Hello! I’m so sorry I didn’t put this up sooner! I have been working on two other Fests and just got a new job so things are a bit of a jumble right now. ~Gin 🩷
We will not be running HP Soulmates Fest this year due to previous Mod commitments. We are hoping to come back in 2027.
Please NOTE: this announcement is only for HP Soulmates Fest and NOT the HP Soulmates Secret Santa. Please keep an eye out for their posts on their Tumblr:
A HP Soulmates Holiday Exchange running since 2023!
Hello everyone! I apologize for the late notice, but HP Soulmates will be taking the year off this year. We will be back and better than ever in 2026!
But don’t worry! You can still get your soulmates fix by joining the HP Soulmates Secret Santa! I joined as a pinch hitter last year and I ended up writing one of my favorite fics for someone.
Sign ups end September 28th, so you only have two more days!
Thank you to the mods of @hp-soulmates for a very fun list of prompts! I had so much fun with them. To commemorate the occasion, I made a master list of my own entries, which you can find below (all links are to AO3, but you can also find all of these posted on tumblr too). Enjoy!
EXPELLIARMUS RED
Ship: Harry Potter/Lord Voldemort
Word count: 1,327
Prompts: Red string + Lightning era + Fate + Cross gen ship
Main tags: Angst, Canon Compliant, Battle of Hogwarts
SEEKER PRACTICE
Ship: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Word count: 1,064
Prompts: Rival Soulmates + Soulmarks and Tattoos + Snitch
Main tags: Soul Bonds, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut
FAIRY TALES
Ship: Lavender Brown/Cho Chang
Word count: 1,375
Prompts: Sapphic + Rare Pair
Main tags: Introspection, First Date, Fluff
THE HUMAN CONDITION
Ship: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Word count: 3,036
Prompts: Gay + Sharing is caring + Marauders Era
Main tags: Established Relationship, Jealousy, Fluff and Smut
IN MEMORIAM
Ship: Severus Snape & Lily Evans
Word count: 4,520
Prompts: Butterbeer + Platonic soulmates + Older character + Annual + First words + Ghosts
Main tags: Introspection, Canon compliant, Grief, Self-Hatred
THE END AND THE BEGINNING
Ship: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley/Harry Potter
Word count: 419
Prompts: Second chances + Countdown clock + Polycule
Main tags: Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Pre-Relationship, Fluff
a Harry/Ron/Hermione fluffy one-shot for @hp-soulmates prompts: Second chances + Countdown clock + Polycule
cross-posted on ao3
Enjoy! <3
Voldemort’s body hits the ground and the war ends. Harry has done it. He finished the war. He meets his best friends’ eyes across the crowd and feels himself turn from Harry, the Chosen One, to Harry, a man who has finally earned freedom.
He blinks. A second passes. Their hands wrap around his shoulders and it dawns suddenly on him that it was worth – all that dying and monster slaying and evil conquering business – for this, for the closeness and the assurance of his best friends in his arms.
And then they gasp in unison, all three of them, as a sharp pain pierces their respective left wrist and they pull back instinctively from where each other's necks meet each other's shoulders and each other's cheeks resting in that nook, and look at the counters which have steadily guided them to the person fated to them and only then.
The fierce surprise of his own counter suddenly functional makes Harry feel a pain not unlike that of dying – mainly, it leaves him breathless, and makes his hear skip a couple of beats as if it can't beat quickly enough.
“I don’t understand,” he whispers with all the passion of a just-born-star.
“The way I look at it,” Ron says, “Mione and I finally have some real leverage for the next time you try to dash away into danger without us by your side.”
Hermione laughs a strange high-pitched laugh and then takes Harry’s hand, bringing his writs up for inspection. “Something fixed it.” She’s right – his counter, notorious for skipping around, for doing everything except counting, now stays decidedly at zero. “Voldemort’s death…”
“My death.”
They stare at him for a long moment, but no one comments on an admission of such weight. It’s strange, that for all that him dying and returning from death is objectively a significant event in his life – in all of their lives – his fixed counter feels like it should take priority.
“You’re my soulmates, you’re not allowed to be angry,” Harry blurts out before he can stop himself. What a thing to say. What a thing to be true.
Ron snorts. “I think that allows us to be more angry with you, not less.”
“We’re your soulmates,” Hermione whispers.
And then they all just look at each other. Wordless and overwhelmed, there is nothing to do but just look at each other. Freedom tastes so sweet, Harry realises, because there is time now just to stand around, looking at each other.
a Snape & Lily one-shot for @hp-soulmates prompts: Butterbeer + Platonic soulmates + Older character + Annual, combined with wildcard prompts: First words + Ghosts
cross-posted ao3
enjoy!
Once upon a time, there was a girl named Lily—like the flower—with hair as bright as flame and eyes as deeply green as forests in July.
She had a friend who was a prince without a crown and veiled in shadows at all times except when her fire chased them away.
And for a while, life was magical.
⚘
It's strange to think that he's now shared more celebratory butterbeer with her ghost than with the real her, but it's true.
For the seventh year in a row, he buys the blasted butterbeers and sneaks down to the easternmost point of the Great Lake—as if he's still a damned student and not a professor whose habits no one should be allowed to question for Merlin's sake but are still questioned all the same because of how foolish and cowardly he'd been at twenty-one, changing one master for another.
He misses her—that's why he does this still. He misses how simple springs used to be—this is also a factor. He does this because if he doesn't, if he were to go and kill himself like he so often contemplates—another part of her will die with him.
She lives still in fragments so fragile they might get damaged by the wind: in letters he keeps under lock and key, in notes on the margins of books he rarely peruses anymore. She lives in her and Potter's blasted son who is due to insert himself into Severus's life—into all of their lives—come autumn.
She lives in two words in a neat script written on the inside of his right forearm: "What's obvious?"
He looks at them now, those fated words, as he always does on this cursed—blessed— day of the year, after spending the rest avoiding their faint remnant. He takes a swig of his butterbeer—sugar heavy on his tongue—and whispers like he used to whisper across the grass from her, leaning conspiratorily into her personal space, her grin brighter than the sun: "I know what you are."
A witch, he'd sometimes say. Other times, he'd huff and whisper, a menace. A foolhardy Gryffindor. My best friend.
Now, there's only one word to finish that sentence: I know what you are, Lily Evans — dead.
⚘
The girl had two secrets to be kept locked inside her heart, safe and deep, where no common folk could enter.
The first was this: before the watchful eyes of the moon, she could whisper a wish to be fulfilled upon the waking sun—whatever her fluttering soul desired would pop into existence if she wished it very very much. The second was scarier: whenever she was really really mad, she could breathe fire.
Both of these secrets made her sister jealous—and this was not a secret at all.
⚘
Some people claim they could see their soulmate coming from a mile away, the script of their first encounter as clear as day in their minds, like they've lived through that moment a thousand times before and there wasn't a word out of place. Severus never believed them—he still doesn't.
