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HPB, Chapter 2 - Something Wicked

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: none?

Masterlist

Word Count: ~5,200

Note: Y/M/M/N = your mother's maiden name, assuming reader's mother took her father's last name (yes this is awkward, I wasn't sure how else to do it, sorry)

The summer warmth dissipated just as you thought you might drown from the amount of homework being assigned in each of your classes, and with it went your hopes for the Quidditch season. Zacharias had been running the team ragged, which only served to emphasize how poorly everyone played. It was sabotage so effective, Yvette suggested in jest that perhaps he was a plant from Slytherin to secure the cup.

Transfiguration remained the most difficult class, even with Professor Snape teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and even with the advice from Draco Malfoy last term lingering in your ears.

You stared daggers at the owl perched in front of you. It stared back, indifferent and aloof. All around you, everyone else had already turned their own owls into opera glasses, and time was running short. The owl blinked at you, and began preening.

The wood of your wand had warmed in your grip, the anxiety you felt pouring into sweat on your palms. You adjusted your grip and prepared to cast. It would work this time. The owl’s huge eyes mimicked closely the shape of opera glasses, you could see the connection. The owl was not vicious. You had enough wand power, you had enough power.

This would work.

“Strigiforma,” you commanded. The magic pulsed out of your wand and-

The owl’s eyes enlarged, swelling its head.

Professor McGonagall tsked as she strolled by. “Reparifarge,” she said and the owl returned to normal. “Try again.” She hovered over you as you prepared to cast again.

As if it wasn’t hard enough without an audience.

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat, and rolled your shoulders back. “Strigiforma.”

Once again, magic flowed from your wand in a sliver and swirled around the poor creature. You watched, mortified, as it transformed down into a single drinking glass.

Professor McGonagall de-transfigured the owl again, and said, “And yet you managed to perform the Aguamenti charm.” You opened your mouth to protest. “It does not matter how I know, Miss Y/L/N. Keep trying, and see me after class.”

Donna looked over at you through an ornate set of opera glasses. She grinned, “Don’t take it too hard, Y/N, you had to be bad at something.”

You grimaced. “But did I though? Did I really?”

Class wore on. You continued trying to turn the owl into opera glasses, though the closest you got were a pair of half-moon spectacles like Dumbledore wore. You shooed your friends off to lunch when the bell rang, no need for them to witness your shame and go hungry.

Professor McGonagall was waiting for you at her desk. As you approached, she folded her hands in front of her and gave you a long appraising look.

“It should come to no surprise to you,” she began, “that I have noticed your continual struggle with this subject. The O.W.L. examination will be rigorous, and I am sorry to say I have not properly prepared you.”

You raised an eyebrow and prepared to protest.

She raised a slender hand. “I should have done this sooner, and for that I apologize. I am planning to meet with the Headmaster to discuss finding you a suitable tutor for this year, until I see a significant improvement. Now, I understand you have joined your house’s Quidditch team?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“We will do our best to ensure this does not interfere with your extra-curriculars. Expect a note from Professor Dumbledore within the week. You may go.”

“Yes, Professor.” You made a bee-line for the door, then paused. “Thank you.” She nodded graciously once then returned to her desk.

Herbert, Donna and Yvette had all laughed when you told them what Professor McGonagall had said.

“’Continual struggle’?” Yvette hissed through her nose. “That woman is brutal.”

You sulked after them down to Hagrid’s, chomping on an apple tart Donna had been kind enough to swipe for you. Care of Magical Creatures had proven to be the only bearable class what with the pressure of O.W.L.s looming down on you for every other subject.

Donna snorted. “Do you know who’ll tutor you?”

“Not a clue,” you said dully. “Only person good enough I can think of is Hermione Granger.” You remembered being paired with her in DA, and shuddered. “If Dumbledore wanted to torture me I suppose he could arrange it.”

“You don’t like Hermione?”

“She’s fine, just a bit of a know-it-all I guess.”

Yvette gave you a look. “Oh, but Malfoy was fine.”

“First of all, I was tutoring him - totally different. And it’s not like she doesn’t know what she’s doing, it’s just she does everything by the book and it works for her. I’ve done everything by the book, and it’s almost never worked for me.” That was only partially true, though, wasn’t it? Draco’s advice from last year had helped, a little anyway.

Hagrid was waiting at the edge of the forest, hands on his hips, ruddy cheeks set in a grin. His hippogriff (heaven only knew how he’d convinced Dumbledore to keep a pet hippogriff) Witherwings pawed at the ground next to him. The four of you were the first to arrive.

You bowed low to the beast. “Handsome as ever I see, Witherwings.”

The hippogriff nodded his head gracefully. He still liked you.

“There’s my favorite fifth years,” Hagrid drawled. He seemed to take great pleasure in greeting you this way at the start of every year.

“Afternoon, Professor,” Herbert said mid-bow. “What’ve we got today?”

Hagrid clapped his hands together excitedly. A few other students had gathered, including Luna who waved dreamily at you. “Today we’ll be relocating a branch of Bowtruckles whose Wiggentree has started to die. Go ahead and grab a pouch o’woodlice from the basket while we wait for everyone else.”

Once the rest of the class arrived, Hagrid led everyone into the forest. Tendrils of mist curled through the trees, slicing through whatever warmth the sun had bestowed upon you. You knew which tree it was as soon as you saw it. A massive rowan tree sat in the middle of a mushroom circle, the gnarled roots of it black as ash, leafless.

Someone spoke up, “Why’s the tree dying?”

A somber look passed over Hagrid’s face. “A good question.” He did not elaborate.

The Bowtruckles were hard to spot, their natural camouflage made them look like new branches of the tree itself, but once you saw one you could make out no less than fifty. Their movements were slow, catatonic even, and their spindly fingers had started to turn that ashy brown of the Wiggentree’s roots.

You sucked in a breath. Had they been slowly withering all summer?

Hagrid directed each of you to try and get a few of the stick-like beasties to follow you with the woodlice to a newly planted magical rowan further in.

A few were tempted by them, so you lured them up to sit on your shoulder, feeding them one or two every several feet. Donna was not having as much luck; one had made a mad grab for the pouch in an unexpected burst of energy while another snuck around to try and desperately reach for her wand tucked into her back pocket. She looked at you pleadingly.

“Don’t worry,” you said, lowering your wand and letting the two Bowtruckles grab on to be carried. “You had to be bad at something.”

“I resent your tone.” Donna let them have a few woodlice. “I am bad at many things.”

The two Bowtruckles on your shoulder joined the ones clinging to your wand. They all sat there, contented by the healthy wand wood. A few others tried the same thing.

The new Wiggentree was barely big enough for every Bowtruckle to perch comfortably in its branches, but they flocked to it desperately. Hagrid’s eyes turned a little misty watching them squabble over their preferred branches and settle into their new home tree.

With all the Bowtruckles successfully relocated, Hagrid led the class back through the forest to where Witherwings had been waiting.

“Next week,” he shouted over the bell tolling from the castle, “we’ll check up on ‘em, and talk about why their old tree had died, if I can find the reason meself. Now off with ye!”

By mid week, the expected summons from Professor Dumbledore still hadn’t come, and you were starting to hope that both he and McGonagall had forgotten about the whole thing.

During your free period before Potions, while Donna and Yvette had Divination, you joined Herbert in the library to finish up an essay on the many uses of moonstone, but you found yourself distracted by what Draco Malfoy had said in the owlery.

You tapped your quill against your palm and frowned. What did he expect you to do, exactly? If Helga Hufflepuff hadn’t wanted a password, who were you to even try to change that? This would require no small amount of research.

Herbert fixed you with a stare. “You look like you’re chewing on something. Care to share?”

“Just thinking about the other night, is all.” You threw a look over your shoulder to see who was close. “About what Malfoy said.”

“Shh!” Madame Pince’s shushing cut across the room.

“Ah,” he said in a lowered voice. “That old chestnut.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to add a password to a room that’s a thousand years old.”

He thought for a moment and shrugged. “What if it didn’t have to be a password?”

“What do you mean? He said password.”

“Well,” he smirked, “first don’t worry too much about following his directions to the letter, this is Malfoy we’re talking about. And he asked about a password, but he said line of defense. That’s a bit broader at least.”

