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mctherofdragons · 4 years

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In the Afterglow | 2 | F.W.

moodboard by @minty-malfoy.

Summary: The reader is married to George Weasley, and for all intents and purposes, he is the perfect husband. But, despite her best efforts to resist, Fred presents temptation she never knew she’d fall for.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem! Reader; George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Alternate Universe: No Voldemort AU

Rating: Mature, Future Chapters will Feature Explicit Content

Trigger Warnings: Angst, cussing, mild sexual content, mentions of extramarital affairs, cheating, nudity

Author’s Note: Let me know if you’d like to be on the tag list!

Taglist: @oh-for-merlins-sake @sunflowernarry @vivianweasley @haf-the-trash-panda @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @msmarklee1213 @n3ssm0nique @satellitespidey @michaylahpfan27 @girl22334 @starlightweasley @minty-malfoy @theweasleytwinsgirl

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November 10.

Fall had fully arrived in London, decorating the ground with crunchy orange and red leaves. You pulled a sweater out of your closet and pulled it on. Molly had knit it for you last Christmas. It was maroon with little flecks of grey throughout. Something about it being homemade made you love it more. Being wed into the Weasleys offered you a family you hadn’t had before. One that gave gifts and hugged on holidays; one that shared laughter and drinks far into the night on Christmas Eve; one that cared for you deeply and unconditionally. Your heart jumped a bit when you felt two arms around your waist suddenly.

“Hi honey,” George said, turning to kiss your lips. You kissed back, placing your hand on the back of his neck. A giggle escaped your lips as you moved your hands down to the cool touch of his trouser buttons. The autumn weather had made you more affectionate, seeking warmth in your husband’s arms.

“I have about an hour until I really have to leave. Dinner’s on in the slow cooker, so...I don’t have anything to occupy me for a while…”

But, as was typical lately, George didn’t fulfill your requests.

“I have to go get to the shop,” he pouted. You sighed with an honest attempt to hide your annoyance. When you and George had first married, intimacy was far more...exciting. He would steal you away into the back storage room of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, hoping Fred didn’t come wandering back. You lived in back-arching, toe-curling ecstasy for your first year of marriage. But now, when you actually got around to having sex, it had lost its thrill. George didn’t show or tell you much lately how much he loved you. It hurt, but you were too afraid to let him know that.

You didn’t really have anything to say that wouldn’t have been slightly cruel, so you huffed off to the bathroom to finish your makeup. George followed, leaning against the door frame. “I’m sorry,” he sounded genuine. “But I mean, I have to go to work, honey.”

“I know,” you said, leaning forward to apply mascara to your eyes. He came over and gave you a kiss behind your ear, which only made you grow more frustrated with his lack of fulfilling what you wanted.

“Yup,” you said, moving away from him. The sound of your heels clicking on the tile as you head into the kitchen somehow annoyed George beyond belief.

“You really are being a bit of a bitch about this,” he huffed. His words stung. George was never one for name-calling, and just the sound of the cuss word rolling off his tongue cut you to the quick.

George had grown used to you, you reasoned. He no longer needed to ‘woo’ you because the shiny diamond on your finger had ensured you were his for good.

“Don’t start,” you warned. You busied yourself with filling your travel mug with coffee. The sound of George’s sighing made you look up. He was fastening the buttons of his jacket. For some reason, you felt like crying but pushed your tears back.

“Can we chat about this later?”

You nodded, handing him a paper bag with his lunch in it. He gave you a quick peck on the forehead and left.

You sighed, pulling your phone out of your pocket. Mindlessly, you scrolled to your recent texts and found Fred’s name. You took a type breath as you typed, feeling your heart murmur as you typed.

Thinking of you, Freddie.

But you quickly erased the text, forbidding yourself to continue the thoughts you had started to entertain.

——————-

Later that evening, you stood in the back room of the shop, placing some things onto a storage shelf. It was typical that when you were done with work, you’d head over to Weasley Wizard Wheezes and give the boys a hand. Fred was sitting at a nearby computer, sending an email to one of the suppliers they frequently worked with. He had noticed you and George hadn’t said a single word to one another all night.

“Hey, y/n?”

You heard Fred begin to speak, so you turned to your head, walking over the computer.

“You seem down, is everything alright?”

This was the way of things between you and Fred. He knew you like the lyrics of his favorite song. If the tune was even a little bit off, he could sense it. There were times throughout your time of knowing him that he had used this to comfort you before you could even admit to your own hurt. Often, it so happened, this would be when you and George would get into a fight.

You felt the tears you had pushed down earlier begin to make their way up to the surface again.

“Oh, yeah, Fred, I’m okay.”

You felt Fred place his warm hand on top of yours. His palms and fingers were calloused from years of beating bludgers. The feeling of his touch felt different than ever before. You could sense somewhere deep in your bones that your feelings for Fred were changing as quickly and surely as the autumn leaves. He stroked his thumb over yours, looking up at you, his affectionate chocolate-colored eyes shining behind his long lashes.

“You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

“I’m fine, Fred,” you moved away quickly, going back to stacking boxes of Whiz Bangs.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *

November 29th.

“Happy birthday, Bill!”

Arthur placed a large cake down in the center of the dining table. Molly had allowed Albus to write in icing ‘Happy Birthday Uncle Billy’, which reminded Harry affectionately of his 11th birthday cake from Hagrid. You were sat between Fred and George, smiling happily as you watched him blow out the candles.

Fleur smiled affectionately as she gave Bill a shy kiss on the cheek. You felt yourself wondering if their marriage had also become listless. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if maybe you should talk about how you’d been feeling with Fleur and Hermione, but, you felt a sense of shame. A sense of failure had started to enter your mind - maybe you just weren’t attractive to George anymore. A sense of sadness filled your heart again, so you pushed it away, reaching to George’s hand. He barely held it back. You could feel your knee touching Fred’s, which forced you to take continuous sips of the pumpkin juice in front of you.

Once everyone had finished eating, you chose to clean up so that everyone could continue talking. The truth was, you felt an aching sadness in your chest and needed some time alone. You turned on this sink in the kitchen, smiling at the coziness of Molly’s little kitchen. You allowed the sink to fill with whatever, humming to yourself as you scrubbed. You found your head bopping back and forth as you hummed the Triwizard Tournament theme.

You looked up when Fred appeared next to you, reaching into the water to help you.

“I got it,” you said quietly. Something about his mere presence made you want to scream.

“Let me help you.”

You weren’t sure if he was talking about the dishes, but something about his tone and the huskiness behind his words made you think he definitely was not.

Your hands met beneath the water, Fred’s fingers dancing against yours. You moved to give his hand a squeeze, looking knowingly into his eyes.

“Y/n, I…”

Suddenly, you heard Ginny’s voice behind you. “You two need help?” She asked sweetly, grabbing a hand towel to do the drying. You yanked your hands out of the sudsy water with a splash.

“Absolutely, thanks, Gin,” you replied, letting yourself glance over at Fred who was clearly struggling to calm his breathing.

_________________________

The shower at the Burrow was notoriously hard to operate. But nonetheless, you were finally able to find the right temperature. You stood beneath the hot water, letting it run over you. You sighed contently. The heat had allowed some of the stress to melt away. You worked the shampoo into your hair, closing your eyes as you rinsed away a day’s worth of troubles. After you felt clean, you slid the curtain open, flipping over to wrap your hair in a towel. The room had become foggy from the heat, which you noted as you headed over to the mirror to wash your face.

Just then, the door opened. You jumped, nearly screaming at the sight of Fred in the doorway. He shut the door behind him. There was no way he hadn’t seen pretty much everything you had to offer. You couldn’t find a word to utter as he looked your bare body up and down.

Your breath felt strangled as he walked forward, moving so you were flush against the wall. In your chest, your heartbeat had gone wild. You had never felt like this in your life - not even the first time you finally made love to George.

Fred reached over and handed you the towel off a nearby shelf.

“Make sure you lock the door next time, pet,” he said, watching as you shakily wrapped it around you.

“Get out of here, Fred,” you feigned outrage, even though you didn’t mind him being there one bit.

He laughed, using his thumb to wipe smeared mascara from beneath your eye. It had run while you showered.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Fred-”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay-”

But Fred had turned to leave, looking at you over his shoulder.

“Don’t tell George?”

“Pinky promise.”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

December 24.

You all sat around the fire, warmed from the inside out by stories of the Weasley boys as children, and spiked eggnog. You sat between George’s legs, his arms wrapped lovingly around you. He placed his chin on your shoulder, and you turned to kiss his lips. He tasted like Christmas cookies and nutmeg.

“I’m tired, honey. Are you?”

You shook your head. “No, but go on up. I think I’ll stay up a while longer. Do you think I’ll see Father Christmas?”

George laughed, bopping you on the nose. “Perhaps, but he knows you’ve been a naughty girl.”

Molly gasped, “George Weasley! In front of your own mother!”

The whole room erupted in laughter, watching as your face turned bright red. “Goodnight, George,” you chuckled, giving him one last goodnight hug.

The room slowly continued to clear out. You sat on the floor, sipping more eggnog and flipping through a photo album. You smiled at a sweet picture of Fred and George in matching Christmas sweaters, toothy grins adorning their face as they held up their Christmas presents. On the next page was another picture of the twins in matching onesies, just a few days after they were born. They were always together. They shared everything. You felt a pang of guilt wash over you again. You hadn’t been able to forget about the incident on Bill’s birthday, and what’s more, it had thrilled you.

Eventually, it was just you and Fred in the sitting room. The house had fallen quiet as you listening to the crackling of the fireplace. Fred came to sit next to you, silently watching the fire along with you.

You turned and looked over at him. He still captivated you with his boyish charm. No matter how many times you had looked at him, you never failed to feel some sort of joy deep inside of you. Again, you felt ashamed, because your husband has failed to make you feel this way for a few months now.

Fred scooted forward, looking into your eyes as if he were searching for something. You gazed back, hoping that he would find what he was looking for. He was wearing his old, tattered sweater that Molly had made him so many years ago, a big F on the front. It was sweet and nostalgic. It reminded you a Christmas nights at Hogwarts, sharing chocolates and playing pranks in the hallowed hallways.

“So, what’s been going on? Seriously, y/n, it’s been driving me mad.”

“Well, honestly, things aren’t fantastic with George right now, Fred, s’all there is to say.”

“How do you mean?”

You blushed. “It’s embarrassing,” you admitted, pulling the sleeves of your sweater down around your hands and pulling your knees to your chest.

Fred reached over to tuck a hair behind your ear. “You can tell me, you know that.”

