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miryum · 5 months

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A Green and Silver Ring (Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

An arranged marriage between you and Mattheo, one that might lead to something beautiful

Word Count: 10.3k

I know I haven't posted in a long time but I have a plan trust the process. Also, this is me coming out and saying that I love Mattheo Riddle and he's amazing

Warnings: Swearing, bad and manipulative parenting from both Mattheo and reader’s parents, a lot of misogyny (a bit from Mattheo but he gets better by a lot and it’s not that bad), arguments, Tom isn’t Mattheo’s brother and Tom is a creep, arranged marriage, one bed trope, enemies to lovers, greek mythology reference, talk of kids, needing kids to carry on family lines, and kids. Mistress is the feminine term for master (so reader isn’t Mattheo’s side piece when I refer to her as mistress), old timey talk a bit, reader is a bookworm

From the desk of Ginevra

My dearest friend,

My parents have informed me of your engagement. I was ecstatic, yet surprised, when I heard the news. I was of the assumption that your parents were allowing you to choose your husband as your family line is secure in your brother and his wife. Yet, once I learned who your husband-to-be is, I was trepidatious.

My thoughts are with you, my darling friend, and I pray for you to write to me the moment you get my letter.

I hate to break the news, but you and your fiancé are the talk of high society. Never before have two such families been intertwined. Even I have had to scold my brothers for their gossip. They seem to forget that our families are close friends.

I do not ask why your parents have made such a decision. I know they are intelligent adults and surely must have a motive, but I admit that I am blind in that regard. Your engagement seems sudden and unwarranted to me. When questioned, my mother sighed and said I would understand when I grew older. My mother continues to baffle me. I have borne two children and a third on the way! If I am not mature now, I better gain some knowledge quickly.

Always remember that I am by your side. If you ever need anything, my door is always open to you. I am sure Harry will agree.

I love you, my friend.

Ginny

From the office of Lorenzo

Miss. L/n,

I believe we’ve never been formally introduced. I’m saddened to say that this letter is as formal as we’ll get - at least until your wedding. I am sure you must be taciturn and mercurial as of now. My father has told me much about you and I believe we’ll make excellent friends and confidants in our hectic world.

You’re to be my new half-sister, aren’t you? My relatives and friends are petulant to meet you.

Before any rumours (either about myself or your fiancé) hit your ears, I’ll put a rest to them. Bellatrix, your fiancé’s mother, had an affair with my father. They produced me and in return, I have the privilege of being your fiancé’s half-brother.

Being a bastard child, I’m no stranger to being ostracised and ridiculed. To be blunt, I’m sure that you will be ostracised alongside me and I believe that is one reason we can connect.

For rumours of my half-brother, I simply say this: do not fear him. He relishes in the consternation he places in other people, yet when he heard he was to marry you, I saw panic in his eyes like no other. It seems the tables have turned. He is hesitant to be wed, but you are not the problem. He simply doesn’t want to have the responsibility of another’s life on his. Your fiancé is used to belittling people - not supporting them as a husband should.

Any questions you have about your fiancé and my half-brother (whom in case I didn’t make clear, are one and the same), refer to me without any qualms. I am eager to meet you and hopefully make your transition into the Riddle family smoother.

I am well aware you have also lived your life in the upper echelons of society. But, as I’m sure you know, there are multiple circles in our complicated community. The L/ns, the Weasleys, and the Potters, for example, have grown their fortunes truthfully and innocently. They have earned the respect of their people and those whom they employ. The Riddles, Blacks, and Berkshires, on the other hand, have climbed the ranks in unconventional means and by skipping a few rungs on the ladder. They thrive and make their living on the terror and duress they cause those under them.

I’m looking forward to making your acquaintance.

Lorenzo Berkshire

P.S. I hope I haven’t scared you off.

From the office of L/n

Daughter,

You’ll be pleased to hear the engagement has gone through. Your mother and I met your fiancé last night. He seems like a nice man. He will be able to provide for you. His family is influential.

We will return home late tomorrow evening. You will depart for Riddle Estate in a week. Begin packing.

Your father

From the desk of Ginevra

Y/n,

You worry me with your lack of communication. Usually, you can’t wait to gossip with me. We have such fun at dinners and balls, yet with the most important aspect of yourself, you don’t respond. I’m simply worried, my friend. Are you alright? I can envision you curled in your bed, not letting anyone, even your nursemaid, into your room. Please do not let your impending marriage affect your state of health. It will turn out alright. Everyone I know (even me!) had apprehensions about their marriage. And with everyone I know, it turned out alright.

Misters Sirius and Remus visited Harry and I the day before last. They came to see James and Albus, but I know there was a hidden reason as well. They know of our friendship and came to ask if the rumours are true. As much as my husband adores them, Sirius in particular can be prone to gossip. The pair tittered and tsked when I told them of your fiancé. Sirius wishes to distance himself from his family, and I know he has pre-existing thoughts of the Black family, and by extension, the Riddles.

Sometimes I take a moment to gaze at the family tree upon my drawing room wall. It is full of interconnected lines and squiggles that sometimes, it makes my head hurt! The web of family ties is complicated and if we’re not somehow related already, I know that we will be once your marriage takes place. It seems the Black family spreads its roots into the Weasley family and the Riddle family- the latter of which you’ll soon be synonymous with.

Give yourself some grace. Your fiancé falls far from the tree; I am sure of it.

Please write to me. I need to make sure my closest friend is doing well.

Best wishes,

Ginny

P.S. Hermione wishes to inform you that, from what she’s heard, your Mr. Riddle is quite attractive. I have yet to hear any of the rumours myself, but at least your husband will be pleasing to the eye. Perhaps it will make the marriage more bearable.

***

Mattheo strode leisurely through Riddle Manor. It was one of the many estates his family owned, and it was soon to be officially his. Just as soon as he married the L/n girl.

The manor was spacious, which Mattheo couldn’t help but detest. How was he and a wife supposed to fill this void of empty rooms and dark halls? He knew servants and cooks would move in, but they wouldn’t occupy the dozens of upper rooms that were vacated.

For a brief moment, Mattheo couldn’t help but envision a set of children running around the halls. One of the children would run up to him, shouting, “Papa! Papa!” Mattheo would scoop the child up, grinning, and would carry them to their room. The room would be bright and cheerful, and maybe, just maybe, you would be sitting on a settee, cradling a newborn or helping an older child with their school work.

But for now, the room was dark and uninviting and he had yet to meet his future wife. He had seen a portrait of the L/n family and while they were in lavish, colourful clothing, Mr. and Mrs. L/n seemed cold and stoic - just like his parents. The children, an older son and younger daughter (whom he presumed to be you), seemed kinder and by their body language, Mattheo could tell that the two siblings were close.

Mattheo slowly made his way down the hall. There were three wings of the manor; two were residential and the other was designed for taking guests. The East Wing - in which he and Miss. L/n would stay - was also fit with an office for him. He was expected to take over half of the family business once he got married. The West Wing would remain empty for now, sans for a large library and the furniture in the bedrooms.

The boy knew that his bride was to arrive later that day. She would stay at Riddle Estate until the end of the week. Just three short days before they were to be wed in name. Mattheo would move into Riddle Manor tonight, giving servants time to wipe the dust off of tables, shine the silverware, and fluff the pillows.

Mattheo walked the halls of his new home. His mind was devoid of any thoughts. Perhaps it was simply because he was always numb. Even when he heard of his engagement, Mattheo didn’t make a fuss. He didn’t remember thinking anything. Nothing such as ‘Oh, I can’t wait to meet her!’ or even, ‘I can’t believe mother and father are arranging my marriage! She better be obedient.’

No, Mattheo had thought nothing of the sort. He had spent his childhood quietly observing his father and mother, noticing the amount of fear they could inflict on people just by silence. You didn’t have to be loud and dramatic to be powerful. You simply couldn’t be afraid to follow up on your promises - however deadly they were.

The only question Mattheo had asked when Bellatrix informed him of his engagement was, “and what do we gain from the L/n’s?”

Bellatrix had shot him an callous and apathetic look. “Do not ask questions you needn’t the answers to, boy.”

Mattheo had glowered, but shut his mouth.

As he neared the foyer, Mattheo couldn’t help but think how marriage was a component in all aspects of his life. When he got married to the L/n girl, he would inherit a portion of his father’s estates, company, and wealth. Mattheo chucked to himself. Maybe he should’ve gotten married sooner.

***

“Pray tell, why weren’t you here when she arrived?” Bellatrix snarled as she gripped Mattheo’s arm. Her nails dug into his suit as she dragged him towards the drawing room.

“I was busy,” Mattheo replied harshly. Love was not a thing that came instinctively to his family.

“Doing what? Planning your suidide?” Bellatrix scoffed. “I would march to the Underworld and choke Hades to bring you back.” Mattheo glanced down at his mother, hesitantly surprised. But he knew better than to raise his hopes and dreams. “We need this contract with the L/n’s,” Bellatrix continued and Mattheo’s jaw ticked. Of course. She didn’t love him; she never had. Her son was purely business. He should’ve known better.

“Maybe if you would tell me what the L/n’s provide for us,” Mattheo pulled Bellatrix back before she threw open the door to where you were. “Then I would be more complacent.”

Bellatrix sneered. “You think you’re smart, boy. You think you have everything figured out in that pretty little head of yours. But remember: you’re nothing without the Riddle family name backing you up.” She paused and licked her lips. “But if you must know,” Bellatrix sighed, giving into Mattheo. “The L/n’s just came into some very… lucrative land that we could gain from if you marry Miss. Y/n L/n.”

Mattheo’s eyes flickered to the drawing room door. After a moment, he asked, “is that her name? Y/n?”

Bellatrix stared at him, aghast. “You didn’t bother to learn her name?!” She scoffed. “With a son like you…”

She pushed open the drawing room doors and Mattheo trudged after her, muttering, “at least I know her name now.”

You had been waiting for seven minutes and thirty nine seconds in the drawing room of Riddle Estate, the trackage of time dependent on the old grandfather clock standing ominously in the corner. Its pendulum swung back and forth continuously as its second hand ticked by. Mrs. Riddle had left seven minutes and thirty nine seconds ago to fetch her son.

While the room was perfectly clean, not a speck of dust on even the highest chandelier, it was still a cold and morose room, yet oddly epochal. The wood was the darkest mahogany you had ever seen and the lights cast odd shadows on the dark green wallpaper that had inlays of gold.

Your teacup that you were trying to hold steady was filled with a sad excuse for tea. There was a ring of gold around the mouth of the teacup. On the table beside you, a notch that looked as if someone dug a knife into the surface caught your attention. It was the little things like this that you noticed when you had nothing else to do. Your mind was trying to distract you.

The door then swung open and there stood your fiancé, his stare daring you to oppose him.

“Uh,” you stood, your teacup and saucer still in hand. You quickly placed them on the table, right over the knife nick. “Y/n L/n,” you introduced yourself. You bowed your head in an informal curtsy.

Mattheo’s eyes flickered over your face. “Mattheo Riddle,” he said coldly. His voice was practically velvet. You didn’t mean to look him up and down, but you couldn’t help it. He was to be your husband, after all.

Mattheo’s hair coiled at the end and his eyes were just as dark as his curls. His nose had a scarred cut on it that looked as if it was just beginning to heal. Your fiancés cheekbones were practically sculpted from marble and for a moment, you believed that the gods had simply breathed life into a statue. Did this make you Pygmalion and Mattheo Galatea?

If it weren’t for their lethal eyes and stern posture, perhaps more would be friendly to the Riddles.

Mattheo spoke, “you’re to be my fiancée.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” You had the urge to add ‘sir’ at the end, but you bit your tongue.

Bellatrix hissed something to Mattheo and thrust a small object into his hands. Mattheo rolled his eyes and stalked towards you. “My family ring,” he grumbled. He held out an intricate silver ring with three bands interweaving. A green jewel cut into a thin diamond shape sat steadily in the middle. “It has been in the Riddle family for generations. It’s tradition to pass it down to the wife of the firstborn son. And now that is you…”

He trailed off and handed the ring to you, it laying flat on his palm. You took it from him, trying to minimise contact with Mattheo. You nodded in thanks and slid it into your ring finger.

It seemed too concrete to fathom.

Mattheo stared at the ring on your finger. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “My… wife,” he murmured halfheartedly.

***

Three weeks had passed since the wedding and it was as if you had never gotten married in the first place. Yes, it was unsettling to wake up in a bed that wasn’t your own next to a man that you were supposed to call your own. But other than necessary, Mattheo had hardly uttered a word to you.

In the three weeks you had stayed there, you had seen Mattheo a total of twenty eight times, including mornings and nights when you were forced to sleep in the same bed.

Your mornings, afternoons, and nights were all incredibly boring. You took long meals, pushing your food around. Sometimes you just sat by the window and watched the wind blow bits of grass and dirt past the window. The servants were still extracting the dust between the couch cushions and you tried to stay out of the way, but it only made you feel more isolated.

Mattheo was holed up in his office day in and day out. He had now inherited a large portion of his father’s company and Mattheo was determined to uphold the honour bestowed upon him. He had drafted contracts, sold and bought land, and even hosted a few dinner parties for his associates.

You detested the dinner parties. Thankfully, Mattheo had yet to invite you to one - hell, he had yet to speak to you about the dinner parties. You had learned of the first dinner party when you had wandered downstairs one late evening because you were thirsty. You had stared at the group of strangers, all dressed in elegance, as they stared back at you in your night clothes. Not saying a word, you had sighed and returned upstairs.

You hadn’t been eager for the marriage, but wouldn't it befit Mattheo to show some affection? Or at least acknowledge your presence?

While you had continuously tried to get your husband to open up to you, his answers had been short and venomous.

It had been a long, monotonous day for you. You had returned to the master bedroom about two hours earlier than you normally would have if you were at home.

With the wealth that you came from, the opulence was sure to be evident, but you had underestimated the Riddle family’s prestige. When Mattheo had first shown you your shared bedroom, you had to allow a flicker of surprise break through your facade. The bedroom was larger than any room in your old home and had a large bed in the middle. The lamps on the bedside table were always dimly lit and the design of the room was the same as the rest of the house - dark and bereft of love and care.

Your hair had been brushed enough, but you kept brushing simply for something to do while Mattheo finished up in the bathroom. Mattheo walked out of the ensuite with a towel wrapped around his waist. His curls were plastered to his forehead and a bead of water ran down his sternum.

Your eyes flickered to his figure through the mirror, taking in the dips and curves of Mattheo’s muscles as he silently got ready for bed. You tore your gaze away, berating yourself.

You built up your courage and tried to think of a conversation starter. You commented, “my parents wrote to me today.” After no reply from Mattheo, you continued, “they asked me when we would give them grandchildren.” You set your hairbrush down and stared at Mattheo through the mirror, looking for some sort of reaction.

Mattheo hummed noncommittally and put on some sleep pants. He used his towel to begin drying his hair. “It would be behoove us to produce some heirs,” he spoke. His tone was dismissive, as if children were nothing more than an obligation or duty to fulfil.

“Right,” you muttered, knowing that an uninterested reaction was all you were going to get out of him.

You stood and moved towards the bed. “Goodnight,” you whispered, turning off the bedside lamp and tucking yourself into bed. Mattheo was still putting on his nightclothes and had yet to get into bed.

As you turned off the light and got into bed, Mattheo finished drying himself off and slid into his own pyjamas. He sat down beside you, but didn't bother turning off his own lamp. Instead, he laid against the headboard, reading a book. "Goodnight," he finally mumbled, not even looking at you.

You curled into your blanket. After a moment, you asked quietly, “what book are you reading?”

He looked at you over the top of his book. "None of your business," he replied curtly.

You simply uttered, “okay.”

Mattheo felt an unwanted and unusual feeling root itself deep in his stomach. He scoffed and said sarcastically, "fine. Go ahead and keep asking questions all night long if it amuses you so." He opened his book again and pretended to read.

A longing and lonely pang resonated in your chest at his harsh words. You didn’t respond and instead turned your face into your pillow. You had known that your marriage was to be loveless, but it still hurt at every unspoken word. Perhaps, if you had been five years younger when you married Mattheo, your spirit would still be alive with the juvenile belief that you could stand up to him.

Mattheo huffed and his gaze turned up to stare at the wall ahead of him. “If you’re so miserable, then why don’t you just leave?” he snapped, not even bothering to hide his bitterness. “I am sure your family would simply love to have you back.” He flipped another page in his book, not even bothering to look at the printed words.

“I never said I was miserable,” you answered quietly, even though Mattheo knew it wasn’t true. Perhaps, though, you believed it to be true. You took a steadying breath, closing your eyes.

Your husband smirked and leaned against the headboard. “What do you call your attitude, then? Why are you so downtrodden and defeated? Surely, you can’t blame me for being frustrated by it.” He knew that he should be taking account of making you feel this way, but he still tried to justify his behaviour.

“Goodnight,” you reiterated.

Mattheo sighed dramatically. “Whatever,” he grunted. He closed his book, threw it on the nightstand, and turned off his lamp. The room was encased in darkness except for the dim moonlight coming through the window. He shifted towards the edge of the bed, making sure a noticeable gap was between the two of you.

He thought back to your conversation. “Why don’t you just leave?”

It was too late now to apologise.

***

Mattheo let the door swing shut behind him, returning to Riddle Manor after an outing with friends. He glanced around, waiting for a servant to take his coat, but no one answered. An eyebrow cocked, Mattheo slowly walked up the stairs, hearing you instruct the servants on something, every other sentence of yours either containing, ‘please’ or ‘thank you’. Up on the landing, he found you directing a servant who was pulling a rack of your clothing. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “Have you lost your damn mind? Are you trying to send a message or something?”

“You’ve made it perfectly clear that you have no interest in me, so I’m trying to make this marriage as civilised as possible,” you said diplomatically. “I believe that if I move to the West Wing and leave you in the East Wing, it will benefit our marriage.”