When he stumbled upon Lily Evans doing magic in front of her muggle sister, his thoughts had nothing to do with soulmates. Though, in hindsight, perhaps he could have seen it—he'd been filled with such wonder at that moment. Such surprise and delight. His heart started hammering in his chest even though he'd walked closer with supposed nonchalance. The whole of him, soulmark or no soulmark, yearned for a friend.
And then Lily gasped at his sudden entrance, and spoke the words he's spent years staring at, and the rest was… well, all of it is history now. Ancient history, some may say. Everything before the war seems so far away, like a dream one dreamt years ago.
It's hard to imagine himself as that inspired, promising child he was whenever she was next to him. But who'd fault the child? After all, he had his soulmate by his side and all of Hogwarts in front of him—it'd been hard to imagine, on that first September first—how any of it could go wrong.
Lily had been holding his hand all throughout the sorting ceremony, not because she was scared, but because she believed he was. Her hand in his is still clear in this memory, even though her childhood face is not, nor her squeaky, touch-annoying voice, nor her awful bob of a haircut she only started growing out when she was thirteen. He tries not to wonder if he'd recognise her were she to appear suddenly in a crowded street, because he fears the answer is no.
And he supposes that he was scared in some way, that first day. A part of him—maybe the same part that was certain Petunia was going to be a nuisance to be dealt with from the moment he first laid his eyes on her—knew that there was no chance for Lily to end up in Slytherin. He never voiced it, of course—those would have been devastating news—which conveniently allowed him to pretend that this part didn't exist, that they would share a house for the upcoming seven years.
When she, at last—just like he'd predicted in the cursed depths of his brain—sorted into Gryffindor, it felt for a moment like she'd died, like their bond has been severed at the root. What foolish thoughts those were though—it almost makes him laugh to think back on it, however bitter that laugh might be. What eleven-year-old could presume to imagine the devastation of their soulmate dying? What eleven-year-old would dare equate it to anything lesser?
But then, Lily smiled at him across the Great Hall and Severus did something he still doesn't know if he should regret or not: he let himself have hope.
⚘
The girl was loved by neighbours and strangers alike—she was as bright as a sunny day, as joyful as wave-lapped sand, and as friendly as a murmuring brook. Her hands held fiercely, her mouth laughed loudly, and her eyes looked at you, almost daringly, almost all-knowingly.
She had a kind heart and a lion's spirit.
And whenever her prince got caught in a plot of high stakes and treason, she came up on top, licking blood from her very scary claws.
⚘
He's doing this in her honour because it was her idea to do this in the first place—well, the correct version of this, the version of this where both of them are still alive and teasing each other over things long since over-teased and rolling inside jokes over their hands like gobstones.
He's doing this in her honour, but also in his. Sort of. This is the only acknowledgement he will give to the idea that he wishes he was a better man. Such wishing would be futile, though, so he doesn't let himself contemplate it.
In truth, if he allowed himself to wish any change to fall upon him, he would wish to be the man he dreamed of being when in her company. He can't wish to be the man he was when he was sitting here, in this exact spot almost two decades ago, because he wasn't a man then—and he has no desire to be a boy no longer for he doesn't think he could be anything one might describe as a youth even if he tried—he'd gambled away his younger years with all the recklessness of the house which had stolen her from him long before he fucked it all up to push her away for good.
He's doing this because after they'd both turned twelve and the land had thawed enough for spending time outside not to be torturous, Lily stopped him from going to lunch after double Herbology. She'd dragged him to the lake, resized a blanket she had in her satchel and made him sit down, frightfully close to the water for so early in spring.
"Evans," he groaned as if a twelve-year-old can be stern. "What are you doing?"
"It's our soulmateversary." She said it like it was as obvious as her being a witch.
"A what."
"Our soulmate anniversary, dummy! Gosh, Sev!"
He loved her face when she rolled her eyes like that, how every inch of it would turn into a grimace seconds before that familiar gosh, Sev. It made him happy, somehow, that she was cross with him but still stayed by his side regardless.
When she pulled out the two butterbeers, he must admit he'd been left speechless. They were twelve, for Merlin's sake—first years—and there were still almost two whole years separating them from being allowed to go to Hogsmeade.
"I asked Francesca to buy some for me," she said, casually, "I said it was for our soulmateversary and she and her friends found it so cute and so romantic that we met so young—" she rolled her eyes then and gagged and shuddered. Severus had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing, and maybe also to stop his heart from breaking—he had a bit of a crush on her then, when they were twelve.
"Anyway! The important bit is that we got them," she concluded and shoved one of the bottles into his hands. "I never had butterbeer before—is it any good?"
Severus had to admit that he too had never tried the beverage and this made her only more enthusiastic about this whole endeavour. She struggled a bit with the top, before he snatched it from her—not without protest, of course—and opened it with his teeth.
"Ew, Severus!" she laughed—she laughed a lot back then, in those first couple of years. "Who knows how many weird bugs crawled over that when it was in storage!"
He shrugged then and handed her the opened bottle before opening his own.
"Cheers then!" she said, smiling at him, and clinked the necks of the bottles together. "To great friendships!"
"To the best soulmate in the whole world," he said then, because she was the best thing that's ever happened to him, as poor and pathetic a child he'd been, and he couldn't imagine anyone topping it.
She shoved his foot with her own for this, though. "How rude, Sev! To cheer for yourself like that!"
⚘
Many great knights travelled day and night to meet the girl with fire in her hair and magic in her fingertips. They offered jewels and gold and their hands in marriage. But the girl was not interested in being caged to knights whose armour was scuffed from too much kneeling.
At night, she still whispered to the moon. During the day, she tried to find her sister whom she knew she'd lost and kept losing her prince, whom she didn't know had already begun slipping away.
⚘
They were fourteen when it happened and it was her idea, but Severus jumped on it readily despite the fact that the worst of his crush had long since dissipated and he now saw Lily as something far more precious than a potential girlfriend.
They were in an empty classroom which apparently came recommended as a prime spot for such things as necking. She had pushed him against a desk eagerly and then stood in front of him, looking him up and down, but saying nothing at all. He kept his hands to himself—gripping the edge of the desk and sweating profusely.
"This is going to be bad," she proclaimed, because obviously the most important thing to do before having your first kiss—even if it was just for practice—is to manage expectations.
Severus just shrugged. He was deadly scared of embarrassing himself, so he did not allow himself to speak at all. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and held his breath as she came closer.
He was leaning against the broken desk, his knees were bent, his shoulders were hunched, and like this, in this strange—hilariously timid—posture they were finally eye to eye even though he'd gained two inches the previous summer.
Lily's breathing stuttered as she cupped his cheek. His hair was falling into his eyes and he cursed himself for not tying it back like she had, but it would have been worse to break the moment now to do so than to just shut up his thoughts and bear the inconvenience.
