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hopingforrainydays · 1 year

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birth of the bone-breaker | general kirigan

pairing: general kirigan x fem!reader

warnings: descriptions of blood and gore

word count: 2.3k

summary: soft times with the darkling as he comforts a traumatized grisha; in other words, a story in which a healer becomes something else and finds solace in the shadow summoner

author’s note: so so excited for shadow and bone season two. this one has been sitting in my drafts for a long time, and i’m happy to finally share it with y’all!

requests are open!

You were dragged through the palace gates at Os Alta, your limp form tugged forward--and held up--by the red-clad Grisha on either side of you. You barely registered their forceful motions, keeping your chin tucked into your chest. It was sodden with dirt, blood, and what could only be assumed to be some other form of bodily matter. But that wasn’t a bother. You barely registered that either.

It had been a long enough journey, but you had not fought the Grisha hauling you by horse, carriage, and on foot. You weren’t a fighter by nature, and even so, any of the adrenaline that flowed through your veins had ebbed away. Besides, you deserved whatever they had planned for you. The iron grip of the Corporalniks prevented any attempt of a struggle. The black detailing of their keftas marked them as Heartrenders; they could take the air from your lungs or crush your heart in a matter of moments.

But you could do the same, couldn’t you?

The shadow of the Little Palace loomed over you, and yet your gaze did not falter from its focus on your muddied feet. It was the only thing grounding you to this moment, no matter how you wished to glance upon the palace one last time. Once inside, you found small purchase on the smooth marble floors, the tips of your toes tripping at the quick pace set by your companions. A part you, deep inside, was apologetic of the mess you were bound to leave behind: muddy, bloodied footprints.

It wouldn’t be your first mess.

The First Army soldiers flanking the grounds had kept their hands on the trigger of their rifles and any Grisha that now flock through the halls followed your every movement, hands clasped in front of them. The dark forms of the oprichniki walked ahead, leading you to your doom. A strategic hold on your arms forced your hands to be kept apart.

You understood, in part, their caution. It still pained you. The presumption that the Grisha--your family--looked at you as though you were a monster clogged your eyes with tears.

Saints, you deserved whatever awaited you.

The Grisha soldiers brought you to the end of the hall. Ornate double-doors pushed open, and you were marched to the center of the large room. The bruising hold on your biceps ceased, causing you to fall to the ground in an ungraceful heap. You caught yourself against the ground, eyes trained on your bloodied fingertips. Your fingers folded into tight fists, the jagged edge of your fingernails cutting into your palms. You winced at the throbbing pain, but dug your fingertips further into the soft flesh. In the wild panic that rose in your throat, in the unsurety of the future, and in the potential meeting of your gruesome fate, you found that it was the one thing that reassured you.

“What is this?” The voice came from in front of you. It was cold and calculating, and one that you faintly recognized from your years spent training at the Little palace. General Kirigan.

“Forgive us, moi soverennyi. It’s a matter of grave importance,” said one of the Heartrenders. From what you could tell, they were stood not far behind you. Ready, in case you were to attack.

There was a shuffle of feet behind you. One of the Grisha, a Squaller, stepped forward. Her voice cracked as she said, “We were meant to deliver a few supplies to the Second Army regiment posted outside Chernast. When we arrived, they were–” she paused, taking in a shaky breath. She whispered, more to herself than anyone else, “Saints, they were all dead.”

“Except for them,” the other Heartrender spat. There was a sharp tug to your hair, yanking your head back. You let out a yelp, wild eyes meeting the cool stare of your general. “We found this one near the Fjerdan border, not far from the rest.”

“Release her.”

“General, you should know it was a massacre.”

“Release her.”

The hand in your hair released. Your head slumped forward, a throbbing pain forming at the back. General Kirigan stepped toward you, his finger reaching out to lift your chin. You flinched. He hesitated, the finger hanging in the air for a moment before retracting entirely. Instead, he crouched, his eyes now level with your own.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice softer now than when he spoke to his soldiers.

“Our best guess is drüskelle-”

“I wasn’t asking you,” the general snapped at the Heartrender. He turned his attention back to you, waiting patiently for your response.

You shook your head back and forth, frantic. The memories of the attack had plagued your mind throughout your journey from Chernast to Os Alta, but you were always quick to shove them away. You didn’t want to remember.

The general’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. His dark eyes roamed your indiscernible features, watching as your eyes darted to look at the Grisha beside you. With a frown, he rose to his feet.

“Leave us.”

One of the Corporalniks made a noise of disagreement, but with one look from their general, quieted. The remaining Grisha left the room in slow, hesitant movements, as if they thought General Kirigan would change his mind. With a final bow, the Squaller closed the door behind her.

There was a tense silence as you remained on the floor and the general leant back against the round table. You were afraid to move, though most of the stress in your muscles had eased at the near-isolation.

“Can you stand on your own?”

You didn’t respond.

“Are you injured? I’ll send for a Healer.”

“No,” you were quick to dismiss the idea. The voice that left you did not feel like your own; it was rough as sandpaper, and a lot louder than you intended. Noticing the general’s taken-aback-expression, you were quick to whisper an explanation. “The blood isn’t mine.”

With a sigh, he moved towards you. He reached his hand out in front of you, mindful to keep his movements slow and stay a respectful distance away. You eyed his hand before placing your palm into his own.

