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cruelsummer-ficfest · 8 months

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As promised, below are all of the microfic submissions we received! (plus both of our own fics, because tumblr cut us off at 100 links lol)

Microfics

Tied Together With A Smile (Draco x Hermione)

Jump Then Fall (Ron x Hermione)

Half of My Heart (Ron x Hermione)

The Story of Us (Ron x Hermione)

Sparks Fly (Ron x Hermione)

Dear John (Ginny character study)

Castles Crumbling (Black Cousins & Family)

Timeless (Ron x Hermione)

Begin Again (Luna x Blaise)

I Almost Do (Ted x Andromeda)

Paper Rings (Ted x Andromeda)

You’re Losing Me (Ron x Hermione)

Dress

(Ron x Hermione)

(Sirius x James)

Peace

(Draco x Astoria, Part 5 of 6)

(Draco x Astoria)

Lavender Haze

(Lavender Brown x Draco Malfoy)

(Marcus Flint x Percy Weasley)

(Draco x Astoria, Part 6 of 6)

Mods' Fics

Era Three (Red/Lover)

Starlight (Sirius x Kingsley)

Era Four (fearless/reputation)

End Game (ft. Ed Sheeran and Future) (James x Remus)

Hey Kids—Reading is Fun!

Dear Readers,

Your mods (@femme--de--lettres and @greyeyedmonster-18) are beside themselves with how many of you have participated in Cruel Summer Fic Fest: The Eras Tour this year.

From full novel-length fics to poetry, from microfics to multi-chaptered works and everything in between, we've been blown away—enchanted, even—by this year's submissions. This fest started as a labor of love for both of us as avid Swifties and HP fic authors and we couldn't have imagined in our wildest dreams the way you've embraced it with open arms.

With that said, we're pleased to offer the below list of this year's love stories. Due to tumblr restrictions on tagging, we weren't able to tag all of the individual author tumblr accounts (something something look what you made us do something something) so we've tried to link to ao3 as much as possible, but if you like a fic—check out that author's ao3! We've tried to connect you as directly to the mainstream of what each author writes in that respect, so if you happen to find a new fave, you can show them more love on the rest of their works!

To make a long story short, the majority of these works can be found in the Cruel Summer Fic Fest: The Eras Tour collection on ao3—with a catalogue of over 100 works, there's something for everybody, and we hope you'll take a peek at this year's truly incredible works.

We've had the time of our life fighting dragons with you, but sometimes, you know in your soul when it's time to go.

Thanks for making this cruel summer another one for the books.

Until Next Time,

Your Mods (Grey and Andie)

Cruel Summer Fic Fest: The Eras Tour

(all fics are followed by the character, relationship, or pairing that each work focused on. for the purposes of our list, both "x" and "/" indicate some level of romantic relationship, while "&" entails a platonic or otherwise friendly one)

Era One (Debut/Midnights)

Stay Beautiful (Regulus x James)

Sweet Nothing (Ted Tonks x Andromeda Black)

Midnight Rain (Sirius x Remus)

A Perfectly Good Heart (Harry/Fred/George)

Bigger Than the Whole Sky (Lavender x Pansy)

Anti-Hero (Sirius x Remus)

Tim McGraw (James x Lily)

Invisible (Harry x Ginny)

Should've Said No (Ron x Hermione)

Dear Reader (Draco x Astoria, Part 1 of 6)

Glitch (Bellatrix Black x Voldemort)

The Outside (Ron x Hermione)

Bejeweled (Ron x Hermione)

Maroon (Ron x Hermione)

Teardrops on My Guitar (Ron x Hermione)

Mastermind (Ron x Hermione)

Era Two (1989/Evermore)

Wonderland (Snape x Trelawney)

Dorothea (Sirius x Remus)

New Romantics (Regulus x Lily)

You Are In Love (James x Lily)

Wildest Dreams (Sirius x James)

Long Story Short (Draco x Harry)

This Love (Pandora x Lily)

All You Had to Do Was Stay (Hermione x Pansy)

Shake It Off (Draco x Harry)

I Wish You Would (James x Lily)

Blank Space (Ron x Hermione)

I Know Places (Draco x Hermione)

Gold Rush (Ron x Hermione)

Welcome to New York (Sirius x Remus)

Style (Bellatrix x Voldemort)

Happiness (Narcissa Black x Emmeline Vance)

Tis the Damn Season (Harry x Bill Weasley)

It's Time to Go (Teddy x Victoire)

Cowboy Like Me (Astoria x Hermione)

Champagne Problems (Draco x Astoria, Part 2 of 6)

Era Three (Red/Lover)

The Moment I Knew (Ron x Hermione)

You Need to Calm Down (Draco x Harry)

Sad Beautiful Tragic (Draco x Astoria)

Nothing New (ft. Phoebe Bridgers) (Ron x Hermione)

All of the Girls You Loved Before (Sirius x Remus)

State of Grace (James x Lily)

Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince Draco x Astoria, Part 3 of 6)

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together (Harry x Tom Riddle)

The Last Time (ft. Gary Lightbody) (Ron x Hermione)

All Too Well (Ron x Hermione)

The Archer (Pandora Lovegood x Lily Evans)

Babe (Ron x Hermione)

Run (ft. Ed Sheeran) (Narcissa x Lily)

Cornelia Street (Percy Weasley x Oliver Wood)

Everything Has Changed (ft. Ed Sheeran) (Sirius x Remus)

The Very First Night (Ron x Hermione)

Girl at Home (Alecto Carrow x Narcissa Black)

Forever Winter (Draco x Astoria)

Afterglow (Ron x Hermione)

Holy Ground (Romione)

Stay Stay Stay (Blaise Zabini x Daphne Greengrass)

False God (Bellatrix x Voldemort)

Era Four (Fearless/Reputation)

Come in With the Rain (Ginny & Hermione)

Look What You Made Me Do (Ron x Hermione)

That's When (ft. Keith Urban) (James x Lily)

Fifteen (James x Lily)

Tell Me Why (Harry x Charlie Weasley)

The Best Day (Percy x Oliver Wood)

Call It What You Want (Ron x Hermione)

You Belong With Me (Ron x Hermione)

Untouchable (Narcissa x Lily)

Change (Ron x Hermione)

Superstar (Draco x Hermione)

Forever and Always (Piano Version) (Draco x Astoria)

King of My Heart (Ron x Hermione)

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things (James x Lily)

Fearless (Ron x Hermione)

The Way I Loved You (James x Lily)

Gorgeous (Ron x Hermione)

Bye Bye Baby (Ron x Hermione)

White Horse (James x Lily)

…Ready for It? (Blaise Zabini x Daphne Greengrass)

Don’t You (Ron x Hermione)

I Did Something Bad (Draco x Astoria, Part 4 of 6)

The Other Side of the Door (Sirius x Remus)

Era Five (Speak Now/Folklore)

Haunted (Bellatrix x Lily)

Enchanted (Ron x Hermione)

Innocent (Draco & Narcissa Malfoy)

Back to December (Ron x Hermione)

The 1 (Ron x Hermione)

Exile (ft Bon Iver) (Ron x Hermione)

Mad Woman (Draco x Harry)

Invisible String (Sirius x Remus)

Cardigan (Ron x Hermione)

Epiphany (Padma Patil x Theodore Nott)

Mirrorball (Draco x Harry)

Mine (Harry/Fred/George)

Mean (Ron x Hermione)

This Is Me Trying (Marcus Flint x Percy Weasley)

Timeless (Ron x Hermione)

My Tears Ricochet (Ron x Hermione)

Seven (Sirius x Remus)

I Can See You (Sirius x Remus)

Foolish One (Angelina Johnson x George Weasley)

#cruel summer fic fest #cruel summer fic fest 2023 #cruel summer fic fest: the eras tour #cruel summer fic fest 2023: the eras tour #harry potter fic fest #taylor swift fic fest #taylor swift x hp #harry potter fic masterlist #as stated above!#authors we're so proud of you #you went above and beyond #and we're just. grinning.#(also if we omitted your work in here—let us know! we tried to comb through everything but there's always the chance we missed something!)#xoxo your mods

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cruelsummer-ficfest · 8 months

Text

Hey Kids—Reading is Fun!

Dear Readers,

Your mods (@femme--de--lettres and @greyeyedmonster-18) are beside themselves with how many of you have participated in Cruel Summer Fic Fest: The Eras Tour this year.

We've had the time of our life fighting dragons with you, but sometimes, you know in your soul when it's time to go.