"I—" she started but then closed her mouth, unusually uncertain. They stared at each other for what felt like a whole class period at a time, her palm on his cheek and his nails digging into the aged lacquer of the desk.
Eventually, though, she let out a long breath, gave him a small nod—or maybe gave herself a small nod—and then said, not stuttering even once, that she was going to kiss him now.
Their first kiss was… childish. A press of lips that lingered for longer than was necessary and was broken only when they'd both needed to come up for air for having held their breath for so long.
"Er," he muttered, "That was—"
"Terrible!" she interrupted him immediately. "I think we did it wrong. I think we need to open our mouths more. How about—"
She leaned in without warning this time and slothed their lips together, her bottom one between his. His heart skipped a beat, and he lost the will which made him hold onto the table. He took hold of her face like she was holding his and tilted her head back and tried experimentally to move his lips against hers in the same way he'd seen some upper years do when they thought they were being sneaky after hours.
She gasped into his mouth. Gripped his waist. Kissed him back.
Ever bold, ever brave, she used the distraction of him breathing in to push her tongue into his mouth, clumsily. He startled but moved his tongue towards hers, mostly unconsciously. They both shivered at the contact.
She pulled back. "That was better. I think."
"It was," he agreed. He swallowed, then added, "Should we… practice some more?"
"I… yeah, okay."
He kissed her this time and she let him.
He tried to build it up to that exciting, sparkling moment that'd coursed through them when their tongues first touched, but the more they kissed, the more she moved her tongue inside of his mouth, the more he became aware of spit drying on his chin and the somewhat unpleasant taste of artificial flavouring from the lip balm on her lips.
Her tongue turned involuntarily into an image of a baby salamander, squirming inside of his mouth. Her breathing sounded as if she was trying not to inhale toxic fumes. Her hands were pinching his skin way too hard to be pleasant.
His left leg was starting to cramp from being bent for so long. His hair was sticking to his forehead and poking the corner of his eye. And finally, his lips were becoming tingly and numb and uncomfortable from so much contact.
She seemed to grow frustrated too—this became obvious quickly because she kept moving her hand up and down his side, readjusting her grip, tilting her head in different angles with increased frequency, and, also, pulling back to start over from the beginning, from the closed mouth kiss they first shared, with ever-growing insistence.
When she pulled back her cheeks were flushed and her lips red from kissing but her eyes were narrowed and brows low on her face and she looked seconds from blowing something up.
"We're doing something wrong," she stated. Severus's shoulders slumped even more. "Well, say something. What do you think?"
"Maybe we're doing it for too long?"
Her laugh was like a firework exploding. "Gosh, Sev—people disappear in those tiny broom closets for hours."
"I don't think they're… er, just kissing inside those."
"Oh my god, Severus Snape, I'm not an idiot! But how long could it take for them to… finish—" she waved her hand in a vague motion and then stomped over to the window. "We're doing something wrong."
Severus stayed silent, so she could collect her thoughts.
"Are you hard?"
Severus blinked. Then subtly shifted on the desk. "Er… no," he said which was the truth. Though he might have felt some stirrings when they'd first started this whole… exercise, whatever… blockage they've run into since then has quashed all chances of it. The thought of it now—the thought of feeling himself growing aroused—when Lily was looking so worried and angry made him feel sort of gross.
"That must be it," Lily nodded seriously. "You don't find me attractive."
"What?" Severus blurted out. "No. I mean, I do. You're very pretty, er, very phsiscially attractive, Lils, really—"
"Ugh, stop talking!" She rolled her eyes and turned his back to him again. She grabbed a piece of chalk from the windowsill and it shattered in a cloud of dust when she threw it at the wall. "I didn't mean objectively."
"Lily, you're beautiful," Severus said quickly. "I—I think your body, er, your face—"
"Would you have sex with me?"
She turned on her heels and stared at him, arms crossed over her chest.
Severus stared back. "What?"
"What-what? It's a simple question."
And it was, wasn't it? Well… Severus had at some point had a crush on her. And he also did truly think she was an attractive girl. And he'd be lying if the thought of them… doing that had never crossed his mind. But if he tried to picture it now—his eyes unfocusing, lips pressed together—the vague concepts he had of how sex worked turned… rather unpalatable in his head. Sure, Lily was pretty, but the idea of her stripping and asking him to… He forced himself not to grimace. On the other hand, Lily was his soulmate—what did it say about their connection if he couldn't imagine himself… laying with her?
"I… I guess," he stuttered finally.
"That's not very promising."
"You're my best friend," he said with a shrug, trying to find the words to explain that he'd do anything she wanted but some of his enjoyment would have to be purely… biological.
Lily rolled her eyes again. "Yeah, yeah and you're mine—doesn't mean I'd like to have sex with you."
It wasn't that much of a surprise. Not really. But still—it hurt a bit, this blatant confirmation.
"You wouldn't?" he muttered, avoiding her eyes.
Lily sighed. "I mean… I don't know!" She threw her hands in the air. "We can't even kiss for a bit without getting bored."
Severus shrugged and said nothing. She was right of course, and he agreed with her assessment, and he knew that the idea of them being each other's first time was not the most appealing thing to him beyond the desire to have a first time—with anyone—even though they are supposed to be each other's only times. Right?
"What is it?" she demanded, coming closer to him. "Do you disagree?"
"No," he shook his head immediately. "I just… we're soulmates." They could learn to enjoy being with each other… in that way. Probably. They should at least try? Wouldn't that be recommended?
Lily was silent for a long time and then, letting out a long exhale, she walked back to Severus and nudged his foot with her own. He looked up at her. She was still frowning.
"Not all soulmates are romantic," she stated.
"I know that."
"I mean, it'd be awesome if they were, right?" she continued with a small laugh, though it came out awkward. "Maybe then Potter would finally leave me alone…"
Severus huffed at the very mention of the resident nuisance—a cockroach you couldn't get rid of and who also had a particular taste for your morning cereal. "I don't even want to imagine it," he grumbled. "As if he and Black are not annoying enough as is."
Lily snorted. "I know, right?"
Some tension bled from Severus's shoulders when she moved to lean next to him on the desk. Being shoulder to shoulder made it easier for him to avoid catching her eyes and avoiding her eyes made it easier to feel only the things he felt and not the maelstrom of contradictions Lily Evans carried around in her head whenever faced with what she perceived as a problem.
They sat like that for a while, until loud ringing could be heard, marking the end of the last period.
Lily sighed next to him, her back curling like a shrimp—she really had a terrible posture when no one was around to look at her.
"So," she said into her chin. "Friends?"
Severus bit back a smile. Why wouldn't they be friends? Why would he ever wish to stop being friends with her?
"Friends," he confirmed.
"Good. Good, good, good." She clapped her hands and then jumped up. "Glad that that's sorted."
Severus snorted. "Indeed." He didn't quite succeed in keeping the amusement from his voice, so she kicked him in the shin.