“Hmm. That is something.”

“You want me to spell this out for you?”

“Yes, please.”

“What we need is a good old fashioned trap.”

“Go on.”

“Something that won’t affect anyone who’s supposed to be there, nothing they’d even notice. But something that’d spring on anybody trespassing.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, “I can see the logic in that. Any ideas?”

He smiled sardonically. “That is where my genius runs out, unfortunately. And it’s time for Potions.”

You still hadn’t gotten used to the Potions classroom in the middle of the dungeons being comfortable, but Professor Slughorn was chipper as ever during his lesson on Strengthening Solution, and caught you on your way out.

“I wonder if I may have a word, Miss Y/L/N?” he said. His voice was smooth and kindly. “Are you related at all to a Ms. Y/M/M/N?”

“I am,” you said, surprised. “She’s my mum.”

He smiled genially. “I thought that may be the case, the two of you look so alike. Talented witch, your mother, I remember when she was in school. I wonder if you’d join me for dinner in my rooms on Friday - I’ve put together a little party. A few people you may have met before, and I hope,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “a Mr. Potter may be in attendance.”

“Oh! Um, well. I,” you paused. He looked so hopeful. “I would be delighted. Is there anything I can bring?” Your mum had trained you well to never appear at someone’s home empty handed.

Professor Slughorn chortled. “No, no, that’s very kind of you of course. I’ve got it all covered. Look forward to delicious food and stimulating conversation.” He patted his belly and winked amicably. “I know I do.”

When you explained why you’d been held back to your friends, Herbert gave you a strange look.

“I want to go to dinner with Slughorn and Potter,” he said. “But I guess my mum wasn’t cool enough when she was in school.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Yvette said, “it seems like you were only invited because of your mum.”

You frowned. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it.”

“And Donna and I are muggleborn,” she continued. “He never asked us about who we were related to.”

“I’m sorry, would you like me to apologize for being related to someone he taught years ago?” you asked, incredulous. “What’s happening?”

Donna put a hand on Yvette’s arm. “No, that would be like asking us to apologize for being muggleborn.”

Yvette deflated. “I think I’m just jealous, is all.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t really want to go. But I’ll put in a good word for all of you. I’ll tell him all about your dueling talent, Donna’s affinity for transfiguration, and Herb’s perfect rendition of Celestina Warbeck’s greatest hits.”

Herbert laughed. “Don’t forget about my Patronus. Only took me one try.”

You laughed too, “Right right, how could I forget?”

Friday morning, you sat yourself down to breakfast, crossing your fingers you wouldn’t have to follow through with Transfiguration tutoring. Alas, Ernie was already seated, but as soon as he spotted you, he held up a roll of parchment and wiggled it in the air.

You groaned and took it from him. Your heart sank as you read the slanted writing.

Miss Y/L/N, I have arranged a tutor for you. Kindly meet Professor McGonagall outside my office at 5 P.M. for details. Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore

With any luck, this could turn into an excuse to miss Professor Slughorn’s dinner party.

Professor McGonagall was waiting for you in the seventh floor corridor in the West Wing, standing perfectly poised in front of the massive gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster’s tower.

Her expression gave nothing away, but she acknowledged your presence with a polite nod. Then she turned to the gargoyle and spoke the password. “Acid pops,” she said.

You had only ever been in Dumbledore’s office once, in your first year when Professor Sprout had all but begged him to let you jump ahead a year in Herbology. It looked almost exactly the same, four years later.

The Headmaster himself was seated casually at his desk, peering at you over his characteristic half-moon glasses, and smiling, welcoming you in.

You returned a nervous smile of your own, and tried not to stare at his withered hand.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he greeted you, “please, sit.” You obeyed silently. “Surviving your O.W.L. year, I take it?”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“No need to be nervous, this isn’t a punishment.” His eyes twinkled. He was up to something, you were sure of it. “Your tutor should be here any moment. In fact,” a small device on his desk began to spin around like a top, “Minerva, would you be so kind as to show him in.”

Professor McGonagall nodded her head once more, and went to retrieve whoever had arrived.

Professor Dumbledore continued to appraise you. “I have heard, of course, of your experience with Herbology, and your affinity for magical creatures. I am, therefore, not surprised you have had some trouble with Transfiguration. I have found that students with your skill set often dislike transfiguring living creatures, find it repugnant, even.”

You gave a cautious nod. That could be the problem, maybe.

“Ah, excellent,” he said, now looking at someone behind you. You turned to look and your stomach curled. “Thank you for coming.”

Draco Malfoy glared down at you.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you said.

At the same time, he huffed, “Of course.”

Before he could say anything else, you turned back to Dumbledore. “Please, Professor, anyone, anyone but him.”

Dumbledore feigned surprise. “Miss Y/L/N, I was under the impression the two of you were friends. Is that no longer the case?”

You sputtered - the Slytherin common room, that must’ve been how he’d gotten that idea.

Draco didn’t argue; he only sat down next to you. Instinctively, your arm pulled itself off your chairs armrest, away from him. Dumbledore clocked the movement, eyes still twinkling.

The Headmaster ignored your protests and explained, “Mr. Malfoy received excellent marks on his Transfiguration O.W.L., and Professor Sprout reported how well the two of you worked together last year.” Draco shifted uncomfortably at the praise. “I have already checked your schedules, and I believe this should not interfere with either of your Quidditch schedules.”

Draco turned to you sharply. Apparently he hadn’t heard you’d made the team. You still refused to look at him.

Professor McGonagall chimed in, “I have provided a rough curriculum to Mr. Malfoy, as well as some spells from previous years I believe will be helpful.”

“Thank you, Minerva. Does Monday work for the both of you?”

Draco nodded sharply.

You replied sourly, “It does.”

Dumbledore let your tone slide. “Then I’ll expect a report from either of you by the end of next week, on your meeting schedule and any other concerns I, or Professor McGonagall may be able to address. I imagine you will require a quiet place to study, as I hear the library can be rather barmy.” You marked his inflection - was he unofficially recommending the Room of Requirement for this use? He certainly must know you were aware of it, your name had been on the DA list.

Draco frowned. He must’ve caught it as well. “Yes, sir,” he said in his typical icy tone that gave nothing away.

Dumbledore smiled again. “Then, now that that’s all good and settled, Miss Y/N, I believe you have made a commitment for dinner? You may go, give Professor Slughorn my regards.”

You nodded again and rose, ready to be anywhere but this office. Finally, you locked eyes with Draco. His lip lifted subtly in a small sneer. Pivoting on your toes, you fled before either of you could say anything more than had already been said.

You cursed the whole way to Slughorn’s rooms.

What was Dumbledore playing at? You’d joked about Hermione tutoring you if he’d wanted to torture you, but this? This was never something you’d considered a possibility. And Draco had agreed. Obviously he couldn’t have known who he’d be helping, but that he’d agree to help anyone. Dumbledore must’ve offered him something he couldn’t pass up.

You bit your tongue to stop it’s grumbling before you knocked on the door.

Professor Slughorn opened it in the blink of an eye. He wore a decadent smoking jacket embroidered with shiny golden stars and a matching cap. You were almost surprised there was no lit cigar in his hand, but rather two mugs of Butterbeer, one of which he offered you as he shepherded you inside.

Standing by a roaring fireplace, two students you recognized as Slytherins glanced up from their conversation and looked you up and down. The boy, Blaise Zabini, you knew had worked his way into Malfoy’s little group. The look did not last more than a moment before they deemed you inconsequential and resumed their own conversation.

Ginny had been cornered by some massive Gryffindor you didn’t know from the DA, so you made a bee-line to her.

She looked up gratefully and said very quickly, “Oh look my friend Y/N I have to go talk to her now thank you goodbye,” before stepping nimbly out of his grasp. She took you by the arm and steered you around.

“What was all that about?” you asked.

“That,” she whispered, “is Cormac McLaggen. He is very upset he was passed over for Quidditch and he keeps asking me to talk to Harry. Like I could get him to change his mind if I wanted to. And Dean hates that he keeps talking to me.”

“And how are things with Dean?”

“Oh, they’re,” she sighed, “they’re alright. We’ve had a few spats but we’re working through it.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

She laughed. “Right.”