“What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this piteous attempt at attention?” he asked rhetorically. “Do you think it’ll make me want you more?” He stuck his tongue in his cheek, grinning incredulously. “You’re delusional if you think that’s even remotely possible.” He stepped closer to you, towering over you with anger in his eyes. “This is not some game, L/n. This is marriage. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

“I’m aware that we’re married, Riddle,” you retorted. “And don’t refer to me by L/n anymore. I am now a Riddle - just like you. However, I am not going to live in a state of constant sorrow and dejection. Having a wing of the mansion to myself may help.”

Mattheo’s jaw tightened as he stared at you, irritated by your resistance. “Fine,” he growled. “But don’t expect me to come running after you when you decide you want attention. You’re on your own now.” He turned away from you and walked into his now solo bedroom. “Just remember - this is your choice.”

You felt your anger inflate. “I thought you would like this!” Your voice rose and you tugged a hand through your hair. It was the first time in your marriage that you had fought back. “I have done everything I can to please you, yet nothing is enough for you!” Your voice turned desperate. “What do you want from me?”

He stopped in his tracks, turning around with surprise and disgust on his face. “Dammit, Y/n! Don’t yell at me like that!” His voice thundered, stepping towards you. “I never asked for any of this! I didn’t ask for a wife or for you to try so hard to please me! All of this is ridiculous.” His hand slashed through the air to make a point. “All I want is some space. Space to figure out what the hell I want. But let’s make one thing clear: I don’t care about you.”

“Am I not giving you space?” Your fists clenched at your sides. “I am moving out of the bedroom and out of your way. Yet, you erupt at me and get angry over nothing! You send me mixed messages and I don’t know what to do.”

Mattheo took a breath, trying to regain control over his emotions. “I am not erupting! Lord, you are so sensitive!” he snapped, running a hand over his face. “Can’t you listen for once? I am not sending you mixed signals. I am trying to figure out my place in this unorthodox situation we’re in.”

After a beat of silence, you asked firmly, “did you talk about me?” After seeing a flicker of confusion on his face, you clarified, “when you were out with your friends, did you talk about me? Did you rant about how annoying I was? Did you complain about marriage?”

His lips parted before taking a breath. “Yes, I talked about you,” he admitted begrudgingly. “I complained about how frustrating I find you and how frustrated I am with my parents for arranging this senseless marriage.”

“What did they say?” you insisted. “Did they sympathise? Did they laugh at me? Did they add fuel to your fire by commenting about how… how ‘needy’ and ‘sensitive’ I am?”

Mattheo made a low sound in his chest and rubbed his temples, frustrated by your persistence. “They agreed with me, yes. A few believed that you are too emotionally attached and sentimental. Others chalked it up to the pains of an average marriage.”

Your anger flared up and you said, “Let me tell you this: I never wanted marriage either. But I at least tried. I tried to be a nice and loving wife and a kind human.” You turned on your heel, marching out of the bedroom and towards the West Wing.

Mattheo watched you go, an unwanted feeling of guilt washing over him. He sighed and walked over to the window. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Why is everything so damn complicated?”

For the next couple of weeks, you stayed true to your word. You avoided Mattheo and his office and stayed in your wing of the mansion. After a week or two, you decided to explore the mansion, stumbling upon a magnificent library. You inhaled in veneration when someone cleared their throat. Mattheo stood behind you, raising an brow. After a silence, you said recalcitrantly, “you never told me that Riddle Manor had a library.”

He smirked at your thinly veiled hatred, amused despite himself. “Well, now you know,” he said dryly. “It’s a perk of living in a Riddle household.” He walked over to a bookshelf and began browsing for a book he required for a contract that was being drafting. He showed no sign of embarrassment or discomfort at your presence. “You may use it whenever you want. But don’t expect me to join a book club or anything juvenile.”

“I would never dream of it,” you said sarcastically. You step further into the library and can’t help but gape at the vastness. You trailed your fingers over the book spines, breathing in the smell of old books. You crouched down to examine a series of poetry titles. “I can read any of these?” you asked hesitantly.

He nodded and leaned against the shelf behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Feel free to read whatever you would like. They’re here for the entire household. Well, the servants don’t have time to read books, so in a Riddle household, the parents and children use the library the most.” Your hand faltered over the titles. “If you find something that catches your eye, go ahead and take it. I won’t stop you.” There was a hint of curiosity in his voice, as if he wished to know what topics and books piqued your interest. You hummed quietly, not fully acknowledging his words. You were already picking up a book and leafing through it. Mattheo watched you for a moment, his eyes softening briefly.

Everyday, you returned to the library. It was an escape from the walls of your room and the walls that Mattheo had put up around his heart.

Eventually, the servants recognised your routine and began to start a fire in the fireplace to keep you warm. They moved a loveseat in front of the fire that you gratefully used. You devoured the poetry collection, including Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe, and started on the classics. Every once in a while, Mattheo would come into the library, but he wouldn’t talk. He simply took a book and returned to his study. Sometimes, you wondered if he remembered you lived in the mansion with him.

Mattheo found himself frequenting the library more often, looking for books he had never needed before. A swell of pride filled him whenever he saw you by the fire, knowing that something in his home brought you such comfort. He still refused to speak to you, maintaining distance and ignoring your existence, but he found himself increasingly drawn to your presence.

One day, on a whim, he decided to take a risk and left a stack of his favourite books on the table next to your chair. That afternoon, you found the stack of books. You smiled despite yourself, though you didn't make any comment to Mattheo. You picked up the first book, sat down in the chair, and began to read.

A week later, Mattheo was hosting a dinner party for his associates. He didn’t say a word about it to you, though you heard the servants preparing for it. You decided not to go, opting to stay in your safe haven of the library.

After an hour or so of faint music, you heard the door to the library squeak open and your head whipped up. You saw one of Mattheo’s friends, Tom, enter and look around. He spotted you and his lips curled up into a smirk. “So you’re the wife we’ve heard so much about?”

Your stomach clenched and you replied, “I guess so.”

Tom’s smirk grew wider as he took in your terse response, enjoying your obvious discomfort. He approached you with a lecherous gaze in his eyes before asking, “and how do you find life as Mrs. Riddle? Are you enjoying your… arrangement?” His words dripped with sarcasm, not believing for a moment that you and Mattheo were married for love.

You stared at him. “It has its perks,” you said simply.

Tom laughed derisively at your response, not convinced by your nonchalance. “And what are those perks?” he asked, moving closer to you. “Extravagant gifts? Luxurious vacations? Or simply the privilege of being married to such a powerful man?”

You squared your shoulders. “I am powerful without a man,” you said sharply. “I do not need a man to determine my worth and prowess.”

Tom scoffed. “Really? How exactly did you become powerful on your own?” he asked, challenging you. “I find it hard to believe that you could ever achieve anything significant without the backing of a powerful husband behind you.” He leaned in closer, grinning.

You closed your book with a snap. “The L/n family,” you said, talking of your maiden lineage, “has had control over many estates and affairs for decades. Without Mattheo Riddle, I would’ve inherited half of it, second only to my brother. I would’ve had four auspicious companies at my ready disposal, capable of doing most anything. So, yes, sir, I would have been momentous without him.”

Tom’s smirk faded as he recognised your family name. He remained undeterred, however, stating, “that explains why your husband was so eager to marry you. He must see you as a valuable asset to his business empire.”

As you opened your mouth to retort, the door banged open and Mattheo strode into the library.

Mattheo had noticed Tom’s absence from his party, but when it became too long to be excused as a restroom break, Mattheo had asked his brother, Enzo, if he had seen where he had gone. Enzo had smiled a small smile and whispered, “Tom went to the library. Where your darling wife stays hidden.”

Mattheo saw red.

He barged into the library, a deadly, lethal, and borderline possessive look deep in his eyes. When he saw Tom flanking you, Mattheo’s expression darkened and his hands clenched into a ready fist. “What the hell are you doing here?” Mattheo demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “This is a private wing of my home - not some place for you to bother my wife.”

Mattheo moved closer to you, placing himself between you and Tom as if to protect you from further harm.

Tom quickly stepped back and placed a confident demeanour on his face. “I was simply having a conversation with your lovely wife here,” Tom gritted his teeth.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, showing clearly that Tom was lying and intruding. You saw Mattheo’s eyes flicker down to you, his eyes softening reassuringly before snapping back to Tom, malice in his gaze.

“Don’t lie to me,” Mattheo snapped at Tom. “There’s no need for any sort of interaction or conversation with my wife unless I am present.” Mattheo placed a hand on the top of your chair, his fingers gripping it and his bicep flexing slightly to warn Tom.

Tom’s eyes flicked with something you hadn’t seen before: fear. Fear commonly associated with the Riddle name. He adjusted his collar and straightened his posture. “Of course, Mr. Riddle,” he said bitterly.

You raised a brow. “I think it’s time for you to go now,” you said, your face stoic. Tom bowed his head slightly before exiting the library. You didn’t look up to meet Mattheo’s eye. You murmured, “you didn’t have to do that. I had it covered.”

Mattheo watched Tom until he completely left the room before turning to look down on you. His voice was threatening, “you may have been able to handle Tom, but I won’t tolerate anyone disrespecting or harassing you while you’re under my roof. Consider this a warning - if anyone tries to cross you again, they will regret it.”

“Perhaps you should tell your coworkers that. Not me,” you replied.

Mattheo’s expression was cold. “Fine. I will,” he growled. “I will not sit idly by and allow anyone to disrespect my wife.” He let go of your chair and adjusted the cuffs of his suit. As if in a business meeting, he said, “And consider this another warning: if you continue to act so stubbornly, I won’t hesitate to remind you of your place in this marriage.”

“My place in this marriage is your wife!” you cried out, finally standing up. “Your equal! Something you seem to forget until it’s convenient for you. Or until another man threatens your… your property! I doubt you see me any differently than this house or your assets.”

Mattheo grabbed onto your arm tightly, pulling you close and leaning down so his face was inches from yours. “Do not ever speak to me like that. You are not my equal - you are my wife and I decide what is best for both of us. If you cannot accept that, then you should reconsider your place in this marriage.” He released your arm and turned away from you, striding towards the door. “I suggest you reflect on your behaviour,” he added icily, leaving the room without looking back.

After he left the library, you let out a scream of frustration. You shoved the pile of books that Mattheo had carefully curated to the floor. They tumbled down, book after book, covers opening and pages bending. Tears pricked at your eyes as you examined the scene.

You slumped into your chair, the fire in front of your crackling softly, emitting a calming warmth.

Eventually, you fell asleep in the chair, tear stains on your cheeks. In the morning, you woke to the serene morning light filtering into the room - a vast contrast to your mood. The fire had dissolved into crackling embers. Tucked on top of you was a thick blanket and the stack of books that you had pushed over had been re-piled and stood majestically atop the table.

You sighed, knowing you should thank the servants for taking care of you and cleaning up.

After you walked to the kitchen, your footfalls heavy, you thanked the servants, who were finishing preparing breakfast. They exchanged glances and one piped up, “Ma’am, while we appreciate the sentiment, we didn’t do that. We weren’t aware that you were still in the library. We believed you had retired to bed before the social last night.” They paused and then added, “however, Mr. Riddle didn’t go to bed. He was in his study until morning light.”

“Oh,” was all you could say. You bid them an awkward goodbye before entering the dining hall.

Mattheo was already seated at the head of the table, his expression exhausted and distant. He didn’t acknowledge you when you approached, focusing instead on the uneaten plate of food in front of him.

You sat down opposite him and muttered, “the servants informed me that you blanketed me last night and cleaned up the books.” You hesitated and finally said, “thank you.”

Mattheo looked up briefly, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t respond directly. “It was necessary,” he said simply. “You should not be cold and uncomfortable in your own home.” He doesn’t make any effort to engage in conversation beyond that. Something was weighing heavily on his mind and he seemed preoccupied by it.

You hummed in response. Eventually, you stood and whispered to your husband before walking out, “you are not as cold as you want to seem. You needn’t keep the facade up with me.”

Mattheo looked up briefly before returning to his food. His expression relaxed, but he didn’t respond.

***

Later that day, Mattheo sat in his study as he always did. A knock came from the door and he glanced at the clock. It was a bit early for lunch to be delivered, but he announced, “come in.”

The door creaked open and your head peeked into the room. Mattheo’s brows furrowed - not with malice, but with scrutiny. You entered and sat in one of the two seats next to his fireplace. Silently, you cracked open a book you had brought and began to read.

Mattheo watched you intently, his gaze never wavering as he took in every detail of your face. He tried to find any acrimonious intent behind your actions, but you looked so peaceful. He found himself noticing the details of your face and your beauty as the fire cast warm highlights on your eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked eventually, his voice holding an armour of needed suspicion.

“Reading,” you said simply.

Mattheo frowned, not convinced by your answer. Why would you read in his study after the way he had been treating you? He leaned back in his chair, his work forgotten. “Isn’t there something more important that you could be occupying your time with?” he challenged.

“Not particularly,” you responded. “You’re in charge of the companies and estates. I have nothing to do. I thought I would accompany you. You must get lonely in a study by yourself.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, but ultimately nodded slowly. “Alright,” he agreed after a moment. “But don’t think I will stop working simply because my wife is here.” His posture grew taut as he began looking over documents again. “This is still my office and I expect you to behave accordingly.”

“I’m simply reading,” you murmured, a smile inching its way up your lips.

Henceforth, a routine was established. Every morning, you would knock on Mattheo’s study door, usually an hour or so after he began working. There was rarely conversation, the silence being broken by Mattheo’s scratch of a quill or you turning pages, occasionally being disrupted by the loud crack of a log in the fire.

One day, you had finished your book (it was an excellent book, one from the pile Mattheo had recommended) and stood to go retrieve another one. At the sound of your footsteps leaving his office, Mattheo’s head darted up and he suddenly asked, “where are you going?”

You paused and turned back to him. “I’m to get a new book. Unfortunately, as wonderful as this one was, it had an ending like all books do.”

Mattheo frowned and a hint of vulnerability broke through his exterior. “Get a servant to do it,” he offered.

“Well, I don’t know which one I want,” you counted, raising a brow in a smirk.

He huffed and shook his head, returning his eyes to his documents. He grumbled, “I will commission the servants to build you a small bookshelf for my office. You can keep your books there.” You stood, watching him for a moment, admiring him until his gaze snapped up. “Well, go get your book,” he said sharply. “… but hurry back,” he added in a mumble.

You finally smiled at him before exiting and Mattheo gazed at the place you once stood, trying to memorise how your lips curled up and your eyes crinkled when you smiled.

He rather liked it when you smiled.

***

“Are you alright?”

You sniffed and laughed. “Yes, yes. I’m being foolish.” You wiped some tears from your eyes. “My book is very good.”

Mattheo chuckled lowly. “And what made you cry, hm?”

“A daughter and father interaction,” you replied quietly.

“Was the father cruel to the daughter?” Mattheo laughed tersely, shaking his head at his documents. “Are your feelings not strong enough to withstand their wrath?”

You frowned at Mattheo, setting the book down. “No,” you corrected slowly. “The father was being kind to his daughter. He was supporting her and loving her; as a father should.” There was a pause as Mattheo looked up at you. “I know that the Riddles are a harsher family - I’ve known ever since I knew I was to marry you. But… but are you alright?”

You felt absurd asking the question. Yet, when Mattheo couldn’t meet your eye, a wistful sadness blanketing the room, you felt as if you should’ve asked the simple question weeks earlier.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then Mattheo turned in his chair so his back was facing you. "I'm fine," he finally answered, his voice rough and strained. "I am used to dealing with it, I suppose." Despite his insistence that he didn't need anyone's pity or concern, your words seem to have affected him more deeply than he wanted to admit.

“May I ask a question?” you asked softly.

Mattheo hesitated for a moment before nodding, his eyes never leaving the window as he spoke. "Ask away," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He then cleared his throat and said, "but I won’t give a warm and fuzzy answer."

There was a pregnant pause in the air as you gathered your courage up and suddenly thrust your fears upon your husband. “If we ever have children, which we’re somewhat expected to,” you added hurriedly. “I don’t want them to grow up in a household where they feel as if they have to vie for love or attention. And I don’t want me to be the only one giving them attention.” Mattheo turned his head so his face was angled toward you, but his eyes could still stray to the window if need be. “If we have kids, can you promise that you’ll love them? Even if you don’t love me?”

Even though your voice was steady, Mattheo knew of the vulnerability deeply rooted within you.

He nodded cautiously, his expression serious. "I promise," he said firmly. "I may not love you, but I will love our children unconditionally. They will never have to compete for my affection or feel neglected. I may not be a fond father, but I will provide for them and protect them as best I can." A protectiveness filled his veins just at the thought of something happening to his future children.

You nodded once, a sad smile on your face. “Perhaps we’ll have a big family. Enough children to start a sports team.” You smiled at the thought, laughing lightly.

Mattheo smiled, despite himself, imagining a large brood of children running around the manor. It was an oddly appealing idea, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. "We'll see," he said noncommittally. "I'd rather have lots of sons; they'll carry on the family name and ensure my legacy continues." He turned back around and attempted to focus on his work.

“And daughters too.” You frowned, staring at your husband, even if he wouldn’t spare you a glance. “Daughters can carry on the family name just as well as sons.” A muscle in your jaw ticked.

Mattheo scowled at your defiance, his eyes narrowing slightly. Why hadn’t you just fallen into line? "Fine, daughters too," he reluctantly agrees. "But make no mistake, they will be raised to be strong and capable like their brothers. The Riddle name demands nothing less."

“And the sons can be soft and caring and sensitive,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have to vie for affection. I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have needless competition in their life. I don’t want them to grow up… like, well… you.” You finally uttered the words that had been hanging off your tongue dangerously.

Mattheo’s expression hardened as he clenched his fist tightly. "Fine!" he snapped. "They can be whatever the hell you want them to be! But don't expect me to sit back and watch while they become weaklings and failures. We need to teach them to be strong and ruthless like I am." He stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair in the process.

You jump up after him, crossing towards him. You whirled to a stop in front of him, jabbing a finger towards his chest. “Listen here, Riddle. Just because someone is kind and vulnerable doesn’t mean they’re weak!” You growled, “and just because you grew up like that, does not mean that’s the type of household I am going to have.”