He turned it over, brushing his thumb over the deep crescent marks left by your fingernails. A trail of blood ran from them down to your wrist. The look he gave you had your face burning in childish embarrassment, as if you were getting scolded by a parent.

“You’ll visit the infirmary later. I’ll have a servant come to clean you up, lest you’re hiding anymore injuries.”

You wanted to scoff at his choice of words. A small mark of self-mutilation was hardly an injury, and would never compare to the harm you brought to those in Chernast. Instead, you settled on a frown. He hoisted you to your feet and set you straight. As he moved to leave, you caught his arm.

“Wait,” you said. He looked at you expectantly, and you found yourself at a loss for words. You weren’t sure where you were going with this, but the idea of being left alone terrified you. The idea of being left alone with one of the servants terrified you even more. You wanted to believe it was because of the looks the other Grisha had given you upon your arrival--distrust, discomfort, and horror. You would never admit it, but you knew the true reason: you weren’t afraid of what they’d do to you, but of what you’d do to them. “Stay.”

After a beat of silence, you cleared your throat, pulling away from the powerful man. It was foolish, you were foolish. You leaned against the table, propping yourself up with both arms. The strength it took to hold yourself up became too much, though, and your arms trembled with exertion.

General Kirigan reached out to catch you, balancing your weight on his forearms. He didn’t say anything, didn’t react to your request, or reprimand you for being so forward. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your back, supporting a majority of your weight as you leaned into his side.

He mumbled encouragements as he led you to a side room, resting you against the cool surface of a sink. You observed the new environment, the realization that he had brought you into his washroom dawning on you. The room was large enough, with a tub seated in the center. General Kirigan was beside it, turning the handle to allow water to pour from the faucet. As the tub filled to a level of his liking, he set out a variety of soaps and sponges off to a table on the side.

He took a few tentative steps in your direction, as though he were approaching a wild animal. Maybe he was. He gestured to the door you had entered through. “I’ll be in the other room.”

With a flustered expression, he shut the door behind him. It took you a while to get the motivation to move, to make any progress toward the bath. The ruined garments decorating your body would not budge under your trembling fingertips, so you eased into the tub fully-clothed. The water was scorching hot against the exposed parts of skin, but as you adjusted, you found that you preferred it. The bitter cold of the Fjerdan border still bit into your skin, so you welcomed the hot pain.

Cold. Chernast. Pain. Burn. The connection formed before you could stop it, and you were plagued by the memories from days before. You whimpered, curling into a fetal position. You remembered your weak attempts at healing the fatal injuries that littered the bodies of your fallen friends; the Fjerdan warriors charging you, axes raised to cut you down; the burning rage as your hands moved in ways they never had before; Fjerdan blood mixing with Grisha as it splattered into the snow.

The rap of knuckles against the door startled you out of your trance. The general’s voice sounded from the other side, “Is it okay to come in?”

You froze. Had it really been that long?

The door creaked open. He stepped into the room, his eyes finding yours. He let out an exasperated sigh at your state: curled in the tub, clothed, the water barely warm, and skin still dirty. His figure disappeared into the other room, bringing back with him a wooden chair.

He took a seat by the tub, reaching forward. His hands rested on your shoulders, smoothing over the fabric as his fingers moved to work at the buttons of your ruined kefta. The general was close enough now for you to smell him. A whirl of musk and spice filtered through your nose. You inhaled deeply, the scent strangely calming you.

The rest of your layers were stripped from your skin, and he folded the garments--Saints know why; they were beyond the help of any Fabrickator. You were left in a loose shirt and pants. The muck and grime caking your skin itched, and it took everything in you not to scrape it off. Your fingernails dug into the fat of your calves, jabbing through the thin material of your pants. You curled further into yourself, head rested against your knees. The pain brought you to the present, and it was all you could do to focus on that.

“What did this to you?” the general asked, rolling up his sleeves. He rubbed a bar of soap against a damp towel until the suds grew to his liking. He pressed the cloth to the skin of your hands, gently rubbing away the grime.

It was a different way of asking what happened, with an implication that you were not the cause. If only he knew that you were. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know.”

“You’re a Heartrender, no? You must remember the attack.”

“I’m a Healer.”

The confession stalled his movements. His grip on your wrist loosened, but he continued his work in the silence that followed.

“I do,” you whispered, after a moment. “I do remember.”

Kirigan didn’t say anything. He glared at the bruises marking your arms from the Heartrenders’ grip.

“Fjerdan warriors attacked in the night. We never saw them coming. There was so much blood, so many bodies.”

“But you weren’t one of them.”

“No. I was trying to help those still alive. Heal them, if I could. Saints, at that point I was saving them just for them to die again.” You swallowed, thick and teary-eyed. “One of them found me, in the midst of it all. He pinned me to the ground. I saw the axe raise. And I just…panicked.”

By now, Kirigan had moved to cleaning your face. He dabbed carefully at your forehead.

“My hands were on his chest, and I felt every bone in his body break.”

You were disgusted with yourself. You were a Healer, not a Heartrender. It was your chosen specialization because you could not stand the thought of causing another person pain–you wanted to help. And yet here you were, one massacre later.

His finger smoothed the crease of your brows. “That sounds like self defense to me.”

“It could’ve been. If I hadn’t hunted down every warrior after that.” He gestured for you to stand. A fluffy towel wrapped around your shoulders, soaking in the sopping wet material of your clothes. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” he asked as you stepped from the tub.

“Taking care of me.”

“Someone needed to.”

“You didn’t have to.”