“I just don’t think he finds me beautiful anymore, Fred. He doesn’t touch me like he used to. He...just...I don’t know. I feel like such a normal part of his life. The fireworks have gone. It makes me feel small and ….unbeautiful. I miss feeling wanted. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because...we haven’t started a family yet. Maybe he’s disappointed in that? I don’t know.”

The words came pouring out of your mouth. All at once, you regretted them, staring down at the carpet. You felt bad for talking badly about George, especially to his closest brother. You felt tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. Sniffling, you used the hem of your sleeves to wipe your eyes.

“You are so far from unbeautiful, y/n. You’re perfect. George is the luckiest man on this Earth. I...I swear it.”

What Fred didn’t tell you was that the day George had gone through with the proposal, he had locked himself in his bathroom and cried. Full, heavy, fat-teared crying over the fact that his chance with you had been lost forever. Seeing you in white walking down the aisle toward him had taken his breath away, too, until he remembered he was standing next to George as his best man. You were the one that got away, and the hardest part was is that you hadn’t gone anywhere.

He cupped your face in his hands, moving to use his sweater to catch your stray tears. “Do you know how much I hate seeing you sad?”

All at once, your lips were crashing into his. You fell back onto the carpet, his hands coming to rest on either side of your head, propped up by his arms. “Freddie,” you gasped, but before you could say too much, he continued to kiss you.

Your tongues battled for dominance. Fred flicked his tongue across your lip. You felt his hands sliding up under your sweater, grabbing your hips. His hands were colder than you expected, making you jump. Your chest rose and fell, breathing deeply as he pulled away.

“He’s a bloody idiot,” Fred gasped, pressed his forehead to yours. The only sound to be heard in the Burrow sitting room was the shaky breath of you both...and the overwhelming sense that a beautiful secret - like a tapestry - had just started to be woven together.

[To Be Continued.]

#fred weasley x reader #weasley twins #fred weasley x you #fred weasley fanfiction #weasley twins fanfiction #george weasley #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine

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theweasleysredhair · 4 years

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In The Darkness [G.W.]

Character: George Weasley

Word Count: 1681

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: George is adjusting to life without Fred.

Tags: @dreamer821 @gracemayhateyou @criminalyetminimal @firewhisky-kisses @obsessedwithrandomthings @angelinathebook @iprobablyshipit91 @tinylumpiaa @locke-writes @wand3ringr0s3 @ickle-ronniekins @sehunasbitch @cryingforcrystalpepsi | message or send an ask to be added/removed!

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: idk, I was supposed to write something completely different and then this happened

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

He was sat in a ball in front of the couch, knees tucked to his chest as he stared into space, the candle he had lit hours previous long flickered out. The dark held a lot of unknowns, a lot of what ifs, but right now, the dark offered him some comfort, a hideaway from the world. In the dark, he could be anyone. In the dark, no one knew him. In the dark, everyone was alone. Everyone was lonely.

Just like him.

Of all the tragedies he’d allowed himself to imagine over the years, not one came close to making him feel the way he was right now. Because he’d lost the person he adored the most. The person he relied on, his rock, his other half. He felt as if he was half a person, a shell of himself, as if he’d only be whole once he was reunited with his twin.

He’d thought about it, for a fleeting moment. As the reality dawned upon him and he felt his heart shatter. He’d thought about joining him - but one look at his mother’s distraught face and he knew. He just couldn’t.

He painted himself as surviving in front of his family, in front of his mother. Pretended he was fine, for her sake, for his brothers’ sakes, for his sister’s sake. He plastered a smile on his face from the moment he got to work to the moment he arrived back through the door.

George wished he was that guy - the guy who carried on, who pushed through, who could smile through the pain. He wished... Merlin he wished he was okay.

And as he sat in the dark of his living room, his lip trembling, hands shaking, he chanted the same mantra to himself,

“I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Yet with every repetition, he felt himself sliding deeper into his thoughts, deeper into the abyss.

Because the truth is, he had never had to live without Fred. He’d never known life without him - never wanted to know life without him. And now here he was, swallowing harshly and digging his nails into his palms as he willed himself not to cry.

Fred wouldn’t want him to cry. Fred wanted people to laugh - his whole life he’d revolved around pranks and entertaining people. But George couldn’t help it.

Because Fred wasn’t here. He wasn’t here to tell him to stop fussing, to stand up and be George Weasley, one half of the Weasley twins. And so George couldn’t help it when the first tear fell.

Because it wasn’t Fred and George anymore. It was just George.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sat there, hadn’t even realised someone had arrived at the flat until the candles that had gone out suddenly flickered back on.

“George?” A voice called out from the hallway. The ginger made no move to reply, or to get up. He only gathered the energy to look up when he heard a small, almost inconspicuous gasp.

Because the sight in front of you was not the George you’d known since first year. The man curled up on the floor in front of you was thin, pale, his eyes red raw, lips chapped. His jumper - with an ‘F’ stitched on the front, you noticed - seemed sizes too big and you knew he hadn’t been eating properly.

“Oh George...” you whispered. You placed your bag down carefully on the couch and sat beside him on the floor, holding your arms out.

For a moment, he blinked, as if he was unsure if you were really there, and then he let out a broken sob as he buried his face into your neck. Your arms wrapped around him, holding him close and whispering reassuringly to him, almost cradling him as he cried in your arms. You felt the tears in your eyes falling down your cheeks as you pulled him closer, stroking his back.

You hadn’t seen him so sad, so broken, in all your time of knowing him. You’d seen him laugh, cry, smile... but nothing, nothing compared to this.

“I miss him,” you heard his voice, muffled by the sweater you were wearing, “I miss him so much.” You felt your heart squeeze as you pressed your lips together, staring at the wall ahead of him as you let your fingers run through his hair.

“I know,” you replied softly, “I miss him too. Sometimes I forget and-and then I remember and... He’d be so proud of you, you know? For how strong you’re being, for how well the shop is doing.”

There was a silence, and you wondered if you’d said the right thing. Was there a right thing to say? You didn’t know how to cope yourself, but seeing George made you wish you could take his pain and add it to your own. You’d give anything to see him smile - laugh - properly again.

“I just... I want him back,” he said after a while, pulling away from you slightly, but only to readjust his position so that he was now laying across your thighs, “I... No one understands. I look at myself in the mirror and I see him. I make a joke and-and he’s not there to join in. He’s not... he’s not there. And it hurts so much. No one calls me Fred anymore. I mean I hated it when people got us confused but... now they can’t. I’d give anything to trade places with him, he deserves to be here instead, not me. Why... why did it have to be him?”

And as you held him in your arms, you felt helpless. Because truly, you didn’t know why the world had to take Fred away. Maybe that’s why it was called a tragedy.

“I’m not going to pretend that I know how you’re feeling because I don’t. I know he means more to you than anyone and I- well, he was one of my best friends and if I’m feeling how I am then I can only imagine what it’s like for you right now George. You’re going to be okay, though. You are, I promise. It doesn’t feel that way now but you will. It’s gonna take time but I’m here, I’m here every step of the way, whatever you need, okay?”

You sat in silence for a while, just holding onto each other, the candles flickering around you. Glancing down at him, you saw his eyes start to droop and you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Should we get you to bed?”

Feeling him nod, you helped him stand and followed him into his bedroom. You pulled his duvet back and plumped his pillows as he got himself ready in the bathroom before he re-entered the room, the corner of his mouth curling up slightly as if he was going to smile when he saw you, before shifting his gaze away.

He got into bed and you turned, just to move his wand from the nightstand but he grabbed your hand and looked up at you frantically, as if he thought you were going to leave.

“Can you stay?” He asked, his eyes vulnerable and heart pounding.

“I- Well I- Yes, yes of course I will. Of course I’ll stay with you,” you replied, squeezing his hand and offering him a smile.

Because you knew he needed someone to be there for him, and by Merlin were you going to help him. Because you were not going to let him go through this alone.

You found yourself a few minutes later, not for the first time, beside George in his bed, wearing one of his shirts that he’d lent you as you were pulled into his arms. Your head was resting on his chest, his arms holding your waist as he squeezed you every so often, as if making sure you were still there, still with him.

“Thank you,” he whispered into the darkness, as he allowed himself to intertwine his fingers with yours, “for everything. For being here.”

He meant it. Besides Fred, you were the only other person to believe in him and the shop, to stand by him, to be there for him. And he loved you for that, just how he knew you loved him too, even if neither of you had said it aloud.

“Anytime, George. You know you can call me and I’ll be here, I don’t care what time it is. If you need me, you’re my priority, okay?”

He felt him nod, and silence overcame you both again. You closed your eyes, beginning to drift off when he spoke again.

“Every time I smile I feel guilty,” he admitted in a low tone. You wanted to ask why, to prompt him to speak but knew you couldn’t rush him. He’d speak when he was ready - if he was ready. He squeezed your hand before continuing, “I feel guilty for smiling but... I can’t help smiling when I’m around you. You’ve always been there for us - for me - and I’m sorry if I’m overstepping the line but... I think I’m in love with you. And right now I don’t know how to deal with that but I do. I love you and- and can’t do anything about it without feeling guilty for being happy but I will. I can’t expect you to wait for me but if- if you feel the same, I-“

“George, it’s okay,” you interrupted him softly, moving to catch his gaze in the dark, “I’d wait as long as you need. I’m here for you, I’ll always be here for you. We’ll get you through this, together.”

And you kept your word. Sometimes there were bad days, days you’d find him curled up in front of the mirror, sobbing, days you’d catch him throwing things at the wall in frustration, in anger... but other days you’d see him smiling - really, genuinely smiling and you’d know.

George Weasley was going to be okay.

#george #george weasley #george x reader #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #weasley twins #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins imagines #hp #harry potter

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eleven-times-lively · 4 years

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The Fight

In which reader and Fred question their compatibility. 💕 masterpost

Summary: You and Fred haven’t been the same since the girls left for Hogwarts. Can you handle the new dynamic after eleven years? Word Count: 3654 Note: I am such a whore for angst so this is one of my favorite chapters so far lol. Thanks to Liv with help with some ideas! Sorry in advance for the cliffhanger, as this is the end of part 2!!! Enjoy!

Two weeks had passed since Cassie and Callie boarded the Hogwarts Express and left for school. Two weeks since you’d seen your little girls. Two weeks since you were surrounded by constant laughter and joy. Two weeks since things had felt normal.

You and Fred had gotten off to a fine start… that is if fine consists of uncomfortable silence and forced conversation. It was as if you’d forgotten how to be alone with each other. Eleven years of constant company can make a couple forget how to be, well, a couple. With each passing day you could feel a divide. Rather than a lovely time of peace, a rift between you and Fred was growing strong, vast, and cold.