Mattheo stepped forward and his hand flew up to grip your wrist. His eyes blazed with anger, but then something changed in his expression and he took a step back, looking surprised at his own reaction. "You're right," he admitted begrudgingly. "I shouldn't have assumed that being vulnerable meant being weak." He ran a hand through his hair, looking embarrassed, yet resolute in his decision. "But don't expect me to be a pushover either. I'll still teach them to be strong and independent."

“Strong and independent are good qualities,” you conceded. “Both for the boys and girls.”

"Agreed," he said. Mattheo straightened his cuffs and cleared his throat. "Our children will be taught to be strong and independent, regardless of gender. They will know that they are loved and valued by both of us, equally." He held out his hand to you, indicating that the argument was over - for now at least. "Deal?"

“Deal.” You shook his hand defiantly. It was a business deal, but a good deal at least.

Mattheo exhaled and brushed past you. “I’m to a meeting,” he informed you. It was a simple comment , one that was an offhand remark, but to you, Mattheo had just let you into his life. It was something he had never done before. Even if it was just a response to where he was off to, it was a window into his life. A life that now may have enough room to hold you.

Mattheo paused when he reached the door. “I never knew the way I grew up was wrong until I saw other families. I saw the parents bending down to listen to their children instead of hushing them. I saw parents comforting their children after scraped knees, not pushing them to the kitchen for some rubbing alcohol. I saw parents beaming when their child could plunk out the simplest of tunes on the piano. No one else got berated for being out of rhythm or playing a D instead of an E. I never saw another child get slapped by their parents or scolded as harshly as I was. It was around then I realised that something was wrong. But what was I to do about it?”

Words dried in your throat. You wanted to cry at his words, but you felt dried out. How could someone treat their child like that? It explained so much…

Your husband was a fragile man, you were just realising. And he was trying to pick up the pieces and present them to you in the only way he knew how.

"The stars remind me of you,” he said quietly, the change in conversation sudden. “I mean that in the best possible way.” His voice was the softest and most tender as you had ever heard it. You hoped he would keep speaking the melodies that made your heart sing in tune.

“How so?” you asked, afraid to break the plane of existence that you and Mattheo were carefully standing on.

"They are so beautiful, yet so far away. I may see them, but I can never touch them."

***

The servants didn’t know what to do. The master and mistress, Mr. and Mrs. Riddle, seemed to be at a ceasefire. The cooks lamented at how they had seemed to be doing so well. The maids thought they were destined to doom from the start. The butlers gossiped about Mr. Riddle’s letters to a Mr. Tom, terminating their long-term partnership. The scullery maid still had hope that the husband and wife would come to their senses and live a happy life.

It perplexed the servants when the mistress requested to move her belongings back into the master bedroom and the master looked on, a soft smile on his lips. It confused the servants when the Mr and Mrs began taking meals together and talking in hushed tones late into the night. And it bamboozled the servants when, one summer afternoon, the Lord of the household stood from his desk, cautiously moved to his Lady that was reading by the open window, and asked her to accompany him on a walk. She had accepted.

There was to be a dinner party, this time hosted at Mr. Draco Malfoy’s manor, that Mr. Riddle was expected to attend. Per usual, the master didn’t invite the mistress, but she was content to stay home. A maid briefly heard the madam whisper to her husband, “hurry home, please? I don’t like it when you’re away.” The maid had scurried away before she could hear the reply.

Mattheo returned home that night, just before the sun was setting. He climbed the steps, unbuttoning his cuffs and loosening his tie. The soft glow of light was still shining under your shared bedroom - something he still hadn’t gotten used to - and Mattheo couldn’t help but smile.

“Why are you still up?” he asked quietly when he entered the room.

“You promised to be home early and I wanted to see you before I go to bed,” you reminded him, a small book in your hands.

“Right, right.” Mattheo chuckled and shook his head, slinging off his tie and jacket.

“How was the dinner?”

Mattheo hummed noncommittally. “Not the worst. A couple of my good friends, Theo and Pansy, were there to help alleviate the pain of socialising. But… I found something odd happening.”

“And what was that, husband?” Mattheo took a moment to relish in the way that word curled off your tongue effortlessly.

“I found myself wishing you were there. Nay,” he quickly corrected himself. “I wished I was here with you.”

“Oh?” Your eyes flickered up towards Mattheo, a slight blush coming to your cheeks. “Why… what do you mean by that?”

Mattheo began to unbutton his shirt and moved towards his closet. “Well,” he admitted, mumbling to himself. “I simply mean that instead of having to socialise with people who are too tightly wound and whose only intent is to take my money,” he chucked his belt into his closet and rolled up his sleeves, “I would rather be at home with my darling wife.”

A smile inched up your lips. “Really? Tell me more about this darling wife of yours.”

Mattheo hummed, stepping towards the bed. He crawled down on the bed, leaning on his forearms to lean up towards you. “My wife… I’ve come to care deeply about her. She is a beautiful, elegant woman, one who has a fiery tongue about her and an intelligent brain that even I cannot rival. She always seems to get her way, even when I try to fight back. It’s as if my wife has a command over me that I have willingly submitted to. And I am not ashamed to say so.” He lightly caressed your arm, sending a trail of goosebumps up your skin.

“You must be careful, Mattheo,” you uttered. “That sounds an awful lot like love.”

Mattheo brought his eyes up to meet yours, the sting of tears building up behind them. His voice cracked as he said, “that’s the first time you’ve called me by my name, Y/n.”

Your lips parted in shock. “I- I didn’t realise. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Mattheo demanded before reaching up to pull you into a kiss.

His lips were soft and meaningful against yours, hungrily trying to gather every ounce of love from you. His kisses were feverish at first, his strong hand coming up to cup your jawline, his fingers just teasing behind your ear, before his lips slowed. Mattheo was a starved man and he wouldn’t let anyone take away his only solace. He shifted so he could be closer to you, gently taking the book from your hands as you surrendered yourself to him. Your hands found his silk shirt, gripping it in your fists. He placed the book on the nightstand and moved so he was hovering over you, never once letting a second go by without feeling your skin against his.

Mattheo slowly, achingly pulled away from you and his eyes fluttered open to meet yours. “My darling, my love, my life,” he murmured, dragging a knuckle down your cheek. “I apologise for everything I have ever done or said that made you feel inferior. I would be happy to kneel for you in front of my associates and family members - just to show them how much power you have over me.” He took a breath before persisting, “I was foolish. I was incompetent. I didn’t realise how much love I held for you. It is, and always will be, only you. I will promise you this: you will be the only woman I ever touch, the only voice I ever want to hear, the only skin I will ever caress, and the only eyes I ever want to see. I will wake and fall, every morning and night, thinking of you. You are the other half of my heart, for it is you who I love. I will place the galaxies and stars in the night sky for you. If you are ever unhappy, my love, I will not rest until I see you smile again. If you are ever mad, my love, I shall smite whatever upsets you, even if it is I. And I would die a happy man if you could give me only an ounce of what I give you.”

Your breath shook and you swore Mattheo had injected ambrosia into your veins for you were sure your blood was singing with the love that was filling your soul. “I wrote a letter to your mother today,” you offered quietly, as if your mere words could ever compare to the love poem Mattheo had just gifted to you. “And I thanked her.” Mattheo’s eyes flashed with confusion. You continued, “I thanked her for birthing such a wonderful husband and for raising him. I know you u wish to renounce your family, but as of now, I want to thank them with all my heart. Mattheo, I love you.”

“And I you,” Mattheo whispered, bringing his forehead down to rest on yours. His nose bumped against your cheek and he couldn’t contain his grin anymore. “How did I ever get so lucky?” he mumbled.

You laughed lightly. “Luck? Fate?”

Mattheo shook his head and his nose brushed light curves over your skin. “No, my wife. Simply love. Pure, unconditional love.”

***

The house was bright, the curtains pulled as far open as they could be. Some servants scuttled around, holding laundry or preparing for dinner. Meanwhile, Mattheo strode leisurely through the halls, smiling lovingly as his nephews chased each other through the halls. “What do I say, boys?” he called after them.

“Have fun, be safe, and don’t get caught!” they yelled back before running around a corner.

Enzo jogged after them and grumbled to Mattheo, “it’s not your duty to rule them up.”

“As their favourite uncle, yes, it is.”

“Your wife is in Andromeda’s room,” Enzo told his brother before sprinting off after his sons. Enzo wasn’t usually at Riddle Manor, but today was a special day. It was Orion’s birthday.

Mattheo chuckled to himself before Orion raced up the steps, panting. “Papa! Papa!”

Mattheo grinned widely and scooped Orion up. “Are you alright, hm? What’ve you been up to?”

“Aunt Pansy’s carriage just pulled up!” Orion bounced in Mattheo’s arms, beaming.

“And you’re not even dressed,” Mattheo stared at Orion, pretending to be stunned. “Where’s your mother, Ori?”

“She’s helping Andy get dressed,” Orion announced. Mattheo nodded and carried his son to his daughter’s room. “Mum!” Orion cried out, seeing Y/n standing behind Andromeda, knotting her hair into a braid.

“Oh, my darling,” Y/n tied Andy’s hair up before crossing to Mattheo and taking Orion from his arms. “Are you excited for your birthday?”

Orion hummed excitedly and wiggled down from Y/n’s arms. He darted to Andromeda and wrapped himself around her in a tight hug. Andromeda grumbled, but allowed him to cling to her as she finished her hair and rouge.

Mattheo took Y/n’s hand and pulled her back toward him, nudging his nose against hers. “Look at that,” he murmured, reaching down to play with the silver and green ring on your finger. “Mine.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. Slowly, as to not arouse suspicion from your children, he backed you up and caged you against the wall in his arms. “Seven years with you and two beautiful children to show for it.”

“Hey, mum? Where’s my- eugh!” Andromeda turned around and reeled back from the scene in front of her. “For the love of Salazar, please get a room!”

“We are in a room.” Mattheo smirked, glancing up from the crook of your neck.

“Aren’t you two, if I'm doing my calculations correctly, nearing thirty years old?” Andromeda tsked and rolled her eyes.

“You believe that simply because we’re getting older, I’m going to stop loving your mother?” Mattheo chuckled before pressing a light kiss to your jawline.

You shivered and tucked your face into your husband’s chest. “Matty, spare the poor children,” you chastised lightly. “What do you need, darling?” you turned towards Andromeda.

“You used to call me that,” Mattheo whined. He stepped back from you, letting you out of his embrace.

Andromeda sighed and asked, “where is my white shawl? It’ll go well with the dress I’m planning to wear to Orion’s party.”

“Why does it matter what you wear to Orion’s party?” Mattheo asked, puzzled.

“Because Albus Potter is going to be here,” you said as if it were obvious.

“Harry Potter’s son?” Mattheo asked incredulously. “That scumbag?”

Both you and Andromeda ignored Mattheo and Orion left the room at the sound of Aunt Pansy entering the foyer and shouting out for her favourite nephew.

“Your shawl should be in the library,” you answered. “Ori was using it as a blanket yesterday.”

Andromeda sighed and turned towards the door. “He needs to stop taking my things. Just last week he stole my candelabra so he could read in the dark. Perhaps you should accelerate his schooling. He’s getting bored, you know.”

“We’ll raise our own son, thank you, Andromeda,” Mattheo raised a brow. Andy huffed and and flicked her dress out behind her dramatically, exiting the room. Mattheo turned to you and said, “they get that from you. The love of reading.”

“Yes, but they get their flair for the dramatics from you. And lest us not forget, you keep fuelling our love of literature by buying more books and expanding our library,” you countered.

Mattheo hummed. “‘Tis true. But how could I live without spoiling my wife and children?” He whirled you around in his arms and pressed a long kiss to your lips. “Speaking of children, what would you think of expanding our family?”

You let out a laugh. “You simply like the act of making a bigger family.”

“I love my children too,” Mattheo defended.

You reached up and brushed some of his hair away from his face. “Yes you do,” you smiled up at him. “You love your family very much.”

“Always.”

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kylejsugarman · 2 years

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funniest part of breaking bad is that jesse lived in like three separate places over the course of the show and every single time he moved somewhere new, a character had to come in and look around and reenact this exact panel while jesse just stood there half-asleep in a 3XL t-shirt

#syd squeaks #him just having a literal pile of loose weed on his kitchen counter in aunt ginny's house is the funniest thing ever tbh #breaking bad #jesse pinkman

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department-of-landing-strategies · 3 months

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I think Great Aunt Muriel's favourites out of Molly Wesley's kids are Percy and Ginny. However, I don't think Ginny particularly likes that and Percy only tolerates it.

#percy weasley #ginny weasley #great aunt muriel #no i will not elaborate

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elisedonut · 8 months

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concept that just popped in my head because i was thinking about my(25) two little sisters(both under 7)

but Ron and Ginny being next gen babies and the relationship changes that could potentially cause

specifically with like Fred George and Percy because I can't see it having much effect on Bill and Charlie's lives other then like now their family wasn't so smack dab in the middle of a war I guess and slightly less strain on funds unless you just want to go full out au and age everyone down a bit so the twins are in Harry's year or something

But like would that shift their relationship any? would the twins be more desperate for Percy's attention or less?

How would they all react to the news of having another sibling when the twins are already in their 20's

Also which siblings would be the most popular with Ron and Ginny when now they all have that cool uncle, only have to see then for a little while thing going on that only Bill and Charlie had originally

Since Molly and Arthur are older and probably thinking about it more what sibling is the designated new caretaker if something happens to them

Also just

Victoire: But Aunt Ginny said I could!

Bill: Yeah well Aunt Ginny is five so she doesn't get to make big decisions either

#percy weasley #ronald weasley #ginny weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #bill weasley #the weasleys #also that quote is legit something my niece said recently btw #she really thought just referring to my sister as her Aunt would mean its fine for her to go outside without telling anyone else #childrens logic

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ladiesofhpfest · 7 months

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Friday Fic Recs!

It's time for Friday Fic Recs with the Ladies of HP Fest! This week we've got seven recs for you to dig into over the weekend!

Fic Recs for Friday the 27th of October, including part of the summary from the author. This week, all our recs came from our ask box. You can also submit recs on Discord. Come join us!

slipped (and said something sort of like your name) by @pebblysand. Leading lady: Ginny Weasley. M, 8.2k words. Summary: Harry, Ginny, the kids, and the way they deal with the impact that Tom has had on their lives.

come, my darling, homeward bound by @meowkittykenma/azumarheart. Leading lady: Molly Weasley. G, 3.5k words. Summary: Molly Weasley is the loving adult figure Harry needs but has never had. Also sprinkled in with a headcanon that Molly has a divination infused maternal instinct.

Orchids on the Black Lake by @maria-de-salinas. Leading lady: Minerva McGonagall. T, 3.2k words. Summary: One month after the death of her beloved Elphinstone, Minerva McGonagall must deal with her grief and decide whether she wants to continue teaching. Along the way, she finds an unexpected source of comfort.

Aunt Muriel by @pottermum. Leading ladies: Aunt Muriel Weasley and Lily Luna Potter. T, 3.4k words. Summary: Every family has that one annoying relative.

Watering Petunias by @englandwouldfall. Leading ladies: Petunia Evans Dursley and Aunt Muriel (yes, another Muriel story!). G, 4.6k words. Summary: She can feel the dirt crawling up her sleeves and invading her clean pristine life . . .she is being plucked, once more, from a sea of flowers. When was she ever really given a choice?

Another Love by @justfinishthis. Leading lady: Euphemia Potter. G, 2k words. Summary: Euphemia Potter hears that her son is in love and she has fears.

The 34th Amelia Bones Solstice Party by woldy. Leading ladies: Augusta Longbottom & a party of all the best girlies. G, 2.8k words. Summary: This year there is no invitation to Amelia Bones' Solstice party on Augusta's mantelpiece. There is no longer an Amelia to throw it. Yet she always said the party must go on, and Augusta's determined that it will.

We would love to receive recs in the ask box or in the rec channel on our Discord server. Almost any fic that is female-centric is welcome (exception: fics that feature explicit underage sexual content). We look forward to sharing more recs with you!

#ladies of hp #ladies of hp fest #ginny weasley #molly weasley #minerva mcgonagall #aunt muriel #muriel weasley #petunia evans dursley #petunia dursley #lily evans #lily evans potter #euphemia potter #augusta longbottom #amelia bones #fic rec

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angrylesbianstereotype · 2 years

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Brba tumblrinas do me a solid and reblog this post w/ your personal headcanons ab Jesse’s new life in Alaska. I would like to feel happiness again.

#i’ll go first one of his kids is named after aunt ginny #obviously he has a husky dog but also #a dilf boyfriend who probably aligns w his type of brunette former addict #they met at an na meeting #he draws comics for his kids that sometimes end up in the local newspaper bc the bf submits them #vince and aaron said he works for a ski manufacturer and does woodwork in the meantime #so not exactly a headcanon but i love that for him #jesse pinkman #breaking bad #brba #el camino

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ameliathefatcat · 3 months

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Teddy’s favorite Quidditch team is a controversial issue

#teddy lupin #Harry Potter #Teddy is raised by many people soooo #don’t bring his Uncle Andre into this mess either #he doesn’t play for Pride of Portree but he’s a big fan #his Aunt Ginny plays for the hollyhead harpies but his Aunt Skye’s whole family plays for the wigtown wanderers #it was real bad when he was baby/toddler since he would get a lot of hollyhead and wigtown merch

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victortalkingmachine · 1 year

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the worst thing that ever happened to me was when i was explaining the plot of "the happy hypocrite" (an 1897 short story that's sort of an adaptation of the picture of dorian gray) to my sister and my father thought i was talking about "some demented potter fic" ☹️

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hay-389 · 2 months

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Started watching Ginny and Georgia and I…I don’t even know what to say. It is such an amazing show but I swear I’m split on the whole Ginny train. I’ve heard things before about how a lot of people don’t like her because she is a spoiled brat who doesn’t appreciate anything (from what I’ve heard.), which I kinda agree to an extent, but y’all have to remember she’s also a teenager going through all this shit.