A few others trickled in after you: Neville, a Ravenclaw you didn’t recognize, and Hermione (who mentioned twice that she was late because of prefect duties). Once everyone Professor Slughorn had been expecting arrived, he invited all of you to sit down for dinner.

A dark wooden dining table appeared where nothing had been before. He chuckled lightly at the couple surprised looks the conjuration had caused, clearly pleased with his party trick. The table was already laden with a full Sunday roast - Yorkshire pudding, roasted potatoes, three different variations of a horseradish sauce and a basket of steaming rolls surrounded the massive beef roast. The smell of it made you homesick.

Professor Slughorn bid you all sit down, and you clung to Ginny, who did her best to maneuver away from McLaggen and sat next to Neville. McLaggen then tried to snag a chair by Hermione, but the Ravenclaw beat him to it. Stymied, he slouched into a seat between the two Slytherin students.

Your host barely let you fill up your plates with food before launching into a litany of questions about school, family histories, and career goals. He started going around the table clockwise; you tried to sink lower and lower into your chair and then -

“Y/N, how is your mother’s shop doing these days?”

Everyone at the table turned their attention towards you.

You nodded and put down the potato you’d speared with a fork. “It’s doing well, she’d started to plan to expand last year, but with things as they are…”

“Of course, of course. I’m glad to hear it, she was one of my favorite students when she went here. Slytherin, right?”

Blaise snorted. “Your mother was in Slytherin, and now she owns a garden shop?” The Slytherin girl next to McLaggen laughed too.

You smothered a look of disdain, and substituted a winning smile. “That’s what she wanted. To build a successful business from the ground up, and she did. I wonder if you’ll be able to achieve whatever it is you desire.”

Slughorn chimed in, “Ho, ho - a good wit too, from her no doubt. You mustn’t blame Mr. Zabini, his family is used to a more gilded kind of success than us common folk.” He tossed a wink Blaise’s way, who smiled thinly at the attempt to break the tension. He waved a hand, “Anyway, Neville, how is your grandmother?”

Dinner dragged on for another hour, before Professor Slughorn ran out of questions and dessert was served, and then another half an hour of poking the same chunk of ice cream around a bowl before Ginny gave you a look and you both excused yourselves.

In the hallway, the moment the door closed, the both of you burst out laughing.

“That was maybe the most uncomfortable I’ve ever been,” you said, breathless.

“Oh, but did you see Zabini’s face? That was worth the whole thing.”

In the common room, you sat your friends down to deliver the news, that Draco Malfoy would be tutoring you for the forseeable future at Dumbledore’s request.

No one but Herbert said a thing.

“Well, at least one good thing may come of this,” he quipped.

Exasperated, you asked, “Like what?”

“Now you’ll have the opportunity to ask him what the hell he wants you to do about the common room.”

You slept exceptionally poorly the next three nights, tossing and turning, trying to figure a way out of tutoring with the biggest git at Hogwarts again. Who could’ve known that one ill-conceived attempt at kindness could ruin two school years in a row?

You fell through every stage of grief - denial that it had not been a bad dream, anger at Dumbledore, bargaining with whatever force governed the universe as we know it, and depression as you faced the Room of Requirement on Monday evening. Draco must’ve already arrived and gotten settled, the door wouldn’t have appeared so quickly if the room was empty.

It was not too late to run. To beg Herbert for a Puking Pastille you knew he had leftover from last year.

No. If someone was going to run, it was going to be Draco Malfoy, running from you. Whenever you got around to chewing him out.

You pushed open the door.

The inside was not what you’d been expecting. Where you’d imagined a cold, clinical classroom designed to impart knowledge and nothing else, was a sitting room, nice but not too grand, with a few crushed velvet armchairs and a large coffee table suitable for note-taking in front of a cozy fireplace, where a kettle was already about to whistle.

Above you, a sneakoscope dangled from the ceiling, eerily still.

Draco looked up from his place on one of the armchairs, book open upon a knee. He still looked tired around the eyes.

“Y/N, good. The water’s almost ready.” A lovely floral tea pot and two tea cups appeared on a tray on the table.

You blinked. “You’re making tea?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s not poisoned?”

“I’m not an animal, Y/N.”

“And you’re making it? There’s no house elves hiding in the corner ready to do it for you?”

He finally huffed. “If I wanted a house elf to make my tea I’d have to tell them about this arrangement. Now are you going to sit down or do you have more insipid questions?”

Satisfied that this was not an assassination attempt, you did sit down across from him and set your school bag on the floor. Even in the cushy chair, in front of the crackling fire, you couldn’t relax. You sat forward in the chair, hands rubbing your knees.

Draco rolled his eyes.

“What?” you asked.

“Go ahead.”

“Go ahead… with what?”

He snapped the book shut and poured the boiling water into the teapot. “You want to know why I’m doing this - Dumbledore asked me to - when my time is so precious to me - which it is - and you’re the last person I’d want to help - not technically true and I didn’t know Dumbledore had you in mind when I agreed.”

“But why did you agree in the first place?”

“I figure it may keep me out of trouble.”

“Uh huh.” You took a long pause, debating. “And if it’s not me, who is the last person you’d help?”

He grinned wolfishly, “Potter, obviously.”

“Ah.” You should’ve known. Even in light of every sin he undoubtedly counted against you, you’d never be as despicable as Harry Potter, The Chosen One. You wondered if it was terrible that, for a moment, you were grateful for that years-long grudge of theirs.

You took the tea he offered and sipped on it silently. It was fragrant and floral, jasmine, maybe.

His grey eyes watched you carefully, looking for something. What, you couldn’t say. “And how was your dinner meeting then? With the Slug Club?”

You grimaced. “Is that what we’re calling it? Yikes. It was fine, I guess. I met a friend of yours, one Blaise Zabini. Delightful conversationalist.”

“You never said you had family in Slytherin.”

“You never asked.”

“Hmm.” Then he reached around and retrieved a cardboard box with holes in the top.

You grinned, you couldn’t stop yourself. “Is that a hedgehog?” you asked.

An eyebrow twitched up. “It is.”

“So this was on McGonagall’s list then.”

“McGonagall’s list,” he scoffed, “I could’ve come up with. I’ll get to that later. Maybe. But let’s stick with what you can already almost do for now.”

You frowned. “But she said-“

“I know what she said.”

“But, Draco if this isn’t on the O.W.L.-“

“You still need to learn it.”

You crossed your arms and huffed. “Will you just listen to-“

“No.” He pulled a squirming hedgehog out of the box and set it on the coffee table. “Now turn this into a pin cushion.”

You whipped out your wand, furious, leveled it at the hedgehog, and hesitated. What if you couldn’t do it? What if, even with help, you remained incapable of this one thing?

“Y/N,” he said impatiently.

“I’m getting there, I’m getting there.”

“No, you aren’t. Just cast the spell.”

“But-“

“Cast the spell.”

“Draco-“

“Y/N. Do it. Now.”

You did. But not on the hedgehog. Draco Malfoy, all hundred-eighty and some odd centimeters of him shrunk down into a pin cushion you could fit in your palms. You picked him up in shaking hands.

“Oh my god. Shit.”

Dumbledore was going to find out, and then after congratulating you on how well you’d transfigured a whole person he’d expel you and you’d be gardening for your mother without magic for the rest of your lift. Which wouldn’t last long if Draco’s family ever found out what’d happened to their silver haired progeny.

No, no. McGonagall fixed bad transfigurations all the time. If you could do this you could do that - simple.

You put the Draco-cushion on the coffee table and picked up your wand again. The hedgehog gave him a sniff then retreated to the behind his box.

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat, still steadying your hands. “R-reparifarge.” Nothing happened. You smacked your wand against your other hand a few times, white sparks flying from the tip with every thwak. “Reparifarge!”

The pin cushion began to spin and stretch until it was roughly the size Draco Malfoy had been before, then with a sharp pop, the material of the pin cushion changed back into skin and clothes and Draco blinked several times.

He looked around, confused by how he’d moved from the chair to the coffee table in less than an instant. Then he looked at you, your ashen face, and guessed it. “Did you turn me into a pincushion?” he asked, quietly.

The calmness in his voice unnerved you. Heat flooded into your cheeks, you pressed your fingers into them trying to calm the blush.

“Yes, b-but I fixed you. Do you feel alright?”