The first major fight happened just a day after the girls had left. One day and you were at each other’s throats. It would have been the twins’ second day of school, and house announcements had finally come around to family members.

“Freddie!” you shouted from the front door, “The girls’ house announcements are here!”

“‘Bout bloody time!” he shouted as he ran down the stairs. He scooped you up in his arms and carried you to the couch. You gave him a quick kiss before settling opposite him and tearing open the letter.

Your excited expression quickly fell as you read. Fred looked at you expectantly. “Calliope Molly Weasley,” you began, “has been placed in Ravenclaw.” You looked up at Fred with a halfhearted smile.

“Can’t say I didn’t see that coming,” Fred chuckled, “why are you upset, love?”

“Not upset, just… puzzled.” You paused a moment before continuing. “Cassiopeia Ginevra Weasley has been placed in Gryffindor.” You looked up at Fred, this time with a genuine smile on your face. However, there were cracks in your visage, waiting to split upon his reaction.

“Yes!” he shouted, earning a puzzled glance from you. “Gryffindor! That’s my girl!” He was up from the couch, and quite literally, jumping with glee. However he faltered and paused for a moment. “Wait…” his words drew out from his mouth, as if the very sound disgusted him, “two separate houses?”

You looked up at him, unsure of how to precede. “Yeah,” you said just about a whisper. “I know it’ll be a tough adjustment, but if anyone can do it it’s our girls. I’m happy for them!” You were truly excited and extremely proud of your daughters, however you looked up and Fred didn’t seem to be sharing your feelings.

His face was flushed, save for a cherry red at the edges of his ears. He was breathing heavy, and honestly looked as if he was about to pass out. “Two… two,” he was stuttering in utter disbelief. “Two different houses,” he muttered as he brought himself to sit down on the chair next to the couch. His eyes were blank as he just stared straight ahead, incoherently muttering while he ran his hands through his hair. You only caught a few words in broken bits, which happened to be ‘twins’ ‘Gryffindor’ and ‘George’.

You stood up from your seat and crouched down next to him, gently rubbing his arm as you cocked an eyebrow up at him. He looked down at you, a shocked expression playing at his features. His face was contorted in such a way as if to perfectly convey his saying ‘why aren’t you shocked as well?’.

“Two different houses,” he repeated, this time clearly, “They’re in two different houses, y/n.”

“Okay,” you began, this time your turn to flash a look of confusion, “and? Fred, they’ll be fine. If anything, this will be good for them.” You stood up and looked down at him.

“Good?!” he gasped as if you’d just told him the Hollyhead Harpies lost the cup. “How in the world could this be good, y/n?” He rose to his feet and took your hands in his, searching your face for even an ounce of a shared feeling.

Because, Fred…” you began, fighting the urge to roll your eyes and scoff at him, “they’ve been attached at the hip for eleven years, some separation will do them well.”

“But they need each other, y/n!” He looked at you as if you had ten heads. “Twins need one and other!” He was shouting, whether he realised it or not you weren’t sure.

“No Fred,” you continued, now annoyed, “they don’t. It will be good for them. They’ll have different classes, different friends, different experiences. They’ll get to make a life for themselves that isn’t dependent on each other! How in the world could you say this is bad!?” By the end, you were yelling… intentionally.

“But they need each other!” He repeated the same sentiment once again, still flashing the wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression of shock.

“I’m not having this argument if that’s all you can say, Weasley,” you did scoff this time and started to walk away when he finally spoke a different word.

“Y/n, wait.” He was rubbing his face with his hands. You walked back over to him and gave him a look that quite clearly showed how perturbed you were. He was shaking his head, almost holding back a laugh. “I know you don’t understand, love,” he began, noticing the expression of amused anger that played at your features, “but twins have a special… connection.” It was taking everything in you to not bust out laughing. “Especially at that young, I don’t know if they can handle this much separation being thrown at them all at once. I mean Georgie and I probably only survived Hogwarts because we had each other.”

Poor choice of words, Weasley. “Only because you had each other?” you spat.

Fred nodded his head innocently, not yet realising his mistake.

“Just the two of you? Not me? Not your girlfriend that you had for the majority of school?” You were yelling, genuinely hurt by his words.

“Merlin, y/n, you know that not what I meant!” he shouted back, a culmination of the misunderstanding and his confusion of the whole situation.

“No, Fred, I didn’t! I mean, when you’re sitting here rambling about twins and nonsense, how am I meant to think I was included in your distorted memory of Hogwarts?!”

“Y/n,” he began, cautiously even if he was still shouting, “I was just trying to tell you how important a sibling bond is! Especially that of twins! I mean, what’s wrong with you!”

You looked up at him, shocked and even more hurt, yet the daft idiot kept going.

“I know you don’t understand because your one brother is dead and the other you don’t even speak to!” He continued yelling, but stopped abruptly as his words, and immediately softened, “Y/n, I-”

Tears streamed down your face in a disparaging mix of emotions. “Save it, Fred. At least our girls won’t be living the fucked up utopia that you and George did! Constantly attached and only living for each other! At least they’ll have a sense of independence and can learn to grow apart from each other! Which… if you haven’t noticed… if something you and George never did!” You didn’t even give him a chance to speak, you just ran upstairs and slammed the bedroom door behind you.

***

Never, ever go to bed angry. That fight was two weeks ago, and you still hadn’t fully recovered. Everytime you tried to bring it up to Fred, you were met with dodgy glances and fleeting responses. However, the two of you tried to carry on as normal with kisses, cuddles, and date nights. So now, two weeks without the girls, and you were dreading what was still to come. You sat up from the couch, slowly waking up from your nap, interest piqued by the lovely smells coming from the kitchen. You made your way to the kitchen where you found Fred cooking dinner. “Hi, love,” you muttered, still groggy.

“Hi, darling,” he responded, kissing your head as you walked past. “Date night,” he chirped, sounding only slightly interested. You just hummed in response. He nodded his head and went back to the pot before him as you took a seat on one of the stools at the kitchen island.

“What’s for dinner, love?” you asked Fred.

“Oh, your favorite,” he said, turning and smiling at you. You only cocked an eyebrow in response. “Look, y/n, I feel bad. I messed up and then wouldn’t bother talking about it cause it was easier to ignore it than confront the issue. I’m sorry.” A blush crept on his face as he looked down at you, clearly slightly on edge.

“Thank you, Freddie. Means a lot.” You returned the smile up at him. “So,” you began, standing up and heading over to his place at the stove, wrapping an arm around his waist, “Lancashire stew, is it?” You smiled at him and looked down, peering into the pot. Your expression quickly fell to confusion as your gaze was met by a thick, orange substance.

“Um, no…” he drew out slowly, “pumpkin soup?” His words were more of a question than anything. “Your favorite dinner. Pumpkin soup.”

You removed your arm and turned to look up at him. Your mouth opened slightly as you flashed an incredulous look at him. “Fred I bloody hate pumpkin soup.”

“What?” He turned to you, utterly baffled.

“It has to be my least favorite thing in all of Wizardom. In fact, I hate anything pumpkin. Taste changed when I was pregnant, hated it ever since,” you expression quickly turned sullen and defeated. “Fred, you knew this.”

He looked down at you, mouth agape, unable to speak.

“Whatever,” you muttered, walking away. “Wouldn’t have expected you to remember anyway.”

“Y/n, wait,” he said, voice tense and clearly agitated. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well it seems that you’re at the store more and more, Fred,” you sighed. “I mean, how many times have I come home for the day, and you stay at the store for hours more?” You weren’t angry, just… tired. “You know what?” you began, “It’s okay, Freddie. I love you”

“No, y/n. I should have known that.” He was staring down at you, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “I have to be at the store to provide for us, love.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” you stated, “Sometimes you’re home long after the store would’ve closed. Besides, Fred, we make plenty of money and you know that. You’d rather be with your toys than me.”

His heart broke. Seeing you so sad and defeated. Yet he couldn’t help the wave of hurt that came over him. “Toys?”, he asked.

“I mean that’s what everything in there is, isn’t it?” You crossed your arms, staring him up and down.

“Y/n, you helped create half those products.” He cocked an eyebrow down at you, genuinely not sure if you meant what you had said.

“Sure, Fred, because it’s a business. I don’t spend hours obsessing over it. I don’t spend hours testing and trying everything every day. I don’t spend hours thinking up products that probably won’t even make it to the shelf! I,” you paused, voice breaking, “I don’t spend more time in my store than I do with my husband.” Tears streamed down your face freely now, and you collapsed into Fred’s arms.

“Is that how you really feel?” Fred murmured, guiding you over to the couch. You just nodded your head in response, trying to choke back a sob. “Love, I-... I’m sorry.” There was a long moment of silence. Him holding you in his arms, shaking and sobbing as his own tears flowed as well. “I was never trying to be neglectful, y/n. Please, please know that. I… I just needed to get away I suppose. I mean not from you of course. Just… my mind. Being there with George, and sometimes alone, actually. I’d be distracted, focused on the store or a product, and not thinking,” he sighed, and the weight that came off his shoulders was almost tangible.

“But why was I not enough,” you whispered. “Why couldn’t I distract you? Be there for you?”

He took a deep breath in before continuing. “Cause you’re a reminder, y/n.”

“Fred, what?”

“They look just like you, act like you, sound like you. Everytime I look like you, I see our girls. And, and it’s not just that y/n. I haven’t felt happy lately.” You looked up at him, a mixture of confusion and dread spreading across your face. “Not… not with our marriage. That’s… fine. I just… I don’t know,” his voice grew quiet and slow. He took a deep breath in, shaking as he went. “I just feel different, and I don’t know why. It’s not the same and I’m not… handling it, y/n.” He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. He pulled you into him closely, not letting go for anything.

“Well let’s change that, Freddie,” you turned and looked up at him. You were met with his puffy, tear stained face adorned with a cocked eyebrow and upturned nose. “We’ll do something we can have fun and enjoy doing. Some of these rooms could use a new coat of paint.”

He gave you a soft smile, appreciative of your efforts. “Painting it is, then.” He stretched out to lay down on the couch, pulling you with him. The two of you drifted off into a relaxed sleep after a while, forgetting any responsibilities and settling in the feeling of normalcy… a connection that had been missing for weeks.

***

Fred groaned as he rolled over, waking up to the early morning sunshine flooding in through the window. He was met with cold sheets and an empty bed. He stood up, rubbing his eyes and stumbling into his slippers. He had a good morning stretch and wandered downstairs. He was met with you, standing at the bottom of the steps, staring up at him with bright eyes and a big smile.