A pregnant pause. You thought you may have overstepped or offended him. He pulled you close by the towel on your shoulders, fingers gripping the sides of your jaw. His thumb rubbed against your cheek. “I did. I know what it’s like to feel like the monster.”

“General–”

“Kirigan. Just Kirigan.”

“Kirigan.” You smiled, if only a small one, for the first time in weeks. “Thank you.”

buy me a coffee

#general kirigan x reader #kirigan x reader #the darkling x reader #darkling x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling #general kirigan #aleksander morozova #shadow and bone #grisha #shadow and bone x reader #general kirigan one shot #kirigan one shot #the darkling one shot

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hopingforrainydays · 1 year

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if brains were gold - part two | d. malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

warnings: reader gets called dumb. light bullying

word count: 1.8k

summary: part two to this post. you passed your potions exam with the help of your soulmate, but you haven’t heard a word since.

author’s note: this is for everyone that requested a part two! apologizing a lot for the years-long delay, but it’s finally here. i’ll be splitting this into a third and final part

requests are open!

It was radio silent. No, they were radio silent.

You grew tired of running through your list of possible explanations as they crept from the realm of plausibility to somewhere born from your own insecurities. It wasn’t unlike your soulmate to remain quiet, but there was an unmistakable loneliness present in your mind; it felt as though it had been halved–as though a crucial part of it was missing and it just couldn’t remember what that part was.

But you did. You remembered.

They may have been quiet, before, but they were always present. Your soulmate tuned into your thoughts as if you were their favorite radio broadcast. What changed? The two of you were fine before your Potions exam. You knew it for certain. After all, you owed your perfect score to them.

It was the cheating, wasn’t it? I’m sorry that you were forced to help me.

The apology fell from your thoughts to theirs, without warning. You winced at the heedless action. Not only had you made them complicit in your…misconduct, but you could not even spare them some space. There was little room for worry; your soulmate did not answer.

Great. Your thoughts were laid bare to someone who no longer cared for them.

The fact that you were currently attending the problem class itself did not help your case. You hadn’t wanted to show your face today, as it was the first time you would be encountering Snape since the exam and your courage had since gone quiet. Surprisingly, Snape left you alone. It was a rare occurrence that the professor did not have some snide remark for his least favorite student, but you were grateful for the break.

“I heard you brewed a perfect potion,” your table partner whispered to you. The Ravenclaw girl kept her eyes on Snape, feigning interest in his lecture.

You didn’t respond. There was no lie worth telling; not one that would be believed, anyhow.

“I’ve never done that,” she muttered. “Never.”

You didn’t know if you were meant to hear that. “I studied.”

It was a weak explanation, but it held truth to it. Your fingers drummed against the edge of the desk as you waited, patiently, for a reply. There was no response.

The clock met the hour, and you were graced with a dismissal. If luck was truly by your side, you would make it back to the common room without interruption.

A voice called out your name. You never had been quite lucky.

Your back met the wall of the hallway, edging out of the path of the other students. You rested your shoulders against the brick, turning a chin in the direction of the voice. Pansy Parkinson.

You really should’ve kept walking.

“How did you do it?” Pansy asked, face pinched into a scowl. Her finger pushed towards your chest.

“Well, I cross this end over this end, and cross again, and pull it through-”

“Not your tie,” she spat. “I know being dumb is your thing, but now isn’t the time to play it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The exam. How did you do it?”

“Through sheer determination and hard work,” you said, a grin dancing across your features. That same half-truth.

Pansy laughed; it was anything but sincere.

“Define hard work,” your last name dripped from another’s lips like venom, “because you were in the library for hours and never flipped a page.”

“Oh, Malfoy, how you flatter me. Were you watching me?”

“I only watch the things worth looking at.”

“You couldn’t keep your eyes off me last week.”

His face fell at that. “I was curious how you pulled it off. In front of Snape, no less.”

“Is it really that hard to believe that I passed one exam? If I fail, you call me an idiot. If I pass, you harass me.” You frowned. “Let me have this, please.”

Pansy laughed. She may have meant to comment on your begging, or at the very least, further antagonize you. Draco did not give her the chance.

“Alright,” he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I’m sorry for whoever was forced to help you.”

His words felt familiar. It was the cheating, wasn’t it? I’m sorry that you were forced to help me. No, he couldn’t know what you did, what you said. Not for certain.

The duo was long gone by the time you pushed off the wall.

You sat in your dorm, legs pulled up to your chest. Your elbows rested against your kneecaps and your chin rested in the palm of your hand. Unfortunately for everyone else in the dorm, you were thinking.

Draco had been the same prick he always was, except this time he had gotten to you. He did not know. He did not care. The mantra did nothing to calm your nerves.

But what if…? You had always been your own worst enemy. The thought had lingered for days: What if Draco knew? It was always accompanied by a second question: How did he know?

The answer was plain. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know, because this was between you and your soulmate. But the silence remained unbroken. Whoever it was, your soulmate didn’t want anything to do with you.

Draco never wants anything to do with me.

“Stop it,” you muttered to yourself. First, you bothered them. Second, you mentioned another name. Third, every time you thought of your soulmate, the image of what they could look like was replaced by a familiar platinum blonde with a scowl pinched against his features.

There was a reason Draco wanted nothing to do with you, the first being that you wanted nothing to do with him. Why was it so different?

Merlin, now you were asking enough questions to make your own brain hurt.