Thanks for making this cruel summer another one for the books.

Until Next Time,

Your Mods (Grey and Andie)

Cruel Summer Fic Fest: The Eras Tour

Era One (Debut/Midnights)

Stay Beautiful (Regulus x James)

Sweet Nothing (Ted Tonks x Andromeda Black)

Midnight Rain (Sirius x Remus)

A Perfectly Good Heart (Harry/Fred/George)

Bigger Than the Whole Sky (Lavender x Pansy)

Anti-Hero (Sirius x Remus)

Tim McGraw (James x Lily)

Invisible (Harry x Ginny)

Should've Said No (Ron x Hermione)

Dear Reader (Draco x Astoria, Part 1 of 6)

Glitch (Bellatrix Black x Voldemort)

The Outside (Ron x Hermione)

Bejeweled (Ron x Hermione)

Maroon (Ron x Hermione)

Teardrops on My Guitar (Ron x Hermione)

Mastermind (Ron x Hermione)

Era Two (1989/Evermore)

Wonderland (Snape x Trelawney)

Dorothea (Sirius x Remus)

New Romantics (Regulus x Lily)

You Are In Love (James x Lily)

Wildest Dreams (Sirius x James)

Long Story Short (Draco x Harry)

This Love (Pandora x Lily)

All You Had to Do Was Stay (Hermione x Pansy)

Shake It Off (Draco x Harry)

I Wish You Would (James x Lily)

Blank Space (Ron x Hermione)

I Know Places (Draco x Hermione)

Gold Rush (Ron x Hermione)

Welcome to New York (Sirius x Remus)

Style (Bellatrix x Voldemort)

Happiness (Narcissa Black x Emmeline Vance)

Tis the Damn Season (Harry x Bill Weasley)

It's Time to Go (Teddy x Victoire)

Cowboy Like Me (Astoria x Hermione)

Champagne Problems (Draco x Astoria, Part 2 of 6)

Era Three (Red/Lover)

The Moment I Knew (Ron x Hermione)

You Need to Calm Down (Draco x Harry)

Sad Beautiful Tragic (Draco x Astoria)

Nothing New (ft. Phoebe Bridgers) (Ron x Hermione)

All of the Girls You Loved Before (Sirius x Remus)

State of Grace (James x Lily)

Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince Draco x Astoria, Part 3 of 6)

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together (Harry x Tom Riddle)

The Last Time (ft. Gary Lightbody) (Ron x Hermione)

All Too Well (Ron x Hermione)

The Archer (Pandora Lovegood x Lily Evans)

Babe (Ron x Hermione)

Run (ft. Ed Sheeran) (Narcissa x Lily)

Cornelia Street (Percy Weasley x Oliver Wood)

Everything Has Changed (ft. Ed Sheeran) (Sirius x Remus)

The Very First Night (Ron x Hermione)

Girl at Home (Alecto Carrow x Narcissa Black)

Forever Winter (Draco x Astoria)

Afterglow (Ron x Hermione)

Holy Ground (Romione)

Stay Stay Stay (Blaise Zabini x Daphne Greengrass)

False God (Bellatrix x Voldemort)

Era Four (Fearless/Reputation)

Come in With the Rain (Ginny & Hermione)

Look What You Made Me Do (Ron x Hermione)

That's When (ft. Keith Urban) (James x Lily)

Fifteen (James x Lily)

Tell Me Why (Harry x Charlie Weasley)

The Best Day (Percy x Oliver Wood)

Call It What You Want (Ron x Hermione)

You Belong With Me (Ron x Hermione)

Untouchable (Narcissa x Lily)

Change (Ron x Hermione)

Superstar (Draco x Hermione)

Forever and Always (Piano Version) (Draco x Astoria)

King of My Heart (Ron x Hermione)

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things (James x Lily)

Fearless (Ron x Hermione)

The Way I Loved You (James x Lily)

Gorgeous (Ron x Hermione)

Bye Bye Baby (Ron x Hermione)

White Horse (James x Lily)

…Ready for It? (Blaise Zabini x Daphne Greengrass)

Don’t You (Ron x Hermione)

I Did Something Bad (Draco x Astoria, Part 4 of 6)

The Other Side of the Door (Sirius x Remus)

Era Five (Speak Now/Folklore)

Haunted (Bellatrix x Lily)

Enchanted (Ron x Hermione)

Innocent (Draco & Narcissa Malfoy)

Back to December (Ron x Hermione)

The 1 (Ron x Hermione)

Exile (ft Bon Iver) (Ron x Hermione)

Mad Woman (Draco x Harry)

Invisible String (Sirius x Remus)

Cardigan (Ron x Hermione)

Epiphany (Padma Patil x Theodore Nott)

Mirrorball (Draco x Harry)

Mine (Harry/Fred/George)

Mean (Ron x Hermione)

This Is Me Trying (Marcus Flint x Percy Weasley)

Timeless (Ron x Hermione)

My Tears Ricochet (Ron x Hermione)

Seven (Sirius x Remus)

I Can See You (Sirius x Remus)

Foolish One (Angelina Johnson x George Weasley)

#cruel summer fic fest #cruel summer fic fest 2023 #cruel summer fic fest: the eras tour #cruel summer fic fest 2023: the eras tour #harry potter fic fest #taylor swift fic fest #taylor swift x hp #harry potter fic masterlist #authors we're so proud of you #you went above and beyond #and we're just. grinning.#(also if we omitted your work in here—let us know! we tried to comb through everything but there's always the chance we missed something!)#microfics + mods' pieces will be included in a reblog because #if y'all would believe it #you gave us so many stories that tumblr decided to quit on our og post #so...more incoming #xoxo your mods

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cruelsummer-ficfest · 8 months

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“It’s the cycle, James. This is normal, all things considered,” Remus replied, waving him off but sliding back down under the blankets, much to James’ reassurance. “But I mean it. I don’t want to be some ex that you never want to see again. I want to feel decent about the fact that I still have a tattoo of your initials at the base of my neck from sixth year, want to keep swaying around your living room after every social event we attend together, want to be—”

“Remus,” James said firmly. “I’m not breaking up with you.”

four words on the tip of my tongue

(coming in at the absolute last minute with my @cruelsummer-ficfest submission. disclaimers: this isn't my first time writing moonchaser, but this is the first time i've done so in ~this~ universe, this fic 1000% got away from me and is 1000% not my best writing; and...idk. enjoy i suppose)

“Remus, open up,” James called, knocking gently on the door to his friend’s flat.

He’d been here before only a few weeks back, Remus having proposed a “home improvement” project that had left James thoroughly splattered with dark green paint and Remus almost entirely unwilling to leave his sofa for a full day afterwards. James hadn’t exactly minded that development, mind; Remus’ confinement to the sofa was hardly a deterrent to the other activities they’d gotten up to that evening.

The state of the door now belied the work that they’d put into it at the time though, with gouges scarring the frame and chips revealing the neutral oak colour below the varnish and paint they’d applied.

“Come on, mate,” James tried again. “It’s just me here—no reporters, no Sirius, even. Just me.”

There wasn’t any noise coming from the flat, and if James was a less observant man, he might’ve assumed that Remus had fled somewhere else after having seen the papers. The whole area was thrumming with magic though, something low and hostile that James could feel pushing against his chest the longer he stood there, as if Remus had cast a series of repellant charms on his front door to keep folks away.

To keep him away, too, he supposed.

If he was honest with himself—and if he was a bit less tipsy than he was—he hardly should’ve expected anything different from Remus, not after having seen the article himself.

“Faithless Fraternity: Britain’s Most Eligible Auror Seen Frotting Feral Friend,” Skeeter had written, using a series of blurry photos which hardly showed anything at all, and which had to have been obtained unlawfully.

The article proceeded to speak in semi-truths:

James Potter, aged 29, was seen in his Bedford residence entertaining a male companion (true, Remus) this weekend. Potter, a junior member of the Auror Program’s recently established Ethics Board (outdated but true, although James bristled at the demotion he’d received at the hands of Rita’s shoddy research), is a known as a beater who “switch-hits” (speculative, he’d barely spoken about his sexuality with his friends, let alone the reporters at the Prophet), with a string of lovers in his wake ranging from esteemed healer Lily Evans (true, although their first relationship had ended within the two years that Sirius had gleefully predicted back in their seventh year) to Hobgoblins frontman Stubby Boardman (false, another of Sirius’ “amusing” and “clever” attempts to spin James up to be a more “alluring” and “eligible” bachelor—whatever that was supposed to mean).