"Dinner, then meet you in the library?" she asked as if she had to ask. As if there were any chance of anything having changed because of today.
"Of course," he said and felt a small bubble of happiness fill his chest when the tense look in her eyes went away at his agreement—he didn't mention it though. He simply accompanied her to the Great Hall, met her in the library after, and never talked about them being anything more than friends ever again.
And that was the end of that.
⚘
The girl and her prince grew together, like twin bean stalks. But as she reached more and more for the moon, many came to admire her gifts. She became surrounded by beggars and choosers alike and never noticed that another power had begun seducing her prince away from her influence.
She trusted him, for their souls were two parts of one whole, and because of this, told him all of her secrets. It never occurred to her to think that he wasn't so generous in turn.
⚘
He doesn't like to think about all the butterbeers they've never drunk not because she wasn't near him to accept a bottle but because she turned her back whenever he offered.
He's made mistakes, many of them. It feels egregious to think about them here, in their sacred space. Here, where they spent their time, before their bond had been tainted by his failures and her hurt.
In some sense, he himself has not forgiven her for not allowing him to repent at her feet, at the ruins of their relationship, but whatever blame she was to carry for it, must have been cleansed by her death, so he doesn't feel deserving of still condemning any part of her for it.
No, out of the two of them, he is the one still doing his penance, and he doubts, sincerely, that he will ever fulfil it.
He sometimes imagines her outraged that he's supposedly brazen enough to come here and call it honouring. Maybe if he does it enough times, she'll find some strength to pierce the veil and return to this mortal soil, if only to assail him for the audacity. He'd welcome it, but it's unlikely. It would have happened by now were it ever a likely outcome.
But still, he comes back, with mixed intentions, and thinks about her alive and laughing and more forgiving than she ever was in life. He doesn't think about her cooling corpse. Or her grave. Or the living legacy she left behind in her son. He does his best to never ever think about James Potter—and fails regularly, even more often as of late.
Each sip of his butterbeer is a memory, and each swallow an apology and a plea in one.
He doesn't know if he could explain this little ritual to anyone—though he knows Dumbledore, and possibly Minerva, had been itching to ask. They'd call him a man in mourning if he allowed such a conversation. He doesn't know if it's his place to mourn—for all that she was his soulmate.
She gave him life, after all, saved him by her very existence, and the memory of their friendship is what still binds him to this castle and this world. He would have had to repay her handsomely for it had she ever become so gauche as to ask for repayment for things she found instinctive.
Instead… well, he doesn't want to think about the Instead's either.
⚘
The girl died at night. If the moon had been there to watch her end, it was gone by the time the prince came to her rescue. The world around her was burned in her image, but her body was only human when he cradled it.
Her chest was hollow and her wild heart had been consumed in glowing embers. The only thing left was a spark of a newborn star stuck in the nook of her throat. It was tiny and weak, but it was also the only light blinking in the thick darkness of a new tomorrow.
⚘
The last sip of butterbeer left in the bottle is less than half a swallow. The taste lingers on his tongue pungent and coating the inside of his mouth in a sensation not dissimilar to regret. He never got to confess to Lily that he wasn't that big of a far of these things—she was the one with the sweet tooth between them.
He vanishes his empty bottle and uses the heel of the full one to dig a small pit in the sandy soil, before he props it to stand inside it.
When he stands up, his knees creak. He looks across the Lake, at the castle that was once both a comfort and prison at the same time, and then at the bottle half buried in the sand. He leaves one every year and by the next morning, it's gone. He's never tried to find out who was taking these—it could be anyone really, from a young and rebellious centaur to Dumbledore himself, the sentimental fool that he is.
He'd never admit to anyone, though, that every year, he imagines a girl with hair like overripe strawberries, with her tights scuffed at the knees, running to her spot by the eastern shore of the lake and drinking her bottle of butterbeer for her soulmatesversary.
He doesn't look back when he walks away, but in his head, he hears her hiccuping laughter, and her shoes slipping against the sand, and sees her ghost accepting all the things he'd never be able to say aloud, for as long as he lived, no matter that he wished it very very much.
⚘
There are many ways to live happily ever after, and the girl found the one most eternal: she existed, forever onward, as a memory.
a Wolfstar one-shot for @hp-soulmates prompts: Gay + Marauders Era + Sharing is caring
Rated E for Remus's dirty thoughts and some gratuitous smut
Word count: 3k
Thank you @drwhoisginnyholmes for betaing and your helpful insight!
Happy reading!
Call him jealous — he doesn't give a fuck.
It's not like anyone would believe it. Well, James and Sirius might but they'd think it's funny. Hillarious even.
And really, what does Remus even have to be jealous of? Sirius is his soulmate. Remus has him for life. Nothing but death will separate them if he has any say in it — and Sirius is not likely to abandon him either.
Remus is not jealous. He's secure in his relationship. He is very clear on exactly what kind of hold he has on one Sirius Black.
That doesn't mean, though, that he doesn't find himself bitter.
That doesn't mean, though, that he doesn't wake up in the morning and drink his tea laced with envy.
He's possessive —sue him. You'd feel the same in his position.
His position is this: draped over the third armchair from the fireplace — the one with the small side table next to it, onto which he can lean his elbow and occasionally his parchment to mark places he needs to rewrite. His back is to the rest of the common room. He's facing the couches. On the one on the right, Lily and Mary are working on the same damned Charms assignment that he is. On the one of the left, James and Sirius have given up the pretence of working on theirs.
They're quite a scene, the two of them; sprawled over each other, touching wherever they can reach and planning a summer vacation with such carelessness that Remus wants to drag Sirius away by his collar and remind him that there is a war brewing outside. That there are other people Sirius should include in such plans other than James Potter.
He doesn't do anything but watch though, because he's not a bastard and he's not jealous of James's hand tapping a syncopated rhythm against Sirius's lower back, nor of James's foot hooked against Sirius's calf, nor of James's shoulder into which Sirius presses his face whenever James's forces him to shush a particularly loud cackle.
Remus could do something. James is not afraid of him — especially this far from the full moon — but Sirius is his more than James's, and Remus could stand up and pull Sirius up and into his arms and kiss him with tongue until Sirius's knees buckle and Remus is prompted to pick him up and carry him away.
Sirius might even find it funny. He likes it when Remus gets a bit rough when they fuck. He likes to provoke it out of him, and it takes quite a bit of provocation too.
This — tumbling with James — is not a provocation. Sirius is smarter than that. More sly. Remus doesn't know if he hates the skill with which Sirius has come to use their soul bond in order to emotionally manipulate him to do Sirius's bidding, or if just another thing that makes him more… fond of Sirius. On one hand, Remus has always been drawn to Sirius's intelligence. On the other… there's always the fear that Remus's fragile self-control will see such manipulations and take more than Sirius can give.
The last thing he wants is to become one of those arseholes who don't let people come within a five feet radius of their soulmate.