By the week’s end, you were nearly driven insane. The silence was deafening and it didn’t help that those around you would not stop chattering. If it wasn’t to your face, then it was behind your back: obsessive whispers with nothing better to do than call you a liar.

There was nothing to prove. It would never rise above petty rumors and insults to your character. To be honest, you couldn’t care less what others thought of you. It wasn’t any of their business whether or not you had some extra help with the exam. You told yourself that you couldn’t care less what your soulmate thought of you, but it was hard to tell if that was the whole truth. Though, the loneliness had soured into something resentful. You didn’t force him to do anything. The most you asked for was some help studying.

So, no, if anyone would care to ask, you hadn’t resolved to study for any of them.

But it hadn’t occurred to you that you shouldn’t have been so public about it. The library was meant to provide you with an academic ‘atmosphere’ to focus (or so your roommate had said). Your dorm would’ve only served distractions.You hadn’t prepared for the platinum head of hair to seat itself across from you.

“What do you want?” You barely looked up from your textbook. The stench of his expensive cologne could reach you from down the hall.

Draco at least had the sense to look semi-embarrassed. “I’m sitting.”

“I can see that. Why?”

“Is that Potions?”

“You never want anything to do with me,” you continued.

“Well, darling, sometimes I want something to do with you.”

You finally looked up at him. He sat, arms folded across the table, fingertips playing with the edge of your textbook. A quick survey of the library let you know that he didn’t have anything with him–not even his usual group.

“And what makes you think that’s reciprocated?”

“You haven’t asked me to leave yet.” He was grabbing at straws.

“Yet.”

He sighed. His shoulders were visibly tense, now, as if he was just as uncomfortable as you were. “I need to know something.”

“I swear, Malfoy, if you ask me about that Potions exam-”

“Your favorite book. What is it?” The question startled the both of you.

You took a moment to look at him, to really look at him. It seemed innocent enough, but then again, nothing was innocent with Draco. “I find The Dream Oracle by Inigo Imago absolutely fascinating.”

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t take you to be inclined towards Divinations.”

“What can I say? I’ve taken a sort of shine to Trelawney’s classes. A protégé, if you will.” You thought he may have smiled at that, but you couldn’t know for sure. Not with Blaise Zabini standing in your peripheral.

Blaise called out for Draco, seemingly just as confused as you were. With a startle, Draco leaped up from his chair. He was uncharacteristically clumsy, as if he was caught in an act. He muttered out something–a curse, perhaps–and turned away from you as quickly as he had come.

You don’t know what it was that possessed you, but you called out after him. “It’s a muggle book. Persuasion, Jane Austen.”

He glanced back.

An explanation stumbled out of your lips, “My favorite book.”

The librarian shushed you. Embarrassment heated your cheeks, soothed only by his slight nod of acknowledgement given your way.

It hurt your head to think about it all later. The other girls in your dorm moved around you as if you weren’t even there. You suppose you weren’t. Not really. Sat at the edge of the bed and cradling a pillow, you were off in your own world. Trapped in your own mind.

The whole thing, whatever that thing had been, was strange. He was strange. Draco Malfoy was the farthest thing from what you wanted to be on your mind right now. It was entirely likely that he had inhaled too many fumes. Or been cursed. A cruel prank, that would’ve been. Funny, too, if it wasn’t at your partial expense.

He had called you darling. Not your surname, not a sly insult. Darling. You hadn’t caught it at the time. It sounded all too easy coming from him. Too familiar.

Darling.

You went through that list ten times, darling.

You aren’t going to flunk, darling.

No. No, it wasn’t possible. There was no fathomable way that Draco Malfoy was your soulmate. But Merlin, if it didn’t make all the more sense.

Throughout your life, you’ve told your soulmate everything. It ranged from memories of your childhood to your dreams to your favorite book. A few years ago, you had told your soulmate that your favorite book was by Jane Austen. They had been understandably confused by the muggle title. It was a gift from a distant relative.

The younger version of you would’ve jumped at any opportunity to know who her soulmate was. The words would be flood from your thoughts to theirs, confirming if your suspicions were true. Now, the possible revelation was leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

He’s known since you passed that Potions exam. He’s known, and he hasn’t cared.

buy me a coffee

taglist: @v1rg1nvodkasprite @bi-andready-tocry @lolawassad

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff #harry potter #harry potter x reader #soulmate au #soulmate alternate universe #draco malfoy soulmate au #harry potter soulmate au #draco angst #draco fluff #draco fic

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hopingforrainydays · 1 year

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the not-all-that-long awaited return

hi, everyone!

first, i want to say that i was blown away by the amount of love my draco fic received from the time i posted it (nearly two years ago) and now. i love all of you and appreciate the time you took to read it

second, i have zero excuses as to why i have not been active whatsoever, besides the fact that i posted that fic and then RAN away from it. but, i’m back now, my writing has improved, and i’m excited to share more fics with you.

with that being said, i will be posting a second part to “if brains were gold”, although i do not have an exact date for it yet. if you asked or commented about a tag list, i will be creating a separate post for this! i will tag everyone who expressed interest so that they do not miss it. i’m hoping to branch out with different characters or fandoms, and i wouldn’t want to add anyone to a general tag list that was only interested in one form of content

feel free to send in requests, as they are now open! i’m happy to answer any questions :)

love y’all

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hopingforrainydays · 1 year

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masterlist

started: 09/23/20

updated: 3/19/23

total works: 3

HARRY POTTER

draco malfoy

one shots

if brains were gold, part two

SHADOW AND BONE

general kirigan

one shots

birth of the bone-breaker

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hopingforrainydays · 4 years