The virile visitor (had alliteration been strictly necessary?) bore all appearances of an old friend, entering the residence with a key that appeared to be within the surreptitious stranger’s possession (true, Remus had owned a key to James’ place since he’d moved in, as had Sirius, and Evans, and Peter, and…) before quickly divesting himself of all clothing (false, they’d spent the first half an hour of that visit chatting over tea before a single piece of clothing had been removed they’d made their way to the bedroom).

The mystery man was quickly revealed to be some sort of dark creature, and the scars covering his body point to his being a lycanthrope (true, although James wondered if the papers would ever grow tired of the million ways they’d found to dance around Remus’ condition without calling it what it was).

This is a man who we’ve elected to be responsible, to have discretion in the handling of ministry secrets (true, although James hadn’t been elected by the citizens of the wizarding community so much as by a jury of his peers)—can we trust a man who engages in such dark d’alliances?

He’d groaned at the time, laughing it off when Fenwick had slid it across the table, pints in hand. The photos were blurry, hardly identifiable, would’ve taken a good journalist—which Rita certainly was not—time and energy and resources to decode in order to make out who had visited him. In fact, the images were more damning of James than anyone, the tattoo circling his shoulder visible in each of the included shots, providing different angles of the first—and last—time that he’d let the other boys tattoo him, back in their sixth year. It should have been a normal tabloid piece, foolish and idiotic and utterly ignorable.

Except—

Sources indicate that the creature comfort Potter has invited to his home is childhood friend and known werewolf, Remus Lupin.

That wasn’t meant to be there.

James had missed it at first, so desensitised to Skeeter’s campaign against him and the Ethics Board that he’d written the whole piece off as a hatchet job, meant to tarnish his reputation among the upper echelons of wizarding society. She’d been on his case for nearly two years now, ever since he’d first been proposed for the Ethics Board—and ever since the Ethics Board had begun considering the ill-effects of irresponsible journalism in earnest, making rules about sources and fact-finding and accurate reporting.

He’d become used to the defamatory comments that Skeeter had offered on his past relationships; that his last girlfriend was too pretty, that the one before that wasn’t pretty enough, that Evans—Evans, of all people—hadn’t been a smart enough match for him, that he ought to go out with one of the nice pureblooded witches that used to queue up outside of his quidditch games. She hadn’t bothered to comment on his male partners, but James presumed that had more to do with his own discretion than a sudden disinterest in reporting on his love life as if it was breaking news for the wizarding community.

Whatever the cause, Remus’ name had never come up before, and James hadn’t liked the way his stomach had begun to churn when he’d read it towards the end of the happy hour with his colleagues. He hadn’t been so drunk as to be incoherent when Fenwick had clapped him on the shoulder and tossed some change on the table before leaving, nor had he felt so impaired as to be an irresponsible apparator.

Which is how he’d ended up on Remus’ doorstep, knocking quietly against the wood in hopes that he’d be let in. Remus, perpetual pessimist that he was, didn’t seem inclined to open up, and James couldn’t help from huffing quietly before sliding down against the door frame and tipping his head back as he waited.

Remus had only been back in England for a year, his “Dumbledore appointed research” taking him out of the country shortly after graduation and casting him throughout the European and Asian continents for the better part of the last decade. He’d promised them all that there would be visits home, letters and packages whenever he could send them—but James, somehow, had been the only one who’d seen through the facade, catching the insurmountable fear hidden in Remus’ expression and knowing that there would be no such thing as casual contact.

Peter was the first to lose hope—bursting into the home that James and Lily had shared at the time eighteen months on from their last sighting of Remus to inform the Potters that he was certain Remus was dead. Dumbledore wasn’t answering for where Remus was or what he was doing, he’d argued, he had to be hiding something.

James hadn’t doubted the deception, he knew full well that Albus was a complicated man who derived at least some pleasure from holding the upper hand in any conversation he could.

But there’d been a war on.

He and Lily were attempting to rationalise their way through a parenting endeavor that had been doomed from the start, Sirius was going half-mad with his desire to be on every takedown, every stakeout, every operation—he hadn’t had the time to worry about whether Dumbledore had lied to them about what Remus was doing. It had taken most of his emotional energy to convince Lily that they should consider a period of separation, let alone to continue ensuring that the ones he loved—those that were close enough for him to protect, at least—were safe. Remus was a grown man, he’d made his decisions in the same way that James and Sirius and Peter had all made theirs.

He hadn’t stopped worrying, of course. But if he’d learned anything from working with the Order, it had been how to manage multiple concerns at once—weighing them and ranking them in order of prominence and priority in order to keep himself and others from being killed.

Quite frankly, Remus’ goings-on hadn’t made his top five.

Then the Longbottoms had been killed, tilting his world on its axis. For the first time, he and Lily were seeing each other in daylight that hadn’t been steeped in war, and apparently, neither of them had liked what they’d seen. They’d tried counselling and reinvesting in their relationship, but without the threat of battle hanging over their heads, there was no longer some bigger, pressing concern to deal with. Small things became massive with no bounding event there to restrain them, and before James had known what was happening, their wartime romance had been buried.

Blue ink, black feathers, and a 48-inch long parchment with stipulations of their divorce that he’d insisted upon had tied up the matter neatly, or as neatly as one could resolve the end of marriage—with promises to maintain a casual relationship, to remain an active member of their son’s life, to use his inheritance to keep both of them safe and cared for.

Sirius’ optimism had been the next to go, drunkenly arriving at the flat he’d allowed James to move into and pounding on the door as if he’d lost his wand, saying all sorts of nonsense about how he couldn’t possibly show an interest in another man, not when Remus was out there waiting for him. It had taken two months for him to convince Sirius that however much he loved Remus, it didn’t change the fact that the war had ended and he hadn’t shown up—whether death or duty had kept him from them, they’d never properly determined.

Sirius had still hesitated to take Kingsley up on the offered dinner and drinks, but five years and a daughter later, James hardly thought he regretted the decision these days. They’d spent enough nights in the years since raising a glass to their friend, honouring his memory and reminiscing over hijinks, or telling Harry and Carina about their Uncle Remus’ proclivity for falling asleep during class over holiday dinners. He’d become a part of their history, a thread in the fabric of their lives that had been slowly unravelling since they’d graduated and was bound to be trimmed off eventually.

Even Lily had assumed the worst, pulling James to the side at Harry’s eighth birthday and informing him that Mungo’s had gotten word of a rash of werewolves being killed across the Eurasian continents, that they’d been given the medical reports, that there were at least three bodies that bore a strong resemblance to Remus, that James couldn’t breathe a word of it to Sirius if he wanted to keep his bits intact.

So he’d stayed quiet, left quidditch and switched to administrative Auror work, kept his head down as he and Kingsley pulled together the Ethics Board, dated a string of unremarkable women and let Remus’ memory remain bright and unsullied in his mind.

Then he’d encountered Remus in a back alley of Hogsmeade, having taken a detour en route to their ten-year reunion to grab a quick smoke—a habit that he’d sworn to Lily that he’d kicked, hence the hiding—and run directly into a hunched over man, knocking him to the ground unceremoniously before freezing as the stranger turned to face him.

He’d been back for six months and hadn’t bothered to reach out to any of them, assuming that they’d moved on with their lives and would no longer be interested in his company.

It was another month before James had been able to convince him to sit down with the others, and another still before he’d relocated and granted a still-wary Remus access to his house.

Things had moved quickly from there.

James had begun seeing him strategically, showing up outside of the shop where Remus had taken up a job during his lunch break, meeting regularly to catch up on the ten years of missing time that had passed between them, convincing Remus that it was the least he could do to offer the small forest of his backyard as a location for his transformations.

James danced around his feelings for months, limiting the time they spent one-on-one in public, being effusive in his praise of Harry to ensure Remus was well aware that his role as a father took top priority, taking every opportunity to remind himself that it was wrong to think about his friend so much, like that. Like this. No matter how many times he’d tried to forget the way Remus’ attention made him feel, he couldn’t—his mind a map of all the places they’d seen each other, clandestine meetings buried beneath justifiable excuses for seeing each other.

It shouldn’t have surprised him that Sirius was the one to call his bluff, really.

He’d been avoiding the conversation for months, dodging floo calls and claiming work conflicts—until he came home one night to Sirius in his living room, chatting quietly with Kingsley through his fireplace and explaining to his husband that it might turn out to be a late night.

