass of wine just moments before, now looks like a dog called to heel. How Amycus has torn his hungry gaze away from [Y/N] to instead stare down obediently at his feet. How Draco’s own parents, who stand a few feet away from the Dark Lord at the entrance, have their lips pursed and their hands clasped in front of them in submission.

Draco would laugh, but he is one of them now, and his head is hung just like the rest of them.

¨My, my,¨ says the Dark Lord, tone soft. ¨What a lovely party.¨

It had been he, the Dark Lord, who had suggested the idea of a celebration to revere in Draco´s and [Y/N]´s success. Not out of fondness, of course, but out of sheer spite for the Malfoys, caused by Lucius’s failure at the Department of Mysteries. This party was just another part of his little mind games; not only had he forced their son, Draco, to let Death Eaters loose inside Hogwarts, but he was now forcing them to celebrateit.

But why is he here?

It had been he who proposed the party, but no one had expected the Dark Lord to actually come. He had other things of actual importance to attend to: things that involved torture and kidnap and blackmail. He was on the brink of taking over the Ministry of Magic, and thus was a busy man—the Dark Lord only goes where he is needed, and not to pointless parties.

Draco swallows.

So why is he here?

¨It is only right, of course,¨ Voldemort continues, his voice still so oddly soft, like he´s addressing children, ¨That we celebrate the success of our young Death Eaters. The task I gave them was not an easy one, I’m afraid, and yet they prevailed, in the end, and proved themselves to us.¨

He wonders if Voldemort has spotted him and [Y/N], and feels bile rise at the back of his throat. Draco doesn´t want him anywhere near her.

Just leave, Draco thinks to himself, his teeth gritted so tight he hears how they scrape inside his skull. Just leave.

“I must admit, a few months ago I had my doubts.. but now here we are, applauding them, congratulating them for a job well done, treating them as one of our own.. welcomingthem.”

“Draco.”

[Y/N] has inched closer to him. A moment later she feels her fingers weaving through his, squeezing his palm so tight Draco knows without having to look that her knuckles have turned a ghostly white.

He squeezes back, thinking that she might just be as surprised as him. Just as nervous.

It’ll be okay, he tries to tell her without saying it out loud. He´s too scared to speak. It’ll be okay.

¨And yet even as we toast to their names..¨

Draco keeps his head down. He can hear the sound of Voldemort´s robes rasping against the floor as he moves about the room.

But that is not the only thing he hears. Cold sweat trickles down the side of his temple, because in the Dark Lord’s voice he hears an edge. He senses danger.

A thought bounces around Draco’s skull as he fixes his gaze intently on his shoes: why is he here?

“Even as we welcome them with open arms.. as we let them walk among us unharmed, revered, almost, for their bravery..¨

¨Draco,¨ [Y/N] repeats, a little louder this time but only for his ears, and if the room wasn´t so quiet he wouldn´t have heard her ragged, almost panicked breathing, but it wasand he did. 

He senses uneasy movement from behind him. One of the other Death Eaters.

¨Despite our kindness, one of them dares to turn away from us. One of them dares—¨ The Dark Lord´s voice grows colder, angrier, losing control and then all of a sudden softening again after a pregnant pause; ¨One of them dared.. dares to feed information to the fools that call themselves the Order of the Phoenix.¨

Draco hears the collective murmur of surprise that ripples through the room.

“Draco.” [Y/N]’s grip on his hand, if possible, tightens.

¨One of them dares betray us.¨

There is a brief moment of confusion on Draco´s part. He turns his head to look at [Y/N], brows furrowed as he struggles to make sense of the Dark Lord´s words.

But then Draco meets her eyes. Sees the look on her face.

¨I´m sorry,¨ she whispers, and realization hits him like a burst of icy cold water.

¨Seize her,¨ Voldemort says coldly. When Draco looks up, he sees that he is halfway across the room but his gaze is fixed on them—on [Y/N].

Amycus and Alecto are the first to move. They drop their glasses with no hesitation, sending them to the floor where they break into a hundred tiny pieces, and grab [Y/N] by the arms. She resists, wrestling in their arms, but the string of words that leave her mouth aren´t curses, nor are they pleas to let her go; no, they are apologies, repeated over and over again like a mantra as she desperately holds Draco´s gaze—”I’m sorry, Draco. I’m sorry.”

He watches as they yank [Y/N] across the floor, towards the Dark Lord, away from him. His lungs have stopped working, his heart is pounding wildly somewhere inside his throat, and [Y/N] is being roughly thrown at the Dark Lord´s feet—

Draco can´t breathe. His mind is buzzing, blanking out to a field of white, noise and heat colliding and melting until he can´t think through the blood rushing in his ears.

“Pity,” the Dark Lord whispers, gripping her chin harshly, jerking it up so that she would look at him. 

“I thought you’d proved yourself to be worthy of my praise, but instead it seems you’ve proved yourself to be rather the opposite—“

She snaps her head away. “Fuck you.”

“You, my child, have proved yourself to be a fool.”

“You´re never going to win.”

The Dark Lord seems unfazed. A grin splits wide on his face, stretching his lips into an uncannily amused grin as he stares down at the girl at his feet for a few seconds before nodding—and then turning around, twirling his wand in his hands—when had he pulled it out?

“And now, my brothers and sisters.”

Draco doesn’t feel his feet move underneath him, but they do.

“Lo and behold what happens to ungrateful fools who turn us away believing that they are saving the world, when in fact they are ruining themselves.”

Everything happens so quickly that Draco barely has any time to react; Voldemort raises his wand, and it seems to almost shine in the light as he points it directly towards [Y/N]—the Dark Lord´s mouth opens, the spell resting on the tip of his tongue, [Y/N] at the opposite end of his wand—

“No!”

It’s as though something inside of Draco has snapped, like he is being jarred awake. He doesn´t think—just darts forward with no real goal in mind other than to put himself in between Voldemort and [Y/N], but then there are hands grabbing at his arms, holding him back—

“Let go of me!” his tone is feral. He jabs his elbow into someone´s stomach, trying desperately to wrestle himself free, but the more Death Eaters he rips off of him, the more take their place. “[Y/N]!” he is breathless. “[Y/N]—”

The Dark Lord is going to kill her. He´s going to bloody killher.

“Draco,” he hears his mother´s voice but doesn’t see her—he´s too busy thrashing wildly in the arms of whoever has hold of him, yelling out profanities and curses and [Y/N]´s name; “Draco, come. You don´t want to see this.”

“Letfuckinggo of me!”

But then the Dark Lord´s voice cuts through the havoc—¨Let him stay.¨

“[Y/N]!” Draco shouts, gritting his teeth. There are tears in his eyes; he doesn´t realize they´re there until they´ve fallen and he tastes them on his tongue. “Don´t touch her! Don´t fucking touch her!”

But the Dark Lord is, once again, unfazed. He turns his gaze to Draco but doesn´t lower his wand. “Watch, my child,” he says, voice ringing throughout the room, cold and unforgiving. “And pay close attention. This is what happens to cowards. To fools. To ungrateful scum.”

[Y/N]´s back is turned to Draco, and maybe it is better that way, because when the Dark Lord raises his wand, he doesn´t have to see the light leave her eyes.

Draco feels the entire world slow down. A single thought appears inside the ruined mess that is his mind, almost as if it’s mocking him—[Y/N] has always been better at masking her true thoughts. At hiding things; even from him. 

We’ll be okay, [Y/N] had told him.

She had lied.

¨Avada Kedavra!¨

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