There’s just a lot of miscommunication on both sides—shared blame. I def think she says some shitty things to Georgia. Even if they are true it doesn’t have to be said how she says them; words hurt, you can see that on her mother’s face. You can’t completely blame her for freaking out though and wanting a normal life like other kids.

But it’s hard to completely blame Georgia for her parenting style and what she does, because we as the viewers know what her life was like and that she stepped up and tried the absolute best she could to give her kids the life she never got because she loves them to death. So in that aspect, yes, Ginny doesn’t get it because she never had to worry about what her mother has since she’s been protected and cared for her entire life. I think that’s why I gravitate towards Georgia more because I understand, coming from a life where you have to struggle to make ends meet. I mean I would have killed for a life like Ginny’s as a teen. I do think sometimes she doesn’t quite appreciate what she has, even without all the lies and stuff. We also have to remember tho that Ginny doesn’t know the whole story either which complicates everything, and again, she’s just a kid.

Idk, it’s like this whole messy situation with blame on both sides. Ginny has made me mad a lot, I can’t lie. I’m just out of my teens, like by almost 2 years, so I think I’m stuck in that inbetween area of understanding how Ginny feels but also getting Georgia too. I also am like the complete opposite of Ginny, even as a teen, so I think I’m also liking Georgia more in the way of thinking I would’ve been way more likely to be friends with her as a teen then with her daughter. (I didn’t have those wild party friends nor the boy drama. And I def don’t mess with cheating.)

Just my thoughts on season one. I am about to start season two, but I just needed to vent.

#ginny and georgia #ginny miller #georgia miller #idk what to think anymore #I will say I think what made me the maddest is when Georgia told Ginny what happened to her as a kid #and her aunt explained what thier mother was like #and then she’s still mad and complaining about how it’s not fair Georgia kept her away from them #like ma’am #be fr #what your mother said should be enough to be glad she kept you away #coming from someone who has a parent like thier mother #idk tho #🤷🏻‍♀️#sorry I didn’t mean to talk so long

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eunoiathewriter · 2 years

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H. POTTER X F!READER

Synopsis: Harry Potter falling more and more in love with y/n Weasley.

Word Count: 10k

Second year:

The flight had been rather calm. For a fourteen-year-old, Fred had been driving quite well, a little wobbly at times, but not something that had made George, Ron, or Harry freak out. It had been dark when the flying blue car had suddenly appeared outside Harry's window. The three Weasley brothers had shown up at just the right time, helping him get out of 4 Privet Drive. Harry knew that his aunt and uncle would not have done what they did if it weren't for that elf. Dobby. But now he was away from there, and Fred had just landed the car outside a house that was built as if with time, more rooms had been built on it, adding on to the height.

As they entered, Harry was hit by a domestic feeling. The house is homely. As they entered the house and entered the kitchen, Harry noticed how each chair was unique. Even the cabinets were an assortment of different styles. The water at the sink was running and a pan was being washed by nothing. It was a spell.

Harry continued into the house and stopped at a clock-like thing where he could see pictures of all the Weasley siblings he'd met. The three pictures of Ron, George, and Fred moved from standing on "Lost" to "Home". The green-eyed boy scanned it and could even spot the three other siblings' pictures on the clock. Percy, Ginny, and y/n all pointed to "bed". Signalling that the other three were still asleep just at this moment. His eyes stayed a bit longer on the picture of y/n before he turned to what was left of the living area. In an armchair, it was as if someone was invisible and knitting, a pair of tapestry needles moving and knitting something Harry had no idea of what.

"It's not much, but it's home." Ron said this while chewing on a cookie from the table.

"I think it's brilliant," Harry breathed and looked up in amazement. Still in awe of it all.

The quiet and peaceful feeling soon left, however, as it felt as if his soul had left his body when Molly Weasley appeared out of nowhere.

"Where have you been?" She exclaimed at her sons, but quickly softened on seeing Harry for a split second. "Harry, how wonderful to see you, dear."

Ron, George, and Fred looked down as Molly continued. "Beds are empty. No note. Car gone. You could've died. You could have been seen. Of course, I don't blame you, Harry, dear. "

"They were starving him, mum, and put bars on his window!" Ron protested, and Harry nodded along with his friend.

"Well, you best hope I don't put bars on your window, Ronald Weasley." Fred and George, behind Ron, pulled faces at what their mum said. "Come on, Harry, time for a spot of breakfast."

Harry had piled a good amount of food onto his plate just as rapid footsteps bombarded down the stairs of the house, making Harry turn his head. "Mummy, have you seen my jumper?"

It was Ginny, or well, her real name was Ginerva, but it was George who had come up with Ginny since she didn't like her name. "Yes, dear, it was on the cat." Molly answered.

When Ginny came face to-face with Harry, she smiled a little mischievously, but was still in shock that he was there. But Harry simply smiled at the youngest Weasley. "Hello,"

Within seconds, Ginny bombarded up the stairs again, giggling as Harry and Ron gave her confused looks, but Fred and George snickered at Ginny. "y/n!!" They could hear the younger girl call for her older sister, making Fred and Geroge almost burst out laughing right there and then.

"W-what did I do?" Harry asked, confusion flooding his voice whilst taking a bite of his food.

"Ginny. She's been asking about you all summer. It's kind of annoying actually. " Ron said to his raven-haired friend.

Then someone came walking down the stairs of the house once more, but this time not with the same rushed tempo but a rather calm one. And to Harry's delight, the footsteps belonged to the one girl he was just as ecstatic to meet again as he had been with Ron. Her voice was what broke the silence at the table. "Mum! Can you tell Ginny to quit being a little gremlin?" y/n's voice had gone from pitchy to a more even one over the summer, from what Harry could hear.

"Oh, what is she doing now?" Molly asked just as it seemed y/n stepped down from the last step of the stairs.

"She isn't shutting up about...Harry?" y/n cut herself off as she turned the corner and saw Harry sitting on Charlie's chair beside Ron. Now this was strange. Weren't they supposed to meet him on the train?

"Hello." Harry smiled at the girl. She had clearly grown quite a bit over the summer. Even from where he sat, Harry could see she had gotten a bit taller. She wore long pyjama bottoms and a long-sleeved shirt, clearly having just gotten up. Harry didn't know it then, but his cheeks felt so hot because of the fact that he was slightly flustered. But how was a twelve-year-old supposed to know that?

y/n still stood glued to her place by the stairs, squinting at Harry, who furrowed his brows in confusion at her. Her eyes then travelled between the two twins, who seemed to be having a hard time breathing and then over to Ron. She didn't even bother to look over at Percy. She knew he had been sound asleep, judging by how out of it he looked.

Just as she was supposed to ask her brothers, however, it was Arthur Weasley walking through the door that stopped her. "Morning, Weasleys!"

"Morning, dad!" All the Weasley siblings greeted their dad, and Harry chimed in with a lower 'Hello' but still a smile on his face.

Arthur walked up and hugged y/n since she was the only one standing up and then just gently pushed her to go and sit down, which she did. "What a night, nine raids! Nine! "

"Raids?" Harry turned to Ron and y/n who had sat down beside her one-year-younger brother.

"Dad works in the Ministry of Magic, in the misuse of muggle artefacts office." Ron explained it to his friend as Arthur hugged Molly behind them."

"Dad loves muggles, thinks they are fascinating." y/n joined in with a smile, and Harry was slightly confused by the work Mr. Weasley did, but most new things in the wizarding world were confusing.

"Well, now." But Arthur stopped at seeing Harry as he sat down by the table. "And who are you?"

"Oh, sorry, sir. I'm Harry, sir. Harry Potter." He said, which made Arthur's eyes go just a little wide looking at the boy.

"God, Lord, are you really?" Arthur breathed. "Well, Ron and y/n's told us all about you, of course. When did he get here? "

Harry glanced over at y/n who was looking at her mum to hear how he got there. "This morning, your sons flew that enchanted car of yours to Surrey and back last night." Molly told, making both Arthur and y/n look at her with wide eyes.

"Did you really? How'd it go? " Arthur asked bewildered with a smile. To try to explain it, all the boys started talking about it to the man, but Molly made them all shut up when she hit her husband's shoulder.

"I mean, that was very wrong indeed, boys, very wrong of you."

"So that's what you sneaky little gits were doing!" y/n said pointedly at her brothers. Harry smiled to himself as Fred, George, and Ron all looked down a little.

"Well, you looked so peaceful when sleeping," George started.

"Besides, didn't you tell us just yesterday to let you sleep?" Fred asked to make an argument start between the twins and y/n. Harry and Ron shake their heads but still smiling. Arthur then asking Harry about rubber ducks.

——

Harry let out a deep breath of air as the memory of Tom Riddle was destroyed. In his hand he still held the basilisk's tooth, which was now bloodied along with his hand from stabbing the diary with it. The diary, which had once been intact with a black leather cover, was now completely destroyed by the vicious stabbings Harry had delivered to it.

He sat back, just as y/n's eyes opened. Her pulse had, without Harry's knowing, gone back to a more even one every time he stabbed the diary. Her eyes were wide as she breathed deeply, letting the oxygen enter her lungs and make her more and more stable.

Harry looked over at the girl as she began to sit up slowly, pushing herself up from her back with her arms. She was clearly very disoriented as she looked around to find herself in the Chamber of Secrets, Salazar Slytherin's secret creation.

"y/n?" Harry caught her attention, holding his hurt arm. y/n turned and found Harry sitting there; dirt and grime had stuck to his face and clothes. A few splashes of blood from the basilisk here and there.

"Harry," She breathed, clearly still a bit out of it, but soon started to apologise. "It was me, but I swear, I didn't mean to. Riddle made me. I just found the diary in Ginny's cauldron when we left Flourish and Blotts and... Harry, you're hurt. "

y/n had cut her explanation and apology off at seeing the boys' arm. He quickly covered it. Even though he knew she was a year older, she seemed very confused and scared just there and then. As if she wasn't already one of the smartest of her siblings. "Don't worry. y/n, you need to get yourself out. Follow the Chamber and you'll find Ron."

It was just then that the screech of Fawkes echoed through the chamber, the red phoenix standing out against the dark and gloomy place. Fawkes lands between the two, and he makes his way up to Harry. Seeming to look at him with sad eyes.

"You were brilliant, Fawkes. I just wasn't quick enough." Harry told the Phoenix, through gritted teeth, the pain was still very intense in his arm.

Fawkes took a look at Harry before leaning his head down towards the boy's arm. Tilting his head, tears, shockingly, fell from Fawkes' eyes. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. And with that, the circular wound from the basilisk bite was just a memory that had vanished with smoke. y/n's eyes went wide as she just stared at Harry's arm.

"Of course, Phoenix tears have healing powers. Thanks. " Harry thanked the phoenix. It's alright, y/n. It's over, it's just a memory. "

y/n's shoulders went from tense to relaxed. It was over. But this year, y/n had not been there to help through it all, she had caused it all, a burden that would loom over her for years to comeBut Harry couldn't help but crack the smallest of smile at seeing the girl alive again instead of dead like others pressured her to be. He knew how relieved her siblings and parents would be to see her alive again, and just as she looked up at Harry, he had to look away for a second. His cheeks were slightly warm under her gaze, and he had a boyish smile on his face.

Oh sweet little Harry, he really had no clue what all these feelings meant.

Third year:

The weather had gotten worse during the train ride to Hogwarts. The sky had grown dark and gloomy, with clouds covering the better part of it. Harsh drops of rain thundered against the window of the train. Sliding down the glass as if the drops of water were competing to see who could be the fastest.

Inside the compartment, it was luckily warm. Harry was talking about everything with Sirius Black that Arthur had told him just before they left for the platform. Ron sat with Scabbers and Hermione on the left side of the compartment, all while y/n sat beside Harry on the right one with Crookshanks having crawled up in her lap. By the window on the right side, sat an unknown man to the four. He was sound asleep. He wasn't snoring, but he hadn't moved an inch in response to the four talking.

"Let me get this straight. Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban to come after you?" Ron asked, slightly horrified at the thought.

"Yeah," Harry simply answered.

"But they'll catch Black, won't they? I mean, everyone's looking for him. " Hermione said.

"Sure,"

"Except, no-one's ever broken out of Azkaban before and he is a murderous, raving lunatic." Ron added after his sister attempted to reassure him. y/n gave him a 'really' look as she petted Crookshanks.

"Thanks, Ron." Harry thanked him sarcastically.

The train suddenly started to stop, breakes screeching. The sudden stop made all four tense, and Crookshanks quickly jumped over and curled up beside Hermione. Harry had reached out to steady himself at the stop and happened to lay his hand on top of y/n's. It made her turn her head quickly and just glance at it, making Harry quickly remove his hand.

"Why are we stopping?" Hermione asked with confusion. "We can't be there yet."

When Harry had recovered from his embarrassing move just seconds before, he stood up. He opened the door to the compartment and looked outside to see if he could get any idea of what was wrong. It seemed other students at Hogwarts had the same idea, as Harry could see fellow schoolmates doing just like him. But when the train shook vigorously, it caused the green-eyed boy to get thrown back into his seat inside the compartment as the compartment door closed. y/n squeaked as Harry stumbled back and moved out of his way. Pressed up against the wall of the compartment door.

"What's going on?" Ron looked around.

"Dunno. Maybe we've broken down. " Harry suggested it to the other three, but the lights went out just as he said so. Hermione and Y/N gasped as they looked up at the newly turned off lights.

"Ouch Ron, that was my foot." Hermione huffed at the Weasley boy who had moved to look out the window. Pressing his face against it and trying to just get a glimpse of what it might have been that caused the sudden stop. The light suddenly flickers on again.

"There's something moving out there."

y/n looked towards her brother, and her face held just the slightest bit of fear. Harry turned to her and saw the look. Her brows were pulled into a frown as she bit on her lip whilst looking from the window out into the hallway.

"I think.. someone's coming on board," For a second time, the lights had gone out and the train shook again.

The water on the window slowly started to freeze, frost painting it in various designs as it moved eight over where Ron's had been placed. The water bottle, along with the door window, began to freeze. It went from being warm to cold in a matter of seconds. Their breaths could be seen as they fogged into the air.

Harry began to rub his hands together to try and warm up, glancing at y/n who hugged herself. He reached out and put a hand on the girl's arm as he could still see her worried expression.

"Bloody hell! What's happening? " Ron asked as the train shook once more. All four teens had to reach down and steady themselves.

A tall shadow moved outside the compartment. It was cloaked as they could see something waving in the wind that the shadow had seemingly dragged with it. Moving slowly. All four of them were quiet as the only thing heard inside the compartment was their wavering breaths.

The shadow, or whatever creature it was, stretched out a bony looking hand, and without touching the door, it started to open. y/n, who sat closest to the door, wore a scared face as she moved from it and happened to move just a little too much so that she bumped into Harry. He didn't even bother that, but she moved from sitting shoulder to shoulder but still close to him. A slight fear takes over his mind.

The cloaked creature had fully opened the compartment door and now looked between all four friends. Crookshanks hissed at it as the only thing except it's cloak being seen was a black hole, like a mouth. It breathed deeply though.

The creature turned to the left side of the compartment where Harry, y/n and the man whose last name was Lupin sat. They all looked at it as if something had suddenly happened. It was just a matter of seconds before Harry started to grow pale, the creature moving closer to the boy who lived. y/n turned to Harry and shook his hand to get him out of it, but just as she did, the man beside Harry jumped up and a bright light was emitted from his wand. And then, Harry was out like a light.

When he came again, the train whistled loudly in his ears. The darkness that had consumed him for a few minutes was fading. "Harry? Harry, are you alright?" It was y/n.

He opened his eyes, and they hurt at the bright light from the compartment. He looked around, squinting as the world was a blurry mess for him. But as he looked around, he found his glasses being held out to him.

"Thank you." Harry took them from whoever it was and put them on. Finding it was y/n sitting on the floor in front of Ron and Hermione, smiling a little but still her brows were furrowed. Right by where his head had been, Crookshanks laid and looked up at him as he sat. Hermione, who sat close to Ron, a man who had to be Lupin sat, a calm smile on his face.

"Here eat this, it'll help. It's alright, it's chocolate. " The man held out a piece of chocolate for Harry to take, and he reluctantly took it. Looking weirdly at the man.

All four of them looked at Harry while he sat up and glanced over at the compartment door where the creature had been earlier. Finding it empty and back to normal. "Wha... what was that thing?" He asked, turning to the older man.

"It was a dementor. One of the guards of Azkaban. It's gone now. It was searching the train for Sirius Black. " Mr. Lupin said, staring at his feet. "If you'll excuse me, I need to have a little word with the driver."

y/n moved Crookshanks over to Hermione's lap and sat herself down by the window, right next to Harry. "Eat, you'll feel better." Mr. Lupin said as he left.

Harry nibbled on the piece of chocolate, staring off to the side whilst trying to make sense of it all. "What happened to me?"

"Well, you sort of went ruched. We thought maybe you're having a fit or something. " Ron's voice carried concern for his friends as he spoke.

"And.. and did either of you three, you know, pass out?" Harry looked between the three.

"No. I felt weird though, like I'd never be cheerful again." Ron answered.

"But someone was screaming, a woman." Harry looked at Hermione, then y/n, who both shook their heads.

"No one was screaming, Harry." Hermione answered for both, and he looked out the window to see the rain still pouring down.

——

The match against Hufflepuff had been going quite well. y/n, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet had been making loads of goals as chasers during the time they had been playing. Harry had to admit that the three girls were, without doubt, a good trio. Fred and Geroge had been doing their best to keep buldger away from the three girls, along with Harry. At times, the twins would focus on just one of the players to keep them secure from the Gryffindor team. Oliver Wood keeps on doing his thing. Keeping the quaffle away from being scored, though the yellow team had made a few goals.