What had followed was one of the most painfully awkward conversations he and Sirius had ever shared, with thinly veiled platitudes about how their friends would always love him no matter the choices he made, and how Harry would be delighted for him to have found a relationship so captivating, and didn’t he know that they’d all welcome the notion of Remus being back in their circle of friends again.

Except James hadn’t been worried about his friend group, or Harry’s approval, or his own reputation. Because it hadn’t been just his on the line with whatever he chose to do next, it was Remus’ too.

Remus, who’d shied away from the pomp and circumstance of a proper reunion with friends. Remus, who’d refused to attend the ministry ceremony where, for his work in researching and engaging with various wizarding communities, he’d been awarded a medal of honour. Remus, who’d found it far easier to accept a position outside of wizarding London than be a part of the masses.

Remus, who’d found safety in anonymity.

Which is what made this whole situation so frustrating, really.

Once they’d both agreed to things, they’d moved slowly. Subtly. Unnoticeably.

Remus only ever went from his place to James’, and vice versa. There was no walking home together, no late nights out at a pub nestled into each other, no public displays of anything nearing affection. It was private, and sacred, and theirs, and for the first time, James felt himself wondering if this was it—his endgame, his last love, his forever.

And then Rita Skeeter had blown it up, with twenty words of accuracy amidst an article of falsehoods.

He knocked on the door again, more weakly this time.

“Let me in, Remus. Please.”

A wave seemed to roll over him, simultaneously unsettling and relieving him in one go as Remus’ wards lifted and he heard the lock of the door click open.

He winced slightly as he pushed himself off of the ground but stood and knocked softly on the door again.

“Remus?” he asked, not daring to hope that he’d be welcomed in.

“Door’s open,” a voice called out, and James turned the knob gently before walking in.

The flat was dark, and with no lights on the dusk of the evening cast odd shadows across the floor as James entered the space properly. No sign of Remus here, then.

A thin stream of light spilled out from beneath Remus’ bedroom, and James approached it quietly before pausing at the door frame.

“You might as well come in, you know,” Remus said drily, “it’s not as if I don’t know you’re there.”

James sighed but pushed the door open, only to see Remus laid down in bed and facing away from him, a dog-eared book resting half-open behind his head.

“You’re not feeling well,” James murmured; a sentence, not a statement. “You should’ve mentioned, I could’ve brought—”

“I think you’ve done enough,” Remus said, although the cough at the end of the statement made it a bit less menacing than was likely intended.

“I’ve—” James started, but felt himself deflate as he considered Remus’ words further. He had done enough, bringing Rita and the rest of the wizarding world’s gaze onto the two of them—but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel guilty. Remus being back, being a part of his life, was the best thing that had happened since Harry had been born. This conversation, this reassurance? It was a worthwhile fight to pick.

“I don’t know how that happened,” James tried again, “there’s a hedge around the property and both of my neighbours were gone that week and—”

“James, I don’t care how it happened,” Remus grumbled as he turned himself around to face his partner.

“I just care that it did.”

James sighed, closing the door behind him and leaning against it the same way he’d been doing since he was eleven and had been sorted into a dorm with Remus and Sirius and Peter.

“I’m sorry, Remus,” he murmured, “ever since the I left the Magpies, Skeeter’s been following my career and writing all sorts of drivel about my lack of qualifications—as if I didn’t undergo the same testing procedures as everyone else—and has taken it upon herself to report on anyone I’ve ever interacted with. It’s—it’s poisonous, I know. One touch, one glance in my direction and she’ll never leave you alone.”

“We got the papers in Slovenia, you know.”

James felt his eyebrows furrow at Remus’ words.

“Elsewhere too, but for some reason the Balkans were especially fond of the British press reports,” Remus continued, slowly pushing himself up in his bed until he was sitting up. “I was gone for ten years, James. You weren’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” James asked incredulously. “You read the papers and what—believed everything she said?”

“Your reputation precedes you,” Remus interrupted. “You’ve been knee-deep in rumours about your partners and your lifestyle and your sexuality since we were barely out of school.”

“That’s not my fault,” James contested. “I didn’t ask for her to obsess over my personal life, Remus. You have to know that.”

“What if I don’t want to have to know it,” Remus said slowly. “Have you considered that? What if I don’t want to have to catalogue every time I touch you, waiting for the papers to get wind of it? What if I don’t want to know your pattern of burying every relationship you’ve ever started within weeks of Skeeter writing about you two?”

“What are you—”

“Like I said,” Remus mumbled. “I was gone, you weren’t.”

“That’s not fair to say,” James countered, “I didn’t want to subject any of them to the sort of scrutiny that I’m usually under.”

“And you want me to be?” Remus asked, drawing out the words slowly in something like disbelief.

“No, I just—I know what the papers say.”

“That you’re a serial dater who loves girls and leaves them with alarming frequency?”

“Ta, mate,” James sighed. “Look, I’ve made plenty of mistakes in the way I’ve handled each of my relationships, and I’ve made some choices that I shouldn’t have—I don’t deny that. But I don’t—I don’t see you like that.”

“You might want to rephrase that, James,” Remus said, scrubbing his face and squinting at the light.

James reached behind him and dimmed the lamp, watching as Remus’ expression softened as the room grew darker.

“You’re different,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and glancing up at Remus, whose face seemed unusually flushed. He reached out to feel for his partner’s temperature but froze as Remus shifted himself away from the touch.

“James,” he murmured, “I don’t want to be another one of those girls who ends up in the prophet with some tell-all sob story about how they miss you and just want to get one more night with you. I don’t want to—”

“Remus,” James interrupted. “Do you know what makes you different from them?”

“I can come up with a list, yeah,” Remus coughed out, and James winced at the sound.

“I’m a mess, Remus, if you believed the Prophet, that is. I’ve left a trail of spurned lovers in my wake, operated as some sort of player who has no notion of how to treat people, and have had absolutely no business doing the job that I’ve dedicated time and energy to creating in order to help people.”

Remus’ face fell. “I wasn’t trying to say that—”

“But the thing is,” James continued, “nearly everyone I’ve been with for the last ten years has just wanted to be around me for the sake of what my reputation could give them. They didn’t care about my work—something that you know I feel strongly about; they hated the fact that I was co-parenting with Lily—something that you’ve never questioned, something you’ve encouraged, actually; they hated that I had Harry in the first place—the most important person in my life, and they hated him.”

“I didn’t know that,” Remus mumbled. “I only knew that there were at least seven of them.”

“Like I said. If you believed what the Prophet was reporting, you wouldn’t know any of that. But the truth is, it should be easier to ignore all of that when you know what you know, or at least what I would hope that you’d be able to recognize, which is that all of those things were considerable dealbreakers for me.”

“That makes sense,” Remus said quietly, “but James, I don’t want to be left behind. I’ve done it once, run off and come back to see all of you thoroughly well-adjusted to life without me.”

“And that’s fine—” he paused, shaking his head as James opened his mouth to interrupt. “It is, really. I would hope that if I had passed, you all would find happiness in other things, live fulfilling lives and all that.”

James nodded. “It didn’t happen overnight, you know. It took…Sirius five years, and if I’m honest, I don’t think he ever believed that you were gone.”

“My point is that I can’t do that. Not again.”

As he spoke the words his face flushed again, and James was finally able to place the back of his hand on Remus’ forehead.

“Remus, lay back down, will you?” he said softly. “We can keep talking, but you’re burning up.”

“Remus,” James said firmly. “I’m not breaking up with you.”

Remus blinked a few times in confusion, lifting his head from the pillow slightly as if trying to get a better look at James’ face.

“You’re serious.”

“No, he lives across town,” James chuckled, his smile growing as Remus groaned at the tired joke.

“Yes, I’m serious. For all of my flaws, all the insecurities I’ve had about the people I’ve dated, all the paranoia of people trying to jeopardise my safety…I haven’t had any of those with you, Remus.”

“That so?” Remus hummed into his pillow, and James grinned before running a hand through his hair gently.

“You’re it for me, Lupin,” he whispered. “The only person who’s ever seen through the mess of things that surround me these days.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Remus’ forehead as his partner’s eyes fluttered closed.

“I want to marry you, Remus. That’s it, that’s my endgame—my whole plan. And one day, when I’ve figured out how to say that with better words and a better setup in a better situation—”

Remus’ quiet snores interrupted his thoughts, and James laughed quietly before turning the light off properly and pulling the blanket back. Toeing off his shoes, James slid into bed behind Remus and draped an arm over his partner’s waist before pulling him closer and kissing the back of his neck, where a seemingly hastily scrawled “JSP” marked Remus’ skin, each letter drawn there by a different roommate back when they’d all hit seventeen.