“Morning, love,” you said bounding over to him and jumping into his arms.

“Hey, y/n,” he said, chuckling lightly. He hugged you and wandered into the kitchen, where you already had his tea ready for him. “What’s this about, love?”

“Well,” you began, taking a seat across from him, “I figured we could paint today.”

He gave you a warm smile as he sipped his tea, fully waking up. After a while he stood, placing his hands on your hips. He looked down at you, smiling before placing a warm, sweet kiss on your lips. You reciprocated, humming into his touch. You separated and took a step back, staring up at your husband. Everything felt right, whole, complete for the first time in weeks.

You guided him into the living room where you had the paints and supplies set up. “Well, here it is!” you chirped excitedly.

He chuckled, crouching down to examine the paints. “Which rooms are we doing, love?”

“I was thinking the kitchen, living room, and the front hallway.”

He nodded in approval, turning one of the jars over in his hands. His face contorted, features pinched tightly together. “Grey?” he asked, sounding perturbed and confused at the same time.

“Yeah…” you responded, turning an eyebrow at him.

“Beige?” he asked, lip upturned in disgust.

“Yes, Fred, what’s the issue?”

“So… boring,” he finally looked up at you, face shifted as if he smelled a horrible scent. “These aren’t real colors, y/n.”

“Real colors?” you chuckled, “pretty sure they are, Freddie.” You grabbed the grey and got to work on the living room wall.

“Wait,” he said, standing to meet you, “I mean no green, no red, not even a blue?”

“These are mature and modern, Fred. There’s nothing sophisticated about a primary color.

He scoffed at you, “Y/n we could have done an emerald green, and muted bluish grey, even a deep maroon. I’m not asking for Gryffindor red, here. But I’d rather not be suffocated by despair in my own home if that’s alright.”

“Bit over dramatic if you ask me, Fred,” you murmured, continuing your painting.

He rolled his eyes and got to work with the beige in the kitchen. After a while of heavy silence, his pettiness took over. “Hey, y/n,” he called out, walking over to you.

“Hmm?” You responded, now focused on the front hallway. He crossed over to the finished living room wall, holding up in paintbrush. “I think this grey is a bit too flashy, don’t you think, love?” You turned and looked at him just as he spread a stripe of beige onto the fresh, grey wall. “This dull enough for you?” He flashed an indignant look before smirking and returning to his work.

You stood there, mouth agape, not sure how to react. So, doing what any reasonable adult would do, you walked over to him and painted a grey stripe on his beige wall. He just rolled his eyes and kept going, unfazed. You huffed and walked away, leaving him smirking.

***

Over the next weeks the tension between you and Fred continued to grow. Every day there was either a petty spat, or an exchanged that would leave one of you defeated and disappointed.

One day you were in Wizarding Paris gathering some supplies and Fred decided to plan a surprise for your return. You came home to a trail of red rose petals from the doorway into the center of the house, where whole roses were tossed about and Fred was standing in a suit with soft music in the background. You were absolutely enamored, until he made the comment, “I know red roses are your favorite, so I had mother help me gather as many as we could find.”

You stood hesitating for a moment, “Fred my favorite is a peach rose, not red.” You stared up at him, tears from a mix of joy and sadness pricking at your eyes, “Fred they were our wedding flowers.” You tried to brush it off and enjoy the night, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you and Fred were starting to lose touch. The night ended with him getting upset over you not enjoying the surprise and not being appreciative of his efforts, even when he tried.

Another time you and Fred were in the store, planning for the release of a collaborative collection with Madam Malkins. You had rescheduled a development meeting without telling him, hoping to get some of your designs past Fred. This led to months of sly, petty plays between the two of you. Whether it be one of you not showing up to work, or not restocking a product, or not counting the days galleons, you and Fred were finding new ways to mess with each other.

The new, dangerous dynamic finally came to a head just before the girls would be returning for Christmas break. You were in the backyard gardens, tending to the various year-round plants and dusting snow off of the decor. Unbeknownst to you, Fred was creeping up behind you, a snowball in hand. He tried to hold in a laugh as he hurled the snowball, hitting you square in the back.

“Fred!”, you shrieked, turning to face him. Your face was beat red as your nostrils flared.

He was laughing until he saw your face. “Merlin, love, did I hurt you?”

“What? No. But what the bloody hell was that for?”, you helped, throwing your arms up in question at him.

“I-... it’s… snowball fight?” He rubbed his hands together, both out of nerves and a defense against the cold.

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath as you turned back to your work.

“You know what?”, he began in a terse tone that compelled you to face him once again. “Enough, y/n. I’ve had enough.”

“Pardon?”

“I miss having fun, y/n! We used to be a happy and fun couple! We went out with friends, we got into trouble! We. Had. Fun! And now we live in this… this fucking charade! Are we even happy with each other?!” He yelled, face growing increasingly red as he turned and went inside.

You followed him in, slamming the door behind you. “Having fun!?”, you retorted, screaming as well, “Fred, you git, we’re thirty five years old with two kids!! There is no fun anymore, just parenting and real life shit!”

“And that’s exactly what’s wrong, y/n!” he yelled back, “This horrible attitude! Ever since you had those kids you’ve… changed! Changed into someone I don’t even recognize anymore!” Tears began to stream down his face at the utterance of his final sentence.

His words made you cry as well. “Those kids?! Fred Weasley they are your daughters, too! And think about how I feel! The fact that you haven’t changed! You’re still witty and crafty and energetic, and Fred I just can’t keep up with you anymore!! We aren’t in Hogwarts anymore, our children are, so you need to drop this childish attitude and fast!”

“What about our entire relationship that was built on wit and energy and childish fun?!”, he shot back, voice breaking, “All of the jokes and laughter, doesn’t that mean anything to you anymore!?? It’s what bonds us together, and now you just want to leave it behind like it isn’t what made us fall in love!”

“Are we even in love anymore?! I loved you for your wit and intelligence and creativity, yes, but those can be applied elsewhere! Stop acting like a child and act like the adult you’re supposed to be!” “You aren’t my partner in crime anymore. You aren’t the same woman I fell in love with. I want a divorce.” And with that he apparated away into the succumbing abandon of the wizarding world.

@it-was-three-am @hess016

(If you’re name isn’t linked, it means I couldn’t tag you! Message me to find out why!)

#HP #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley series #fred weasley angst #marriage story

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nearlymanaged · 4 years

Text

2. Falling Out and Crushing

“Did anyone else notice that Snivellus hasn’t been hanging around Evans all the time lately?” James plopped down into a seat at the Gryffindor table at lunch, halfway through their first week back at Hogwarts.

“They don’t even sit together at Potions anymore,” Peter added.

“In fact, it appears that they try to sit as far away from each other as physically possible without leaving the classroom.” James’ eyes gleamed with mischievous excitement.

“That’s all very well, but if you haven’t noticed, Evans did not reject you three hundred times because of Snivellus. She’s just not into you,” Sirius shrugged.

“Yes, she is. She just doesn’t realise it yet.”

“Bordering on creepy a bit there, James,” Remus mumbled without tearing his eyes off his copy of The Standard Book of Spells that he had propped against a jug of pumpkin juice.

“I think you meant romantic, Moons.”

“No, I think I meant creepy,” Remus replied happily. “Either way, I’d have to disagree with SIrius this time - this turn of events might, in fact, lend itself to helping you woo her. I happened to overhear her talking to her friends after Care of Magical Creatures. She was telling them she’d first go out with that vile James Potter before making up with Snape. Apparently, they fell out at the end of last year and it sounded like she categorically rejected his only attempt at making amends over the summer.”

James goggled at Remus with a half chewed mouthful of food, then quickly swallowed with some difficulty, and frowned. “Why am I only hearing this now!?”

“I haven’t seen you since I found out… I’ll send an owl next time.”

“This changes everything…” A strange, dreamy yet still mischievous smile returned to James’ face and he spent the rest of lunch not contributing to the group’s conversation much.

“Moony,” Sirius sat up and turned his whole body towards his friend. “How do you always know about these things?”

“I’m in the right place at the right time a lot. It’s easy when people don’t really notice you.”

“What are you talking about? Who doesn’t notice you?”

“Nothing…” Remus waved him off. He didn’t feel like diving into a tirade about how he feels invisible most of the time, and the rest - people just gape at his scars as though he’s some grotesque old antique collecting dust at Borgin and Burkes. He wasn’t even sure why he started thinking about that now.

“I think I’m going to ask Lydia Rooks out,” Peter said vaguely, gazing at a dark haired Hufflepuff girl across the Great Hall.

“Good for you!” Sirius patted his friend on the back, causing him to spill juice down his front. “Oh, sorry. You can’t really see it, she won’t notice,” he added, inspecting the damage done.

“Wh-- Oh, I’m not doing it now!”

“Why not?”

“There’s people around! What if she says no?” Peter gaped at Sirius and then at the girl again.

“I don’t know...you walk back here?” Sirius offered, sounding confused as to why that was a concern for Peter.

“Have you ever been rejected in front of the entire school and then had to walk back to your seat? Again, in front of the entire school?”

“Hm. Nope, not that I can remember.”

“Yeah, didn’t think so...”

Remus didn’t really hear the rest of that conversation because his thoughts were hurtling down a memory lane filled with all the girls Sirius had ever asked out or been asked out by. For a fleeting moment, he’d wished he could like girls too, instead of boys, not to mention - one of his best friends. But then he had to admit to himself that just that thought alone felt wrong and weird. Almost as wrong and weird as his actual experiences with girls.

“Are you okay, Moony?”

“Huh?” Remus lifted his eyes to Sirius’ face.

“You’re scowling. Is the school year already taking a toll on your pretty face?”

Remus rolled his eyes, now feeling a little annoyed. He thought it was a bit of a low blow, but of course, he knew Sirius didn’t mean anything by it. Either way, what did it matter whether he was pretty or not, there were more important things in life. Or so Remus tried to convince himself...

“What do we have now?” Peter asked just as they were getting up from the Gryffindor table.

“You two,” Remus indicated him and James. “Have some free time to catch up on your homework. While me and - miraculously - SIrius are off to History of Magic.”

“Miraculously? What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I suppose I never realised you harboured a secret passion for listening to Binns for forty-five minutes to an hour and a half at a time.”

* * *

This was the third History of Magic lesson of the term that professor Binns began with the same spiel about the grave importance of their N.E.W.T.’s; Sirius was pretending to listen, holding up his head in his hand, but his mind was completely elsewhere. In fact, his mind kept wandering to the same thing, over and over again, since the morning at King’s Cross station….