Even through the wind and rain, Harry had heard Lee Jordan's commentary on the game. For some reason, he had grown a bit jealous of the commentator. Why? Well, it was quite simple. Lee was the only close friend except the Weasley siblings, Harry, and Hermione that y/n was friends with.

What Harry had understood, y/n, had been sticking out when she started at Hogwarts in 1990, the year before he did. The others just froze her out of anything that had caused Fred and Geroge to let her be with them and their friends. Leading to y/n and Lee Jordan being close friends. Maybe it was the whole linking arms thing Harry hated? Or maybe how Lee would just listen to y/n without even looking away, reminding Harry of how he looked at her.

Even now, as he had been racing around the quidditch stadium for the Golden Snitch, Harry couldn't help but feel jealousy bubble inside him when Lee had commented on y/n scoring a goal. He had to shake it off, but only for a split second before resuming his pursuit of the golden little devil. Harry looked down to see y/n having just flown past Fred and Geroge, who had cought up to their sister and was protecting her as she had the quaffle but soon passed it on to Alicia.

A second later, gold flashed before Harry's face, and in a matter of milliseconds, he flew right to where he saw it fly off. Cedric Diggory, captain of the Hufflepuff team and seeker, quickly followed after Harry. When they flew right past Ron and Hermione, Harry could hear Hermione cheering him on.

Harry and Cedric raced for the snitch, going further and further up into the sky. Right now, Harry was grateful to Hermione, who had cast an impervius charm on him and y/n, making it easier for both of them to see in the pouring rain.

A bolt of lightning then hit Cedric's broom as they had reached far up, almost to the clouds. It made the seeker freeze and start to fall down. Harry does not care one bit and continues further up to catch the snitch and win the game. But slowly, his broom began to freeze as an umbrella blew past him. But something more blew past him too. A cloaked thing.

It was not until he looked in front of himself properly that Harry saw the dementor that had flown past him. Quickly ducking it, Harry immediately started flying up, being chased by the dementor as one more joined in and more and more. When he reached a certain height, Harry let out a breath and stopped his broom from going further, letting himself fall down. He fell past a few dementors before diving at full speed with his nimbus. He then had to stop, however, seeing the sight below him.

Hundreds of dark-cloaked dementors flew around below him. Their faces were dark and empty as they looked at him. The rain was still pouring down and drenching him. When he was about to dive again, he just turned his head and came face to-face with one. The dementor made him lose consciousness and fall. The last thing he heard was the woman screaming once more.

"He looks a bit peaky. Doesn't he? " Harry could hear Ron's voice above him.

"Peaky? What do you expect? He fell over a hundred feet. " George told his younger brother.

"Yeah, come on, Ron, let's walk you up the astronomy tower," Fred started.

"See what you look like." Geroge finished just as Harry began to open his eyes.

"Probably a right sight better than he normally does." Harry spoke up and smiled, hearing all the others chuckle. This includes Seamus Finnigan, Neville Longbottom, the twins, Ron, Angelina Johnson, Hermione, and y/n. Or well, Hermione just let out a breath of air.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione's asked as Harry began to sit up and squinted to see as well as he could.

"Really, 'Mione?" y/n had her hands on Hermione's shoulders as she pointed out how foolish that question sounded.

"Oh, brilliantly." Harry remarked sarcastically to Hermione as y/n handed him his glasses. Giving her a shy smile as thanks.

"You gave us a right good scare there, mate." George said seriously, while sitting down beside Harry's bed in the hospital wing.

"What happened?" Now Fred and George would have laughed if they were not around Harry, as he looked over at y/n while asking that.

"Well, you fell off your broom." Ron stupidly tells as if he thinks Harry was a complete idiot.

"Really?" Harry once more spoke with sarcasm, which made y/n have to hold herself from laughing. "I meant the match, who won?"

y/n glanced over at a Hufflepuff student being taken care of, and it seemed that it made Harry catch on as he sighed in annoyance. But Hermione was quick to try and save the day. "Uhm, no one blames you, Harry. The dementors aren't supposed to come inside the grounds. Dumbledore was furious. As soon as he'd saved you, he sent them straight off."

Harry looked off to the side and earned a squeeze on the shoulder by y/n, silently telling him it was fine. He didn't say a word, but if y/n had looked close enough, she would have noticed the red tint that had painted his cheeks at her action.

"There's, uh, something else you should know too, Harry uhm," Harty looked at Ron, who held something wrapped in his arms. "When you fell your broom, it sort of blew into the Whomping Willow and, uh, well, it's uh.."

Harry only sighed harder when Ron showed him his broken broom. He knew that he would have to find another broom for the rest of the season until he could buy himself a new one. It was all so annoying. If Harry hadn't gotten so affected by the dementors, then he would have surely coughed up the snitch and made Gryffindor win. In his head, he cursed himself for being so affected and all.

It was clear to Fred that the boy wasn't in the mood to have people around him, so he began to usher the others away. "Come on guys, enough staring; he's not a muggle TV."

All the others, except y/n, Hermione and Ron, left. The three just stood there and watched as Harry stared up at the ceiling. But y/n who had glanced towards the door of the hospital wing could see no one else but Lee Jordan standing there. He waved at her, and she waved back. Having promised to help Lee and her brothers with a prank on the Ravenclaws later.

She turned back at Harry, who had a blubbering Ron above him, profusely apologising for his broom. y/n shook her head at her brother and patted his shoulder. "Oh, calm down, Ron. Harry knows you couldn't help it. No need to rile yourself up. "

"Exactly." Hermione agreed. "It is the dementors' fault for being inside the grounds in the first place."

"And it was the Whomping Willows' fault for the broom. I swear that tree is absolutely mad. " y/n added, making Harry feel better as Hermione and Ron laughed at her comment. which was, in fact, very true. The Whomping Willow was very strange and just absolutely mad. Not really the safest tree on the school grounds.

"Anyway, don't beat yourself up, Harry." y/n walked to the end of his bed and placed a hand on his leg with a sincere smile. "We'll beat Slytherin in our next match when Malfoy doesn't have a 'broken' arm. I've got to go, but I'll see you three later. "

With a last smile, y/n had walked away from the trio and over to Lee, who had been waiting. Harry's gaze followed her as she walked over to the referee. Something inside him was bubbling, making him look away from y/n, walking off with the older boy.

Maybe that was why she'd never liked him. Harry was a year younger, but he knew that not many girls would choose someone younger. He looked down at his hands. His pale face got painted a crimson colour right across his cheeks. It almost matched his quidditch jumper.

Hermione looked at Harry strangely, then over to where y/n had disappeared. She thought back to how it was as if Harry almost always sought to know what the older girl thought of something or how she was doing. A grin then broke on the bushy-haired girl's face, unable to keep her laugh in as she came to her conclusion.

It made the redhead beside her turn and give her a confused look, then she looked over at the ravenhaired boy, who had no idea what Hermione was laughing at. "What? What got you laughing like a lunatic? " Ron asked, but Hermione didn't answer, a few tears escaping her eyes from laughing.

"Hermione, what?" Harry also asked. This time, Hermione whined her eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm down.

"No, it's just... you know what, it doesn't matter."

Oh boy, oh boy, had Hermione just won the lottery in figuring something out?

Fourth year:

Harry had really been dumb enough to think that his fourth year would be a normal year. He should have understood that this year wouldn't be any calmer than the last three when he had all those nightmares over the summer. Then at the Quidditch World Cup, both the dark mark were cast and the death eaters destroyed the fun. He really should have taken all of that as a sign that this year wouldn't be calm. even when the Triwizard tournament was announced.

But still, here he was. Almost three months into the school year, pacing back and forth in the Champions tent. Waiting for the first task to start. Harry was oblivious to the sympathetic looks he earned from Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour of the Beauxbatons Academy. Victor Krum, from Durmstrang Institute, is focused on himself.

How Harry had entered into this was beyond him. However, it appeared that people did not understand that he was not interested in the eternal glory that this tournament would bring. He was already known around the world as the boy who lived. If he just said his last name, everyone knew who he was, which he didn't exactly love.

"You really think I believe you'd want to put your life at risk when a dark wizard is already out for you?"

What she had said, what y/n had said, played over and over in his head. Once more, she showed that she understood him. She was at least intelligent enough to know and notice how much Harry hated the attention he already got for just being himself.

The roar of a dragon made everyone in the Champions' tent look towards where the arena supposedly was. Harry shook his head, and when he met eyes with the Hufflepuff boy, he nodded at him before continuing to pace around.

"Psst!" Harry whipped around at the sound with furrowed brows. "Pssst!"

He walked over towards the back of the tent and listened in. It seemed whoever was there noticed someone else was on the other side, and soon they spoke up. "Harry, is that you?"

"Yeah." He answered, y/n. Her voice calmed him down at least a little. Knowing she trusted him had made it a tad bit easier.

"How are you feeling? Okay?" She didn't get an answer. Only a low sigh. "The key is to concentrate. After that, you just have to—"

"Battle a dragon." Harry stated bluntly, however, when y/n began to scurry around on the other side, it only took her a second before she hugged him. A low whimper left her as she was scared for the boy.

It took him a second to steady himself as y/n had her arms tightly around his neck, hugging him close. But he didn't waste a second in hugging her back, making sure to take the opportunity since they never really hugged like that.

It was the bright flash and click of a camera that made the both of them let go. Both of the teens looked over to where the flash came from, only to find Rita Skeeter. The same journalist who had written the overly exaggerated Harry page in The Daily Prophet. "Young love," The woman sighed dramatically.

"How... stirring." Rita's appearance in the champion tent made all the other champions turn and watch. "If everything goes unfortunately today, you two may even make the front page."

"You have no business here." Viktor Krum appeared behind Rita, an irritated look on his face. "This tent is for champions and friends."

y/n was relieved as she had talked with Viktor on one occasion earlier with Hermione. He happened to not know where the potions class was and asked the two girls for directions. And, maybe, he had been flirting with Hermione then.

"No matter, we've got what we wanted." Another photo of Viktor and Rita disappeared.

Just as Harry turned to ask y/n something, Dumbledore appeared from the back entrance where y/n too had come from. Barty Crouch was behind him. "Good day, champions. Gather 'round please."

Harry moved to stand next to Dumbledore, and y/n, who had no idea of what to do, only grabbed a hold of Harry's wrist. One hand held his sleeve and the other interlocked with his hand. It was hard for the boy to concentrate, but he did his best, holding the Weasley girls' hands gently.

"Now, you've waited, you've wondered, and at last the moment has arrived, a moment only four of you can fully appreciate." y/n looked at Dumbledore as he spoke, still holding onto Harry.

When he was done, however, Dumbledore noticed that something was wrong and looked over at y/n who stood beside him with Harry. The girl looked away from the headmasters, embarrassed. "What are you doing here, Miss Weasley?" Dumbledore curiously asked.

"Oh, um, sorry. I'll just go. " y/n shot a look at Harry as she backed away, relaxing her hold on his hand and quickly sliding out of the tent. causing Harry to look back, slightly perplexed, at the look he received from the older students

Blimey.

——

Harry watched from afar as The Weird Sisters finished the song, all the students at the Yule Ball cheered and stopped dancing.

Just like everything this year, the Yule Ball has not gone much better for Harry than anything else. Even though he wanted to ask y/n he chickened out and tried to ask other girls, but did the same there. Then when he decided that he needed to ask y/n to the ball, he got to hear from the twins that she already had a date. Which he tried to know who it was but y/n refused to tell him.

So now he's sitting there at the ball. He ended up going with Parvati Patil, who had ditched him for a Durmstrang guy, someone older. And Harry now knew who y/n had gone with. Of course, it was Lee Jordan. When he had walked into the great hall for the champions to dance, the green-eyed boy had spotted y/n with Lee.

Just as The Weird Sisters had stopped playing, Harry could spot y/n who had been dancing all night, giving Lee a hug before making her way out of the sea of students. She was beautiful, and Harry hadn't expected anything else. She had a silk dress like many other girls, but hers was the most beautiful to Harry. Her hair done to suit her and a pair of heels.

"I'm leaving." From beside Harry, Ron grumbled, standing up and downing the last of his drink. "You coming?"

"I'll be a bit longer," Harry said, and Ron just shrugged his shoulders before leaving. Clearly not in the mood to see Hermione happy with Viktor, she danced on and on.

Just as Harry turned back to find y/n he saw her walking towards him. When she knew she had cought his attention she pulled a overdramaticly pained face. It made Harry raise his brows in question and when the girl was close enough she sat down on a chair next to him.

"Ouch." She groaned. "Remind me to never dance in heels again." With that she kicked off her shoes and sighed in relife.

"Can't be that bad." The statement earned Harry a slap on the shoulder. Causing him to chuckle at y/n as she got comfortable beside him.

It then got quiet. Harry thought about what to say or ask next. He cast a gaze over his shoulder to see Lee Jordan chatting with Fred and George. Angelina sat by Fred's side as the four older students chatted away. "So, you and Lee, huh?"

It took y/n off guard as she whipped her head vigorously towards Harry with a scrunched up face. "Lee, no, ew. What makes you think me and him are someone? "

"Sorry. I just thought, you know, you went here with him. " y/n and Harry were both flustered. Harry because of his assumption and y/n of how quickly she had denied liking Lee in that way.

"That's because of Fred and George. I didn't have a date and neither did Lee, so they suggested we go together. " y/n explained. "Now, don't get me wrong, I love Lee. He's a close friend of mine and all. But this all he is to me, a friend. Plus, Lee isn't exactly the kind of guy that goes after his best friend's little sister."

Harry felt completely and utterly dumb. So for the past year and a half, he had gone around thinking that y/n liked Lee and Lee liked her. But, it turned out, he still had a chance.

"Oh, okay."

"Well, don't you sound happy?" y/n joked, shaking his head, a smile spreading across his face. "Anyway, your date left you. Did you screw up that badly or is your charm just not working, Potter? "

"Haha, very funny."

They both laughed, not saying anything more. But y/n sighed, bending down and putting in her heels again, making Harry look at her with suspicion as she smoothed out her dress. Turning to Harry, she held out her hand for him to grab, but only earned an even more confused face from the boy.

"Now I won't accept a no. Come on, let's dance." Knowing full well that she wouldn't accept a no, Harry grabbed her hand and, with a smile on his face, let her pull him along to dance.

"One sickle that he confesses first." Fred challenged his twin as they watched the two from afar.

"Two sickles that she confesses first and before she leaves Hogwarts." Geroge shot back at Fred.

"Okay, two sickles that he confesses first."

"Are you two seriously betting on which of your sister and Harry will confess first?" Angelina questioned. The two brothers shared a look before shrugging.

"Okay, then I want two sickles if she confesses first before she leaves Hogwarts and kisses him at the same time." Lee added.

Angelina frowned and sighed, "Oh my god."

Fifth year:

"Make it a powerful memory, the happiest you can remember. Allow it to fill you up. Keep trying, Seamus!" Harry encouraged as Dumbledore's army were in the room of requirement. Harry was teaching them all to produce a patronus charm, though he warned all of them that not every wizard or witch could produce one, so if they were unable to, they shouldn't beat themselves up about it.

Harty walked around and watched as all the students in the army tried to produce their patronuses. Some stood and thought about what happy memories they had as others went straight to try and cast the charm. It was hard. "A full-bodied patronus is the most difficult to produce, but shield forms can also be equally as useful against a variety of opponents."

Harry explained as he walked around. Gratifying Ginny when she produced a unicorn that ran around in the air. It was hard to teach, though. If Dolores Umbridge hadn't taken over as Defense against Dark Arts teacher, they would all have learnt these things. But the pink-wearing woman had only been placed at Hogwarts as a control mechanism for the Ministry.

Harry continued to wander around and explain as Hermione produced an otter as a patronus. It swam around her, making the bushy-haired girl smile. Then he passed Ron, who produced a dog. It ran around the floor and somehow was able to make Neville fall as it ran straight at his legs.

He then continued to walk around, his eyes almost every other second cast towards y/n who stood and thought. Harry frowned as he watched her just stand there, her wand in hand. But what he didn't know was the memory playing in her head.

"No, Harry. I'll be sick if we continue. " y/n laughed as she leaned against the wall in the Great Hall. Watching Hermione continue to dance with Viktor.

"So you drag me to dance and then won't when we do?" Harry asked as he leaned against the wall beside her.

"Potter, you've been spinning me 'round like a mad-man. Of course I'll grow sick of that. " The Weasley spoke matter-of-factly.

"Well, excuse my poor dancing skills then,"

"Shut up."

They both let out sighs. Looking around. y/n was actually quite sad that Ron had left early, but oh well, his problem, not hers. A great number of students had left for bed during the night, but many still danced. Some of these people were Fleur, Cho Chang, Cedric Diggory, Viktor and Hermione, Fred and George, Angelina Johnson, Lee Jordan, Seamus, Dean Thomas, and so many more.

Harry looked over at y/n with a smile, still feeling stupid about how he had been thinking y/n liked Lee. His eyes stayed fixated on the girl. She was always able to attract his attention. He knew that in a room full of girls, she would be the only one he'd be looking at.

She turned to say something, but instead caught Harry, who was staring at her. He felt his face heat up, and he looked down at his shoes. It made y/n smile mischievously, turning so she leaned her shoulder against the wall instead of her back. Now fully facing him. "Something the matter, Potter?"

Harry shook his head, looking up from his shoes. But he was caught off guard by y/n moving some of his hair away from his face. It made Harry look at her, a sweet, soft smile plastered on her face. Her e/c eyes were gentle. It made him smile too. A boyish one. A cute one, in y/n's opinion.

"Expecto Patronum," y/n said just as Harry had come over to help her.

A blue, silvery light emitted from her wand as she spoke those two words. The flow of magic made Harry stop and smile as he watched it form into a doe, but something was off about it. The magic animal stood right before the girl, and as he looked closer, Harry could see the faint outline of horns, like it was somewhat becoming a stag. The same as his patronus.

The patronus stag slowly walked around y/n, who wore a smile at the great animal. The horns are still visible. Hermione, who had seen it, walked slowly up to Harry. Her eyes were on the patronus that faded into nothingness when it stopped once more in front of y/n and bowed its head. Hermione tapped Harry's shoulder.