“I’ll guess I’ll have to pull out the ring and the proposal when you’re feeling better then, won’t I?”

#moonchaser #james potter #remus lupin #look bestie andie was so hard on themselves for this #but its SO GOOD.#okay first of all that you actually wrote an article by skeeter that was so CLEVER #second of all the way you wove the essence of repuation into this fic #third #the spot on moonchaser and these silly messy boys #10/10 #era number four submission

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cruelsummer-ficfest · 8 months

Text

“You know, she always goes running when she knows you’re hurt.”

“You know, I think I’ve told you many times that I don’t want to talk about her,” I snap.

“You continued the conversation about her,” Pansy counters. “Why are you so scared to even fathom that she could care about you?”

“Because she doesn’t. Because she left. And because if I get my hopes up, it’ll hurt even more,” I grind out.

superstar

She’s on the radio again. Her voice is the only reason I take out the radio she gave me every morning at nine AM, for her tiny, thirty-second segment after the traffic report. A Letter from Hermione Granger. She’s Wizarding Britain’s favourite, and I’m no one different from her screaming fans after she gives a speech, or who cheer for her after she passes legislature. I shake the thoughts away and listen.

“After the war, I worked as a counsellor for reformed Azkaban prisoners. When I was working with my last person, I remember that I had always said that he was unforgivable before I met him. When I met him, I was surprised at the person I found underneath labels of Death Eater and Blood Traitor and Evil. Of course, my experience is only an individual one, and it’s impossible to ignore someone’s past, but I believe that it’s possible for redemption.” And then her voice fades out and it’s replaced by horoscopes.

I feel her words touch something in me. Blood Traitor. Evil. Death Eater. Where’s your Lord now? My fingers clench on the table, remembering the voices of the guards as they stripped me and searched me and spat on me. Not so haughty now, are you, Malfoy? Where’s your father now? Oh, he’s dead! Poor Draco. And then, a word parts the blizzard. Breathe, Draco. I remember her telling me that, her fingers light on the base of my neck, one of the many times I got lost inside my mind and she led me home. Breathe. Can you tell me where we are right now?

“I’m at home,” I mutter. Good. Now, who am I?

“Hermione Granger. My reformation counsellor. Not anymore. But…” Good, Draco. Take a moment. Maybe I clung on to her in that memory, because I remember her pulling my hands away and clasping them in her own. I’m not going anywhere.

“But you lied.” I brush my hair out of my face. “You left, didn’t you. I know I shouldn’t resent you for it, but you left. Said you’d write and you didn’t. Because Weasley took you on some impromptu trip and proposed.”

“Talking to yourself now?” Pansy saunters into the room. I jolt up from the counter I was leaning on.

“Jeez, Parks, where did you come from?” I ask, smoothing down my clothes. I wave my wand and the radio stops.

“Today’s brunch day, did you already forget? Blaise and Theo are already in the garden.” Pansy waves her wand and summons a tray from the cabinets under my sink.

“Shit, was that today?” I rub my forehead. “I completely forgot. I didn’t trim the roses, so the gazebo is pretty much unfunctional.”

“I still don’t know why you do that by hand. You can’t use house elves anymore, but I bet there’s dozens of spells,” Pansy murmurs as she unpacks her bag. She pulls out a cake and places it on the tray.

“That looks good,” I say absently.

“Do you think so? I baked it myself. With Harry.” Pansy continues unpacking her bag and placing increasingly elaborate creations on the tray. “So, what’s on Draco’s mind that he forgot about our weekly brunch day? Were you crushing after Granger again?”

“What? No—”

“I don’t understand how you got so attached to her. I hated my reformation counsellor so I fired him and did the community service hours instead. I’m actually glad, I wouldn’t have met Harry otherwise,” Pansy says. She lifts up the tray. “Grab the teapot for me?”

I follow her out the garden doors and walk the winding path into the garden. As expected, the roses I forgot to trim block the entrance to the gazebo. But Theo and Blaise have decided to try their hands at gardening. On my roses, that my mother took so much care of, and that Hermione taught me to care for. I place the teapot precariously on Pansy’s tray and rush forward, snatching the clippers from Theo and the trowel from Blaise.

“And were you thinking you could dig the petals out of my roses?” I ask, waving the trowel. I make quick work of the roses, sending them with the tools back into my kitchen. I’ll give the flowers at Mother’s grave later. I clean up the gazebo and soon we’re seated.

“So, what sadness lengthens Draco’s hours?” Blaise asks as he butters a crumpet.

“Who do you think?” Theo sighs dramatically.

“Wizarding Britain’s superstar, Hermione Granger,” Pansy announces. She sips her mimosa.

“You three are horrible,” I mutter. “I haven’t talked to her in a year.”

“And herein lies the problem,” Theo intones. “You think she’ll hate you.”

“I think that I was just another one of her patients for lack of a better word,” I correct. “She talked about another one of her guidance patients on the radio today.”

“But weren’t you her last patient? She got engaged to—”

“No, she did a couple more after she got back from her trip,” I reply.

“How do you even know that when you won’t let us tell you about how her life’s going, and you won’t read about her in the society pages?” Blaise asks.

“Potter told me when we were meeting him. Said she was planning to do more counselling.”

“Well—”

“Why must we always talk about me? These brunches have become ambushes,” I complain. “Parks, how’s the shop going?”

“I got seventy orders for hand-painted masquerade masks for Rosewood’s Summer Solstice party, so I’ve been working day in, day out. Harry has tried to help, but to no avail. I won’t let his ham-handed paint job ruin my store’s reputation,” Pansy sighs. “I think I hurt his feelings, but I haven’t the time to make it right.”

“That’s a skilled person problem,” Theo complains.

“You’re just salty because ever since Matthew broke up with you, you’ve just lounged around being a dramatic prat in your huge manor,” Pansy retorts.

“Matthew’s dating this guy named Tony now,” Theo wails. He hides his face in his sleeve.

“There, there,” Blaise pats his arm. “Must be hard not being wanted. I couldn’t relate.”

“That’s because you’re in a happy relationship—” Theo sniffles, lifting his head. “And I’ll be alone forever!” Theo starts sobbing again, even louder.

“Theo!” Pansy snaps her fingers in front of Theo’s face. “I brought you your favourite sweets—”

“Lemon pound cake?” Theo stops crying instantly. I laugh as Theo scarfs down three slices of lemon cake in rapid succession. Soon, no one wants to leave so we cook dinner together as Pansy gripes about the unreasonable patrons who come to her for her clothes, and Theo moans about Matthew, and Blaise preens in front of the mirrors.

As I mount the stairs to my room after my friends leave, a strange thought comes unbidden over me. What if I just sent her a letter like she told me to. I’m sorry I’ve got to go now. But you should keep in touch, Draco. I’ll always be here for you. I trusted her, so the moment I heard she was back, I waited outside her house. She returned with Weasley, laughing up the stairs with bags full of groceries from the Farmer’s Market that she once brought me to. That was our place. But it wasn’t like I could say that, so I left.

I still have the rule I made that day scribbled on a framed piece of paper on my nightstand. You will not talk to Hermione Granger. I’ve come too far to break that rule. But I need to hear her voice. That, I’ve allowed myself. I grab the recording I made of her first message and pull the covers over my head.

“Good morning! I’m Hermione Granger, and for the next few months, I’ll be with you every morning at nine AM, giving you a couple insights to start your day! Today, I’ll be leaving you with just a sentence. Recovery doesn’t happen in an instant, and it’s hard to enjoy the process, but it’s one thing that everyone can try.”

You were my only competitor for top marks every year, Draco. You can do this. I remember her hand on mine, guiding my hand to clip the roses, her fingers deftly stirring a pot full of stew and lifting the spoon to my lips, her fingernails digging into my skin as I steadied her on the ice rink. She was so close, right in front of me and so beautifully alive, until she left and I had to content myself watching her speeches in the back row, listening to the recording I made of her radio messages, and knowing that she’ll never see me.

I’ve spent my life after Azkaban trying so hard to disappear from the public eye—after a year, the hate mail slowed to occasional howlers—but now, all I want is for her to see me. Then what? My mind mocks me. You still have hope that she treasures those moments too, don’t you? How could she ever? You were just another fan, another patient, another person who she changed forever. Just another person who loves her.