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if brains were gold | d. malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

warnings: some swearing

word count: 4,434

summary: soulmate au! where soulmates can communicate through thoughts. her soulmate happens to be top of the potions class, and she really needs help with this potions exam right now.

author’s note: the prompt is based heavily off of one i saw on pinterest a while ago! you probably know the exact one i’m talking about, but i changed it only slightly to fit in the wizarding world. also, this is my very first fic that i’ve ever posted and i’m nervy

When [Y/N] was young, she thought she was going crazy. A tiny voice spoke in the back of her mind, but it wasn’t her own; it was heavier, and she couldn’t match it to anyone she knew at the time. It frightened her, at first, but after a while, the voice grew to become comforting. It didn’t talk to her, not directly. Instead, it babbled on about random subjects and anything that seemed to come to mind. [Y/N] didn’t think it even knew she could hear it.

It was only when her mother sat her down and asked her about it--how did she know?--that she finally understood. The voice belonged to her soulmate. Her mother told her about how soulmates shared every thought, how their very minds and souls were forever intertwined with one another. It was probable that [Y/N]’s soulmate heard her as much as she heard them; children often had a difficult time hiding their thoughts and controlling their connection. Though she didn’t mind her soulmate’s seemingly endless train of thought, some days she wondered if they’d ever stop thinking.

The first time she tried to reach out to her soulmate, they went radio silent. She panicked; she concentrated on her thoughts hard enough to earn herself endless migraines, all in desperate attempts at mending the severed connection. For weeks, she didn’t receive a reply. It hurt at first, but when she finally heard an inkling of a familiar whisper creep into the back of her mind, all the pain seemed to ebb away. Her soulmate came back.

And still, she didn’t know much about them. That wasn’t by lack of trying, of course. In a pursuit she now recognized as selfish, she’d pester them with questions; every day, she’d ask, and ask, and ask. They never answered. The thing is, [Y/N] didn’t even care to know their name, she just wanted to know who they were. She wanted her soulmate to tell her why they’d prefer to talk to their mom rather than their dad, their favorite lyrics in the songs they listened to every day and why those were their favorite, the servants they had growing up and why they considered them their best friends, and the things they thought about right before they went to sleep. She wanted to be told anything and everything, just as long as she was the one they told it all to.

They never caved. For a while, in childish indignation, [Y/N] refused to tell them in return about herself; though, they never actually asked. It infuriated her. How dare they? Anyone would be lucky to have her for a soulmate. Then, it hurt her. Was she that unwanted? She could only hold the impression of apathy for so long (even though she was sure her soulmate heard a slipped thought or two). She cracked.

Into the early hours of the morning, she told her soulmate anything and everything about herself. She told them what she wanted to hear from them. For a while, she was sure that they weren’t listening, that she was rambling to the void like an absolute psychopath. The only inclination [Y/N] had that they were still there were their random thoughts. It didn’t happen often, and only seemed to truly slip through in times of extreme emotion. But it was a sign, and so she continued trying.

It had been a busy morning when they finally answered her. She had just received her letter to Hogwarts, pure excitement burning hot through her veins. In her celebrations, she had neglected her soulmate. It was only when she had retired to her room in the early afternoon, drained from her high, that an angered voice crept into her mind: “Why aren’t you talking to me?”

Since, she’s known one thing for certain: their voice. But it was enough for her.

As she aged, the senseless talking seized. She grew to be less intense (put kindly) and her soulmate grew out of their hardened shell. She still hadn’t much of a clue about them (and likewise, as they knew why a specific book was her favorite, but not her name), but her relationship had gone from a rocky start to an easy closeness. She wouldn’t change it for the world.

Into her fifth year at Hogwarts, it was hard for [Y/N] to control her thoughts sometimes. She had a tendency to worry about the simplest things, until they consumed her every thought. Most of the time, she didn’t even realize she was doing it. It wouldn’t be until her soulmate’s voice murmured in the back of her mind, telling her to kindly stop her incessant rambling.

Like now. Sat in the library, her nose stuck in a book, the word “armadillo” started to look less and less like an actual word. With a deep sigh, [Y/N] shut the textbook in front of her and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her bleary eyes. She knew in the back of her head that a small break wouldn’t kill her, but the library was only open for another hour. Merlin knows she wouldn’t get any work done back in her dorm; she loved them, but her roommates were insufferable when it came to studying.

She let out a deep sigh, flipping the textbook back open with more force than was needed. The dull thud echoed throughout the quiet library. Madam Pince snapped her head up to glare warningly at the girl, squinting in disapproval.

[Y/N] rolled her eyes, returning her gaze to the book before her. After receiving yet another “Troll” from Professor Snape on her last potions exam, she was determined to--at the very least--pass the next one. That next one being tomorrow. And she still hadn’t a clue on the correct way to brew a Wit-Sharpening Potion. Oh, the irony.

“The library is now closed. Mind that you return anything you have borrowed to the correct-” Madam Pince’s unpleasant voice rang out. She wasn’t sure who was going to kill her faster: Pince or Snape. She began packing away her belongings into her bag and grabbing the books she collected from the various sections. Placing them back where they belonged, her mind raced.

I’m screwed. Completely and utterly screwed. All my hopes and dreams I had of being a someone in the wizarding world is crushed.