"Harry? Not to be like that, but ehm... doesn't that seem like a stag to you?" Hermione whispered to her friend and earned a look that told her yes.

"And you have the same type of patronus, correct?" Harry nodded, and the look on Hermione's face made him frown.

"What? What's wrong? "

"Oh no, nothing, just... just keep doing your thing." Hermione slid away from her face with a grin like a Cheshire cat. Getting Ginny's attention.

"What is it, Hermione?" The youngest Weasley asked with curiosity.

"I think we can confirm it now." Hermione whispered lowly, which made Ginny gasp.

"Are you sure?" A nod came from the greatest witch of her age.

——

y/n walked through 12 Grimmauld Place. The summer had come quicker than expected. y/n had been helping her mum and dad clean up all their things so they could return to the burrow. But before she left, she had to find him. She needed to check in on him.

She had been looking through the whole place, making her way from room to room. That was until she had walked up to the third level. Looking through the rooms, she had just passed one with the letters R.A.B on the door. y/n had figured out that each bedroom had the family member's initials on them. Further down the hall, one of the doors was closed. She looked into the open room that was a study room, but it was empty. Looking back at the room with the closed door, y/n found the initials she was looking for. S.O.B. Standing for Sirius Orion Black.

She took a breath and gently knocked on the door. She didn't hear anything from inside, so y/n opened the door a little, glancing inside. Inside the room, y/n found Harry sitting on his godfather's bed. His back against her as he looked out through the window.

"Harry?" Her voice was gentle as she opened the door up a little more, waiting for him to give her a sign to leave. But he didn't. Harry only cast a glance over his shoulder before turning his head back. To y/n, that was Harry's way of telling her it was fine to go inside, which it was.

She closed the door gently behind her. Not wanting her parents, siblings, or anyone else from the Order to hear their conversation. She valued Harry's privacy and whatever he told her didn't need to be told to the whole world.

y/n moved slowly around the bed, so she stood at the foot of it. Not far from where Harry sat. She could see him holding the picture of the original Order of the Phoenix. It had been folded so the side facing his face showed his parents, Lily and James Potter, and beside them stood a younger looking Sirius.

"My family is done packing. We're leaving soon if you want to come with us over the summer. " y/n offered to him, unsure of what to say. But Harry only stayed silent. It made Y/N sigh as she moved to stand more in front of him.

When she did, she got a better look at his face. His eyes were slightly red, and his face pulled into a pained look. She didn't sit down if Harry wanted her to leave. "Harry? I'll leave you alone if you want to. " She waited for any sign that she should stay, but when he gave her none, she started to leave.

It was the tugg on her wrist that made her stop walking away. His grip on her wrist was firm, but his gaze was fixed. It made her kneel down in front of him on the bed and move to hold his hand so she could hold it, but his grip tightened. "Don't leave."

"Harry—" "Don't leave." His gaze finally met hers, a few tears streaming down his cheeks. y/n frowned and moved to wipe away the tears, shaking her head.

"I won't. I'll always be here. "

She stood up, brushing Harry's hair out of his face. He didn't care anymore about trying to stay strong, but instead broke down. Harry wrapped his arms around y/n's midsection, catching her off guard as he pulled her towards him. It took a second before she slowly wrapped her arms around Harry's head gently. Hugging him close. She could feel the slight shaking of his shoulders.

"It's fine, I won't leave." Y/N reminded him as she gently stroked his hair.She pulled away slightly from him, but Harry's arms stayed wrapped around her midsection. She looked down at Harry and pulled his face between her hands.

He didn't have his glasses on; they lay on Sirius's nightstand, so he didn't see her very well. But he could make out her face as she looked down at him. y/n brushed his cheek, then the lightning bolt scar on his forehead before hugging him close. And she stood like that, in front of Harry, who quietly let his tears fall as he hugged the girl close, finding comfort in her presence. At times, she whispered comforting words to him while stroking his head. After some time, y/n had leaned her head down to rest on Harry's.

After some time, you suddenly saw the door open. Harry didn't hear it when it squeaked. As the door opened fully, it revealed Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George standing there. They were all quiet as they looked at the two. Ron mouthed something which made y/n move her hand to show them to be quiet. George motioned that it was time to go, clearly feeling sympathy for the boy around y/n's waist. But y/n only waved for the four to leave and close the door. They were doing as she wanted.

So y/n stayed there with Harry, not caring how much time went by. She just wanted the boy to feel better

Sixth year:

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with happiness from all of the students. Everyone was happy that the Gryffindor Quidditch team had won against Slytherin in the snowy weather. It is definitely one of Harry's proudest moments at Hogwarts. He was the captain and they had won.

Harry walked back into the common room with Hermione beside him. The girl had finally calmed down from the heartbreak of seeing Ron with Lavender Brown. Harry patted Hermione's back with a small smile, and the witch smiled in appreciation of her friend. "I'm gonna—"

"Go, Harry." Hermione sighed and smiled at the boy. "I already know what you're planning on doing. You've been nervous all day."

He stayed quiet. He thought he had been very good at hiding the fact that he fancied the older Weasley sister. However, he appears to have been unsuccessful. "How did you—?"

"She's over there, by the window." Hermione pointed out to her friend as she made her way over to Ginny and some other girls. Leaving Harry to stand by himself.

Harry turned and found y/n, as Hermione said, by the window. The older girl stood with a bottle of something in her hand, taking small sips at times. The boy took a breath before making his way over.

"Hey," Harry said, as he awkwardly made his way closer to her. y/n turned with a tired and lazy smile on her face to face him.

"Hi," Harry could tell she was tired because she had been studying for her NEWT level exams, which she had a lot of.He had found her sleeping by the table in the common room a few days erlier, having fallen asleep while studying.

"Tired?" He earned a hum in response as y/n took another sip of her bottle. "Let me guess, Fred and George helped you get that in?"

y/n let out a quiet chuckle at him and nodded her head. He was quick to understand what it was. Of course, it was a smaller bottle of beer. "I haven't been drinking much of it though, if that's what you think."

"No, no, just.. asking." Harry moved to stand beside her.

"Poor 'Mione," y/n told as she looked out through the common room. "Ron really is blind."

Harry hummed. Mind elsewhere as he tried to figure out how to do this. He didn't know if now was the best of times, seeing as y/n were exhausted from quidditch and studying. But Harry also knew that if y/n had taken over as Captain for the team this year too, she would be asleep already. Hence why she'd given over the role as Captain to Harry.

"You're not going to celebrate, Captain? Are you just going to stand here with boring old me?" y/n teased, knowing full well that Harry didn't exactly like to be the centre of attention.

When she got no answer, y/n put her bottle of beer in the indent of the window. She turned so she faced the boy who lived. She could see how deep in thought he was and it made her smile. His green emerald eyes were staring off into the distance. So, she did as she'd done two years earlier on the Yule Ball, the day when the tension between them really grew. She brushed some of his rvaenhair out of his face, the scar becoming visible. Harry turned his face towards her, his eyes locking with hers. His cheeks got red from the eye contact, and y/n could feel hers heat up as well.

Harry found his courage, one of those elements Gryffindor students were to have to be placed in the house to even start with. He moved closer to y/n, eyes at times flickering from her eyes to her lips. y/n thought he was going to make a move, but when he didn't, she leaned in and connected their lips. Her hands gently held his face.

It was a quick kiss, one that was so quick that Harry wasn't even able to react before y/n pulled away. She held his face still in her hands, the boy looking at her slightly shocked. She was now unable to keep from telling him, because who knew what would happened with Voldermort back. "I love you, Harry. I have probably ever since my fourth year, but I really like you."

"Really?" Harry breathed with a boyish grin growing on his face, which made y/n smile at him.

"Really,"

Harry did not waste a second as he leaned in and connected their lips once more, smiles on both their faces. y/ns hands were still on the sides of his face as Harry's hands landed on her hips. After all those years of pining after her, he was now kissing her, and she liked him back, and it was brilliant. Her lips were as soft as he'd imagined. She teased faintly of the beer she's been drinking. This was just perfect.

——

Fire encircled the burrow as Harry sprinted out of it and passed Remus, Tonks, Arthur, and Molly. Both older men called out for him as he ran straight for an opening in the fire, following the evil and psychotic laughter that belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange. The murderer of Sirius. Harry's wand was already in his hand as he rushed after the mad woman. Tonks and Remus followed behind him, but the fire closed the small opening, as if they weren't supposed to leave.

Tonks tried to manipulate the fire with her wand but was not successful in getting a good opening for Remus to run through. Just then, y/n had rushed down the stairs after Harry as they had just talked, pushing past her parents with her wand at the ready. "y/n!" Molly cried after her daughter as she ran straight for the fire and jumped when she had a chance at getting through.

"I killed Sirius Black! I killed Sirius Black! I killed Sirius Black!" y/n heard Bellatrix chant as she followed Harry through the tall grass. Following both the sound of Bellatrix's chanting and the running of Harry.

She continued running as the grass slapped her in the face at how fast she was running, but she didn't care. It was hard to know exactly where Harry had gone. Once heard herself step in what sounded like water, and she stopped. The legs on her pyjama bottoms were getting soaked.

When she heard the sound of someone moving in the tall grass, she turned around. Trying to spot the person. "Harry?" She asked, the wand still in her hand.

But it wasn't Harry. Instead, out stepped Fenrir Greyback. The most known werewolf in the wizarding world, the same werewolf that bit Remus and turned him. The man smiled evilly at y/n who'd started to back away further into the shallow water. She then jumped slightly as Harry came running up behind her and moved in front of her. "Stupefy!" But Fenrir repelled the spell easily.

"Harry!" Remus could be heard calling out as y/n and Harry cautiously turned in every direction to make sure no one was there. But in seconds, Bellatrix and Fenrir began to shoot spells at the two teenagers mercilessly. Harry and y/n standing back to back and repel each spell.

"y/n!" Arthur called for his daughter.

Finally, Tonks, Arthur, and Remus reached the two and stood protectively around them. Harry grabbed Y/N's arm and pulled her towards him as they stood close to one another. They are waiting for another set of spells, curses, jinxes, and hexes to be sent their way. But no more came as the three evil wizards disappeared into black smoke and flew towards the burrow. Seconds later, the house stood in flames.

"Molly." Arthur said in shock as he turned, seeing his house on fire and began to run.

y/n stood wide-eyed before she began to run after her father. Harry followed her swiftly through the tall grass and when they were close y/n slowed. Her childhood home stood before her in flames as all her other siblings, Fred and George, Ginny and Ron, stood and watched on as the house became ash. Molly was hugged by Arthur as they watched.

Harry came up beside y/n, seeing the troubled look on her face as he brushed his pinky finger against her hand. showing he was there. Without a second thought, y/n grabbed his hand and moved closer to him, holding on to him for dear life.

Everything was to get worse. This was just the beginning, and all of them knew it.

And Harry could feel it.

Seventh year (before going for horcruxses):

"I won't leave my family, Harry." y/n told the boy as he sat on her bed. Having come to her before going to bed. Having just gotten to the burrow that night.

He looked up at her from where he sat, his eyes begging her to go somewhere she could be safe instead of staying with her family. He knew that she'd be threatened as she was a known close friend to Harry, or well, for the past six months, known girlfriend.

"You'll be in danger if you stay here, you and your whole family. I don't want you to get hurt because of me anymore. " Harry argued.

"You can't tell me what to do. You may be Harry Potter and my very caring boyfriend, but I'm still old enough to decide whether I want to fight or flee.

"Darling," Harry sighed at her; she was and had always been stubborn."Please."

"I'll be fine, Harry." y/n sat beside him. "I'll be staying with Fred and George at Weasleys' Wizards Wheezes."

Harry turned and faced her, reaching out and brushing some hair out of her face just like she usually did with him. Then, leaning in and placing his forehead against hers, y/n melted into it. sighing as she held his hand.

"I'll be fine,"

"Don't get my hopes up," Harry told her.

"And I want you to come back alive." Y/N stated solemnly.

"I'll be fine,"

"Don't get my hopes up."

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lex-hj0519 · 9 months

Text

what do you think we’d do, let them starve?

Just a little drabble based on this line in OOTP, cause it always makes me think, "well, that is pretty much what you did to Harry..."

“And as for who’s going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died,” said Lupin, smiling slightly, “what do you think we’d do, let them starve?”

Mrs. Weasley smiled tremulously.

As Mrs. Weasley mopped her eyes and muttered that she was being silly, Lupin’s words washed over Harry.

“What do you think we’d do; let them starve?”

That’s what they did to him, Harry thought bitterly. They’d dropped him off on his aunt and uncle’s doorstep and left him there for ten years. Nobody had cared about the days and nights he spent in his cupboard with his stomach grumbling, hoping that he could sneak out to steal food from the kitchen after the Dursleys fell asleep.

A sharp feeling of hurt shot through him as Lupin continued to comfort Mrs. Weasley, and Harry abruptly turned on his heel and left the room. He climbed the stairs two-at-a-time, desperate to get away from the others before they noticed that something was wrong. He climbed the stairs until there were no more stairs to climb, ending up in the attic. It was cluttered with furniture, trunks, boxes, and other knick-knacks, but Harry found a clear spot and squished himself in between a battered steamer trunk and a side table that had legs carved to look like snakes.

He tucked his knees up, wrapped his arms around his legs, and buried his face in his knobby knees. He was not going to cry. He was not going to get upset. He was going to sit here and breathe until all of these stupid emotions stopped stirring around in his chest, and then he was going to go back downstairs with no one the wiser.

Off in the distance, he could hear another set of footsteps climbing the stairs. He waited for them to stop off at one of the floors, but they kept coming and coming until the attic door creaked open. Harry didn’t move. He didn’t even lift his head. Maybe if he stayed squished here in this spot, whoever it was wouldn’t notice.

“Mind if I join you?”

Harry didn’t want to see anyone. But of all the people who had come after him, he was glad it was his godfather. Harry shrugged awkwardly, still not looking up. Sirius picked his way through the clutter, pushed the steamer trunk aside, and sank down beside Harry so they were sitting shoulder to shoulder.

Sirius bumped his shoulder gently. “Are you all right, Harry? That boggart scared me, seeing your dead body laying there.”

Harry slowly raised his head to look at his godfather. Sirius looked even more pale and drawn than he usually did. Harry hadn’t even thought of how the boggart would have affected him.

“I’m all right,” Harry muttered.

Harry was grateful when Sirius didn’t push him to say more. They sat in a comfortable silence for a long while, with Harry slowly slumping and leaning into Sirius’s side. Sirius tucked one long, skinny arm around Harry’s back and pulled him closer into his side.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m happy to listen,” Sirius said gently.

“Talk about what?” Harry asked grumpily.

“About why you ran off like there was a Hungarian Horntail on your tail,” Sirius replied. “Was it just the boggart?”

“No,” Harry admitted after another long silence. “It was something else.”

“Thought so,” Sirius said. Harry wanted to roll his eyes at his godfather’s smug tone.

“It was what Lupin said after,” Harry said.

“What Remus said after?”

Harry tilted his head to look up at his godfather, who was looking down at him with a furrowed brow.

“Mrs. Weasley was worried about what would happen to Ron and Ginny if she and Mr. Weasley died. And Lupin said that they wouldn’t let them starve,” Harry repeated.

“And that upset you?” Sirius asked curiously.

Harry shrugged and looked down at his hands, twisting the edge of his t-shirt.

“It didn’t matter when it was me,” Harry mumbled after a long silence. “I – I was hungry all the time growing up. And nobody ever checked on me.”

Sirius swallowed hard and tucked Harry even closer into his side. Harry buried his face in his godfather’s shoulder to hide the tears that he could feel prickling in the back of his eyes.

“I used to sit in my cupboard and dream about someone coming to save me. But no one ever did. Not until Hagrid brought my Hogwarts letter. And even then, I still had to go back. I always have to go back.”

“Oh, Harry,” Sirius whispered into his hair. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you then. But I’m here for you now. And I’m not going to let you go back.”

Harry didn’t want to get his hopes up. He had before, and they had been torn away from him as fast as a hippogriff could fly. But as he sank into Sirius’s comforting embrace in the dusty old attic of Grimmauld Place, he so badly wanted to believe that this could be it: this could be the day that he was finally saved.

#good godfather sirius black #sirius and harry #sirius black #harry james potter

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whoopsyeahokay · 1 month

Text

October Sun

summary: things had gone from weird to worse in a matter of seconds. it'd seemed all your secrets had decided to reveal themselves to Wally without so much as considering how you'd feel about it. you'd guessed that was the price you'd had to pay for your choice to share yourself with a member of Split River High's Afterlife Support Group.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence.

sorry for the delay, beauties! i was so behind on so many things and am still nursing a rather gruesome cold 🪦 made this one longer to make up for it 🫶

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.10

You were six, sitting on your sister Aurora's lap in a hospital room. Monitors beeped—long intervals, pitched notes—and, below that, your great-aunt's rattled breathing. Everything stank of disinfectant.

Ginny lay in the bed; pruned and pale, translucent skin hanging from her bones. She was just past seventy, but had aged several decades in the two weeks since the symptoms had started. Now, she looked like the skeletons your neighbors strung up for Halloween. Ghastly. Small.

Dead.

Mommy dozed in the armchair across from you, her head at an awkward angle, mouth ajar, one hand rested on her swollen belly. For days, she'd subsisted on nothing but good ol' fashioned Celtic stubbornness, running herself into the ground to undo whatever had put Ginny in the hospital. Nothing worked. Potions, pastes, blood spells, smudging rituals; it didn't matter what Mommy and Nanna did, Ginny's doctor insisted her condition was deteriorating.

It was so strange, you thought, that Ginny didn't just tell them herself. After all, she was able to stand in front of you without assistance and seemed much healthier than she had even moments ago.

She'd been asleep, silvery and thin and wheezy, and then her eyes had popped open and she'd gotten to her feet with the grace of a ballerina. Auburn hair in fluffy curls, pinned neatly away from her face; lips bright, Victory red, and skin peachy.