I roll over to face the ceiling and wave my wand to reveal the stars behind a glass ceiling. It’s wrong for me to like her this way. For me to want to see your face this bad, because I know that if I ever talked to you, I’d be disappointed. We sat on this very roof once and I pointed out Draco and Andromeda, she showed me Sirius. I told her about my mother and her roses, so the next day, she helped me revive the clippings I brought from the manor.

I honestly think that the reason why I refuse to get close to her again, why it’s my staunch rule, is because I am as much of a coward that I was in my Hogwarts years, and on the Astronomy tower, and during the war. Unlike her, and Weasley, and Potter, and every hero that I am not.

The next morning is uncharacteristically misty for a late-Spring day. I unfold the Prophet and spot her face on the front page. She passed another Dragon Protection Act, and I know that triumphant look on her face from class when she beat me on a test. I huff a laugh. I remind myself of Pansy when she used to cut out pictures of her favourite singers from the magazines she ordered. I close the paper and place my teacup in the sink.

A word catches my eye from the bottom of the page that I just closed. I dart towards and flip it open. Romania. I backtrack across the page. In order to learn more about her next goals, Ms. Granger will be in Romania for the next six months. We’ll be sorry to see her go, but are thrilled for her most recent victory. I stumble towards the radio. Her leaving to Romania means she’ll be stopping her program, perhaps indefinitely. Her leaving means that for six months, I won’t hear her voice.

Good morning everyone! It’s Hermione Granger, and today, before I say my little message, I have an announcement today. Today will be the last segment of my little program—

Oh no. No. No. My knees hit the floor, fingers scrabbling on the floorboards. She can’t leave. She can’t be going again. I can’t be alone again, but maybe I was always alone because I haven’t talked to her in a year and she doesn’t care but she cared so much and she taught me to care too, so how can she leave now—

That’s all. It’s been a great ride, and I’m so thrilled for my next adventures. Hermione Granger, signing off. There’s a click as I realise that she’s now completely gone, and that I just missed her last message, and I’m falling into darkness.

I’m in the Forbidden Forest, watching Voldemort’s body rot. The maggots chitter and scramble through his empty eye sockets, and somehow, they form words I know. Death Eater. Evil scum. Unworthy. Failure. They stop moving suddenly, and I feel something staring at me. I whirl around, and she’s right there. But maybe she isn’t, because there is no warmth in her face. She just stands there, staring at me, cold, honey-gold eyes picking me apart with disdain. Finally, her face twists. Worthless Death Eater scum, she spits before whirling away. I stumble back as the maggots swarm me. Breathe. I am shivering in the corner of my cell in Azkaban as the winds howl outside. Breathe. I am receiving my first Howler, words coming at me like a storm. Breathe. And Hermione Granger is walking away.

Draco! A shout punctures my consciousness, followed by a loud banging. Draco! Are you in here? Draco! A female voice shouts my name again. Is it—no. That was the past. When I locked myself in my house with only the smouldering embers of a red envelope, lost somewhere between Azkaban and the Astronomy Tower. It was the anniversary of the war, and I had ignored all of her letters, and somehow, she came to find me, banging on my door. Draco! Draco! Are you in here? You can’t just— a frustrated noise—Just open the door, okay? This is literally my job—I need to see that you’re not dead! So I let her in, and she curled my fingers around a mug of tea. Drink.

“Why don’t you call me Malfoy?” I asked her, voice breaking. I coughed to hide it. She looked up, eyes wide, as if she had never thought of it, a furrow forming between her brows. I longed to smooth it away. She came to a conclusion, blinking at me.

“You’re not your father,” she said simply. And that was that. And that was that.

I am lying on crisp white sheets in a room in St. Mungo’s. I hear voices and struggle to focus on them.

“—collapsed from shock. He should be fine in a while. If you three had come any later, this could’ve been much worse. He should stay here for a couple more days, and I will check on him in a couple hours.”

“Thank you,” I hear Pansy say, echoed by murmurs from Blaise and Theo.

“Is he all right?” That’s a new voice. It’s so familiar, but somehow—

“He won’t die, Granger,” Pansy says roughly. Granger? Hermione Granger? My eyes fly open, but the light is too bright, and I shut them immediately, wincing. But I know it’s her.

“Well, I guess there’s nothing to do,” Theo mutters. It’s so strange to hear them like this, all worried and defeated.

“Come on, Harry, let’s go get something to drink. Sorry for dragging you two into this,” Pansy sighs. “I know it was your last time to meet before Granger leaves.”

“It’s fine. Hermione insisted,” Harry replies. The door opens. No. Don’t leave again. Please—

“Don’t go—” the words shoot out of me. “Please—” And maybe she recognizes the words from late-night Patronuses and my hand tight around hers when I was lost and she pulled me out of darkness, because she turns back and takes my hand.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers. There’s a rustle of her turning around. “I’ll stay here a bit longer. You guys should go ahead of me.” And this time, she doesn’t let go.

I wake up to curls tickling my neck. Or at least, I think I wake up. I don’t want it to be a dream as she kisses my forehead and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. And I want it to be a dream as she steps away from my bed and opens the door, leaving once again.

six months later.

I walk down the street with my recording in hand. It’s been six months, and I think I’ve learned to live without her voice every morning. Maybe. I wish she walked away after our first official meeting as my reformation counsellor. A year ago, she walked into my living room with two mugs of tea and told me that she would be by my side for the next three months—

“Fuck off, Mudblood,” I told her, the slur slipping out of my mouth.

“Words mean nothing without conviction,” she said, her expression hardening but with an easy smile.

“You sound like Aunt Bella when she taught me how to do the Unforgivables,” I replied.

“You stopped saying mudblood with hate in Fourth Year at the World Cup. Remember? You told me that they were looking for mudbloods like me. But there was no hate. You were horrified, maybe?” Her easy smile never slipped.

“You fucki—”

“You stopped saying that word with conviction when I saw you in Seventh Year. Maybe because of the Astronomy Tower—” I flinched, a motion that didn’t go unnoticed by her. Her gaze sharpened, but she continued. “So now, when you say it with neither hate nor conviction, they’re just two words. Put a word in the middle, say ‘not,’ and it becomes ‘mud not blood.’ Then it could be like we went to the cinema and you were scared of the ‘blood’ in a black and white film. Maybe I would’ve turned to you and said, “It’s mud, not blood.” She smiled at me in that annoyingly smug way of hers, like she just beat me in test scores.

“You’re fucking delusional,” I spat.

“True,” she replied lightly. She got up, easy expression gone. “But Draco Lucius Malfoy, you’re delusional if you think that you’re going to sabotage my chances to become a better candidate for Department Head of the Magical Creatures Department.”

“Ah, I knew you had some ulterior motives,” I said, vindicated. “You aren’t a selfless hero, Granger. I knew it.”

“And did you ever think I was?” She smiled at me, a sharp smile that was more teeth than happiness.

“Better you than Potthead,” I replied. “But you’ve got to wonder, could someone who isn’t a selfless hero become Department Head?”

“Seeing that your father was on the Board of Directors of Hogwarts, clearly,” she replied flippantly.

“You don’t know shit about my family,” I snarled.

“Hmm. Another thing to talk about.” She made a note on her page. “Well, Draco, I’m glad we could have this little heart-to-heart. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” I muttered.

“Oh, you will, Draco Malfoy. Even if I have to hunt you down myself. Now that I know that you hate this, I’m even more motivated to do my job.”

“You’re loitering,” a familiar voice calls, jerking me out of my memory.

“Parks,” I say, trying to regain my composure. “I came to visit you.”

“Clearly, seeing that you stood in front of my store for three minutes already,” Pansy replies. “Well, come in. I’m mending one of my pieces right now, but you can talk.”

Inside the backroom of Pansy’s store, she annoyedly snaps her thread with her teeth and rummages around in her box of threads. She chooses a gold thread and looks up.

“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” Her eyes flash.

“No. You were the one who told me to come visit you from time to time. It’s not like there’s anything new to say,” I reply flatly. Pansy grabs a tiny diamond bead and starts sewing it on the shimmery black fabric of a dress.

“Did you know that she wore this dress?” Pansy asks after a long pause.

“Hermione?” I ask, glancing at the dress again.

“To the War Anniversary ball a year ago. For twenty minutes before she got too worked up about you ignoring her letters and stormed your house,” Pansy answers dryly.

“Ah,” I say, slightly sheepish. “Is that how she lost some of the beads?”