Remus doesn't do anything about James and Sirius. It would be ridiculous to do something.
He likes it when Sirius is happy. He's willing to do anything to make Sirius happy — to make him smile and laugh and strum their bond with warmth and enjoyment.
Still, his skin crawls with every bubble of joy that bursts through his and Sirius's soul bond, which is there because of someone other than Remus.
He swallows with difficulty and lowers his eyes.
Sirius has not always been so physically affectionate. He used to keep them all at arm's length. They had that in common, Sirius and him, at least until James pushed and pushed and one day, Sirius became touchy. One day, Sirius's physical existence fused so deeply with James's that Remus started to wonder if his and Peter's presence was even necessary anymore.
But James continued to chase after Lily, and Sirius replaced Regulus with James when it came to the title of his brother, and Peter and Remus were never pushed away.
If someone had been so gauche to press, Remus would have guessed James and Sirius were soulmates. His own seventeenth birthday flipped this perspective on its head though.
James and Sirius have been and still are everything to each other — two twin stars so above it all.No matter his desires, Remus never allowed himself to hope that he'd have a chance at trying to survive the depths of Sirius's feelings appearing in his own chest. But here they are now: Remus and Sirius, connected at a level no magic could replicate, and James and Sirius, still tied at the hip.
Here he is in an armchair only a couple of feet away from the couch where his boyfriend is cuddling with another man, decidedly not jealous.
Sirius manhandles James into sitting up, snatching James's essay for the table. His expression is haughty and mischievous, but he manages to read only the first few words aloud before James shoots a stinging hex at him.
Remus flinches as Sirius's amusement bounces towards him and forces himself to think about something far away from jealousy. About Sirius's body arching from a different sort of pain. Right above Sirius's hip bone — the one James pushes at when Sirius lounges to take revenge for the hex — is a bite mark which drove him over the edge last night.
The pride Remus feels for this spare moment is enough to distract him from Sirius enjoying the company of another.
Sirius shrinks James's essay and holds it out of the way. James tries to snatch it, fails and then — always the master of strategy — dives low and starts tickling Sirius's sides. Sirius is not particularly ticklish but there are two very specific spots under his ribs which are sensitive.
[cont. under the cut]
It's obvious when James hits them with his fingers; Sirius doubles over with a string of highly creative profanities, but both James — because Sirius is his brother — and Remus — because Sirius is his soulmate — know that it's without malice.
Remus pulls forward a memory of his knees aching after he's spent twenty minutes teasing the tip of Sirius's cock. Sirius doubled over the exact same way, cursed up a storm, and came into Remus's mouth even though he'd promised to wait for Remus's dick in his arse half an hour prior. Remus fills his head with lust and smugness and redips his quill in the floating inkwell.
He is not jealous.
Hexing James's hands to burst into boils is not an advisable course of action.
Remus's essay is a waste of parchment, but that is not surprising. If he wanted to get anything done, he would have stayed in the library. But as soon as Sirius stretched his arms over his head for the fourth time in ten minutes, his shirt riding up, buttons bunching against each other and revealing glimpses of his chest hair, Remus knew staying in the library was not an option.
He met Sirius's eyes over the table and whispered, with poorly masked desire in his voice, feeling rather daring, "Change of location?"
Sirius smirked immediately. He sat back in his chair so he could drag the tip of his shoe over Remus's ankle and then shot up and hurried out of the library. Remus had been half out of his mind then, following him.
Only… when they'd entered the Gryffindor tower, James whined pathetically from the couch about the essay, and Peter pushed them towards the fireplace since it was their turn "to deal with the git".
And Sirius dashed towards James without a backward glance.
So you see, Remus is not jealous. He's… irritated. Sirius and James were a phenomenon which not even a soul bond could disrupt. For fuck's sake, Remus was feeling some pretty nasty things when James stole Sirius away and Sirius hadn't even noticed.
When Sirius was with James, it was exceptionally challenging to take away his attention.
But Remus was used to exceptionally challenging things.
For example, it was exceptionally challenging to keep Sirius still during foreplay. Almost impossible in fact. Remus has gotten quite adept at summoning and tying charms.
Sirius liked his hands tied together at the headboard, and Remus had to agree. He always arched so nicely when his hands were tied over his head. Never does he belong to Remus more than with his chest heaving, head thrown back, mouth open, panting, keening despite himself, while Remus pushes his legs open with his knees and hooks his fingers inside him just so.
Remus shakes his head, shooing away the image. Gryffindor common room right before dinner on a school night was not the place to think such things. Especially when the main star of such scenarios is roughhousing with their mutual best friend.
Remus can't help but look towards them again.
The bond is sizzling with triumph when Sirius manages to straddle James's hips and hit his face with a pillow. James is laughing, Lily is shooting both them and Remus exasperated looks, but all Remus can think about is Sirius straddling his lap in his bed, with his shirt torn open, buttons popped, Remus's mouth on Sirius' nipple and his dick surrounded by that familiar, tight heat as Sirius slowly lowers himself.
He clears his dry throat and sits up.
He's half-hard in his trousers, can feel himself throbbing. He tries to find a way to subtly relieve some pressure, but all the ideas fall flat to the alternative of Sirius coming over and doing it for him, audience be damned — everyone knows Sirius is his anyway, but it'd be nice to affirm this little fact, perhaps especially for Sirius who is way too close to someone who is decidedly not Remus.
Remus blinks rapidly, trying to calm down, but this has been on his mind for hours now.
He leans his head against his palm and bites the flesh — to focus — but the only thing that accomplishes is to bring forth the image of biting Sirius's arsecheek before licking where his fingers are disappearing. He swallows but that makes him think about swallowing around Sirius's cock in his throat. He grips his thigh tight until he can feel his nails through his trousers but then he remembers the half-healed red stripes he spent too long watching in the mirror after Sirius scratched them into his back to make him move faster, harder, deeper.
A loud thump from the direction of the couch makes his eyes fly to Sirius. He's on the floor, clutching at his shoulder with a groan. James is leaning over him, hand pulling Sirius's, trying to get him back. He's saying something, smiling, teasing, but Sirius is ignoring him, his eyes are squeezed shut and he's breathing heavily.
Remus's ears are buzzing, but he manages to focus enough to check the bond. No agony, no pain. So Sirius isn't hurt — thank Merlin. There's just… surprise. Confusion. And… delight.
Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, Sirius sits up, waves away both James's and Lily's offers to help, and looks straight at Remus.
He raises his eyebrows.
Remus takes a deep breath. He gives a tiny, one-shoulder shrug.
Sirius's amusement is like burnt sugar — sticky and overwhelming and almost all Remus can feel over the bond. Almost. There under everything else, is that one, steady thread of interest.
He watches silently as Sirius rolls his shoulders, picks up a piece of parchment — his this time — pats James on the back and then stands up with a low groan that makes Remus's breath hitch despite it being completely non-sexual in nature.