How come Remus was five or six inches taller than him all of a sudden? And why did Sirius kind of like that? And how come his long, freckled arms were so nice to look at? And why did his voice sound so mesmerising? It’s as if Remus spent the summer drinking some kind of a potion that turned him from one of Sirius’ best friends into a beautiful, enigmatic creature that Black could not ignore, no matter how much he tried.

As a matter of fact, he didn’t try to ignore Remus at all. Quite the contrary, he was giving in to this new-risen curiosity. He was comparing how he saw James and Peter, his best mates, to the giddy happiness he felt when he was around Remus. And, frankly, it didn’t take a genius to deduct that Sirius had a crush on his friend. Just as he formulated this thought in his head, he glanced around the classroom, as if to make sure that no one was watching him, reading his mind. Then he leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two hind legs, his gaze landing on Remus’ concentrated profile. Yeah, he’d had enough experience with these sort of things to know it - he had a crush on his friend.

SIrius was notorious for developing crushes in seconds, sometimes multiple times a day even. He’d snog a girl one day and then go out with her best friend the next week, and the truth was that he genuinely liked them all. It wasn’t a game, as some of his previous romances had accused him of. But he was having loads of fun and enjoying himself immensely. He’d just never had a crush on a boy, which made it all the more exciting.

“Well, well, well…” He mumbled under his breath, wondering what changed about Moony to make him so attractive out of the blue. Perhaps it wasn’t completely out of the blue; naturally, he’d always felt a certain kind of love and admiration towards his friend...

“Huh?” Remus cast him a distracted glance but then took a double take. “What?”

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Have you been going out with anyone this summer?” SIrius blurted out without thinking.

“No…”

“Hm. Didn’t think so. You would have mentioned it in your letters. You seem the type.”

“Excuse me, what type?” Remus snorted.

“The swooning type.”

“I am not the swooning type!” Remus whispered loudly, causing a few people to glance around in confusion. “What in Merlin’s beard are you talking about?”

“Have your eyes always been this green?” As soon as the words left Sirius’ mouth, he sobered and landed his chair on all four legs. He flashed a quick grin at Remus, who seemed to still be trying to figure out what was going on, and pointedly turned to look at professor Binns.

He shouldn’t be doing this. This is his friend Remus. Moony. He’s not a random girl from one of the other houses, or a pretty Muggle next door. This is Moony. Sirius can’t be so flippant about it...or else, it would result in a friendship-destroying disaster.

And anyway, not like Moony ever showed any interest in him, or any other boy. This was similar to all the other crushes SIrius had had, but also very different - it was highly unlikely to ever turn into anything. Perhaps Sirius just needed to wait it out, become interested in someone else (as he always eventually did), and move on.

But his thoughts refused to move on from the topic for the rest of the lesson. Remus had never been girl-crazy, as long as they’d known each other. He’d been on a few dates here and there, but he was never the one initiating them. Sirius had always assumed that his friend was just really picky, but maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe the problem resulting in a series of mediocre first dates was the fact that… No, it couldn’t be it. Maybe it was just that Remus was such a poised, controlled person - maybe he simply didn’t care for something as reckless and trivial as teenage emotions and urges. But maybe…

#wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #peter pettigrew #marauders #hogwarts #fanfic

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edream93 · 4 years

Text

You’re a Gryffindor, Hook: Year 2, Part 1

Okay, so I thought I posted already this but then Tumblr ate it? So essentially, here’s part 1 of Year 2 of “You’re a Gryffindor, Hook” . You can also read it on AO3. Enjoy!

She ignored the stares and odd looks she received as she made her way into the stands. It wasn’t a surprise that she stood out with her emerald green robe in a sea of red and gold.

A snake in the lions’ den, she thought with a roll of her eyes, unconsciously holding herself taller. Honestly, she would have thought they would have gotten used to it by now.

But this wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last time that Uma Tritaea gained stares. It had become almost a daily nuisance since her first class where she chose her best friend, her closest confidant, over a centuries old house rivalry. Shouldn’t the noble and brave Gryffindors know something or two about loyalty?

Several older Gryffindors hissed as she passed them by. She hopped smoothly over a purposefully extended leg that happened to be in her path. Uma made a mental note of them. She would get them back with stinging hexes that would have them howling anytime they tried to sit on their behinds.

Not now though. Too many untrusting eyes watching the Slytherin witch. Now she had to be on her best behavior. After all, there was a reason she was in the stands belonging to the house of lions.

“Anyone sitting here?” she asked a familiar looking boy. Ben, she thought. From Herbology. He was one of the few Gryffindors that didn’t make Uma want to hex them.

“Yes!” a brunette girl sitting next to him glared at Uma just as Ben said “No,” already making room and genuinely giving a smile that took Uma off guard.

“What Audrey means is, it’s all yours. Promise,” he said, his smile growing impossibly brighter despite his companion’s glare twisting into an offended sneer as Uma gave a nod of thanks, sitting down. Ben opened his mouth, as if to say more but was interrupted by the game’s announcer.

Diego DeVil, a fourth year Slytherin boy that Uma always saw flirting with anything with legs at their house table - the ghosts included - sat with microphone in hand at the stand where the professors, other school staff, and a few bored looking representatives of the Ministry were congregated.

“Hello ladies, gents, and non-binary friends to the first match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin!” DeVil smoothly crooned into the ancient looking mic, waiting a moment for the crowd’s enthusiastic screams to die down. “This is surely going to be one for the books, folks! The players are now getting into position as Madame DunBroch steps out onto the field to begin the game!”

What looked like small figures, in red or greens, hovered hundreds of feet above the ground on their brooms as the fiery red haired Gamekeeper and Flight Instructor walked towards the sealed chest in the middle of the field.

“Which team are you watching for?” Ben startled Uma out of her intense stare of the field just as Madame DunBroch released the bludgers and the snitch, the small gold ball a fleeting speck of glimmer in the air before disappearing. It was a strange question, Uma thought. After all, it was the assumption that if your house was playing, you were cheering for them.

Uma’s gaze was instantly drawn to the source of an excited crowing that she could still easily pick out despite the loud roar of the crowd as the quaffle was thrown up into the air.

“Not watching for a team,” she said, watching as one of the players in Gryffindor red snatched the quaffle from the air, taking off with surprising speed towards the Slytherin goal post.

Merlin, she hoped that her idiot of a best friend didn’t get himself hurt. Again. (Harriet had a habit of sending both Harry and Uma a howler when Harry got himself in dumb situations.)

Uma found herself sitting up straight and tense, hands fisted in her robes as she watched one of the new Slytherin beaters, a second year named Jay Abanazar, sneak up from behind and club a bludger at the Gryffindor chaser. Uma leaned forward, eyes never leaving the chaser as he quickly spun out of the path of the bludger with fluid ease and scoring in one move.

“Whoa! Looks like the infamous second year Harry Hook is trying to make a statement, scoring the first goal of the game!” DeVil chuckled despite the obvious booing coming from the Slytherin stands. A little bit of tension released from Uma’s shoulders as Harry completely bypassed the few members of his team that attempted to congratulate him. Instead, to Uma’s annoyed amusement, he flew towards the Gryffindor stands, blue eyes on her.

“Ye see that?!” He grinned, all windswept hair and boyish charm as he leaned forward on his broom to get as close as possible to her. “Uma, did ye see that shot?”

“Harry! The game is still going!” One of his teammates yelled as they zoomed past, chasing one of the Slytherin chasers, a sixth year with long ice blonde hair pulled into a high bun, who now had the quaffle. But Harry didn’t even look back, waiting expectantly for Uma’s response with a wide grin.

“Yeah, you did good Hook,” Uma allowed herself to smirk as she tried to push him away. “Now go and try to make Jay cry.”

Harry’s grin widened as he grabbed her hand, pressing a soft kiss on the back of it. “Aye aye capt’n!”

Again, Uma refused to acknowledge the stares directed at her as the Gryffindor chaser zoomed off with surprising speed back into the game. Harry was just being his usual showboat self. It tended to grind on most people’s nerves but Uma found it as normal as the sun rising and setting.

The Gryffindors around her jumped to their feet in a deafening roar as Harry intercepted and flew away with the quaffle before the blonde Slytherin chaser could even comprehend that the ball was no longer in her hands. Harry swooped back towards the Slytherin goals, two of the school’s numerous part dwarf cousins who were the Gryffindor beaters flanking him to keep the bludger off him before he scored another point.

The entire House of Gryffindor cheered wildly, everyone’s focus on the field. One stare though did itch against Uma’s skin enough for her to turn with a glare, hand already reaching for her wand, just in case.

“Do I have something on my face, Florian?”

A blush that had nothing to do with the crisp wind filled Ben’s cheeks. “Oh. Uh. No, I was just- nevermind,” he awkwardly turned back to face the game. Uma’s eyes narrowed but sensed no maliciousness from the boy, turning back as well to watch the game.

Hours later, while Slytherin would be celebrating late into the morning hours thanks to their Seeker finding the snitch before Gryffindor could score any more points, Uma would find herself spending the night in the infirmary (long after Madame Flora had tried to kick her out). She had carefully wedged herself next to Harry on the bed, finishing a letter to Harriet explaining to the older witch how her only brother had yet again wound up in the infirmary again, said wizard next to her, sleeping off the Skele-Gro potion that was repairing his left arm with cringing pops and snaps that Uma bit her bottom lip to ignore.

After finishing the letter, she was just about to read the section on cecaelias in her book of water-based magical creatures Harry had insisted on buying for her when they had gone school shopping when she felt him shift next to her. He reached out sleepily with his good hand, fingers lightly twisting in her braids like they always did when he wanted to make sure she was close. “Did ye, did ye see me, Uma?” he mumbled, already falling back to sleep as he curled closer to her.

Uma gave him a fond smile, carding her hand through his wild hair. “I saw,” she said, pausing for a moment before leaning over and pressing a quick, feather light kiss on his brow before returning back to her book, ignoring the happy sigh that escaped from her best friends lips or the way that she slowly let her breath match his until they were both asleep.

#disney descendants #uma descendants #harry hook #hogwarts au #descendants fanfic #edream93 fanfic #edream93 fanfiction

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ionalikestodrabble · 7 years

Text

If I Could - Chapter Two

Harry let got of his hand and looked at his reflection sceptically. “Not used to robes yet? Potter blinked back at him and looked back at the mirror again. He touched the sleeves of his school robes softly like he still didn’t think they were his. Draco knew that Potter never got new clothes from his muggle family, he remembered seeing him on the first weekend of term dressed in revoltingly large and scruffy clothes. Back then he found it amusing but now, as a sixteen year old, it was just sad. “Don’t worry, they’ll look nicer with your house logo and tie” Harry stared again at Draco. Merlin’s beard, had that giant oaf really not told him anything outside the fact he was a wizard? How did this timid innocent child become our world’s saviour? In the last three minutes the boy had only said his name and looked like Draco had grown another five heads. Draco knew though, he knew that Potter was a cocky bastard really; he was just incredibly good at making people fall for him. The git.