“Yeah. It was partly my fault, because this is a vintage from the 1920s, and I didn’t sew on these beads correctly because it was a last minute job,” Pansy replies. “You know, she always goes running when she knows you’re hurt.”

“You know, I think I’ve told you many times that I don’t want to talk about her,” I snap.

“You continued the conversation about her,” Pansy counters. “Why are you so scared to even fathom that she could care about you?”

“Because she doesn’t. Because she left. And because if I get my hopes up, it’ll hurt even more,” I grind out.

“It’s your funeral, Draco. But when I came home to tell Harry to close the shop for me because I’d be staying with you, and he was with Hermione, the moment I said why, she bolted up and Floo’d to St Mungo’s,” Pansy says. She sews on another bead.

“She’d do that for Weasley,” I reply softly.

“Weasley and Granger—” Pansy cuts herself off and shakes her head. “She’s back. Go talk to her. You two deserve that at least.” She mutters something darkly under her breath about oblivious, stubborn asses before she looks up, surprised that I’m still here. “If you’re just going to stand around, go get me some tea,” she sighs. “Make yourself useful.”

After a couple hours of making myself useful, I walk out of Pansy’s shop, arms laden with packages for delivery, another one of her chores. After sending the packages off, I sigh and lean against the brick wall outside Pansy’s shop. She’s back. Go talk to her. I groan and bang my head against the wall. You two are a pair of oblivious, stubborn asses. I bang my head back against the wall again. She always goes running when she knows you’re hurt. The hardest thump yet. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned closer, almost as if—

“I told you to stop doing that,” says a voice. My eyes fly open, and I already know who I’m going to see. Brown curls, Muggle “denim,” sparkling brown eyes, and that honey voice.

“Gra—Granger,” I stammer.

“Don’t call me that, it reminds me of our Hogwarts years,” she rolls her eyes, that same sarcasm that I remember from a year ago. “I thought we were on a first name basis.”

And just like that, it’s like no time passed. “Okay, Hermione, sorry I’m a little rusty after not talking to you for a year.”

“Oh, Draco, our relationship is forever,” Hermione grins.

“Ah yes. You were my therapist,” I remark. That was all we were, right? Just say something to prove what I’ve known this entire time. “Very touchy feely.”

“If we’re being accurate—” Hermione pauses for my long sigh at her catchphrase, right on cue— “I was your reformation counsellor, meant to help your smooth transition into post-War life!”

“Quoted that from the handbook, did you?” I grin and gesture for her to walk with me.

“Of course. Never go anywhere without it. And I never say anything without good proof,” she adds.

“You said a lot of things,” I say quietly. “You said that you’d never get on a broom—”

“You were a good teacher,” Hermione shrugs. “I taught you so much Muggle culture, so you just returned the favour. The polite thing to do.”

“You said that you would force me to let you do your job, but I just ended up telling you anyway,” I say.

“On you, not me,” Hermione shrugs. “I just gave it a little time. After the War Anniversary incident, things progressed fast enough for me to not Bombarda my way into your house.”

“Oh, please, my wards wouldn’t let you,” I scoff. “You tried.”

“Maybe I’ve been practising. But try again. What have I said without good proof?” Hermione’s eyes dart up at me with a clear challenge.

“You said you’d write,” I say, voice unwavering but much too soft. She catches it. That’s how she was such a good counsellor. How she was able to know everything without me needing to tell her.

“I’m sorry. I—Blaise told me that you didn’t let anyone talk about me, so I thought you didn’t want to hear from me. I thought I made a mistake in—” she sighs. “Caring. Too much.”

I don’t know what that means. For the brightest witch of her age, her words are suddenly cryptic. “I think I cared too much as well.” There. That kind of strategic wording that I’ve learned all my life.

“Yeah?” I don’t know when we got so close, but the setting sun sets her hair on fire, and her eyes sparkle. I’m painfully reminded of sunset in my garden, brushing dirt off her cheek, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear and the way her eyes fluttered shut before she got a patronus from Weasley and hurried off. I step away. She’s engaged. Or maybe married. Or maybe—

“How’s Weasley doing?” I ask. “I know it’s late, but congratulations.”

“For what?” she asks, puzzled.

“The engagement? I honestly haven’t been keeping up with the society pages, but Parks told me,” I say.

“Oh!” Hermione gasps. “We broke up a while ago. Amicable. We agreed that we’re better off as friends and neither of us wanted to throw ten years away.” She shrugs.

So maybe her “caring, too much,” was not just a friendly sentence. Maybe—

“Are you free after this? For dinner?” Another cryptic sentence that I can’t puzzle out. I’m tempted to just ask her outright, but I can’t bear to lose her having just found her again.

“Sure. I know a place,” I tell her. And I wish that this night would never end.

“So you’re telling me that Pansy broke your wards on Valentine’s Day, left pink hearts and cupids everywhere, shoved Blaise into the bed with you and left?” she’s laughing, head tossed back as we stumble into the street. There’s the evidence of the two bottles of wine that we drained on her wine-dark lips.

“She thought I was lonely—” I roll my eyes, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face.

“Aww, have you been lonely ever since I left?” she asks jokingly. My eyes soften at the sparkle in her eyes.

“Yes,” I answer truthfully. “Honestly, yes. I missed you. Even though I heard your voice every day that year—”

“My radio program?” she asks incredulously.

“I tuned in every day,” I admit. “It was like you were there, but not.” I huff out a laugh. “Until you left for Romania without any warning.”

“I can’t believe you listened to all of my programs!” She flushes even more. “That’s so…”

“Well you accomplished your mission,” I shrug. “To use your influence to help people. You helped me. And your fans.”

“You were my hardest case.” She bumps my shoulder. “I guess I cracked you.”

“You melted me,” I laugh. “When I saw you today, I thought I was hallucinating you from looking at your pictures in the Prophet too much. Just another fan.”

“Who would’ve thought that you would’ve become my biggest fan,” Hermione muses.

“Who would’ve thought that you’d still be such a pure hero after all these years,” I tease.

“You think I’m pure?” Hermione asks, voice going low. She blinks up at me from under those feathered eyelashes, gaze shifting into something hotter.

“I think you could have such filthy thoughts,” I whisper. “I haven’t seen proof yet.”

“Ever the perfect researcher,” she whispers back, hooking an arm around my neck and pulling me down into a kiss. It’s everything I thought it would be in full colour, the swipe of her tongue over my lips, her fingers clutching the hair at my neck. I pull her closer to me, teeth scraping over her lip as she shudders. I smile against her mouth, pushing her against the wall.

“You started this,” I breathe, pulling my fingers through her curls, tangling them further. I pull away, resting my forehead against her, breaths synchronising.

“I’ve been wanting to do that ever since Harry cut his finger off and Ron patronused me to come and fix it,” Hermione breathes. I look down at her flushed cheeks, kissed lips and mussed hair and I smile.

“I’ve been wanting to do that in some capacity since I met you,” I laugh, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. I look up at the stars, finding Sirius and Andromeda and Draco like Hermione taught me. Dusk is setting in, light from the lively shops streaming into the street. I look over at Hermione Granger and smile. The sky is endless, and I hold the world in my arms.

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #cruel summer fic fest 2023: the eras tour #era number four submission #this was so CLEVER #the radio programmes!#draco being absolutely convinced she's still with ron #PANSY #op we're so sorry we missed this one while ao3 was down!

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cruelsummer-ficfest · 8 months

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But there was something in the way he responded that gave her hope. The reverence with which he placed his hands on her hips and pulled her closer, the enthusiasm with which he returned her kisses, the happy little noises he breathed out against her—no matter what he said, they felt like love. An imagined love perhaps, but one that she would cling to, one that made her think,

We might just get away with this.

Even if it was a false god, she’d still worship this love.

(this fic brought to you by @crookshanksagentofowca)

#bellamort #bellatrix lestrange #voldemort #bellatrix x voldemort #era number three submission #another very fun one #the way you wrote the power dynamic!!#clever clever clever!

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cruelsummer-ficfest · 8 months

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Hermione watched the way he watched her, his eyes caught on the tulle of her dress moving with the stars. That’s when it made sense, all the little things - the easiness of the silence, the intenseness of his eyes, the secureness of his hold. Hermione had spent the majority of her evening with Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy had danced with her.

Draco Malfoy had run through the castle giggling like a child with her.

Draco Malfoy was staring at her with an undeniable fascination and hunger.

The conclusion stole a breath from her that she couldn’t keep quiet. His eyes immediately went from her dress to her face, the faintest of frowns on his lips.