He gave himself a once over, patting down his legs for leftover pins. “I’m fine, I think.” He smiled that scheming smile again, and you leaned back in your chair. “Now, not only have you just committed an actual crime, that was also pretty advanced magic.”

“Well, you were being a bit prickly.”

He laughed at that. It was cold and sharp and over before it began, but it was an actual laugh. “So it should be child’s play now to transfigure this.” He set the hedgehog in front of you again and moved back to his armchair.

Too shaken to argue, you obeyed and tried again on the hedgehog. When you were, once again, unsuccessful, Draco scrubbed a hand down his face and slumped down in the chair.

“This is going to take a lot of work,” he remarked.

At the end of the hour, the wrist of your wand hand was sore. If Draco was frustrated, he was doing an excellent job of not letting it show as he bid you goodnight in a civil tone. It was almost too civil.

You parted ways down opposite sides of the hall, the paths to the kitchens and the dungeon evidentially being different. But when you reached the stairs, a gentle itching began on the back of your neck, and you indulged it.

You turned around, and, stepping softly, crept back to peer around the corner. You felt silly, surely he was already halfway to his common room by now.

But he wasn’t. He had also circled back, and was re-entering the Room of Requirement.

The ends of his cloak disappeared inside and you were on the move. The door closed, and no sooner had you reached out to touch it, it disappeared under your fingers.

~~~ Taglist ~~~

@jemomgershippingco

@snickersmee

@lafrone

@cillshot

@reb0rned

#draco malfoy #draco x hufflepuff!reader #harry potter #draco x reader #slow burn #half blood prince #does this count as forced proximity?

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flamboyantly-incompetent · 2 months

Text

HPB, Chapter 1 - A Vague Warning

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: mentions of murder

Masterlist

Word Count: ~3,200

Note: Welcome to the second part of my Draco x reader fic, taking place during the events of Half Blood Prince!

Since the full, public reveal of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s return at the end of your last school year, he and his Death Eaters had come out of hiding more and more to wreak havoc and violence across the wizarding and muggle worlds alike.

Donna and Yvette had both carefully explained to their muggle parents the dangers of them accompanying them to places such as Diagon Alley, where not even the witch and wizard locals were safe. Most shops either had boarded up a few front-facing windows, or, if you squinted from the right angle, you could make out the glimmer of a magical ward. Your mum and Julien insisted on accompanying you and your friends through the shops, and afterwards Donna and Yvette both came back to stay with you until it was time to head to King’s Cross.

Even with the world as it was crumbling around you, the book list for your O.W.L. year was as long as it had ever been. The three of you sat around your living room, flipping through textbooks with growing trepidation while your mum and Julien worked in the garden outside. Buttercup, your King Charles Spaniel, had her head across Donna’s lap, and Wilbur, your white cat, bathed in the warm glow of the open window. Hagrid hadn’t even assigned a textbook for Care of Magical Creatures, so at this point, you were just trying to kill time before leaving for King’s Cross.

Yvette sighed dramatically and closed her book with a clap. “This sucks. Are we even going to be allowed to go to Hogsmeade now?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Donna asked incredulously. “Not the rising kill count of Dark Wizards abroad?”

Yvette huffed. “Well obviously, I thought that went without saying. But I’m sure that between the Order, Ministry Aurors and Dumbledore someone will put a stop to that. I just don’t want the world to stop spinning until they have. Is that so wrong?”

Donna raised her eyebrows but said nothing, electing instead to scratch behind Buttercup’s floppy ear.

You chimed in, “Some normalcy would be nice. And I doubt the only all-wizard village in Britain is at the top of You-Know-Who’s hit list. Aurors frequent The Three Broomsticks. Fudge used to frequent The Three Broomsticks. As for the new Minister, we’ll see.”

Just then your mum poked her head through the door, brandishing a trowel as she spoke, “You should be perfectly safe in Hogsmeade, but you must keep your wits about you! And stick together, no wandering off to look for Puffskein burrows this year, Y/N. Now, get your trunks together, we’re almost done out here.”

After a long, heartfelt goodbye to Buttercup and coaxing Wilbur into his carrier with a tuna flavored treat, you piled your trunks into the magically expanded trunk of Julien’s station wagon. Your parent’s accompanied you all the way to your first steps onto the train, hands hovering above their wands, where you found Herbert waiting for you in an empty compartment.

He grinned and lent a hand as you and your friends shoved your trunks into the overhead compartments. “Ernie and Hannah may join us later,” he said, “once they do their rounds.”

Donna laughed. “Hey Y/N, remember when I thought you might be dating Ernie?”

“What?” Yvette asked sharply. “Have I missed something?”

“No,” you said firmly, “it was just because of the DA meetings. Before you guys knew about it.”

Donna continued to tease, “The two of you strolled into the common room pretty late. He even opened the door for you.”

The train’s whistle screamed out and the car lurched.

Yvette’s eyebrows creased. “Well, to be fair, you could certainly do worse.”

Herbert was shocked. “Do you like Ernie?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. But he’s nice, though. And he made a good dueling partner.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t judge if you did like him, Y/N.”

“Well that’s very nice but-” you stopped short as Wilbur’s paw began reaching out of his carrier and swiping at your shirt. “D’you think Ernie and Hannah’d mind if I let him out?”

The compartment door slid open.

“Surely not, go ahead,” Hannah said, entering the compartment with Ernie close behind. Wilbur gave the air a sniff before climbing out, stretching dramatically, and curling up on your lap. He allowed Hannah to pat his head.

“You seem in good spirits today, Hannah,” Donna remarked.

She laughed, and explained, “Prefect duty was just unusually pleasant this time round.”

Ernie scoffed. “Yeah, since Malfoy’s taking the day off, apparently.” A jolt plunged through your gut - you’d somehow forgotten another year at Hogwarts meant another year hearing about him. You still felt conflicted - no, conflicted wasn’t the right word. Angry, yes, at him for being exactly who everyone else had told you he was, since he was the kind of person who could use the terms blood traitor and mudblood in the same sentence. His father even had been arrested at the Ministry last year, undeniably in league with You-Know-Who. There was an entire article in the Daily Prophet about it, explaining that the Malfoy’s (apparently very old and very large) family mansion had been raided shortly after. Oddly enough, learning that had sparked some level of sympathy, for Draco at least. It had to have been difficult for him, even if his father deserved it. And you were also disappointed in yourself, that who you were beginning to think he was happened to be so far off the mark.

With any luck, your Herbology 6 would be with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff and you could avoid him altogether.

The train ride to Hogwarts was pleasant - the sun came out halfway through to cast a warm glow on the countryside, and Ernie and Herbert swapped stories about Peeves. When the snack trolley rolled by, everyone pooled together some Galleons to split a box of twenty chocolate frogs, then you opened all of them to trade cards.

Once settled in the Great Hall for the feast, you turned to Yvette to speculate about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He was a short man, with a round face and a mustache, and a snappy dresser. No one seemed to have any idea who he was. Then, once the pudding was unveiled, Professor Dumbledore arose and took his place by the great owl podium.

You half-listened to his welcome speech, really only interested in the new professor, and whether he had anything to say about You-Know-Who, and you didn’t have to wait long. Professor Slughorn, an old colleague of Dumbledore’s, had returned to resume his old positions as potions master. Potions? You looked around confused at your housemates, then over to the Ravenclaw table where a similar bout of confusion had struck.

Dumbledore continued to explain, “Professor Snape, meanwhile, will be taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” Another uproar followed and you sank into your pudding. There went the hope of an O.W.L. for that subject.

It was a relief to learn that your Herbology 6 period was, in fact, with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and it pleased Hannah and Ernie too, to know they could whisper questions in your ear whenever it suited them. Most of the Gryffindor sixth years you had already met through the DA meetings, and some of them even remembered you enough to ask what you were doing in the class.

The potions classroom had undergone a subtle change for the better. Under Professor Snape’s reign, the lighting had always seemed cast in that same cold-green glow you’d encountered in the Slytherin common room, but here it was almost cheerful. Almost. Though it was accompanied by Professor Slughorn grinning at the door and shaking hands enthusiastically with every student as they filtered in. Luna seemed particularly comfortable, launching off immediately about her father’s publication, The Quibbler, when asked. It was, easily, the best Potions class you’d ever sat through.

Professor Snape, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, had given a lengthy speech on the nebulous nature of the Dark Arts and had hinted more than once at the inferiority of Harry Potter’s instruction through Dumbledore’s Army. Thankfully, you saw a few others barely hiding their own eye rolls.