Sirius saunters towards him. He's smirking the same as he smirked in the library, and for one dizzying second Remus thinks Sirius really will straddle him right here in the middle of the common room, shameless as he is.
This is part of why Remu loved him, even before fate told him to: for better or for worse, Sirius is a man of action.
Mercifully, Sirius sits on the armrest and leans over Remus, his side pressed into Remus's shoulder, his hand coming up to cup Remus's cheek, and kisses him — rather chastely — on the lips.
"Hey, Moony," the bastard whispers. "This essay's getting you real… frustrated, huh?"
Sirius even waves his parchment in the air for emphasis, though his eyes don't leave Remus's even for a second.
"Er, yeah," Remus mutters. He puts his free hand onto Sirius's knee, hesitantly. Sirius's eyes sparkle. Remus's heart is skipping every other beat.
Sirius kisses him again — still closed-mouth, but lingering — and Remus all of a sudden feels as if everyone can feel what they're feeling too. As if everyone knows.
"It's a bit crowded here," Sirius says, casually, and bites his lip. His eyes slip to Remus's mouth — Remus imagines him biting Remus's lip, or better yet Remus biting his. "We'll be more productive upstairs, I think."
"Yeah… definitely."
Upstairs is exactly where Remus wants to be, but being productive is the last thing he cares about. Unless, of course, you count attempting to break the record for the most times he can make Sirius come in an hour.
"Great!" Sirius kisses his cheek and then in one fluid movement stands up, drags Remus up by his hand and vanishes their writing equipment back to their trunks.
They're at the stairs in a blink of an eye, and in the dorm — locked, warded for silence, blessedly empty — in another.
Sirius pushes him against the door, fingers already pulling Remus's hair, hard-on already pressing against Remus's, and Remus wastes no time biting his lip to make him moan.
Remus shivers as the lust that makes Sirius's knees buckle washes over them both. Sirius jumps and wraps his legs around Remus's waist, and then starts kissing down Remus's throat, lips hot, teeth sharp against his jugular.
Remus wraps one arm around Sirius's waist and brings the other to guide Sirius's mouth back to his. Sirius shudders when their tongues meet and bucks against Remus. If they were naked, Remus bets there'd be a trail of precome already on his stomach. As soon as he imagines them naked, this clothed rutting loses all value.
He walks them to his bed, Sirius humming as he's jostled with every step, and then lets them both fall onto the mattress. Sirius falls with an oompf and Remus only catches himself on his hands at the last second.
Their eyes meet for a second — Remus stares at Sirius's blown pupils, committing to memory just how much his soulmate wants him — before Sirius hooks his arm around Remus's neck and kisses him.
Remus allows it for a few spare minutes and then lowers himself until they're groin to groin and he has a free hand to whip out his wand and vanish their clothes.
"Merlin, Moony, you're so impatient," Sirius says through a huff but smiles when Remus bites the side of his neck, licking and sucking until the first of today's marks blooms stark against Sirius's pale skin.
Remus hums as he admires it — a spark of lust crackles through the bond to match his satisfaction — and then leans to kiss Sirius again. "And you're so greedy."
He takes Sirius's cock in hand unceremoniously and opens Sirius's mouth with his tongue, and complains about nothing else because Sirius Black is greedy and needy and shameless in how he jumps from James to Remus, seeking both attention and touch, but Remus is selfish and he wants Sirius all to himself and if keeping him meant giving him everything and more than that's a price he deems more than reasonable.
He tongues Sirius's nipple, spreads his legs, and drags his thumb through the slit of Sirius's cockhead. Precome beads against his finger and the slide of his hand from root to tip quickens, tightens.
Sirius's close. He's harder than hell. He's so slick that Remus doesn't even have to summon lube to wet his finger before entering him.
"Remus!" Sirius gasps, nails digging into Remus's shoulder. Remus smirks, then laughs when Sirius smacks him for smirking. He kisses him, deep and slow, until Sirius is putty under him.
The hand on Remus's cheek moves away, and a moment later something wet pools in Remus's palm. He looks up just in time to see Sirius dropping his wand to the nightstand.
He laughs again but Sirius kisses him quickly, shutting him up. He adds another finger. And another. Pushes in deep. Sirius moans, lifting his hips from the mattress and Remus has to press him back down.
He pulls out his fingers, shushes Sirius's whine with his lips and slides his cock against Sirius's. Sirius pulls at his hair. Pants into his mouth. Groans into his ear. And at the exact same second when Sirius opens his mouth to beg — their bond thrumming with desperation — Remus lines himself up and gives him what he's aching for.
If it weren't for all the other times they'd done this, the swell of emotions coming from Sirius would push him over the edge instantly. But now, he knows to brace himself. Now, he's ready. Now, he's learned to channel his own desire so Sirius is the one almost losing control.
And what a gift that is, to be able to watch him, flushed and out of breath before they've even fully started, fist tight around the base of his leaking cock to stop himself from coming too fast.
What a gift it is to close his eyes and bask in Sirius's delight, his impatience, his greedy, needy everything.
Sure, Remus has to share him with James sometimes — share his brilliance, his ingenuity, his wit and humour and friendship. And sure, James can make him happy and amused and mischievous. But only Remus can have this — his sole, undivided, glorious focus, his all-encompassing, endless pleasure, and also, the one thing all greedy people crave the most: his blessed, ultimate, complete satisfaction.
thanks for reading<3 [find my other HP Soulmates 2024 works on Tumblr or on AO3]
💞 HP Soulmates: R3D String Edition - August Weeks 1 & 2 Roundup 💞
Sorry for the delay! Here’s the Roundup for Weeks 1 & 2. We will be trying to post a Roundup every two weeks, so there will be another one coming this weekend. Please enjoy the first set of some amazing fics!
~ HP Soulmates Mods 💞
💞 [Fic] Invisible String (Tying You to Me) by MidnightStargazer | @midnightstargazer 💞 (T, Lavender Brown/Parvati Patil, 2.3k)
Week 1: Red string | lightning era | fate
In the aftermath of her breakup with Ron, Lavender uses a divination ritual to reveal the red strings of fate and find her soulmate, desperate for a partner who can be trusted not to break her heart.
💞 [Fic] Clear The Clouds (& Your Doubt) by SquibNation10 💞 (T,
Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, 3.7k)
Week 1: Red string | lightning era | fate
Ron was proud of his girlfriend. Hermione Granger was among the top researchers in the Department of Mysteries. But then he finds out what she's researching...
Harry’s got a one-way portkey to California and a date with a pretty girl lined up. Who knew finding your soulmate, even fourteen years late, could work out so well?
~ This is a direct sequel to Ink Stained Skin, and will feature Harry’s POV. I highly encourage you to read that one first!
💞 [Fic] Tied To Me With Crimson Knots by DrWhoIsGinnyHolmes | @drwhoisginnyholmes 💞 (M, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, 2.4k)
Week 1: Red string | lightning era | fate
Harry’s fingertip laid bare, an unconnected hand, a silent thing, no red string in sight.