Draco tried again at starting some form of conversation “There’s Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. I for one would love to be in Slytherin, full of successful and kind wizards that one” He half lied Harry hummed and Draco had to bite his tongue to stop himself yelling at the boy to actually say something “Didn’t Voldemort come from Slytherin?” he mumbled “Well, yes, but his supporters came from all of them” that at least was true. He remembered the shock at hearing some of the newer Death Eaters talk about their time at Hogwarts and realising that several were from Gryffindor. Bravery doesn’t always mean you’re not stupid enough to join the loosing side. “Oh” Harry said simply Draco raged internally. His robes had been finished and packed away for a while now but he was still standing on the tailoring stool. There was a sudden tap at the window, Hagrid was peering in at Harry, brandishing a startled looking owl. Harry’s expression massively brightened at seeing the huge man and he hopped down from the stool, stuffing his new robes unceremoniously into a bag. “Let’s sit together on the train!” Draco hurriedly yelled at the boy’s retreating back “Wait in front of the first carriage for me” Harry nodded slowly and gave Draco a fleeting smile before running outside to accept a monstrosity of an ice cream from the giant. It was like talking to a bloody wall, Draco thought miserably, as he marched back to the Leaky Cauldron to meet with his mother. It seemed that Potter was utterly hopeless at every age, but no matter. He was determined to find the git at the station before he gets a chance to be befuddled by Weasley chatter. “Draco, what took you so long?” Narcissa whisked the bags out of his hands and send them back to the manor with her wand “Your father has been expecting us for the past half hour” She offered Draco her arm to apparate home when Draco caught something in the corner of his eye. Harry was sitting in the corner with Hagrid, listening to him talk animatedly about, Draco guessed, utter rubbish. He strained on his tiptoes until he came into the other boy’s line of sight and gave a massive cheesy grin, which earned a small laugh from his mother. Draco felt something pleasant squeeze his stomach when Harry offered him a smaller genuine smile back. Perhaps seeing him with his mother made him look a bit less like a overenthusiastic lunatic than before. Draco looped his arm with his mother and was swiftly pulled along side her, landing lightly inside the house. He had always loved appearing with her, she had such ease and grace that made the experience a lot less bumpy than with other wizards. He didn’t realise how much he missed it. “Who was that you were waving at Draco?” She asked softly, not wanting her husband to overhear just yet “Harry Potter” he replied firmly “I thought it would be wise to befriend someone with such high profile” Narcissa nodded slowly, almost disbelievingly. Draco forgot he was a little dense as a child and had to be steered by his family to offer Potter his friendship. Harry. Potter? It was getting harder to refer to the boy the way he used to now that everything had been reversed. “Do you think that’s wise dear?” she stroked a stray bit of hair back into place “Of course” with a jolt Draco noticed his father had been lingering in the doorway of the library “D- darling, you’re home” Narcissa fixed a smile onto her face and kissed her husband on the cheek He placed his hand on the small of her back to reassure her that he was not angry. “Draco is absolutely right” his face was etched with pride, that he had not seen for a few years “Befriending such a influential wizard would be a good start to our son’s educational and professional future” Draco gawped at the man, he had forgotten how hopeful they had all been. That their family name would be slowly, inch by inch, be tugged out of the mud. “Your new clothes and wand should be in your school trunk by your bed. Please don’t ruin how the elf packed it, we need to leave here sharp for the train tomorrow” his father said, retreating back into the library He wondered up the stairs in a daze. He hadn’t seen his family home like this in such a long time; lit up, lived in, happy.

~*~

Draco arrived the following week at the station with his mother, as he always did. His father said his farewells in the morning before he left for work. The station was packed with children who were actually excited to go back to school. No one was dreading what mayhem Harry was going to attract to the school next. No one even knew that the kid was joining this year. Narcissa sighed above him as she placed his luggage onto the train “He’ll be here, don’t worry” He was pretty damn certain Harry would be here, just like he was sure Crabbe would drop his food on Pansy’s new shoes at the feast. There were certain things about the past he just didn’t have the heart to change. The train doors were slamming shut all along the carriages; Draco must have missed him among all these people. He’ll just have to repeat history a little and barge in on his and the Weasley’s compartment. Narcissa kissed Draco on the cheek “We’ll send you a going away present soon sweetheart.” the train started moving slowly away from the platform “Can’t wait to hear everything at Christmas!” Draco waved half-heartedly at his mother as she got smaller and smaller. He would hopefully do everything before the holidays, no matter how tempting a proper Malfoy Christmas was. Marvelling at how short he was as he elbowed his way through the crowded carriages, Draco hurriedly peered into each compartment, avoiding Crabbe and Goyle as he went. Finally he found the one he was looking for. Harry and the Weasley were talking energetically, which is more than he ever got out of him, he thought bitterly. The moment the door slid open they both froze, Weasley visibly stiffened as he took in Draco’s betraying Malfoy appearance. Harry, at least, smiled broadly and moved the bags on he seat next to him. “Thought I’d never find you out there!” Draco patted his arm in greeting, noticing the boy recoil slightly at the sudden touch. Bugger, he had to remember that. “Ron, this is-“ “I know who he is,” the other boy said through gritted teeth. This was going to be a challenge to act through. “Oh, have you met before?” Harry looked happily between both of them. So naive. “No.” “In our world certain family traits are very easily recognisable” Draco laughed, hopefully convincingly “For example I know just by the ginger hair and nose that this is Ron Weasley” Draco leaned forward slightly and offered his hand to the still scowling boy “I’m Draco Malfoy, not that I need to say by this point” he let his hand float in the air for an embarrassingly long time before retreating it again. “I don’t think our families have ever been in the same ‘social circle’, Malfoy” his ears and cheeks had a slow red flush developing across them “Nor would we want to” “Well I know both our fathers are involved with the ministry together, you can’t say that isn’t somewhat social?” Draco was trying desperately to stop the distressed look on Harry’s face getting worse “What do they do?” Harry sat up at the mention of the ministry just as Weasley, Ron, opened his mouth to argue “Mine donates a lot of money to support the Minister of Magic but he mainly helps in the board of governors at Hogwarts” Draco finished lamely “Mine actually has a job” Ron said this like it made him superior, the hypocrite “He’s the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. He um... fixes muggle things that wizard’s have fiddled with” Neither sounded very interesting, he was going to get a bloody tongue from how much he’s had to hold it. However, Harry was looking riveted by the new information. It kept like this for the whole journey, Ron trying constantly to get him to snap and show his true colours. It was only bearable when he saw Harry laugh softly when Draco snapped back at a particularly low blow. Which was interesting. He liked them sassy it seemed. This verbal rally was only interrupted when Hermione Granger poked her head in. He was pleasantly surprised at how much easier it was to talk to the muggle born girl than before. Draco supposed she was the more reasonable one of the three; it was just difficult to ever talk to her when everyone thought he was a racist. The sky gradually darkened, as the scenery grew more and more wild. Pretty little town houses were replaced by untidy villages with cosy pubs nestled in the middle. The three boys changed into their robes at Draco’s ‘hunch’ that they were almost at the station. He had a feeling he was going to be full of these ‘hunches’ this year.

A line of first years trailed out of the train to queue by the imposing half giant that was awaiting them. Some nervously chatting to each other but mostly silent as they gaped at Hagrid’s imposing height. “Draco” a girl hissed in his ear and pinched his arm sharply “Thanks for blowing us off there pal” Pansy had shoved her way to them in the line and was glaring at the trio, which was a pretty good impersonation of her mother. Draco inwardly groaned he had forgotten that his absence wouldn’t go completely unnoticed by everyone. Having known Pansy since they were born she probably assumed they’d be traveling here together. “Well, are you not going to tell me who you’ve replaced me with?” she continued, not breaking her scowl even as they started to walk to the lake “This is Harry Potter and Ron Weasley” Draco said offhandedly Pansy’s eyebrows rose into her fringe as she searched Harry’s head for the scar. Her mouth flapped open and shut a few times, looking from him and Harry to see if this was a joke. “I’m sure your mother taught you that it’s rude to stare” Draco smirked as she flushed Pansy nodded, apparently deciding that she was apart of this group and squeezed onto the already too small boat to the castle with them. Ron, Draco noticed, looked even moodier at the extra pure blood addition to their newly formed clique. Shivering, the small pack of students made their way across the lake. At the impressive view of Hogwarts looming into view loud exclamations of delight were heard through the night air. He wished that the view had not somewhat soured since fighting his way out of the castle in June. Hagrid waved merrily at Harry as McGonagall filtered them into the hall to start the sorting ceremony. Ron started to turn an unpleasant shade of green as the great hall came into view and hundreds of heads turned to watch them walk in. “If you’re worrying about the chances of you getting into Gryffindor don’t” Draco hissed into his ear “I have more of a chance getting into Hufflepuff than you do being anything else” Ron began to glower at him with a lot less feeling after that. One after another the sorting hat was lifted onto students heads (and over their eyes in most cases), each table gradually getting louder. When Harry’s name was called the collective breath of the great hall stopped. Dumbledore sat up a little straighter. Draco saw Pansy pull a bored face at him from the Slytherin table. McGonagall lifted the tattered old hat onto Harry’s head and waited. Draco frowned as the first minute passed by, then two, then three. The buzz of the great hall picked up again as students stood up to see what was taking so long. A spike of anxiety shot through Draco’s stomach, he was sure it had been a lot quicker to land the boy in Gryffindor before. The rip in the old hat opened “Slytherin!” The noise level in the hall exploded and Draco burst into laughter.

#darry #drarry fanfic #harry potter slash #harry x draco

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faubourgs · 6 years

Text

Muggle Lovers are Revolting, by casspeach

Draco took patrol because it was better than sitting in the Slytherin common room watching people ignore him, at best, or talk about him behind their hands and pretend they weren’t. It was a boring job, because only idiots would be out of bed after curfew when the punishment could be anything from lines to torture depending on who caught you.

Idiots like, say, Neville Longbottom, who was painting the doors of the Great Hall in red and gold flashing letters that read ‘Dumbledore’s Army - Still Recruiting because he hadn’t left enough space for the entire slogan.