Zacharias Smith wouldn’t take no for an answer when he asked you to try out for Quidditch Keeper again this year. Apparently, since Ezra Miller had left Hogwarts, Wanda Clemm wanted to try for his spot as Beater. In the end, you relented, and thus found yourself on the Quidditch pitch with Yvette and the rest of them at the crack of dawn Saturday morning.

Herbert and Donna settled into the stands with a few others including Professor Sprout to cheer you on, and the tryouts commenced. As it turned out, Wanda Clemm made a fair beater, and beamed triumphantly when Zacharias offered her the spot. Yvette retained her position as Chaser, as did Cadwallader. Devon Summerby barely came out on top; Zacharias was not pleased, but offered him the spot anyway.

Then, Keepers were up. There were only two others vying for the spot: a fourth year you’d only met in passing, and Ernie Macmillan. You quirked an eyebrow at him, he responded with a shrug. You elected to go last, wanting to see how they did, and secretly hoping that one of them would be good enough so you wouldn’t even need to try out. Unfortunately, though, Ernie struggled greatly to turn quickly in the air, and the fourth year kept doing loop-the-loops in between the goal posts.

It was unavoidable, then, when your turn rolled around and you were able to actually block the quaffle, Zacharias offered you the spot confidently and you didn’t have the heart to say no after seeing the other options.

Yvette was characteristically excited, and her enthusiasm managed to rub off on you enough to make you grin by the time you got back to the common room.

During the week that followed, a growing foreboding grew in the air. There was a tension, a pregnant pause. You thought that maybe it was your luck avoiding Draco Malfoy wearing thin.

Then, during Herbology, Professor McGonagal had interrupted to pull Hannah out of class. She never returned. You learned later that her mum had been found, dead, earlier in the day. It was enough to remind you of the real dangers that existed just outside Hogwarts, and you had to scold yourself for forgetting. Draco Malfoy was the least of your worries.

The common room atmosphere took yet another hit. If even the Abbotts, an old pureblood family, weren’t safe, was anyone?

Zacharias, ever sensitive to the feelings of others, had reminded you brusquely of quidditch practice to take place in an hour. As anyone but Zacharias could have predicted, that practice did not go well. Everyone had one eye on the quaffle and the other on the castle in the distance, hoping that one of the people coming and going would have news about Hannah. But not one did.

You followed Yvette back to the common room after, thoroughly exhausted and hopeless, intending to flop onto bed and sleep through breakfast in the morning. When you thrust back the bed curtains, though, Wilbur sat, tail curled around him, purring happily.

“What’s that, bud?” you asked, spotting the corner of some kind of parchment under his bottom. You lured him off of it with a treat and read, “Come to the owlery at midnight, alone. It’s important. -SB.”

“SB?” you asked yourself. “Do I know anybody… maybe Silas Babbage? No, he left last year. Who in the world?”

“Talking to yourself again?” Donna asked, strolling into the room.

Yvette answered before you could, “Looks like Y/N’s got a secret admirer.”

“I do not!”

She shrugged. “Not sure who else would leave a note on your bed asking you to meet them at midnight.”

“What?” Donna exclaimed as she snatched the note out of your hands. She turned it over and over, incredulous. “SB?”

“That’s what I was just wondering.”

“Well are you going to go?”

You thought for a moment. The note gave no real indication of who you were meant to be meeting, and given the state of things, that could be dangerous. But, then again, it said to meet at the owlery so whoever sent it must be from someone already on Hogwarts grounds.

Finally, you nodded. “At worst it’s a prank, and I’ll complain about it to you both when I get back.”

You waited until the last Hufflepuff had gone to bed, Donna and Ywette Made you promise a full report before bidding you goodnight, and then you slipped out the huge round door. Wilbur had abandoned you hours ago when he realized you weren’t on your way to bed, and both Donna and Yvette had gone to sleep.

“Sipellum,” you whispered, casting the Disillusionment charm on yourself to obscure your form. It wouldn’t make you invisible, but it would be easier to hide from prefects in the dark corners of the castle. Your mum had insisted upon teaching you the incantation over the summer, and this technically was the first time you’d tried it. Surprisingly enough, it worked.

Carefully, you stepped lightly on the balls of your feet out of the castle. The outer doors were all closed except for the small courtyard between the great hall and the library’s wing, so you waited a few beats for whoever was on curfew patrol to pass, and climbed through an arch onto the grounds.

The lingering summer air made the night breeze warm, but you still shivered through your jumper. It was a clear night, too, the waxing gibbous moon illuminating the highlands sufficiently enough you never bothered to cast lumos. The owlery loomed on a hill above you.

So, you climbed.

Halfway up, you heard a muffled curse. Then another, and when you were inches from the door, “Get away, you mangy thing,” hoarsely whispered.

You tossed open the door and dismissed the spell; it was Draco Malfoy, sitting on a bench previously covered in owl droppings. Your eyes narrowed. He was shooing away a fluffy white cat, who was purring aggressively trying to head butt his leg, and yelped slightly at the sight of you.

“Wilbur!” you chided, ignoring Malfoy. “What are you doing here? Don’t touch that, you don’t know where it’s been.”

He ignored that last bit, asking, “This thing belongs to you?”

Finally, you leveled your gaze at him. The absolute gall it must’ve taken for him to summon you here tonight, after last year, astounded you. “This is my cat. Who is apparently a terrible judge of character. What in Merlin’s Beard is ‘SB’?”

He said coldly, “Study buddy.” You snorted. “It was the best I could come up with.”

“Well, I’m here. What do you want?”

He took a steadying breath. The summer hadn’t treated him well; his normally cold features were especially worn, harried even. Dark circles had appeared under his sharp eyes. He replied, “The Hufflepuff common room, is there a password?”

“Huh?”

“To get in - is there a password?”

There were barrels outside the door you had to properly knock on, and if you got the rhythm wrong you got sprayed with pumpkin juice, but you weren’t sure that really counted. “Uhh… Why’d you want to know?” He crossed his arms. “Okay, fine, not really. But it’s just outside the-“

“No, don’t tell me. Just,” he paused, hands folded in front of his mouth. “In the event there was someone attempting to enter to cause mischief, it would be advantageous for there to be some line of defense. In the Hufflepuff common room.”

You took a moment, blinking rapidly, to unravel what he could mean. “That’s… vague.” The thought of his father, a Death Eater, imprisoned in Azkaban flickered across your mind. “Do you… know something? What are you implying?”

A wall of ice descended behind his eyes once more. That was all you were going to get out of him, it would seem.

“I’ve said all I can. Goodbye, Y/N.” He turned and stalked out of the owlery, not even bothering to sneak or cast the Disillusionment charm. Still depending on his prefect status to keep him out of trouble, no doubt.

You waited a beat, fuming, wondering what the point of this meeting had been. Was it a prank? What had been the punchline? Was it possible he was actually trying to warn you of something important? Maybe he’d overheard something over summer. Or, maybe he just wanted you out of bed after hours for an excuse to dock house points.

After a heavy sigh, a groan, and a feeble kick to the bench, you recast the Disillusionment charm and went out as you came in.

“Donna,” you whispered, standing over her bed, “get up.”

“Huh? What? Ah!” She started awake, then rubbed her eyes. “Y/N, do you know what time it is?”

“Yes and this is important, get Herbert to the common room.” You moved over to Yvette’s bed and woke her next.

Your three friends assembled themselves on a plush leather sofa by the fireplace, still warm with embers, as you recounted the events of the evening, including just who was waiting for you in the owlery.

“Total transparency, I have no idea what it was all about. There wasn’t some trap waiting for me, no one jumped out to laugh. I don’t know what to make of it, “ you finished, hands folded in your lap.

Herbert frowned. “And he didn’t mention who would be trying to get into our common room?”

“No. Only that if someone were to try, for the purpose of causing mischief, it’d be better if there was a password. Or some other thing, I guess.”

Donna pondered. “And it didn’t seem like he was trying to trick you? He never asked where the common room was, though, right? So it’s probably not him playing some long-gamed prank.”

You shook your head. “At first I thought that must be it, right? Why on earth else would he go to these lengths to get me alone at midnight. It’s possible he was just testing how far I would go for a mystery. Or for some weird misdirection. But if I had to put words to it, he seemed… almost… afraid.”

“If you thought he looked afraid, he was probably terrified. That git’s facade could fool a boggart.”

Yvette shrugged. “After everything that happened last year, do you trust him?”

You let out a bark of laughter. “No. I don’t trust him. But I’m inclined to believe him. About the possibility of a threat, I mean.” They were quiet as you pondered. Beyond the grounds of Hogwarts, darkness was spreading fast. You knew they lived in fear of receiving similar news as Hannah had, and though you were loathe to admit it, so did you. It seemed unwise to ignore such a warning from someone who might have inside information. Thinking of just who that information could have come from, you shuddered.

Finally, Donna nodded. “I don’t think this is the sort of thing we ignore.”

Herbert agreed, “So how do we fortify an enchanted room, in an enchanted castle, under our teachers’ and everyone else’s noses?”