[Y/N] berated herself as she left the library, rushing down the halls to her common room. Maybe, just maybe, the commons would be empty and she could study in peace, without the constant teasing from her friends. Even if it was only for a few minutes. She could figure out weeks worth of material in a handful of time, couldn’t she?

No, she thought to herself, I’ll have to settle for a muggle job. Perhaps I can be one of those…-oh, what do they call them?

Her mind rambled on senselessly, though she hadn’t realized until a voice that wasn’t her own broke through: Darling.

And that was all it took to silence her. [Y/N]’s cheeks burned as she responded with a meek apology. How much had they heard? Surely they thought she was insane by now; or at least unstable. The girl prayed to any god that was listening that they hadn’t been tuned in to her entire breakdown.

What’s wrong? Her soulmate asked, letting out an audible sigh. [Y/N] frowned. The annoyance in their tone was evident, though she couldn’t tell if it was playful or not.

Nothing.

Armadillo bile, newt spleens, ginger roots, and scarab beetles are all ingredients in a Wit-Sharpening Potion. Let me guess, Snape?

A sound of surprise fell form her lips. How’d you know?

You’ve only been rattling those same four ingredients off for the past few hours.

No, not that! How’d you know the potion?

Her soulmate paused. A smug tone clung to their every word as they replied, I’m just that good.

By this time, she muttered the password to her common room, sliding through the entrance with a roll of her eyes. The room was empty, save for one or two students that had fallen asleep in a puddle of their own drool. Grimacing, she decided to just head up to her dorm instead of finding a seat at one of the tables.

You looked at the book, she argued, sliding into bed. Her roommates were fast asleep, but she didn’t dare turn her lamp on, fearing their wrath. Instead, she opened her textbook and peered at the letters through the darkness.

Or it’s just that easy.

She protested with a muted scoff. Scanning a single finger across the words, she recited the ingredients in her head once again. A Wit-Sharpening Potion used scarab beetles, ginger roots, armadillo bile, and newt spleens.

You grind up the beetles and cut the roots, her soulmate added.

Okay, a Wit-Sharpening Potion uses ground scarab beetles, cut ginger roots, armadillo bile, and newt spleens. She recited this mantra in her head a few more times, before moving down to the instructions. As she read on, her vision blurred from the strain of the darkness. An ache formed at the front of her head, slowly beginning to pound against her skull. Great.

Tossing the book to the end of her bed, [Y/N] huffed. I’m screwed.

You went through that list ten times, darling. And at least twenty times an hour ago. And I’m certain you studied that potion yest-

Bloody hell, okay! She interrupted. I get it, I’m annoying. Anything else?

Yeah. What ingredients are used in a Befuddlement Draught?

She fought back a smile, even though she knew they couldn’t see it. Easy. Scurvy grass, and uh, sneezewort. And porcupine quills? No, that can’t be right. She scoured her thoughts for the answer, rattling off any ingredients that came to mind.

You’re right.

I am?

You are screwed.

A week later, she was sat in Potions. The morning has gone by slowly--dreadfully--as she waited to see her grade on the exam. For the first time in years, [Y/N] was confident in herself, despite what she felt the night before the exam. She had just been tired that night. Her anxiety was at an all-time high throughout the entire week, and she got a sick feeling in her stomach every time she thought of it. All the hours she put in to studying, all the parties and Hogsmeade trips she blew off--they had to be worth it.

[Y/N] [Y/L/N] would no longer be dubbed ‘stupid’, ‘just a dumb jock’, or anything less than ‘the smartest, most intelligent young woman anyone has ever seen’.

Yet, even with her heart beating against her ribs in anticipation, she was dreadfully tired. Her nerves kept her up most nights, and while she was successfully able to silence her thoughts enough to not bother her soulmate, she wasn’t able to grant herself the same privilege. After the most tiring week of her life, she was spent.

Snape droned on about the subject matter at the front of the class. [Y/N] only hoped he wouldn’t spot her in the back, her chin rested in the palm of her hand. Her eyes fluttered shut every few moments in exhaustion, and she was grateful for the wisps of hair that fell in front of her eyes, obscuring her closed lids from view.

The sudden slam of parchment against her desk woke her from what she guessed had been a brief slumber. She sat up straight, frantically tucking chunks of hair behind her ears. Drawing her gaze up, her eyes met Snape’s angered glare.

“Ms. [Y/L/N], am I boring you?” he drawled, an edge to his words.

A deep blush stained her cheeks as she realized everyone had turned in their seats to watch the altercation. She wiped at the drool that had dried on her chin with the back of her hand. “Oh, no, sir.”

[Y/N] picked at the skin around her nails, willing the eyes to turn away from her. Realizing that the professor’s stare had not left her form, she added, quickly, “I simply spaced out for the moment.”

Snape huffed in disapproval. “You wouldn’t mind answering my question then, would you?”

“Your question?”

Snape raised a brow.

She glanced to her side. A few tables down, Hermione Granger’s hand was held high in the air. Racking her brain to remember the topic--or anything the man had said the entire period--she came up with nothing. She sniffed, cheeks burning, and muttered, “I can’t.”

“You can’t? I should have suspected as such, if your last exam has anything to say for your lack of intelligence.” He removed his hand from the parchment he had previously slammed onto her desk, revealing the grade. “Or this one. It would do you well to pay attention in my class, Ms. [Y/L/N], lest you fail yet again.”