Which, shit. Draco hadn’t meant to actually run into anyone. He’d chosen his patrol route carefully to avoid the likelihood of so much as stumbling upon a midnight tryst, let alone finding someone he knew actively campaigning for the resistance.

“Ah,” Neville said as Draco loomed behind him, as much as one can when one is rather shorter and considerably less broad in the shoulder than the person behind whom one is looming.

“Ah?” Draco repeated, incredulous. In truth he had no earthly idea what to say next himself. There was just something so blatant, so unrepentant, so stupidly brave about the way Neville was standing there. “Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself?”

He was expecting maybe a bit of cowering, or a stammered excuse, or...well anything but what happened, which was laughter.

“What can I say?” Neville asked. “I’m under Imperius? I just happened to pick up the paintbrush which I found lying here as I walked past? I’ve got some kind of atypical grammar-related OCD that meant I couldn’t leave it saying ‘now recruit’?”

“OCWhat?”

“Never mind. As the Muggles say: It’s a fair cop, guv. You’ve got me bang to rights.”

Now Draco would never claim to be any kind of expert on Muggles, but he did think they spoke English, and his confusion only deepened when Neville held out his hands - no, his wrists - as though Draco might want to bind them or something.

Draco had long suspected there was something not quite right in Longbottom’s brain, and it seemed he was right. Still, he wasn't so saintly as to deny, even if only to himself, that Neville made quite the appealing picture, standing there in that submissive pose.

As soon as the thought formed in his head bile rose in his throat. He’d been at the mercy of that kind of attention too often over the summer holidays to feel comfortable dishing it out.

“Are you all right?” Neville asked sounding genuinely concerned. The idiot even took a step forward and held out a hand as if to touch Draco’s shoulder. “You look like someone just walked over your grave.”

“I am fine,” Draco insisted, but it sounded hollow and false in his own ears, an obvious lie. “On account of I am not the one facing detention with...” and of course it was the Carrows. Well Alecto was on the rota, but wherever she was her brother wouldn’t be far away. “Look, just forget it. Consider yourself cautioned. Don’t be so bloody stupid as to get caught in future.”

Neville actually had the bad grace to look disappointed, if only for a fleeting moment.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Draco spat. “Were you wanting to be punished by Alecto Carrow? I’d hate to get in the way of some sort of assignation.”

“Assig-? No, of course not, I just, well. I don’t understand why you’re letting me go.”

“Neither do I, so I suggest you piss off before I come to my senses.”

Which Neville, of course, didn’t do. At least not quickly enough for Draco to avoid imagining the footsteps of another prefect down the hall behind him, and the horrors he’d be subjected to when the powers that be discovered he let one of the heads of Dumbledore’s Army escape his grasp. A bead of cold sweat made its unpleasant way down his spine before Neville furrowed his brow and asked, “Are you not even going to order me to clean that up first?”

And really, lessons from a defacer of school property in how to be a better prefect was just too much to take.

“No I’m bloody well not,” Draco said. “For one thing how the hell does that give any plausibility to ‘I don’t know who painted it, I just found it like that’ and for another...”

For another Draco wasn’t sure he’d survive watching Neville scrub anything. He’d probably have to get on his knees for the lowest part of the phrase, and maybe he’d get wet and his shirt would draw tight over those impressive Herbologically enhanced shoulders and - and Draco was better than that, or at the very least he wanted to pretend for a little while longer that he was.

“For another?” Neville prompted, dragging Draco back from his musings.

“Never mind. Just, I don’t know, consider it recompense for the Remembrall thing, and don’t do anything so stupid in future.”

“Can’t promise you that,” Neville said with a shrug.

The correct and proper and appropriate response, Draco knew, was not to ponder exactly what Neville might be willing to promise.

But Neville was finally doing as he’d been told and leaving, and, beyond a sneaky glance at his retreating figure, Draco was happy enough to let him. Later he could let his fantasies take him where they would, and Merlin knew Longbottom was clumsy enough to spill soapy water all over himself, and eager enough to please to most likely do anything Draco demanded of him. For now though, he had to clean up the graffiti, and report to the Carrows.

And that, he rather thought, would be that.

Except three days later, having shown absolutely no apparent awareness that Draco even existed outside of Defence against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies lessons in which they were forced to interact, Draco once again ran into Longbottom on patrol.

And again two week’s later.

And...Draco would say he’s forgotten how long after that the next time was, but he’d be lying, even to himself, because every time is just another load of wank fodder for the quiet, lonely, cold moments alone in the Slytherin dorm.

This last time, Neville carried on painting even after Draco had pointedly coughed to make his presence known, putting a final underline to ‘we want YOU for the DA’.

“I’m afraid my allegiance is already given elsewhere,” Draco said when Neville had finished, and sure enough the git didn’t even jump, so he’d known Draco was there all along. “And that paint is an absolute bastard to get off, so I’d really be terribly grateful if you’d stop bloody well smearing it all over the school.”

Neville smirked and leant against the newly painted slogan. He looked like the perfect advert for Hogwarts’ underground resistance lounging there, in his ghastly cardigan and with a smear of red and gold paint highlighting one cheek and the tip of his nose.

Possibly Draco had spent a little too much time thinking about what lay beneath the granddad clothes in the last few days, and not enough time recalling that it was Longbottom, who could barely transfigure a teacup into a different teacup, didn’t like to fly and would forget his own head if it wasn’t screwed on.

“Believe it or not, Draco,” Neville said, and honestly, how far gone must Draco be for the sound of his name in that ridiculous soft accent to send actual shivers down his spine? “I’m not doing this purely to annoy you. There’s a purpose to the consciousness-raising we’re engaged in.”

Which Draco did know, of course he did, and maybe, just maybe, he took a little - carefully concealed - pleasure in hearing the Death Eaters in the faculty bitch and moan about the DA, and the graffiti, and the prank hexes that sprung up from time to time.

On the other hand there was such a thing as a risk-benefit ratio, and when the risks Neville was taking were so huge, surely the benefits could do with being rather larger than merely being a small thorn in a relatively inconsequential side.

When Draco suggested as much, Neville got a strange far-away look in his eye, and his smirk evened out into something approaching a smile.

Which was absolutely fucking infuriating.

Draco knew what he was talking about here.

Last year had been the worst of his life as he’d watched himself get manipulated into actions that horrified and shamed him, and this year was panning out to be worse, and Neville - a boy who could barely remember which way to hold his wand - had the audacity to be smiling at him like it was a good thing that the Carrows were going to snap one day and just bloody well AK him.

If he was lucky.

And wasn’t that really the worst thing? The very real possibility that if they did ever catch Neville, it would fall to Draco to torture and kill him, to prove fealty.

He shoved himself into Neville’s space.

“Look, you insufferable moron,” he hissed. “This is not a bloody game.”

“I know,” Neville replied, and it wasn’t the flippant response Draco hadn’t even realised he feared, but a genuine one, warmly spoken as though Neville understood and even sympathised with Draco’s concerns. He put a hand on Draco’s shoulder, heavy and warm, and solid and safe. “I promise you, I know. And you may not think it’s worth it, but I do.”

“How can it possibly be? You’re nobody. It’s like you’re hoping to fill the void at the top of the meddling sanctimonious Gryffindor tree left by the departure of Potter, and I’ve got news for you. Potter you are not.”

It was the first thing Draco said, in any of these weird meetings, that seemed to give Neville pause.

“Obviously I didn’t mean nobody,” Draco amended, feeling unaccountably shitty. “I just meant -”

“D’you know, in all these years,” Neville interrupted, apparently quite oblivious to Draco’s grovelling apology, “I’ve never once been sorry that I’m not Harry, until right now.”

It took Draco a moment to parse that, together with the soft sadness in Neville's expression and tone, into sense, but when he did he felt his temper spike once more. He swatted Neville’s chest with one hand, and couldn’t help but notice it was every bit as firm as he’d daydreamed.

“I don’t want you to be Potter, you complete idiot,” he objected. “I just want you to be safe.”

Which he hadn’t exactly meant to say out loud, but now that he had he couldn’t find a way to take it back before Neville surged forward and kissed him.

Or knocked their mouths together anyway, rather too hard, and totally wonderfully, if for far too short a time for Draco to be able to transmute the desperation of it into something a little gentler before Neville pulled away again, flushing as red as the paint on his cheek and stammering an apology.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t...I’m sure that’s not at all what you meant,” Neville said, eyes wide and panicked.

“It’s exactly what I meant,” Draco said, with as much sincerity as he could manage and unable to tear his gaze away from Neville’s mouth to check his expression. Not that it seemed to matter since Neville cupped his hands around Draco’s face and kissed him again.

This time it was slightly less desperate and Draco had a chance to kiss back. A chance he took with both hands - curled into fists in the wool of Neville's cardigan in case he got any more stupid ideas about not being welcome.

Neville smelled of paint and faintly of the fertiliser Sprout used on the mandrakes. His hands were warm and dry and shaking ever so slightly, and it was those details that reassured Draco that he probably wasn’t going to wake up in his green-curtained four-poster to find this was all a dream. Draco’s dreams didn’t tend to be so detailed anymore, as though even his subconscious had given up trying to outdo the horror of his day-to-day life.

He was shaking a little himself, pushing up against Neville in a way that was as much about contact as it was about sex.

But even as good as the arms around him felt, as stupidly hot as Neville had got while no one was really paying attention, and as clumsy and perfect as the kiss was, it wasn't enough to stop part of Draco’s brain from paying attention to what was going on in the corridor.

He pulled away at the first hint of a sound from the far end, survival mechanisms finely honed by the summer, and was torn between impressed and surprised that Neville was every bit as alert. Even if he did look a bit dishevelled. Sort of like a bloke who’d just been thoroughly snogged, in fact, which made Draco’s knees go a bit funny, even as he was worrying what he looked like himself. It wouldn’t do for the Carrows to think he was enjoying himself.

Whoever it was walking past, they didn’t come down the corridor where Draco and Neville were holding their breath, but their echoing footsteps seemed to take an age to retreat and fade.

“Bloody hell, that was stupid,” Neville said, dragging a hand through his hair in a way that made it look even more like he’d just got out of bed. “I suggest you make yourself scarce.”

“Oh well, thank goodness you’re here, Longbottom,” Draco spat back. Of all the things he’d been called in his life, ‘stupid’ cut pretty deep being delivered by someone who was self-proclaimedly still recruiting for a dead man’s army. “I was just going to stand here, next to your graffiti, until someone found me.”

“I just meant-” Neville started, but Draco was already stalking away down the corridor, and it wasn’t until much later that he realised what the end of that sentence was going to be.