~~~ Taglist ~~~

@jemomgershippingco

@snickersmee

@lafrone

@cillshot

@reb0rned

#draco malfoy #draco x hufflepuff!reader #harry potter #draco x reader #slow burn #half blood prince #hufflepuff

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flamboyantly-incompetent · 2 months

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100%

My real life list in order:

1 Halsin - nature guy is honestly so mature and sweet and 10/10 ready for children which I want

2 Wyll - lawful good, romance king, also good with kids, sign me up

3 Karlach - I mostly just want her to be real so we can be besties but girls got my whole heart if she wanted something more I couldn’t say no

4 Gale - he’s a reader and a huge dork and I think long term he’d be a great partner

5 Shadowheart - she’s not quite sure who she is I think, and what she wants out of the future, and that kind of compatibility is important to me

6 Astarion - not only is he kind of a bad guy he just has. so much trauma, in game a romance makes sense and is so sweet and healing but nobody heals from that much that fast. He needs a good support system and to take a step away from romance and I couldn’t in good conscience be with him

7 Lae’zel - I love her very much but I am not personally equipped to be romantically involved with a political revolutionary (and while she scares me in a sexy way, she also scares me in the normal way 😂)

Astarion’s all well and good but I think if I actually had to date some from BG3 it’d have to be either Wyll, Karlach, or Halsin. Laezel, maybe, but she might be just a tad intense for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love Astarion, but I think I wouldn’t actually get along with him too well — I’m too attached to my moral code.

If he asked me to punch a child I’d probably cry.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 gale #bg3 shadowheart #bg3 halsin #bg3 karlach #bg3 lae'zel #bg3 wyll #who id date in real life

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flamboyantly-incompetent · 2 months

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Hey, you know that one character? The one played by the tall, long-haired actor? The one who was pre-law in 2005, and well on his way to going to law school and getting a degree until an unexpected family issue reared its head, and he dropped out and chose a different career path? Y’know, he’s got that complicated relationship with his father, a parent-child relationship with his only sibling, and has some strange, destructive abilities that tie in with multiple traumatic experiences with fire?

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flamboyantly-incompetent · 2 months

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I think I've worked out (part of the reason) why there's been such a huge uptick in folks who don't reblog things on here.

This post has like 14k notes right now, and the tags and comments and reblogs are FULL of people who didn't know about fast-reblog, and -- you guys have been slow-reblogging this whole time!?!??!?!?

In the interests of a) making your lives easier, and b) encouraging you to reblog posts, which is what keeps this site alive, here's how you fast-reblog:

On mobile: press and hold the reblog button. Your blog icon will appear. If you have sideblogs, all of the different icons will appear. Drag to whichever blog you want to reblog to, and release. Job done.

On desktop: hold down the E key and click reblog. Job done.

You're welcome. Now get reblogging.

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flamboyantly-incompetent · 3 months

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And she is aaaaaaalmost wearing Bridgerton Blue in this scene 😍😍

I can’t wait for this this is gonna be huge

#colin bridgerton #bridgerton #season 3 #please god

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flamboyantly-incompetent · 3 months

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OoTP Epilogue

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: it's that scene where a professor threatens to literally torture a child

Masterlist

Word Count: ~680

Note: a little from Draco's perspective - the winds of change, they are a-blowing

Draco Malfoy was having an excellent day. Perhaps the best day in months. He'd just walked away from his Potions O.W.L., certain he'd get an O, and now he was answering a summons to the High Inquisitor's office on official Inquisitorial Squad business. Sure, Potter and his little friends had narrowly escaped a life sentence of detentions, but things were looking up.

But, just thinking about Potter now made him think of Y/N. How she'd pretended to be so sickeningly nice, pretended to care. Chosen her mudblood friends over him. It made his tongue sour.

No matter. Her silly little plan, whatever it was, hadn't worked. And he'd gotten a passable Herbology O.W.L. out of it.

Things were certainly looking up.

Draco arrived at Headmaster Umbridge's office just in time to watch her dragging none other than Harry Potter away from her fireplace. This day just kept getting better and better.

The scene unfolded beyond his wildest dreams: Millicent Bulstrode, a bit thick for his inner circle (Goyle was tolerated only at the behest of Draco's father), had already cornered Granger, and behind him the other members of the Inquisitorial Squad marched in with their own spoils. But Potter was uncooperative, and Snape had to be involved.

Draco smirked. Veritaserum would work quickly and Potter would spill his deep, precious, pathetic little secrets. And nobody brewed a better potion than Professor Snape.

But then, things took an interesting turn.

As it turned out, the High Inquisitor had already used Professor Snape's stock of the prized potion in a different, failed attempt to interrogate Potter. He offered to poison him instead, which earned a chuckle from every Slytherin in the office, but he was ultimately unable to assist.

Then, Headmaster Umbridge flushed angrily, her rage boiled over, and she shrieked, "You are on probation!" A stillness fell over the Slytherins. Their head of house, pinned against the Headmaster, they just weren't sure whose side they were supposed to take. Even Draco Malfoy hesitated. His father always spoke highly of Severus Snape, and his father's word was so often true.

Headmaster Umbridge began muttering to herself, chest heaving with rage. Draco leaned in to hear, "... justify the use... no choice..." Draco held his breath. "The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue."

Draco was mesmerized. He had never seen the curse do its work in person. He'd heard its effects over the summer, of course, echoing from the lower floors of his home where he had never been allowed to intrude. But his curiosity was finally about to be sated, and on Potter no less. Granger yowled and protested in the corner, ever too concerned with what was allowed over what was possible, but Draco barely heard her. Headmaster Umbridge raised her wand and -

- Draco pictured for a split second that it was Y/N instead of Potter at the end of the wand, and his stomach churned. He took a shaky step back. What was that? Crabbe looked at him, confused with a touch of annoyance.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a shrill voice chiming, "Malfoy. Malfoy."

"Huh?"

Headmaster Umbridge had Potter and Granger by the bicep, a greedy look on her reddened face. "You will remain here, to make sure the rest of them don't escape."

"A-all right," Draco replied. He had missed entirely where they were going and why. But he could follow orders.

And, this would give him a moment to gather himself. Why should he care whether it was Potter or Y/N? After all, she had tricked him by helping him - for practically nothing in return - which was suspicious! He just hadn't been able to put a finger on why. But, maybe this was why. To get into his head. To wriggle her way in, to make him care like she'd pretended to. That must be it, and to his absolute fury, it had clearly worked.

He'd smother the feeling, he had to.