Draco’s was bound, to a Muggle, once bright.
But darkness came, and shadows spread.
Voldemort’s hand left the Muggle boy dead.
In that moment, fate took a twist,
A red string formed on Harry’s wrist.
From enemy to friend, perhaps to lover,
Their destinies entwined, one to discover.
Poem written by p0intless_p0et
💞 [Fic] Expelliarmus Red by Poljupci | @poljupci 💞 (T,
Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, 1.3k)
Week 1: Red string | lightning era | fate + Wildcard: Cross gen ship
Harry could have figured it out sooner if he dared to pay more attention. Maybe things could have ended differently, then.
But like this, when the realisation comes while looking into Voldemort's eyes and waiting to be killed, the only thing he can do is accept that they've doomed themselves from the beginning.
💞 [Fic] Catch The Snitch (& Win Me Too) by SquibNation10 💞 (T, Cho Chang/Ginny Weasley, 3.5k)
Week 2: Rival Soulmates | rare pair | second chances
Ginny Weasley wished the world would stop bringing up her past. She just wanted to play for her favourite Quidditch Team.
Cho Chang feels the same.
💞 [Fic] midnight train by prima_vera | @girl-with-goats 💞 (M,
Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, 6.5k)
Prompts: Fate | red string | second chances | soulmarks
Onboarding the midnight train in search of his client's soulmate, Harry Potter doesn't expect to find his own childhood friend—and soulmate.
💞 [Fic] The Thousand Acres Between Us by MarinaJune | @sailtomarina 💞 (M, Marcus Flint/Hermione Granger, 8.3k)
Week 1: Red string | lightning era | fate
Reunited after years apart following the war, Hermione can immediately see there’s something different about Marcus Flint. The boy she thought she knew came back a man, one she’s more than willing to reconsider. He’s older, obviously, broader, mysterious as always, and, most baffling of all, interested in her?
💞 [Fic] Seeker Practice by Poljupci | @poljupci 💞 (E,
Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, 1k)
We're happy to announce the HP Soulmates Secret Santa is returning for it's second year!! In association with the HP Soulmates Fest Discord Server, this is an anonymous fanfiction exchange focused on your favorite Harry Potter couples, whoever they may be --- as soulmates! We're a fun and friendly bunch, and we hope you'll join us this year 🥰
💝 2024 Schedule 💝
🧧 Sign-Ups: September 7-September 29
🧧 Works Due: December 1
🧧 Works Revealed: December 26-January 6
Rules, FAQ, and important links will be posted soon, but if you'd like to get a sneak peak, you can always check out our Ao3 Collection page. Follow our Tumblr or join the Discord for updates! We're so happy to have you here!
a harrymort one shot for @hp-soulmates week 1 prompts: red string + lighting era + fate combined with wildcard: cross gen ship
enjoy ;)
In retrospect it's rather obvious, isn't it?
He's eleven, the man who has been his professor for a year is dying at his feet because of him, and Harry's red string of faith is whipping around through the air, ready to strike a force invisible to most.
The leaves crunch under his feet as he walks deeper into the Forest, trying to find a hint of the man who will come to be his demise.
He's twelve, his best friend's sister is unconscious on the other side of the chamber deeper than deep under their school, and Harry's red string of faith is bleeding like a severed vein, melting into the black ooze coming from a diary bought fifty years ago.
It's not Dolohov and Yaxley who lead him to Voldemort's camp — not really — though they do convince him that his suspicions are pulling him in the right direction.
He's fourteen, his parents' betrayer is kneeling at the feet of his Lord, and Harry's red string of faith is coiled around the graves and the cauldron, the feet of loyal followers, and Cedric's body, as thick and as lazy as Nagini slithering by, as stark as a wound on Harry's left forearm.
His heart aches when he sees Hagrid in the midst of these people, cruel and unrelenting, but it aches even more at what Hagrid would think if red strings were visible to those not tied to them.
He's fifteen, his godfather's house is teeming with people trying to disembowel it, and Harry's red string of faith keeps disappearing through doorways he cannot see, leading to hiding places no human would ever curl in.
Voldemort looks frantic when Harry allows himself to see it. All his Death Eaters are standing around the pire of their supposed victory, but their leader — and Harry knows this just as he knows himself — is counting the seconds remaining until it's revealed if his sworn enemy will kneel at his feet.
He's sixteen, the girl he's had a crush on for months is holding his hand in a tight grip, the Room of Requirement unfolding around them, and Harry's red string of faith keeps getting caught in things cursed and abandoned, unravelling towards the middle of the labyrinth.
Nagini is floating in her glittering cage, and just looking at her makes Harry feel as if the towering trees are the spires of the cage now keeping him in. Voldemort spares no look at her, as he spares no look to anyone — even to Bellatrix when she tries to placate him with words Harry can't quite hear.
He's seventeen, his best friends have been sharing a too-small tent for far too long on a goose chase for items they're not even sure exist, and Harry's red string of faith winds around his throat, chokingly tight, whenever he wears a locket that claims to see his soul.
Harry watches the proceedings, the tension rising in the air at his own non-appearance. Malfoy's parents look on the edge of fleeing, Bellatrix on the edge of a warpath. Everyone stays still. Every Harry hardly dares to breathe under his invisibility cloak.
He's seventeen, his group of thieves has just broken into one of the most protected places in Wizarding Britain, and Harry's red string of faith is buried under thousands of copies of the cup it wants to fill.
Harry's hands are shaking as he takes hold of the cloak, but it slips off his shoulders like silk — like snake-shed long overdue. Voldemort looks at him. At that moment he felt that nobody mattered but Voldemort. It was just the two of them.
He's seventeen, he's walking to his death to save the only place he's ever called home, and Harry's red string of faith has split into two, having finally found its other end.
cont. bellow:
Voldemort's gaze — as red as the string connecting Harry and the man who is set to kill him — stays firmly on him. He tilts his head. His lips curl into a mirthless smile. Harry breathes out a shaky breath, his red string of faith trembles, and yet Voldemort is still staring only at him — his eyes, his scar, the face of the boy who defeated him many times over.
“Harry Potter,” Voldemort says very softly. His voice might have been part of the spitting fire. “The Boy Who Lived.”
Harry lifts his hand to touch the string — it's as tight as that of a violin, as hard, taut and reactive — but Voldemort just raises his wand higher. Harry hums. He wasn't going for his wand — he doesn't plan on fighting back — doesn't Voldemort realise it? Does he really not see it?
The string is as vivid in colour as a gash in the night and it's right there, as knotless and tangle-less, as straight as it could ever — and will ever — be.
Harry laughs quietly, dragging his fingers along the string. He used to do it often as a child — the texture of it soothing in its thick, unmaleable stability — and now he wishes he could muster as much fondness for it as he had back then.