She was as pretty as a picture in a church bell skirt and smart, collared blouse, the colors much more suited to her than the starch white of the hospital gown. The pendant of her necklace was now one of a pair dangling from her earlobes, silver circles glinting in the sterile light.

"Are you better?" You asked her, marveling at her loveliness.

Ginny crouched to meet you at your level and placed her hand on yours, green eyes bright as emeralds in the sun. She smiled, "Don't tell mummy. This will be our little secret." She addressed Aurora next, "I'll be back as soon as I can, pet."

Aurora nodded, solemn, and you both watched Ginny greet a young man in similarly outdated dress as he entered the room. You didn't know who he was, but Aurora must've because she offered him a watery smile, eyes glistening.

"Where's Ginny going?" You asked her.

She shushed you, murmuring, "You can't tell mom, okay?"

Annoyed, "I won't." You weren't 3, you knew how to keep a secret. You'd kept plenty for your new friend Hana. Like her crush on the crayon stealer, Simon Elroy, or how she always took two milks at recess instead of one.

"She's saying hello to Grandpa Jack." Aurora told you, but you sensed there was a lot more to it than that. You gave her your best glare. She rolled her eyes, "They're probably going to try and find out what's wrong with her."

But, "She's better, dummy," you said, craning your neck to watch her swan out of the room with a man who'd died before you were born.

Aurora sighed the way she did whenever she thought you said something stupid and pressed her hand to your cheek, forcing you to look at the bed.

You gasped, astonished that, there, under the layers of quilts your Nanna had brought, was Ginny; breath rattling, monitors beeping, white as a china doll and asleep.

That was how you learned that Traveling meant something different to your family.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

One second you were clung to Wally like a limpet, the next you'd vanished into thin air. Snapped out of existence like you'd never been there at all. Frantic, Wally looked left, right, to the back of the stage, and then spun around to face the rows of seats.

His jaw dropped, blood draining from his face. You stood at the top of the center aisle, shirt no longer rucked up the way Wally had made it; hair as tidy as it had been before he'd run his fingers through it; skin no longer sporting the perfect blush he'd coaxed to the surface.

Even from where he stood, Wally could see that your eyes burned a nebula of colors, the way they had when Wally caught up to you outside the school earlier. As soon as he'd registered it—proof that something magical had just transpired—they dimmed to their normal hue, just as the man behind you, Mr. Anderson, Wally identified, demanded, "What are you doing in here?"

He seemed angry, more so than the time Wally had watched him chew out a group of boys in the locker room showers for smoking weed. Mr. Anderson grabbed you by the arm and hauled you out of the theater like you'd been trespassing.

Wally charged up the aisle, thoughts of how you could fucking teleport taking a back seat to the desire to shove Mr. Anderson to the ground for assuming he had the right to touch you like that. The connection between you and Wally bittered, shrieked, fear and fury swirling together to pump through Wally's veins.

Oh hell no.

"I'm sorry," You apologized. Mr. Anderson released you, causing you to stumble from the momentum he'd used to force you into the hallway. "I won't let it happen again."

In an ill-fated attempt to wedge himself between you and Mr. Anderson, Wally checked the man's shoulder with his own, but little happened. Mr. Anderson had repositioned himself, almost like he'd anticipated the action, and the intention waned into a light graze. One that had no impact on the man, but that caused Wally to trip into the wall.

Mr. Anderson escorted you through the school toward your locker, gravely explaining that you'd overstayed your welcome by an hour and a half; the Wednesday team practices and club activities already packed up and gone.

Glancing outside, Wally was shocked to see the sky was dark. Apparently, making out with you was the equivalent of pressing a giant PAUSE button on the fourth dimension. He was sure no more than twenty minutes had passed since you'd jumped into his arms and kissed him within an inch of his sanity.

Teleportation and time manipulation? Wally gaped, images of his favorite comic book heroes swarming his mind. Holy shit, you were an X-Man. He had big fat feelings for a Mutant prodigy. Was he the Cyclops to your Marvel Girl?

Needing to do something to ensure Mr. Anderson wouldn't try to grab you again, Wally inserted himself between you and him. A move that appeared to influence Mr. Anderson to maintain the space Wally enforced with his presence.

Good, Wally thought, cracking his knuckles, because while he had no problem trying to beat his way into the living world to knock a few of Mr. Anderson's teeth out, he knew that would take a lot more than noble intention to pull off.

He loathed feeling helpless. Back in the day, he'd stood up for the kids who got bullied, had done his best to fend off the misguided idiots who'd used their post-puberty size for evil. Trouble was that now he couldn't do more than make a light flicker by concentrating really, really hard.

Don't be fooled: Dawn made it look easy, but it wasn't.

Finally reaching your locker, Mr. Anderson reiterated, "What were you doing in there?" His demeanor all wrong. Wally knew enough about the guy to know that, usually, he was a cool kind of dorky. Relatable. However, something had obviously possessed him because he was acting like you'd discovered his hidden collection of porn mags.

Wally didn't like it. He wanted Mr. Anderson to fuck off and leave you alone more than he'd wanted anything for a long time. Retaining his position between you and Mr. Anderson, chin up, hands balled into fists at his sides, Wally willed Mr. Anderson away.

You began, "I was just—" when Wally gritted out, stare fixed on the man's haggard face, "You don't owe this dickhead an explanation, baby."

But you spoke over him, "Mathilda asked me to look for something she'd forgotten in there yesterday. She's in the Mean Girl's Musical?" You supplied, and, jeez, you were quick on your feet.

Mr. Anderson was unimpressed, "For two hours?"

"No! No. I was studying in the library when she texted me."

Wally began to wonder how many yarns you'd had to spin for it to come so easily. Part of him was uncomfortable with the notion that it seemed like second nature to you, while another, bigger, part of him seared the way lemon juice stings a papercut.

He recognized it was self-preservation. A lifetime of harboring a massive secret that, okay, might not get you carted off in a straitjacket these days, but definitely wouldn't make it easy for you to go through life normally. He'd seen people ostracized for less.

"Do you have to get anything from the library, then?" Mr. Anderson wanted to know, the V between his brows deepening when his phone buzzed in his blazer pocket. The third time in the short minutes since he'd found you.

"No." You said, cowed, even though you shouldn't be. He'd been the one whose conduct had been inappropriate. He should be begging for your forgiveness, not making you feel terrible like it was his job. "I swear, I won't let it happen again."

Wally's blood boiled.

"See that it doesn't." Mr. Anderson warned. His phone buzzed again. "Get your things and go home."

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Anderson unpocketed and checked his phone as another call lit up the screen. Private, the caller ID claimed.

"You'll have to use the main entrance." He said, already backing away, "Everything else is locked up." Then he leveled you with a dark look of authority, "I assume you can make your own way out?"

Wally could feel the tension in your muscles, could hear your heart stutter behind your ribs. His fingers twitched, itching to bust the man's head right off his shoulders. And, damn, when had he last felt such violent inclinations? Even against those prima donna bullies, the rage hadn't distended into anything remotely close to this.

"Yeah, I..." You cleared your throat, "Yes."

Mr. Anderson retreated and took the next call that came through, his bark of, "Give me a minute," resonating through the empty hallway as he disappeared around the corner.

As soon as he was out of sight, Wally spun on his heel to face you. You shrunk against your locker, arms folded around your middle and eyes faraway, chewing the inside of your bottom lip as you lost yourself in thought.

Wally moved into your bubble, the connection between you calmed, and smoothed his hands down your waist; one into the back pocket of your jeans, the other gliding back up and into your hair.

He pulled you gently against him, tucked your head under his chin and asked, "You good, pretty girl?"

He felt you nod into his chest, "Yeah. That was just every shade of weird imaginable. Something was off about him." You leaned away just enough to gaze up at Wally. "He's usually so...friendly."

Wally pressed a kiss to the top of your head, "I don't want you to stick around, babe. I don't trust that dude not to do something stupid if he finds you again."

"For real?" You sounded stunned, "Him?"

"Honestly? Yeah. He was giving off serious Bundy vibes. You didn't do anything wrong and he acted like you'd cold-cocked his mamma." Wally glared in the direction Mr. Anderson had gone, concluding, "Maybe he's the reason Maddie's blood was splattered all over the boiler room."

"Jesus, Wally, it wasn't a Fear Street massacre." You shunned the idea, disentangling yourself from him to open your locker. After a moment of reflection, "Do you really think he's capable?"

As you grabbed your backpack and started to shove what you needed into it, Wally leaned on the locker beside yours, shrugging, "Like I said, Bundy vibes. And I can't stop him if he decides to come back with a machete, so please," he implored, putting every ounce of urgency behind his words, "Get your stuff and let's go."

Thankfully, you took his advice without further argument. Pulled on your leather jacket, slung your backpack over one shoulder, and held your hand out for Wally to take as if it was something you did all the time.

A champagne-fizz burst in Wally's chest as he accepted the invitation, lacing your fingers together and setting a leisurely but purposeful pace toward the atrium.

"So," He began, unable to ignore the elephant in the room any longer, "When were you going to tell me you could teleport?"

It startled a laugh out of you, the kind that starts with a snort, and Wally felt a wave of fondness wash over him.

"I can't." You said. Rather, "I can, uhm, project...astrally."

Whoa. A barrage of questions threatened to spill out of him, ranging from reasonable to unstable. But, who could blame him? You'd basically just admitted that The Mind from Outer Space could, feasibly, be a real thing! Wally was as titillated as he was curious.

"Astral projection is real?" He asked in as even a tone as he could manage.

"Being a ghost is real." You countered bluntly.

And, "Touché." He conceded, "But you can't blame a guy for being surprised when something out of the Twilight Zone can happen in real life."

You seesawed your head, lips adopting a playful smile. God, you were beautiful. "Fair." You said, winking at Wally who was then forced to swallow the need to pick you up and pin you to the nearest wall with his mouth.

The air was crisp when you both exited the school. He walked you to the picnic tables near the bus stop, resting on the end of a tabletop and pulling you between his legs. Like this, you were pressed flush against him, body fitted so perfectly into his.

The connection rumbled and flared, erupting volcano-hot, determining Wally's actions. He slid his hands from your waist down to squeeze the pert swell of your ass, and dragged your hips against his.

You gasped, delicate, and let your head fall to the side to expose the column of your neck. Wally took advantage. Brushed his dry lips from collar to the hinge of your jaw, little darts of tongue and drags of teeth.

"Fuck, baby, you don't know what you do to me," He groaned, his dick fattening in his sweatpants. And he sure as shit meant it. The connection between you was driving him crazy, keeping teenage boy hormones in check an impossible battle.

He rolled his hips, chasing the friction, using the leverage he had with his hands in your back pockets to lift you into his lap. He rearranged himself on the table, slid back to sit more comfortably, and encouraged you to rut against him.

Wally kissed you like it was the last time, like this was the only chance he'd ever have to do it. Slow, deep, slick. The sounds you made, fuck, wanton and needy; moans and gasps and punched-out sighs.

And then, because, of fucking course 'and then'—your phone buzzed right in Wally's palm. Long, sequential blitzes of vibration. A phone call.

You groaned in annoyance, taking your phone when Wally graciously handed it to you, and answered.

"Hey," You greeted, head on Wally's shoulder and body still.

His mamma had raised a gentleman, he reminded himself and curled his long arms around you in a loose embrace, repeating football stats in his mind to temper his erection.

"Yeah," You were saying, "Yeah, I know, but I got caught up in the...Well, mom's a big girl, Aurora, I'm sure she can find someone else to shake the floorboards this one time."

Wally tried to give you an inquiring look but the angle was too awkward, so instead he filed that tidbit away for later, above astral projection but below In Betweens. And, shit, that's right, you were both supposed to discuss your fritzy ghost powers, not dry hump on school property. Oops.

You growled, climbing off of Wally altogether and hopping to the ground, pacing as you expressed with sarcasm and sass, "Why don't you get your new husband to do it, or are we still keeping him in the dark about the family business?"

Wally barely made out the, "Could you stop being such a selfish little brat for o—" before you hung up on who Wally surmised was your sister. With your back to him, he couldn't tell how you felt about the exchange, but from the tension in your shoulders and how forcibly measured your breathing had become, he thought it was safe to assume not great.

"You guys don't get along?" He ventured.

On a last, heavy breath, you twirled back around, "Actually, we get along really well." You sucked your teeth, "It's our mom's choice of occupation that puts us at each other's throats." Wally knew what was coming, couldn't soften the disappointment. "I gotta go." You said regretfully.

He plastered on a smirk, aiming for levity but sounding too dismayed to stick the landing, "You'd think the universe didn't want us to help Maddie."

In what Wally could only describe as a fit of absolutely fucking not, you strode right up to him, slung your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hot, middle-finger-to-the-sky kiss.

"Fuck the universe," You said when you parted, breathless, perfect, his, "I'll come in early tomorrow. Like, seven-thirty-early. Can you meet me in the parking lot?"

Repeating his words from earlier, "Anything for you, pretty girl," Wally promised, grinning at the prospect of cuddling up somewhere intimate with you in the morning.

Although his thoughts weren't wholly innocent, he recognized within himself the genuine desire to do anything to be near you, for however long you'd give him. Whether that was two minutes or two hours, Wally would be grateful.

"Great," You smiled, bright against the dark autumn evening, "I'll see you then."

A final, sweet stamp of your lips to Wally's cheek and you went on your way, Wally having to watch as you stepped over the boundary of the school grounds and into a world where he couldn't follow.

"Can't wait," He uttered and the connection between you both quieted completely.

💀___________________________

PART NINE - PART ELEVEN

note: i am so sorry to those of you who the taglist isn't working for! i stg, i am trying everything i can think of to fix the links, but nothing has worked so far 💔 thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for sticking with this story despite all the technical difficulties!

if you'd like to be kept up-to-date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS as the taglist isn't currently working ☠️

#Milo Manheim #Wally Clark #Wally Clark x Reader #fem!reader #Wally Clark smut #Wally Clark fanfiction #Milo Manheim fanfiction #School Spirits #zed necrodopolis #Disney Zombies #October Sun

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emeritusemeritus · 4 months

Text

No Good Deeds [George Weasley x Reader]

Part 5

Part 1 2 3 4 5

Pairing: {George Weasley x Reader} mentions of previous Fred Weasley x Reader.

Timeline: Set a few years after DH, loosely following Canon.

Summary: A few years after Fred’s death, the investors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes demand changes to the name. All it would take is two years of a fake marriage to fix the issues, but no good deed goes unpunished.

Warnings: Fake marriage trope because we love the cliché. Mentions of death (Fred). Friends to lovers. Slow burn but mentions of kissing and eventual smut. Swearing. George calls us Angel. Drinking. SMUT. The smut has arrived! P in V, oral (both). Angst, sadness, grief. Tags will be updated with each chapter. Not Beta-read or spell checked.

Honeymoon time 💕

Your wedding to George was a jubilant celebration with your family and friends, a chance to bask in the love you were so thankful to receive from everyone around you. You'd honoured Fred in many ways that day, including photos of him, an empty chair with his name on and many other little ways to make it seem like he was there. You'd noticed George had worn his chain under his suit shirt and the sight of it made butterflies flutter inside you.

It was a small and quaint wedding that had admittedly been rushed in planning, only two weeks after you'd announced your engagement, but it was perfect. No one had doubted your intentions and the day had gone completely to plan, except for the regular hiccups that seem to occur when a group of people are brought together. Muriel had been characteristically foul as usual and had clashed with your great aunt Ariadne though she'd avoided the more triggering topics which was one consolation.

You danced with your friends and your now blended family late into the night, with George eventually stealing you back from dancing with Bill for one final dance.

"Have you had a good day Mrs Weasley?" He asks, holding you close as you sway with surprising grace even with the healthy amount of alcohol you'd both consumed.

"The best, Mr Weasley," you beam up at him, his handsomeness once again hitting you as you look upon his smiling face.

"Couldn't have asked for better. I don't think you've ever looked more beautiful."

The night you'd spent together had not been repeated since, nor had you really spoken about it. There was a lingering tension between you, growing increasingly stronger throughout the day as you thought of your wedding night and honeymoon, the anticipation almost consuming you.

Ginny and Fleur had whisked you away from George not long after your final dance to get you ready to leave for your honeymoon, which you'd be departing for very soon. It was tradition in the Weasley family to immediately begin your honeymoon the night of the wedding and you had readily accepted the chance to exit out of the wedding a little earlier into the night, giving you and George some time alone.

You'd chosen to honeymoon in the U.K. to keep costs down, after all this whole situation was based upon George reclaiming the shop as sole owner and any unnecessary spending would only increase the amount of time you'd be married. Bill and Fleur had graciously offered for you to stay in Shell Cottage with them but George had instead chosen to surprise you with your destination. He'd tactfully evaded every single one of your questions, relishing in his power of knowledge but had thankfully given you a few clues as to what you should pack. Clothes for all weather, from hot to bitter cold, a couple of 'nice' outfits and a bathing suit. So, nothing to really go off.

Percy had arranged a ministry car for you to borrow for the week, his gift for you both and you'd decided to travel like muggles for the week, taking your time and only using magic when necessary. George was driving to your destination, the luggage and travel necessities having been packed up earlier that day by the Weasley boys and Harry.

The crowd cheered as you both walked towards the car that was waiting for you, your family and friends gathered around with jubilant faces as you walked hand in hand towards the car. You both paused to thank and embrace Mr and Mrs Weasley before climbing into the car, George opening the door for you before getting in on his side. You waved at the gathering of people in front of you as George pulled away and as you pulled away from the Burrow, you peered through the back window, squirming around the freshly painted 'just married' sign to see your loved ones fading further away as they carried on the party.

"Are you okay?" George asks gently as he drives out of Ottery St Catchpole, the rolling Devonshire fields passing you by as the sun begins to set.

"I'm... incredible, I don't think there are words for how I'm feeling," you say with a wide smile, giggling a little at your inability to get your words out. He chuckles and reaches for your hand, pulling it onto the gear stick to join his.