Then, Weasley's annoying little sister ripped herself from Goyle's grasp, leveled her wand at Draco's shocked face, and unleashed a Bat-Bogey Hex that covered his face in flapping wings, and he was preoccupied with a more immediate problem.

~~~ Taglist ~~~

@jemomgershippingco

@ronslovergirl

@snickersmee

@lafrone

@cillshot

@reb0rned

#draco malfoy #draco x hufflepuff!reader #harry potter #draco x reader #slow burn #order of the phoenix

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flamboyantly-incompetent · 3 months

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Hogwarts houses are out. Unseen University disciplines are in. Choose your side

Indefinite studies

Recent Runes

Inadvisably Applied Magic

Cruel and Unusual Geography

Post Morthem Communications

Applied Astrology

Approximate Accuracy

Applied Anthropics

Extreme Horticulture

Liberal studies

Illiberal Studies

Morbid Bibliomamcy

Recondite Architecture and Origami Map Folding‎

Recondite Phenomena

Slood Dynamics

Esoteric Studies

Wooly Thinking

Op you forgot-

#approximate accuracy for me

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flamboyantly-incompetent · 3 months

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“You have it so easy”

“Just objectify yourself so men don’t have to do it themselves and let any and every weirdo on the internet brain rape you for money”

“And never suggest that it’s not a perfectly reasonable job because sex work is work and if you don’t love it you’re disrespecting sex workers everywhere”

“But also no man wants a gf with an of”

Boy bye 🙄

i hate it when men are like "women live life on easy mode because they can just sell nudes and porn/fetish content of themselves to make money" which 1. i cant believe they think thats enjoyable or easy to do and leads to a life of comfort and happiness and wealth, and 2. women will often respond with "why dont you do that if youre so jealous of them? who is stopping you?" and they immediately respond with "it isnt the same men cant just do that" why isnt it the same 🤨

#honestly #I think if someone said this to me in person I would bite them #anti porn #tw porn #tw rape #tw rap3 #sex workers are still people worthy of basic human respect #but these men are not prepared to give it #also if a man suggests to any 18-20 year old they could make soooooo much money on of and should do it #I consider this wildly predatory #and I would like to bite him too #in a very unsexy way #women’s issues

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flamboyantly-incompetent · 3 months

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In like 3rd grade I was out sick for a day, got the classic “here’s your homework” from a neighbor in the same class

Math worksheet-easy, done

Next day, math class, we’re doing the EXACT worksheet I had just done, assumed that maybe I had gotten some extra work thrown in on accident, no biggie. Pulled it out of a folder. Pulled out my book. I already did the work.

Teacher was soooooo angry bc apparently it was totally intentional and we were all just supposed to?? Do the same??? Worksheet a second time???

I, an INTP, enneagram 5, asked for some clarification cause you know… I already did it

Apparently that’s disrespectful 🤷🏼‍♀️

So I copied my answers from the previous worksheet if already done (that hadn’t been graded or corrected or looked at) onto the new one and THEN resumed reading

This was also the same teacher who, during a group project was not letting my male partner interrupt me, told me I shouldn’t talk over people and gave me a frowny sticker 🙄

Third grade was not my year

Everyone give me the most screwed up thing that has ever happened to you in the american public school system

#some teachers shouldn’t be teaching #3rd grade #elementary school #also can we talk about how annoying it was to get homework on a sick day?#like ma’am I was not well enough to sit in class while you talked about long division #I am definitely not well enough to do 15 long division exercises by tomorrow morning

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flamboyantly-incompetent · 3 months

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OoTP, Chapter 7 - The Sack of DA

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: none?

Masterlist

Word Count: ~2,500

Note: it had to happen, Malfoy is still a massive butthead, don't blame me...

The days following the term resuming were, in a word, horrific. You rose Monday morning and were greeted in the Great Hall by a swarm of Gryffindors passing around a battered issue of the Daily Prophet, and your heart sunk. Ginny was nowhere in sight, but the teachers' table carried the same intense chatter.

"What's happened?" you whispered to Hermione. She said nothing, but passed you the newspaper so you could read the headline. It took a moment to process what you'd read - Death Eaters, an escape from Azkaban, ten Death Eaters. Hermione remained silent, rose abruptly, and hurried out of the Great Hall.

A few tension-filled days later, and you learned that the old toad had put Hagrid on probation. The only thing worse than that was that no one knew when the next meeting of Dumbledore's Army could be. An odd coldness had settled between yourself and Draco, spurred by his smugness and malicious pleasure regarding Hagrid's status. During the Herbology lesson that followed, Professor Sprout beamed through her lecture on Screechsnaps; apparently Draco had done an excellent job with the puffapods over the break. The small victory seemed hollow, though.

Care of Magical Creatures was even worse. Umbridge insisted on interrupting every few minutes to ask a mind-numbingly stupid question, rarely related to the lesson plan, and then Hagrid would stumble through a response that only ever half-answered her question.

You did, eventually, run into Ginny in the Owlery, and managed to ask her how Mr. Weasley was getting on.

“Oh, he’s doing much better, thanks!” she said, grinning. Her breath fogged instantly in the chilled air at the top of the tower. “He’s home now, driving Mum crazy.”

“Well that’s good, I’m glad to hear it.” You looked casually over your shoulder. “Do you know when…?” you trailed off, eyebrows raised.

Ginny caught your meaning and nodded. “Pretty sure soon, he’s been busy with, erm, remedial Potions.”

Your mouth fell open. That was surprising. Harry wasn’t Snape’s favorite, no one was, but surely he couldn’t be that bad. Especially not with Hermione around to whisper corrections every few minutes, which you knew she had a habit of doing since having been paired with her one very, very long DA meeting. “Wow,” was all you managed to say.

Ginny frowned, “Yeah he’s not thrilled about it either.”

You laughed sardonically. “Well if he needs any help in Herbology,” not sure where that came from, you trailed off, uncomfortable.

Ginny looked at you quizzically.

You sighed. “I’ve got a bit of an odd question. What do you think of Draco Malfoy?”

Her face screwed up in disgust. “Why d’you want to know about him?”

“Well,” you hesitated, deciding on a half-truth, “he’s in my Herbology 5, and I don’t quite know what to make of him.”

“He’s a bully, and a git. And an idiot.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

She patted your arm sympathetically. “Your determination to like everyone is admirable, but trust me - that one’s a lost cause.” You smiled weakly at the compliment. “I’ve got to go, see you later!”

Ginny trotted down the icy stairs as fast as she could manage, leaving you in the cold with only more questions than before.

Valentine’s Day came and went, and you and Donna observed with increasing amusement as Herbert attempted on three separate occasions to invite Yvette to Hogsmeade, presumably on a date. The first time, sitting in the Great Hall over breakfast, she attempted to invite a few other people along. The second, after History of Magic, she hadn’t heard him properly and agreed that yes, they should study veritaserum for potions in the library today. The third, from across the common room, she replied that she planned to spend the whole Saturday gearing up for the next quidditch game against Gryffindor.

Herbert watched, dumbfounded, as Yvette moved on casually to discussing the practice schedule with Zacharias Smith.

Donna patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe for the best though. Valentine’s Day is way too much pressure for a first date.”

The Saturday morning of the long awaited match, when you woke Yvette and the rest of the quidditch team had already left for breakfast, so you and Donna bundled up and met Herbert in the common room. At the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall, the team sat eating in unhappy silence. Devon Summerby sneezed loudly over his breakfast.

“What’s got you lot in a twist?” Herbert asked as the three of you sat down.

Zacharius Smith flinched. “I guess Gryffindor’s last practice was exceptionally pitiful. Which would be great for us, except-”

“Except,” Yvette interrupted, seething, “Summerby caught a cold. What was it this time? Forget your cloak for Care of Magical Creatures?”

Devon Summerby’s voice came out nasal and stressed, “How many times are you gonna make me say I’m sorry?”

“As many times as needed to win the match,” Zacharias snapped. “And I’d ask you to step in, Y/N, but Hooch says he’s well enough to play.”

Then the Gryffindor team sat down at their table in similarly poor spirits.

Adding insult to injury, Draco Malfoy and his gaggle of goonies followed, taking a long and all too satisfied look around. He never met your eye.

“Well,” he said, smug, “this certainly promises to be quite the show. Do try not to embarrass yourselves too much.” Finally his gaze met yours, lingering uncomfortably. He looked away and said to his lackeys, “Crabbe, Goyle, let’s go.”