To the Death Eaters, to Voldemort, and to Hagrid, he must look ridiculous, petting the air, but no one says a single word. All the eyes in the clearing are glued to Voldemort, except for Voldemort's which are glued to Harry.
Voldemort's eyes narrow when Harry drops his hand, but doesn't ask and Harry doesn't tell him anything. Surely, once, long ago, Voldemort had the ability to see their string and now, having lost it, who knows how he would react to Harry having found it.
Harry wonders if he figured it out before it disappeared from his sight. He wonders if Voldemort stood over his crib and saw them intertwined together by faith and tried to kill him anyway.
Right now, seventeen years later, Harry finally looks back up, into the red eyes of his soulmate, his killer, the one man who defined his life in most of the ways that matter, and lets all fear pass through him. This must be his destiny — bright and blood red, staring right at him — and when has anyone been able to fight destiny anyway?
He sees the string shiver, Voldemort's mouth move in a silent curse, a flash of green which shall never fade from his memory, and then, just like that, everything is gone.
When he wakes up to chaos he almost believes that the destruction of the horcrux has rid him of the soulmate whom he would never wish for yet the world thought he was deserving of, but it's only the spells and the battle that shield the string from his vision temporarily.
Later, in the Great Hall, when he stands in front of Voldemort once more — in bright light, ready to finish the war and the story which had plagued his life since before he was born — he catches sight of it again.
It's weak. Flickering. A sluggish trickling chord of blood between them. They raise their wands in unison, but only Harry can see their string paralleling them. Even before the spells collide, they're connected already with a thing they've both sworn to sever before they were even aware this was the final task they'd embark upon.
"Avada Kedavra."
"Expelliarmus."
Golden flames erupt between them as the corrosive green of Voldemort's spell hits the soulmate-red of Harry's.
The Elder Wand flies across the space between them. Harry catches it. Voldemort falls backwards and hits the floor, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward.
He's two months shy of eighteen, his soulmate lays dead at last, having died at his own hand, and Harry's red string of faith snaps in half, crumbling like moth-eaten fabric to disappear forever.
The world celebrates its victory.
Harry spends months wondering if he has the permission — and the wish — to mourn. But there's no one who he'd dare ask anyway.
For last year's @hp-soulmates Fest I wrote a Harry/Pansy anonymous pen pals fic. It got great reviews, but everyone wanted more. There were also requests for a Harry POV.
Well, ask and ye shall recieve, folks, cuz there's a sequel in the works now!
Ink Stained Heart picks up right where Ink Stained Skin leaves off, and features Harry's POV, touristing around Los Angeles, and, you guessed it, (eventual) sexy times.
Read the new WIP on AO3 here!
(Link to the first fic in the series here, in case you missed it)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The train platform where Hermione stood swarmed with people much like any other, but for one important difference.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters shone in shiny brass high above their heads. In-between and unseen, this was a gathering place for Britain’s magical population. They were here for the same reason as she–to embark on a journey to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
“Don’t forget to send word as soon as you’re settled in, honey.” Hermione’s mum hugged her tight. Her minty perfume was a comfort that Hermione breathed in deeply.
“I will.”
Her dad followed up with the same advice he’d given shortly after they’d decided to send her off, then again as she packed, and even when they drove over earlier that morning. “Make sure you floss and brush your teeth every day as soon as you wake up and before you go to bed. The same goes for after you eat something particularly sweet, since we won’t be there to remind you.”
“Yes, Dad. I promise I won’t forget.”
He wrapped both her and her mother in his arms from behind so she was sandwiched between them. Hermione felt a lump in her throat and struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. It wasn’t like this was the first time she’d left on her own–there’d been summer camps and school trips. They weren’t nearly as long as a full term away, however, but she could be brave.
When they finally parted, she could no longer hold back a sniffle. She started when something soft pressed against her cheek. She grabbed onto it on instinct.
It was a handkerchief, light grey in colour with “M.F.F.” stitched in navy blue initials at the corner.
“Keep it,” the boy standing in front of her said. He sounded as surly as he looked, with dark, heavy brows, a stubborn jaw, and teeth even more prominent than hers. He looked older than her by at least a few years, and she might have been scared if she wasn’t so surprised by him speaking to her at all. “You don’t want to be seen as a crybaby on your first day.”
He turned and boarded the train before she could reply.
“Thank you!” she called out. If he heard her, he didn’t show it.
Hermione wiped away her tears, then carefully folded the cloth before tucking it into her pocket. She’d wash and return it at the first opportunity. While there was no chance they’d share any classes, surely she’d run into him elsewhere in the castle.
Written for the first week of this year’s HP Soulmates Fest: The Red String Edition, Chapter 1 of my Flintmione fic, The Thousand Acres Between Us, is now live on AO3!
Chapters: ¼
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Marcus Flint/Hermione Granger
Characters: Hermione Granger, Marcus Flint, Luna Lovegood, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson, Ginny Weasley
Additional Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Soulmates, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hermione Granger Needs a Hug, Quidditch Player Marcus Flint, Good Marcus Flint, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff
Summary:
Reunited after years apart following the war, Hermione can immediately see there’s something different about Marcus Flint. The boy she thought she knew came back a man, one she’s more than willing to reconsider. He’s older, obviously, broader, mysterious as always, and, most baffling of all, interested in her?
Have you been dreaming of your perfect match? Do you have a fan content idea that sparks your soul?Because HP Soulmates Fest: R3d String Edition is officially starting in just a few days, and the AO3 collection is now open!
As a reminder, these are the prompts (by week) for AUgust:
Aug 4-10: Red string | lightning era | fate
Aug 11-17: Rival soulmates | rare pair | second chances
Aug 18-24: Soulmarks & tattoos | marauders era | snitch
Aug 25-31: Countdown clock | sapphic | butterbeer
For the rest of the schedule and guidelines, please refer to our pinned post here!
We’re so excited and ready to see your fan creations! ❤️
Hello! To clarify: can this include any character(s) from the HP universe? Including but not limited to the Founders era, the Legacy game, Fantastic Beasts, and Cursed Child? 👉👈
Hello!
Yes — any characters from the HP universe (and extended beyond book universe such as Cursed Child, Legacy, Fantastic Beasts) are allowed!
Thank you so much for asking — I’m sure you’re not the only one who had this question!
Can my entry be a sequel to an older fic of mine? Is that allowed?
Hi Nonnie!
Absolutely! We would love to see sequels to fics! As long as your entry follows the rules we have set and still falls under the soulmates trope, you are more than welcome to write a sequel.
We have a discord set up for the Fest if you have any further questions.
A very good question. Since we have a casual open-posting round this year, we have decided to allow crossovers. However, please note your entry still has to follow the rules we have set and fall under the soulmates trope.
If you have any further questions, feel free to join the discord and message our mod channel.
Happy writing!
The HP Soulmates Mods 💞
HP Soulmates Fest @hp-soulmates - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