(this fic brought to you by @nickcharleswife)

#draco x hermione #dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #era number two submission #this was INCREDIBLE folks #if you're a dramione fan #might i recommend this 72k fic for you #because how FUN #how CLEVER

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cruelsummer-ficfest · 8 months

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august has officially sipped away like a bottle of wine and all submissions for this years Cruel Summer Fic Fest must be submitted by the end of the day (wherever you may be). If they are not submitted, you are more than welcome to finish it, however it will not be included in the collection for this summer.

we cannot thank you enough for all the works and participation this summer! it is truly our wildest dreams come true to see the intersection of taylor swift x harry potter come to life.

we will be posting an end of summer wrap up so youll be able to find all of the fics from this year in one place, but until then and until next (cruel) summer—

we had the time of our lives fighting dragons with you.

xoxo

Your mods,

andie! and grey

#cruel summer fic fest #xoxo grey and andie

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cruelsummer-ficfest · 9 months

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There’s a universe out there, Sirius thinks, where he finally breaks things off with Remus. There’s another universe where James is the kind of man who doesn’t buy a cottage in a town he hates just so he can stay near the son he has with a woman who hates him. There’s a universe where they make different choices, where they’re happy, where they both realize what their feelings mean sooner rather than later, and they marry each other instead, and they move away to some place where these stolen moments are not just fragmented, fictional pieces of their wildest dreams, but a reality.

But that isn’t the universe they live in.

fic: say you'll remember me

“Do you ever miss it?” James had asked.

“Nah,” Sirius had lied.

He wonders, now, why he always feels compelled to do that.

Written for @cruelsummer-ficfest

Song: Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 939

Ship: Prongsfoot

#prongsfoot #sirius black #james potter #sirius x james #era number two submission #OH #OH Y'ALL #THIS IS BRUTAL #BUT WONDERFUL #absolutely wonderful #i'm devastated and in love and crying all at once

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cruelsummer-ficfest · 9 months

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Telling Sirius that good thinkers, good people were too often run out of politics because of the environment and wanting to change it from the ground up.

Don't you see the starlight? Don't you dream impossible things?

"Great speech, very official," Sirius told him, kissing Kingsley quickly on the mouth once he was close enough. "I'm feeling so motivated, I want to ditch this whole thing and go straight to the Ministry to get to work."

Kingsley rolled his eyes, "That's a bit much, don't you think?"

Sirius grinned, dropping his voice and leaning close to Kingsley's ear "You're right. However, I would ditch this whole thing and go straight to the ministry but only because your office would be completely free of interruptions..."

never would forget how we moved

sirius x kingsley (starking)

(my submission for @cruelsummer-ficfest, my song was Starlight from the album Red. this song is truly one of my favorites. there's so much lightness and love after an album that is essentially a break-up album. this song to me is about hope for something that can be good in a sea of bla. please enjoy)

He felt seventeen again, the way his heart lept out of his chest, and the electricity surged through his veins as he stared across the garden at a man who commanded so much attention it might as well have been his occasion.

Kingsley wasn't one for ministry gatherings--at least the ones in London, preferring the ones from back home where the music went until the middle of the morning and everyone's smile seemed genuine. The ones here felt so formal. Stifling. Except for the man with the dark curly hair, and a loud laugh, who didn't seem to care about any formalities in the slightest. Kingsley took a sip out of his wine glass--even the wine was bitter--and watch as the man continued to tell a story, women, men, everyone eager to listen in and join in on the joke.

For all Kingsley knew, this man could've been speaking about the economy, inflation of galleons, and market-values, etcetera etcetera and everyone would've been enamoured. It was hard not to be. Kingsley was across the room and was still knocked out by a devil-may-care grin.

There was music playing, the kind that Kingsley listened to while studying all those years ago; "brain music" was said to be stimulating without overpowering to ensure maximum retention or something or the other, thoughts of his study skills falling sideways the closer he got to the man on the other side of the room with tiny gold hoop earrings and tattoos visible down the side of his neck. The people around him didn't even seem to know what they were laughing at anymore, keen to just be in the presence of this man.

I met Bobby on the boardwalk summer of '45...

"Excuse my interruption, I was sitting over there and heard the laughter and had to find out just what I was missing," Kingsley said, extending his hand, "Kingsley Shacklebolt. I don't think we've met."

"Now what makes you say that?" the other man asked, corners of his mouth tilting upward with amusement and silver eyes glimmered in the stars and fairylights above the garden. The crowd that had gathered around him began to disperse--Kingsley had just enough authority to be intimidating, and was just new enough to make everyone uncomfortable.

"I've never met a comedian."

"Ah now, don't tell," he responded, "that's my nighttime gig. By day, I'l just a simple member of the Wizengamot and a junior counselor."

Kingsley tried to keep his face neutral, hiding his surprise at the word junior counselor. Judging by the 5'oclock shadow and the confidence, Kingsley had pegged this man to be in his 30s at the bare minimum. And if that was the case, 30 was a bit...old.

"I see."

The other man let out a single, loud laugh, "Finally an honest reaction. Sirius Black," he dropped Kingsley's hand just as a silver platter of champagne glasses floated by, grabbing two off it with ease. He extended one of them to Kingsley, fingers covered with ornate rings that would've looked atrocious on...anyone else.

"I've heard about you," Kingsley nodded, accepting the glass, "you're giving my colleagues grey hair. I thought you'd be..."

"Better looking? I get that alot."

"Further along...legally," Kingsley cleared his throat around a sip of champagne and Sirius grinned.

"Had a bit of a quarter-life crisis and decided to step into the family business a few years later than most, reclaim my seat, so on and so forth. It's a great story," Sirius said, nodding a long with a wink.

"I'd like to hear it."

"Over dinner, maybe. Too long for drinks."

"Suppose..." Kingsley looked around, the stiff music swelling around them in a glorious crescendo, "Too long for drinks and a dance?"

For the first time since entering the conversation, Sirius looked surprised, eyebrows raising as he surveyed the scene. Telling a joke or two or three...or perhaps just being impossibly charming was one thing; dancing was a whole other.

"This isn't exactly Earth, Wind and Fire."

"All the more reason, I'll be able to hear your story better," Kingsley said with his own playful grin, stepping back toward the dance floor, champagne in hand, his other outstretched to Sirius. "I personally, love, this song. Catchy, isn't it?"

And I said, oh my, what a marvelous tune,

it was the best night never would forget how we moved.

Sirius clapped loudly, standing up at his table and cheering as Kinglsey wrapped up his speech, stepping down from the stage at the center of the room. A band was setting up behind him, the garden magically shifting from a boring ministry event to a party at the conclusion of his speech. Multi-colored fairy lights appeared in the bushes and air, reflecting on the grass. A constellation of rainbow stars everywhere they stepped. By the time Kingsley got to Sirius, he was smiling, two whiskey gingers in hand. The days of champagne and monotonous garden parties had disappeared when Kingsley became Minister of Magic, vowing in the privacy of their home that he would make the culture and climate bearable.

Telling Sirius that good thinkers, good people were too often run out of politics because of the environment and wanting to change it from the ground up.

Don't you see the starlight? Don't you dream impossible things?

Kingsley rolled his eyes, "That's a bit much, don't you think?"

Sirius grinned, dropping his voice and leaning close to Kinglsey's ear "You're right. However, I would ditch this whole thing and go straight to the ministry but only because your office would be completely free of interruptions..."

"Hmm..."

"Or we can get the dance floor started."

"Why not both?"

"At the same time? Minister," Sirius gasped, pressing a hand to his chest, and Kingsley laughed, leaning forward to capture his mouth in a kiss longer than the one Sirius had given him.

Their first dance had been at a party, a ministry party, right when Kingsley had transferred from Nigeria. Their second had been in the halls of Number 12 Grimmauld Place not long after, a record player in the living room playing Nina Simone.

They had lost track of dances they had shared over the years but always remembered to connect at Ministry parties. Always remembered to turn the unremarkable into a spectacle--together.

The whole place was dressed to the nines, and we were dancin'

Like we're made of starlight.

#starking #sirius black #kingsley shacklebolt #era number three submission #LOOK HERE!#ONE WHOLE MOD!#HAS FINISHED AND SUBMITTED THEIR FEST FIC!#~~couldn't be your other mod lmao~~#anyway #what a lovely little starking for your evening #i LOVE this song anyhow and grey's interpretation is so nice. so clever. so sweet.#i love them your honor

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