"I know what you mean, I feel like I'm floating," he says, flashing you a smile before turning his attention back to the road. You take the opportunity of his attention being elsewhere to really look at him, the plains of his face looking unbelievably handsome to you. He looked stunning in his suit, the colour and cut of the material only serving as a compliment to his gorgeous red hair and sharp features.

"Checking me out Mrs Weasley?" He says with a smirk, eyes still fixed on the road. You fight to hide the creeping blush that appears on your cheeks, realising that he'd caught you staring. You bite your lip and turn away, choosing to look out of the window at the rolling hills instead. "You can you know, I'm yours now."

You turn to look at him and the smile he has plastered on his face fills you with warmth and nervous excitement.

"You look so handsome, I feel like I can't take my eyes off you," you admit, a little bashfully.

He gives a deep chuckle and squeezes your hand that is still held by his own.

"You have no idea how hard it is to drive right now, all I want to do is stare at you," he admits, though he sounds completely unashamed of his words. You blush and look away again, this time out of pure bliss, wanting to remember everything about this moment.

"Get some sleep Angel, it's quite a drive," he says softly a few minutes later, turning down the radio that was playing music in the background.

"I'm okay," you lightly protest, despite feeling relaxed by the drive. "I wish I'd taken this dress off though, not the best travelling outfit."

"And take that joy away from me? How dare you," he jokes, sounding a little outraged. Your stomach instantly fills with nerves and butterflies at his words; he intended to take your dress off.

You fell asleep a short while later, just as the last slither of sunlight had disappeared into the horizon, the long stretch of road ahead now only lit by car lights and the faint cats eyes on the ground. The mixture of the low humming from the radio, the gentle rocking of the car and the presence of George was enough to lull you into a much needed sleep as you cuddled into a pillow you'd thought to pack, wishing that you were wearing something much less restrictive but that couldn't be helped.

When you woke again, it was still pitch black and George was still driving, the car lights ahead of you the only clue to where you were.

"Hi Angel," George says, noticing you staring as he briefly looks over at you with a smile.

"Mmm, hi Georgie," you mumble back, still fighting off the last embers of sleep. "Where are we?"

"Nice try," he says, not falling at the last hurdle and you give a little huff, hoping that one would have worked. "About an hour away."

"Is there time to stop for a coffee somewhere?" You ask, sitting straighten in your seat as you abandon the pillow into your lap.

"I don't know anywhere that would be open," he says, flicking his eyes to the dashboard clock, prompting you to do so and realising that it was now past midnight, much to your surprise.

"McDonald's will be," you say with a little shrug, trying to see any hints from signposts as to where you were of where the next services would be.

"McDonald's?" He asks, completely oblivious and you can't help but laugh, never having thought about how the notion of 24 hour fast food had not yet entered the wizarding world, making George completely oblivious.

"It's a 24 hour restaurant, usually around road services, it's fast food," you explain. He immediately gets it and let's out a little 'ahhh' of understanding, telling you that there was a services coming up and you could check if there was one there. There was.

Introducing George Weasley to drive-through ordering was nothing short of hilarious and you'd briefly lamented the fact that his first McDonald's experience wouldn't be inside an actual McDonald's building but you were not about to enter a fast food joint at a service station in a wedding dress. You'd both ordered a coffee, yourself a medium coke and then you had excitedly introduced him to not only a Big Mac but also chicken nuggets, both of which were a complete revelation to him and you had to hold back serious giggles at his reactions. Half an hour later and you were on your way, coffees in hand and belly's a little fuller as you prepared for the last part of your journey.

"Are you sure you don't want me to take over? I don't mind driving to give you a break," you offered as you watch him put on his seatbelt.

"You don't know where we're going," he says with a devilish smirk but you feign innocence.

"Then just tell me and I'll get us there," you say innocently, batting your eyelashes at him.

"Nice try baby," he says with an even more sinister smirk, his eyes roaming your face briefly before he turns on the car and begins to pull away after one last sip of coffee.

You were transfixed as George turned right up a long winding path entirely shielded by trees, the long road leading you deeper under the canopy of trees until you were completely surrounded by woodland. You could make out a small, warm light at the end of the long road and became transfixed on the approaching light, trying to focus your eyes hard on that point, trying to make sense of it. The car swerved a little to avoid a large twig in the road which brought your destination into clear view.

You gasped at the beauty of the scene in front of you, looking excitedly at George who looked more than pleased at your reaction.

"George," you say breathlessly as he parks up in the little clearing beside the place you'd be staying.

It was a rustic log cabin, completely shielded away from everything by a large canopy of trees, a beautiful escape completely hidden away from the outside world. The cabin was almost entirely made of wood with wooden shutters and a wrap around deck.

"George it's beautiful," you say, completely gobsmacked as you look at the gorgeous lodge in front of you, seeing it illuminated by the multiple lanterns that offered a stark contrast against the pitch black night.

"Only the best for my bride," he teases, opening up his car door, prompting you to do the same.

"Want to explore whilst I unload the car?" He asks with a grin, holding the keys to the cabin out in front of you, the little wooden keyring clinking against the two old fashioned keys. You nod enthusiastically and reach out to grab them, pulling George in and without much thought, you leaned up to press a kiss to his lips. Instantly, you realised what you'd done and took a step back, blushing a little as you avoided his gaze. His hand had instinctively wrapped around your back and he gave your back a little rub as you parted, showing no ill will as you turned and walked excitedly towards the cabin.

Opening the door, you were immediately met with an illuminated room thanks to the warm lighting from multiple lamps and light fixtures. The cabin was warm, as if there was a log fire already burning and the smell was heavenly, clean and fresh but with an indisputable scent of wood and pine, a natural consequence of it's idyllic surroundings. You walked through a little entrance hall that houses a utility room before stepping into an open living room, dining room and kitchen, all of which were warm and inviting with natural wood features throughout and neutral colours, highlighting the windows which you knew would almost certainly have beautiful views in the morning. There were two brown leather sofas that looked absolutely lush and a single armchair underneath a window that looked perfect for reading, a tall lamp beside it and a little table for drinks. There was a television and a cabinet in the corner and beside that was a beautiful log burner that was indeed lit, radiating heat throughout the home. You couldn't see much through the side door that was half glass but the outside light did illuminate the decking a little, highlighting a rather impressive sunken hot tub that was covered, eliciting a little excited squeal from you.

You walked down a small corridor that led off from the main atrium through a beautifully carved wooden door with an old metal latch which led you to the bathroom on the left and two bedrooms. You crept into the bathroom to take a peak and saw a big bathtub to the left and a built in shower to the right, as if every need was catered for. One bedroom has two single beds partitioned with a beautiful shelving unit and the other bedroom was almost certainly the master.

There was a huge four poster bed against the back wall bookended by two beside tables with lamps that looked entirely too inviting. The bedding was sheer white and completely crease free, only adding to its appeal. There was a smaller television in here too, along with a dressing table and a large, ornate wardrobe that looked older than the cabin itself.

"What do you think Mrs Weasley?" George asks from behind you as you pause to run your hand over the ornately carved bed frame. You turn to see him leaning against the doorframe with a smirk, still wearing his wedding suit but now with his tie removed and a few buttons open near his collar.

"I think it's absolutely beautiful Mr Weasley," you reply, turning to him with a look of pure elation.

"Just like my wife then," he says with a look in his eyes that makes your pulse race. He steps towards you with clear conviction and it's all you can do not to melt into a puddle, the look in his eye so dangerously arousing that you're almost frozen to the spot. It was the first time he'd called you his wife and the reaction that it pulled from your body was almost unbelievable, the sound of it almost heavenly in your mind.

As soon as he reaches you, there's a brief pause as if he's searching your face for any hint of resistance, not that he'd find any. When he sees the look in your eye, knowing that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you, he steps even closer and wraps his hand around the back of your neck before leaning down and kissing you with a burning passion.

Your hands slip up to his chest, feeling the material of his lapels under your fingers and pull slightly, needing to feel him as close to you as possible as you pull his jacket off. His fingers tangle in your hair as the kiss deepens, tongues working together to fuel the burning desire between you both.

With his right hand cradling your head and his left clutching as your waist, he begins leading you to the side of the bed, silently asking if it was okay to go further.

"Make love to me George," you say against his lips, hardly wanting to pull away for even a second. You hear him groan against your lips before his hand slips from your hair and down to your butt, cradling you and taking your weight. In a move that would otherwise impress you if you'd seen it in person, he sweeps you off your feet whilst climbing onto the bed and lays you down softly before climbing over you, kicking off his shoes in the process.

"I've waited all day to rip this dress off of you," he mumbles against your skin as he begins kissing down your neck, onto your bare shoulders where your dress straps began, the soft layers of the gown suddenly feeling much too restrictive as your skin burnt up with desire. He kisses down your chest as your hands tangle in his slightly grown out hair. There's a single moment where your eyes meet, just as he hovers over your panting cleavage and it takes your breath away how absolutely sexy he looks, the desire and admiration in his eyes mirroring your own. His long fingers drag against your rib cage as they dance over to your covered breasts before he reaches in to pull down the cup of dress, exposing your right breast to him, your dusky pink nipple already hard and waiting for him. He groans, watching your breast spring free and immediately bends down to run his tongue over the pebbled nipple, eliciting a deep, breathy moan from you before his lips wrap about the little bud and begin sucking. You moan out again, throwing your head back into the pillows at the overwhelming sensation and suddenly you feel the whole atmosphere change. There's no trepidation anymore, no resistance or questioning but rather just a primal urge between both of you.

You can tell that George is feeling for the opening your dress so you divert his fingers to the small, concealed zipper on the side and help him drag it down, much too slowly for your liking. He pulls away the dress after you slip your arms out and you watch carefully as his mouth slips open to a little 'o' shape as he pulls the dress from your body, exposing you completely to his gaze. You couldn't wear a bra with your dress thanks to the unique straps but you had thought you buy a tiny white lace thong that you'd had embroidered with a little 'W' on the left side of the crotch, knowing it would either make him laugh or make him growl. Luckily for you, it was most certainly the latter as he groaned as he spotted it, momentarily fixated on your naked breasts that were exposed completely for his view, his eyes travelling down your body with acute precision before he eventually noticed your little customisation. He groans and leans down to press a kiss directly to where the 'W' was situated, just above your mound and you can't help but squirm as the sensation of having him so close to where you needed him. He notices, of course he does, and his eyes flick up to yours with a look of pure mischief as he begins kissing the inside of your thigh and across your bikini line, teasing you. You groan and can't help but roll your hips as he flutters kisses everywhere apart from where you need them.

"My beautiful wife needs something?" He teases, acting completely oblivious when you knew he was very aware.

"Please George," you beg, "need you."

Like a switch had been flicked in George's mind, his long fingers begin tracing your pussy through the very thin and nearly transparent lace, groaning once again when he feels the wetness seeping through the lace. You feel his fingers hook into the side of your thong, catching your labia with a little stroke before he pulls them away from your burning pussy, exposing you completely to his view. He wastes no time and leans down, licking a long stripe across your pussy, catching your swollen clit with the til of his tongue in the most perfect way that has you gasping and moaning.

"Fuck you taste good, so sweet," he whines into your pussy, resting his forehead against your mound for a moment before he slips down again, this time licking you with vigour. "So wet baby."

His tongue is everywhere, delicately stroking and teasing whilst also hitting every spot you need him in perfectly. It's a perfect juxtaposition between his igniting a fire inside of you, making you burn with desire and pure torment whilst also extinguishing the flames with his tongue. As soon as his finger traces your inner lips as it moves down, gently pressing into your waiting hole before he slips one of his long, deft fingers inside of you, you're gone. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, hips rising of their own accord as you grope your breasts, completely consumed by your pleasure. He slips a second finger into you as you cry out, fucking yourself on his fingers as he circles your clit with his tongue, putting pressure on the left side just as he's discovered drives you crazy.

"George, George!" You chant as you feel the beginning of your orgasm rising in you very quickly, consuming you and burning you from the inside out. Your pussy is drenched and you can feel more arousal gushing from you as your climax crests, George's own moans ringing out in your mind as he pushes you over the edge. It's like you're falling, the crescendo of light and burning arousal overtaking your whole body and mind, the only capable thought in your mind is of George. He licks you slowly as you come down, careful to avoid your sensitive clit as he laps up your cum, fingers still slowly fucking you bath and forth with gentle strokes, extending your pleasure.

You gasp to catch your breath, chest rising and falling rapidly as your heart pounds, the effects of your orgasm still lingering as you feel a tingle across your whole body. It takes all of ten seconds for you to focus your attention back to George who has pulled his fingers out of you and began kissing your inner thigh again, soothing you as you return to him.

You sit up and reach for him, pulling him on top of you as you kiss him feverishly, moaning as you taste yourself on his lips. He notices and groans deeply against your lips, almost growling as you lick at his lips, desperate for a taste. You claw at his shirt, desperate to even out your nudity and feel his skin against yours and as if he can sense the sheer desperation, reaches down and completely rips the front of his shirt, the flying and falling buttons only an afterthought as you fight to get the shredded shirt away from his body. Your hands slip to his smooth shoulders and down his back as you kiss him desperately, pulling his tongue into your mouth so you can suck on it, relishing in his deep groans and little whines. Your hands rest on his collarbones as you slowly pull away from him, pushing him slightly until he realises was you want. You overpower him with just enough force that he rolls onto his back as you immediately latch to his chest, kissing and biting as you make your way down to your destination.

His suit trousers are completely tented, the sheer size an excitement of him almost intimidating to you as you fight to open the fastenings of his trousers. You don't wait even a moment after they are open to slide them down his hips, along with his black boxer briefs until he was completely bare, except from his sentimental chain and your wedding rings. You crawl back up the bed after throwing aside his bottoms and flick your eyes up to see his own desperate look as you come face to face with his rather impressive member. His lips are parted and he looks completely desperate as he watches you carefully, silently pleading for you to take his aching length in your mouth. You grant him reprieve almost instantly, licking straight from the crest of his balls to the engorged tip of his cock, tracing the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock, following the gentle curve. He cries out at the contact and it makes you want to do everything in your power to hear it over and over again.

You gave into him completely, taking his tip in your mouth and licking all around, earning another heavenly noise from him before you sucked in your cheeks and bobbed up and down his length, taking him deeper and deeper with each fall; never stopping your tongue from running along the length of him. You were addicted to him, the taste, the weight of his length against your tongue, the feel of his smooth skin against your lips. You fought to go further with each bob, sucking him down like the most delicious treat from Honeydukes, giving everything you could.

George was moaning mess before you, desperately searching for any part of your body he could reach as he fought to stop his hips from rising each time you'd pull off, like he never wanted to leave your hot, wet mouth. Sweet names, curses and a load more expletives fell from his mouth as you pleasured him until he reached out, leaning forward to pull you closer to him.

You were dripping, more aroused than ever and so desperate for him to fill you that it was all you could think about. He pauses, looking at the little strip of lace that was still misplaced, concealing nothing of yourself and ripped the thin strings on the sides, tearing it away from your body, both of you complete bare to the other's gaze.

It was so intimate and intense that it stole the breath from your lungs, just how adoringly he was gazing at you. His hand grabbed around your neck, holding your face and threading into your hair as he kissed you completely without abandon, your chests pressed together as your leg slipped between his, desperately seeking friction.

"Ride me baby," he mumbles against your lips and as if acting directly on command, you comply. You lift your hips and straddle him, his narrow hips allowing your thighs to rest against his comfortably as your centres align, the heat and sensitivity joining together to make you both gasp.

He reaches down and holds his perfect cock at the bottom, ready for you to climb onto and you can hardly contain your cries as you slowly sink down, feeling him stretching you out. He pulls his hand away, moaning at the sensation as his hand rests on your bum, the large hand and long fingers wrapping around your bum and thigh.

It's sinful how well he stretches you out, filling you completely without any pain or discomfort, like you'd been moulded perfectly for his cock alone.

When your hips rise again and you sink back down, this time much more confidently, your head flips back at the sensation. George grunts and tightens his grip on you as you slowly begin to ride him, hips undulating and breasts bouncing as you fall into a perfect rhythm. Your hair fans out across your back and you've never felt sexier in that moment, feeling adored under his gaze and praised by not only his words but also his moans and growls.

You're both so worked up, so perfectly in sync that you can hardly contain yourself, not even caring to try and hold off the impending climax that threatens you, creeping up slowly until it's impossible to resist. You can feel your walls clenching around him, your arousal peaking as it leaks out around his cock and you're rewarded with the most incredible moans that spill from his lips at the sensation.

"George, Georgie I'm gonna," you stagger, completely breathless as you keep riding him, finding the perfect spot and movement so that he hits every single pleasure point inside you.

"Cum Angel, fuck, cum around my cock," he pants, groaning and tightening his grip on your hips as he fucks up into you. "Godric you're tight, perfect little pussy squeezing my cock so good. Cum for me Angel."

You chant his name as the heat of your second orgasm consumes you, never once stopping as you bounce on his cock. He takes over fucking up into you as you ride out your climax, filling you completely as he shoves his entire length into you before pulling almost completely out and repeating the motion. You're in complete bliss, overwhelmingly so, and can hardly stop tears of overstimulation brimming at your eyes, blurring your vision only slightly. George lets out a roar as he cums, fucking up into you with a brutal pace that is sinful at best. His hands pull you close to him, bruises forming under his grip but it's perfect.

His thrust stop slowly as he comes down from his high, riding out the last of his pleasure as he pulls you down to rest on him, softening cock slipping out at the angle. You breathe deeply as you feel the evidence of his pleasure slipping out of you slowly, trickling down until it dripped onto your inner thighs.

He cranes his neck to reach out to kiss you again, though this time it's like a warm down, gentle and sensitive.

"Welcome to the family," he wheezes after a few moments of comfortable silence and you let out a loud belly laugh at the absurdity of his words, tapping his chest as you slink down to rest beside him, his arm still keeping you pressed to him. He's covered you both with the duvet and you can't resist slipping into a very comfortable sleep, too comfortable and worn out from the day to fight it.

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