You scowled at his back as he led his ‘friends’ out to the courtyard. Donna clocked the look and raised an eyebrow.

Across the room, Ron Weasley had turned a shade of green. Ginny patted him on the back in an attempt at encouragement.

The match was nothing to write home about. Yvette, Zacharias and Cadawaller snuck upwards of fifteen goals past Ron Weasley, but Devon Summerby missed the snitch as it passed under his nose twice, eliciting screams of outrage from the Hufflepuff spectators. In the end, Ginny caught the snitch, closing the gap, and Hufflepuff won but only barely.

During the entire match, the Slytherin attendees could be heard singing another insulting refrain of “Weasley Is Our King,” and you didn’t need to wonder who had led the chorus.

After dinner, Donna cornered you in the common room amidst a half-hearted celebration.

“Please tell me,” she began in a whisper, “that Slytherin you were tutoring wasn’t Draco ‘My-Father-Will-Hear-About-This’ Malfoy?”

“I never noticed how perceptive you are, you should really-”

“Y/N. Be serious. He’s insufferable; why are you helping him?”

You shrugged, unsure of your own feelings. “He’s not that bad when there’s not an audience.”

“Oh, so you’ve been spending quality time alone with him too? Don’t tell me you’ve got a crush now?”

Once she said it, you couldn’t unhear it. Was it a crush? Your gut churned; you weren’t sure.

You answered, “I don’t know, ok? Yeah half the time I wanna punch him in the face, but the other half? I don’t know.”

Donna frowned, looked around to see if anyone had been listening. “Look, I don’t care if you’ve got a crush on the rich bad boy, but I wish you’d told me. I wish you’d told me when you started tutoring him. And I wish you’d told me about the study club.”

“I told you I didn’t think I could-”

Yvette threw an arm around each of you. “Whatever it is you’re whispering about can wait. Please help me save this party.”

The argument halted before it could begin, you spent the remainder of your evening enchanting chestnuts to roast themselves and explode into confetti.

The Great Hall was abuzz with chatter the next morning, nothing new, but about halfway through your breakfast you watched as Umbridge stomped over to the Gryffindor table.

“This can’t be good,” Herbert muttered as the whole table tried to eavesdrop.

Whatever it was must’ve been something truly magnificent as, for maybe the first time ever, she was speechless. She sputtered for a moment, then stomped back up the aisle, something tucked under her arm.

Exactly one hour later, a new Educational Decree went up, banning a certain news publication, and Herbert proudly appeared in the common room with said publication.

This edition of The Quibbler featured an interview from none other than Harry Potter himself.

Wanda Clemm and Ezra Roberts corralled him into an arm chair and demanded he read the article aloud. He obliged. It was a tell-all account of what happened during the games last year, so well written it had captivated everyone in the common room who sat at the edges of their seats.

It also named the Death Eaters that had been unmasked by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself: Peter Pettigrew, not dead after all; Avery; Macnair; Crabbe; Goyle; and… Malfoy.

So. This is what he’d meant when he said their families went ‘way back.’ That they were more like ‘colleagues’ than friends. Their fathers were all Death Eaters together, like some sick social club. Disgust rose in your throat - but he never seemed particularly fond of them, maybe, just maybe there was still hope?

In the month that followed, Dumbledore’s Army continued to meet with renewed vigor. No longer were these secret meetings merely a replacement for the joke Defense Against the Dark Arts had become, but something far more immediate. Finally, after months of asking about it, Harry Potter announced it was time to learn the Patronus Charm.

He kept on trying to emphasize the importance of being able to produce it under attack from Dementors, but was respectfully ignored as the wispy white animals took over the room.

Donna had no trouble at all thinking of a happy memory and letting it fill her up to the brim. A massive, slobbering St. Bernard leapt from her wand and nipped at the wisps from failed charms.

Herbert followed close behind. From his wand, an osprey, a fish-hawk, took flight.

You had far more trouble, as did Yvette. You shared a disappointed look. For some disconcerting reason, every happy memory you could think of was overshadowed by some feeling of disappointment. Seeing the dragons during the tournament - Cedric’s death. Hagrid returning with tiny versions of those dragons - Umbridge putting him on probation. Christmas at home with mum and Julien - a painful reminder of your father’s passing. Racing across a frigid pond to a crystalline forest with an unexpected friend - the hot, uneasy feeling you got in the pit of your stomach at the sight of him now.

All tainted, all failed.

Then, Yvette’s patronus burst forth, a beautiful dun mare galloping through the air, and the frustration you felt boiled over.

You groaned, shoved your wand in your back pocket, and stomped over to the edge of the room. There were a few others having equal trouble, like Seamus, but it was his first meeting. He hadn’t been training under Harry’s (and Hermione’s at times) excellent tutelage for months as you had. Harry was across the room, coaching Neville and trying to coax more than a faint wisp from the spell.

This was ridiculous.

You were training under Harry ‘the Chosen One’ Potter. Preparing for an all too possible, almost inevitable, magical war. And your closest friends were doing even better than you; they’d be just fine.

You abandoned fragmented warm and fuzzy memories, and instead tried to let the confidence of watching your friends, Ginny and Luna too, succeed fill you up. Then, you attempted to cast the Patronus Charm, just one more time before giving up.

Slowly, confidently, a grey wolf lined in silver came padding out of your wand. Its head held high, it circled around behind you to stand at your side, content to observe the wandering patronuses around the room. That was interesting.

“Talk about a wolf in sheep’s clothing, eh Y/N?” Herbert joked at you.

Sarcastically, you replied, “Oh, very funny.”

Across the room, a nervous voice stuttered, “Harry Potter… she… she…”

You recognized the house elf - he was always wearing multiple knit hats, gloves, socks, which he was still wearing as he tried desperately to impart some information to Harry, who was leaning over him in concern.

The room grew terribly still and the silvery wisps dissipated along with the images of animals as spells fizzled out. Your stomach sank to your feet once Harry finally deciphered the house elf’s meaning - Umbridge. Your worst nightmare. Everyone’s worst nightmare.

Harry looked around incredulously, then shouted, “RUN!”

Your friends wasted no time - Donna grabbed your wrist to pull you along - and bolted for the exit. In the corridor, members of Dumbledore’s Army scattered like sparrows out of a roost, and Barnabas the Barmy giggled wildly to himself in his portrait. Herbert, at the lead, pivoted hard and followed Hannah towards the library.

Behind you, an unmistakable voice laughed cruelly. Surely, Draco wouldn’t have aligned himself with that toad. Surely.

You didn’t have time to ponder, for a meter or two from the library doors your friends slowed and tried to catch their breath before ambling off nonchalantly, branching into the stacks.

For a moment you thought it may have worked, you’d caught your breath and had picked a book at random to idly page through. Then, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle burst through the doors.

“Really!” Madame Pince exclaimed.

Draco held up a hand, commanding and smug. “We are here by official instruction of the High Inquisitor. I’d hate to have to tell her how you interfered.”

Madame Pince paled at his words, and went back to the papers on her desk.

Then they moved through the library, in almost predatory unison. You tried to keep a subtle eye on Draco, moving when he moved, angling for the exit. This was not a confrontation you looked forward to. But it was all for naught. You rounded a corner you shouldn’t have and came face to face with Malfoy. He took a suspicious step back.

“Tell me,” he said, voice low and threatening, “you weren’t hanging around Potter,” he spat out the name like a curse, like the taste of it was foul, “and that louse Weasley, and that mudblood Granger.”

Oh.

Oh. Several key pieces of information clicked into place in your head. Ginny’s opinion of him, the Slytherin password, the way he’d said ‘goblins’ talking about Gringotts. So many signs. And you’d missed every one.

You stepped back on a foot, fists held to your sides, and returned his wrathful glare.

The Slytherin girl barged through the doors, stealing the attention. “We’ve got the list,” she purred, “Round them up.”

Malfoy turned back to you, and in the second it took you considered disarming him. Stunning him maybe. You were getting detention up to your ears anyway. And you'd like to see if you could do it.

But then, Crabbe came round the corner with Herbert, Goyle had Donna by the arm, and the saccharine girl caught Yvette as she tried to edge out of the room.

Still looking at you, Malfoy commanded, “Take these to Professor Umbridge. I’ll finish here.”

Fuming, you followed your friends to certain doom, leaving Malfoy behind, certain which side you both fell on.

~~~ Taglist ~~~

@jemomgershippingco

@ronslovergirl

@snickersmee

@lafrone

@cillshot

@reb0rned

#draco malfoy #draco x hufflepuff!reader #harry potter #draco x reader #slow burn #order of the phoenix #dumbledore's army

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