He’d just meant Draco should go first.

Not that Draco was going to tie himself in knots for being a bit sharp with Longbottom. That would be ridiculous, even if he was a surprisingly decent kisser, and pretty much the only person in the entire castle still treating Draco like a human being.

And if Draco found he couldn’t sleep that evening, well, what of it? Sleep was a precious commodity in dark times like these.

He still felt bad the next morning, which he told himself was just his good breeding showing through, and really, it wasn’t as if he wanted to catch Neville gazing longingly at him across the Great Hall over breakfast, but some sort of acknowledgment might have been nice. By the time Muggle Studies rolled around the following day he’d all but forgotten that he wasn’t the wronged party.

Neville continued to ignore him in the class, probably because he was far too busy arguing with most of the lecture.

Even though no one really believed that Muggles needed to be subject to proper husbandry procedures and the less genetically desirable ones forcibly sterilised, did they? Well, maybe Crabbe and Goyle, Draco supposed, but the point was Neville wasn’t going to change Alecto’s mind, so why bother putting himself in the firing line again.

By the end of the class Draco’s jaw ached from where he had to grind his teeth to keep from begging Neville to shut up, shut up, shut up.

But Neville paid him as much mind as he had at mealtimes these past few days, and Draco honestly couldn’t have said if he was more relieved, or annoyed, that Neville escaped the lesson unscathed apart from a detention and thirty points taken from Gryffindor.

That night was Draco’s regular patrol night, and he found himself daydreaming about what he’d say if he ran into Longbottom again.

Perhaps the silent treatment would be best. Fight fire with fire, as it were, he mused as he started his rounds. Or perhaps take the moral high ground and have another go at pointing out the futility of arguing with the Carrows, and the likely rewards for continuing to do so.

Just as long as he managed to keep the question he most wanted answering locked up tight behind his teeth he didn’t really care. Because as humiliating as it was to have let Neville Longbottom snog him and then toss him aside like a HankyPanky Hankie, it wasn’t as bad as demanding to know why, or what he could do to get back in Neville’s good graces. Or, Merlin forbid, giving him the Insuadible potion he’d brewed especially for Neville in his free period, in hopes of who even knew? Winning him back or some such nonsense.

In all his imaginings, it hadn’t actually occurred to him that it might not even be Neville he ran into on this patrol until he had practically walked into a trio of first-years who were arguing over where the accent went in La Résistance.

Which mostly just confirmed Lucius’s opinion of the poor standards of education at the school even prior to its Death-Eaterification, because frankly Draco thought it was perfectly bloody obvious. But perhaps all those private tutors and exchange trips had been worth it after all.

“Obviously it goes over the e,” he drawled, snatching the paintbrush form the suddenly lax grip of the signpainter and adding it with a good deal of panache if he did say so himself. “Really, where else could it possibly go?”

The first-years paled gratifyingly, and one began to cry quietly, so at least Neville hadn’t told his minions that Draco was harmless. He didn’t really want to have to prove anything to the contrary unless it was absolutely essential.

None of them spoke for a long time, Draco having learnt the effectiveness of terrified silence, and the trio having apparently not been given any advice or training on how to bluff their way out of being caught. Which was something Draco would certainly have remedied, had he been in charge of...well, not that that was likely to ever happen.

“Nothing to say for yourselves?” he asked after a moment. “Defacing school property, political slogans, support of a banned group. It’s really not looking good for you at all. No defence forthcoming at all?”

Come on, he thought. Give me something to work with.

None of them could manage so much as a squeak. It was probably a good thing that he was still capable of being terrifying, but, where he would have enjoyed this a year or two ago, now it just made him feel nauseated.

But what was he supposed to do? He’d caught them red-handed, mostly because he hadn’t been paying enough attention to avoid them, and he could hardly expect that word wouldn’t get round that he was a soft touch if he let them go. And that would potentially mean the Carrows finding out and feeding it back to the Dark Lord himself, and Draco just couldn’t face bringing any more grief on his family.

Curse Longbottom and his bloody shoulders and the way he’d seemed like a safe haven for a few moments.

“I don’t see that you give me any choice,” he said, with a sigh that he hoped the first-years would think of as put-on. “If you’d like to -”

“There you are,” came a familiar, and despite Draco’s best intentions, welcome, voice, followed shortly afterwards by its owner. Neville skidded to a halt in what would almost have been a comical way, but for the circumstances, and stared at Draco wide-eyed for a long aching moment. “I mean, um, of course this is where you are, you know how easily I get lost. But I’m back now, so, thank you for looking after my paintbrush and everything for me, like I asked you to, when I’d finished painting that graffiti. You can go now.”

Draco’s eyebrow rose as Neville talked, chest heaving with the effort after what had clearly been a dead run all the way from the Gryffindor tower most likely.

“Oh, they can go, can they?” he queried, trying to ignore the looks of outright hero worship on the first-years faces when they looked at Neville, or, all right, trying at the very least not to emulate them.

“I take full responsibility for what’s happened here,” Neville replied, like that was any kind of appropriate answer. The timbre of his voice dropped lower when he next spoke. “You know I’ve got priors for this particular offence.”

“Maybe I don’t accept your claim,” Draco retorted, because really, how was it fair that Neville looked every bit as delectable as he had the other night? And more to the pjoint how was it fair that he was staring at Draco like he felt exactly the same way.

#part 1

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redhairxhandmedownrobes · 7 years

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some kind of solace.

Harry

Gently, Harry said, “You couldn’t have known it was me, I didn’t exactly announce that I was coming over, and I know I’ve been a bit absent.” Very absent for the past week, in actual fact, thanks to the Ministry. He couldn’t argue with her statement, nonetheless. “We’ll get there, both of us. For now, don’t kick yourself about being watchful of your own safety.” Instinctively, he wanted to comfort her, but wasn’t entirely sure of how to do it. Rather than dwell on it, he decided to offer the next best thing: a distraction. “If you wanted, we could grab brooms from the shed and go outside for a bit? Feels like ages since either of us have been in the air.” Except in the Room of Requirement, but for Merlin’s sake, I don’t want to think about that now. Almost certain that something of his thoughts had been in his expression, he pushed it back. He’d lost enough to the war, he’d be damned if he was going to give up flying as well. “What do you think?”

The mention of Ginny’s first year was enough to give Harry pause, cause him to reflect on exactly how much of a mess the last few years had actually been. When did we stop being children? It was an unsettling thought, because even though realistically he knew that there had been a time of relative innocence for all of them, compared to what they had now endured, it felt like everything had been a build-up, culminating in war. “Have you tried sharing a room with someone?” The question seemed almost too personal, but he pressed on, qualifying the statement. “I felt better when I woke up and there was someone there, that’s all. Just don’t tell Ron or Hermione that. It didn’t diminish the volume of snoring involved.” The quick interjections of humour, characteristic of him before the war, felt almost reflexive in the aftermath, another coping mechanism that he could use in order to figure out what came next. The lightness of the words was belied by the way that he was never fully without motion, slight movements of fingers and shoulders, faint shifting from foot to foot that telegraphed other emotions beneath the surface.

To hear her acceptance was something of a relief. Though neither of them was really ready to talk about what had happened to them individually, there was hope that they’d have the chance to close some of the distance between them. At some point, they’d have to talk about what they were struggling with, but even having her and the others kept close at this point was more than he’d ever at one point thought he’d have. When he walked into the Forbidden Forest to meet Voldemort, walked the steps to his death, he hadn’t ever expected to come out on the other side. Being alive was, in some ways, still an ongoing shock, and he was dealing with it the only way that he could: one day at a time. “Great. I’ll sort out dinner, if that’s all right with you? We can eat and relax for a couple of hours.” The brief, shy smile that accompanied the question was fleeting, but there was a hint of uncertainty in it which now only rarely appeared at the surface, usually carefully hidden.

Shrugging her shoulders, Ginny dropped the subject of her paranoia. She would continue to mentally kick herself for almost hexing Harry despite how hard he tried to convince her that it wasn’t her fault. She just simply should have known better. “We understand that you’ve been busy, but you’re here now and that’s all that matters.” The last time she had flown was over a year ago, possibly almost two now that she was thinking about it. Maybe a year and a half? Either way, it felt like such a long time since she’d flown, and she hadn’t realized how much she had been itching to fly again until that moment. Her demeanor visibly brightened at the mention of Quidditch before answering, “I think that is a fantastic idea. A little bit of flying would definitely do us both some good.” She found herself genuinely smiling for the first in…a very long time.

Ginny noticed the unsettledness of Harry as he spoke. Noticed how he couldn’t stay still even if the movement was so casual or barely noticeable, and she wondered how much he was bottling up and how long it would take for it to possibly explode. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing for either of them to share some of what had happened within the past year on Thursday. “I don’t think Ron would appreciate sharing a room with me, to be frank. Bill, Charlie, Percy, and George,” it should be Fred and George, she thought with a mixture of bitterness and morose, “are all living out of the house. And I think I’m a bit too old to sleep in the same room as my parents as well.” While the last sentence was spoken in a slightly joking manner, trying to mirror Harry’s own lightness about it all, she couldn’t bear putting more on someone on her family’s plate by asking if she could sleep in their room just to see if it would help with the dreams. They all had enough to worry about. “And I don’t want to wake anyone up if it didn’t work,” she added, her eyebrows frowning slightly. It was obvious that the translation to that was: ‘I don’t want to wake up screaming in the middle of the night, scaring the person with whom I’m sharing a room’. However, she wasn’t on board to see if it really would work, sharing a room to test if the nightmares would disappear for once. It was doubtful, though; the nightmares still came when she shared a room with her dormitory mates.

Seeing him smile, and him just being himself, stirred happiness within her chest. But she had to stop herself from getting carried away: they were just. friends. But, she knew that as soon as they would start spending more time together, her feelings would progress even more, and she wouldn’t know if they would be reciprocated. “Dinner and relaxing sounds really great, actually. I’d really enjoy that.” It was something that they both needed to do: relax. Just to sit, have nothing to really worry about, and just talk to each other. No more talk about strategizing about what to do next about the Carrows or how to really pissing them off without getting themselves into detention. Ginny had only told her mother bits and pieces of what had happened, just enough to explain what her nightmares kind of consisted of. Of course, she felt as if she couldn’t hide anything from Harry; he’d know if there were pieces missing from her story, and when they were both ready to tell their own sides, she’d tell him. It might happen this coming Thursday, it might not. However, there was nine months to catch up on, so it might take more than one Thursday to retell everything

#harry #post-war #para: some kind of solace

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