A few Slytherin girls at the front of the class snickered. Letting out a shaky breath as the attention slowly turned away from her, [Y/N] willed herself to look at the grade. Smack dab in the middle of the parchment was a giant “T”. Merlin, she had gotten another Troll.

When class had finally dismissed, she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Tears blurred in her vision. She willed herself not to shed them; she would not cry over a mark.

“[Y/L/N]!” A shrill voice called.

She didn’t turn.

“[Y/L/N]!”

With a roll of her eyes, she stopped in her tracks. She spun on her heel to face Pansy Parkinson, a small group of Slytherins behind her.

“Do you ever get tired of embarrassing yourself?” She asked, a cruel grin on her lips. She twirled a piece of her hair between her fingers, looking behind her to see if anyone had laughed. Pathetic, if anyone asked [Y/N].

“I could ask you the same question. How many times have you asked Malfoy out, again?”

The grin dropped.

“And how many times have you gotten rejected?”

“At least I’m not an actual idiot.”

“And at least I’m not desperate. I mean, how many times does someone have to be told ‘no’ to get the message? You’ve really got to find some respect for yourself, Parkinson.” She gave Pansy a smile, reaching over to squeeze her shoulder.

“Shut up, [Y/L/N],” a new voice spoke, coming around from behind Pansy. And there he was, the Slytherin Prince himself. “You know that if brains were gold, you’d be poorer than Weasley, and that’s saying something.”

She scoffed. “Obviously you’ve mistaken me for someone who values your opinion. If you guys are done, then I’ll see you later.”

Tugging the strap of her bag further onto her shoulder, she hauled ass to her common room. There was no way she could get through the rest of the day. The disappointment flooded over her in waves, each one crashing in harder than the last time. Pansy and Draco, unfortunately, were right. She was an idiot. If she wasn’t failing Potions before, she definitely was now. Not to mention her countless other classes, which she barely kept her head above water in.

[Y/N] gave everything and more for this exam, and got nothing in return.

I can hear your depression from here.

Great, now her soulmate would know how much of a loser she was. She was silent for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to say.

It didn’t go well, did it? They pressed the issue. Most of the time, she could never tell if they were genuinely concerned for her. In this moment, though, she had no doubt.

No, it didn’t. She paused. I was right. You were right. I’m screwed.

I was joking.

It’s true, though, isn’t it? I mean, I was barely passing before. I spent all my time studying that I neglected my other classes. I’m going to flunk out.

You aren’t going to flunk, darling.

Unless you know someone capable of teaching someone like me- [Y/N] paused. In all honestly, she forgot who she was speaking to. Once the idea formed in her mind, she couldn’t shake it away.

What is it? Her soulmate asked. Their tone was hesitant, as if they knew exactly what she was thinking.

You said before that it was really easy for you, right? Potions. She said, rapidly. You could-

No. They interjected. Well, that was fast. Their voice was sharp, and the tone sounded so strikingly familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

And why not? Don’t tell me you were lying about being good, she teased.

Sweetheart, I have near-perfect marks in the class. Bingo.

Sure you do.

I know what you’re doing.

And what is that?

There was a beat of silence. For a moment, she grew nervous. Maybe they weren’t going to help her after all. Fine. I’ll help you.

She smiled, genuinely, for the first time that week.

A few days later, and [Y/N] was begrudgingly sat in the library. There were one too many books spread across the table in front of her, each turned to a different page. If she had had the choice, she would’ve stayed in the common room. Her house had just won their most recent Quidditch game the other night, and the excitement still buzzed from person to person. It was enough to force her to leave, as hanging around would’ve been a hindrance to her learning.

[Y/N] loved Quidditch. She had to drop her position from the team so that she could focus more on her academics (and what a load of bull that ended up being), but she had never missed a game. Yesterday was the first time. Her soulmate, as smart as they were, was annoyingly strict. Not only did they force her to review the different potions introduced in class instead of going to the game, but they asked that she not go to the post-game party as well. Something about them not wanting to deal with her hangover.

Color of a Strengthening Solution. Go.

She huffed, flipping through the notes in her books. Turquoise.

You cheated, didn’t you?

No, she said, unconvincingly. After a pause, the disappointment practically leaking from them, she fessed up. Okay, fine, so what if I did?

Sweetheart.

The color’s not even important.

It is when you need to be sure it’s brewed correctly. Put the book away.

[Y/N] huffed, pushing her books away from her.

Close them.

She groaned, doing as told. Madam Pince rounded on her. The sound left her lips harshly, “Shush!”

Good girl.

A shiver ran up her spine at her soulmate’s words. She bit her lip to fight a grin, pulling the skin taught between her teeth. Bold of you to assume my gender.

[Y/N] heard the echo of a laugh, but the sweet sound was covered entirely by another’s laughter. Scanning the area around her with a scowl, she found her target just as Madam Pince scolded them. The source of the laughter was none other Draco Malfoy.

A flash of anger buzzed through her. She had never heard her soulmate’s laugh before, and it saddened her to think that she had missed it because of that git. “Oi! Something funny, Malfoy?”

The blonde closed his mouth, rounding on the girl sat a few tables down from him. His eyes narrowed. “Yeah, actually. I reckoned that I’d be friends with Potter before a [Y/L/N] was caught dead in the library.” He caught sight of the notes sprawled in front of her. “Studying for Potions, are we? Maybe you’ll get higher than a Troll this time.”

She rolled her eyes, returning her gaze to the notes in front of her.

“I asked,” a palm slammed the book you were reading shut, “if you were studying for Potions.”

“There’s no need to repeat yourself. I ignored you just fine the first time.”

“You-”

“Shush!” Madam Pince screeched.

[Y/N] smiled up at the boy in front of her, whose pale face began to turn red from frustration. He glared at her one last time before shoving away from the table entirely. His form retreated from the library, before disappearing around the corner entirely.

She couldn’t stand him.

The weekend had passed all too quickly. Sat back in the Potions classroom, this was it. This was the moment [Y/N] [Y/L/N] had prepared her entire life for. Well, that was a bit of an over exaggeration, but she’d be damned if she didn’t pass this exam. She knew she said it before, and most likely jinxed it, but now the countless hours she’d put in to studying would finally pay off.

Her back was straight as she paid dutiful attention to Professor Snape at the front of the room. Her knee bounced up and down in rapid motions, her anxiety coming off of her in waves. She just wanted to get it over with.

With a quill held tight in between her forefinger and thumb, she was ready to answer any questions Snape would throw at her. I can do this, she reaffirmed.

That is, she was ready, until Snape announced that the exam would be a practical one.

Her jaw dropped open as her classmates rushed to grab a cauldron and return to their seats. The exam would be completed with a table partner, and the potion that needed to be brewed would be hand drawn. Any other day, [Y/N] would bless the ground Snape walked on. Her table partner was a quiet Ravenclaw girl, who preferred to do all the work in order to avoid [Y/N] messing anything up. Only, her partner was absent today.

“Is there a problem, Ms. [Y/L/N]?” Snape drawled, crossing his arms as he stood impatiently at her desk.

“No, sir,” she whispered. “Nothing.”

When a cauldron was finally set in front of her, Snape handed her a slip of parchment. On it was the words she dreaded to see: Wit-Sharpening Potion.

With a thick swallow, she glanced up at her professor. His lips curled into a sneer as he spoke, “I thought you’d benefit from this assignment. Perhaps you should begin immediately.”

Okay, this was fine. She was fine. Reflecting on her studying, she attempted to remember the ingredients to the potion. If she could remember those, she’d be okay.

There are four ingredients in a Wit-Sharpening Potion. I know that, she thought to herself. Or are there five? No, that can’t be right.

Her eyes flicked to her classmate’s who all seemed to know exactly what they were doing. Oh, bloody hell.

There are four. The voice no longer startled her when it crept into her mind. She had become so used to it, that those three simple words calmed any nerves she had.

She took a deep breath. I know scarab beetles, ginger roots, and armadillo bile. I can’t remember the last one.

Newt spleens.

[Y/N] bit her lip to hide her grin as she browsed the ingredient cabinets, looking for everything that she needed. Grabbing an armful of her ingredients, she made her way back to her desk.

I grind up the beetles, and, she paused, her next few words coming out in a questioning tone, crush the root?

Cut the root.

I knew that. Just testing you.

[Y/N] cut up the ginger root and ground up the beetles ahead of time. With the liquid in her cauldron warmed up, it was ready for her to add her ingredients in. Only, her mind was drawing up a complete blank.

You’ll mix in the ginger root first, until it’s lime green.

She carefully added the root in bit by bit to her cauldron until the liquid turned, as expected, into a lime green. [Y/N] let out a small laugh, and she guessed it was from the amazement that, for the first time in her life, a potion wasn’t catching on fire. Or turning a nasty shade of brown. Or filling the room with the smell of burnt rubber.

Armadillo bile is next. It’ll be blue.

Then the beetles? She asked.

Then the beetles. Mix it until it turns red.

[Y/N] worked like this for a good majority of the period, listening in on her soulmate’s advice. Well, his directions. Any decent grade she earned on this was theirs, but she’d take it anyway. Soon enough, while a few of her classmates had finished their potions, she was one of the first ones done.

The potion had turned a lovely shade of dark orange. It was just as the book had described, albeit that was one of the only things she could remember. With a satisfied grin, she began cleaning up her utensils as she waited for Snape to stalk over to her table.

“Ms. [Y/L/N],” he greeted with a sour expression, his nose wrinkling in anticipation for the odor that was bound to cloud his senses. When it didn’t, he glanced suspiciously into her cauldron, noting the perfect coloration.

“This one lacks your usual touch. I refuse to subject myself or any student to its effects, but you’ve seemingly brewed a,” he hesitated to say the words, as if he had never expected to say them, “perfect Wit-Sharpening Potion.”

The professor’s remark not only caught the attention of the surrounding students--who were already watching the exchange in preparation for the usual brutal reprimand delivered by Snape--but the other students in the classroom as well. There was no way [Y/N] [Y/L/N] brewed a perfect potion, even less so on her own.

She beamed in response, knowing that any words that came out of her mouth would only force the professor to take back his grade. Looking around, she noticed all of her classmates staring. As she met each of their eyes, they all busied themselves with their own cauldrons. The only one who didn’t was one Draco Malfoy.

He was standing at the far side of the room, in his usual seat. What struck her as peculiar was the near-empty cauldron in front of him. The flame had not been sparked, and his ingredients were still in their jars. He was gazing at her with a matching expression, eyes looking her up and down. They narrowed, but she turned away before some insult could fall from his lips.

Thank you, she told her soulmate.

If only she had seen the way Draco’s expression dropped at her words.

buy me a coffee

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