hi angel!! can you please write a fic with sirius x shy reader where she meant to be going out with sirius and his friends where some girls who have previously liked him and shes feeling nervous/insecure about what they'll think of her so she drinks a bit for liquid courage and later on sirius takes care of her listening to her drunk babbling and reassuring her? thanks lovely!!
Thank you <3
cw: intoxication, feelings of inadequacy, some mature implications but nothing happens
Sirius Black x shy!reader ♡ 1.2k words
The thing is, Mary is really lovely. She’s sweet, bubbly, gregarious. One of those people who makes you feel in on the joke. And she’s beautiful, so you can understand why Sirius dated her. They must have been a perfect match.
You, you need three gin fizzes before you can even begin to match Mary’s natural congeniality. Not to mention the rest of Sirius’ friends. They’re a fun, chattery bunch, each clever and funny and entertaining in their own individual but reliable ways. Your packed corner booth covers so many topics so quickly it makes your head spin.
You find some solace in the women’s toilets. White fluorescent lights that bring attention to the makeup smudged just underneath your eyes, it’s here that you realize you may have overdone it. You look at yourself in the mirror as you release a slow breath, listening to the laughter outside the door from within your little bubble of quiet.
When you force yourself to go back out, Sirius is waiting.
“Hi.” Your liquid courage seems to abandon you without the rowdy pub atmosphere to bolster it. This is just you and Sirius in a dim hallway, your boyfriend’s smile igniting a familiar warmth in his eyes and nervous flutter in your gut. “I could’ve found my own way back,” you say.
“I didn’t think you couldn’t.” Sirius steps into your space, hand on your waist as he presses his lips to yours gently. “I just wanted a chance to do that without getting loads of shit for it.”
You smile. “There would have been booing,” you agree.
“Oh, definitely. James would’ve pretended to be sick.”
You rest your forehead on his shoulder. Selfishly, you want to keep the both of you here a little while longer. Sirius seems to understand this, his hand drawing back and forth over the sliver of skin between your trousers and the back of your shirt lazily.
“Mary had to leave,” he says, “but she threatened me with all sorts of vile things if I didn’t give you her number. She wants you to have coffee sometime.”
“That’s nice,” you hum, really extraordinarily pleased. “Why’d she have to go?”
“She forgot she was supposed to meet a friend at ten.”
You smile ruefully. That sounds exactly like a girl like Mary. Her only flaw is that she has too many people who wish for her company and not enough time to devote to them all.
Sirius smells nice. Like clove and nighttime, and a little bit like the greasy chips James ordered for the table. You imagine you smell like gin and fizz. You mumble your question into the neckline of his shirt, so that the warmth of your breath warms the cotton and Sirius makes a confused tsking sound.
“I can’t hear you when you talk like that, baby,” he says, encouraging you away from him with a hand on your cheek. You look up at him through heavy lashes.
“Have I embarrassed you?” you murmur.
Sirius looks like he’s going to laugh. You won’t be able to take it if he does, you think. You’ll have to lose Mary’s number as well as his and move across town.
“What?” His voice is amused, brows raised. “No, you haven’t. Not at all. Why would you think that?”
You shrug, embarrassed. “There’s makeup under my eyes.”
“Is there?” Sirius’ smile grows. He adjusts his hold on your face, licking the pad of his thumb. “I didn’t notice, but we can’t have that, can we? Hold still.”
You don’t hold still, shying away the first time he reaches for you. But Sirius understands that it’s not him you’re trying to get away from; he’s patient and diligent, wiping beneath your lashes with careful touches. You feel hot from the tips of your ears down to your chest.
“There. Perfect as ever before.” He plants a smiling kiss on your lips. “Is that all, lovely?”
“I think I’ve maybe had too much.”
Concern touches the space between Sirius’ brows. “Are you not feeling well?”
“No, I just—well, no one else had as much. I feel like they can tell I’m faking.”
Sirius is frowning properly now. Inadequacy rings baldly in your tone. His thumb strokes down your cheek. “Faking what?” he asks you.
“Being good at this,” you murmur.
“You are good at this.” He seems defensive, as if you’re discussing his shortcomings and not your own. “You don’t—there’s no one way you have to be. Sweetheart, I want you here because I want my friends to meet you. It sort of defeats the purpose if you’re putting on someone else for them to meet.”
“I just—okay. I’m not jealous of Mary. That’s not what this is.” You’re talking a bit too fast, drink lubricating your throat so near anything seems likely to come out. “But I can see how you two would have worked together, and how she works with your friends—she fits in. Everyone’s so fun, and you’re all fast with your jokes, and I’m, I’m not that. I can try, but I think…” Your voice quiets. “I’m not very good at it.”
As you’re talking, Sirius’ eyes are narrowing. He’s brazen in his thoughtfulness, seeming to size you up while he listens. Whatever audacity is left in you sputters out under the weight of that look.
“Can I tell you something?” he asks after a moment.
You hum softly.
“I don’t know how you’ve not managed to pick up on this, because I haven’t been trying for subtlety” —he draws you closer by your waist, until you’re nearly stepping on his toes— ”but I think you’re perfect. Really. You can go out there and ask anyone at our table, they’ll tell you I’ve been saying it since a week after we met. Marlene would probably love to tell you, actually, she found it rather irritating.”
You look down at his throat, but Sirius encourages your chin back up with his finger. “You’re fun,” he says. “You’re loads of fun. And you’re just as quick with jokes—actually, you’re loads funnier than Remus, though you can’t tell him I said that.”
“Sirius,” you chide, suppressing a smile.
“Dead serious,” he says with a straight face. “Really, lovely, just because you’re not as outspoken as all of us twats fighting to shout over each other doesn’t mean you don’t have important things to say. They know that, they all know that. And can I tell you something else?”
You hum again, made wary by the glint in his eye.
Sirius leans closer to your ear. “I sort of like that you’re usually only loud for me. In private.”
Your laughter comes out suddenly enough to startle you both, you closing a hand over your mouth while Sirius leans away, grinning.
“God, sorry,” you whisper, looking around in case you’ve attracted attention, “that was loud.”
“Well, we are in private.”
“You’re awful.” You hide against his front, giggling.
“Yes, yes, I’m awful and you’re perfect.” Sirius kisses your hair. “I know all of this already, it’s only news to you. Listen, I don’t mean to rush you, but we probably should get back to our table before they send James for us. They were already complaining about you being too long in the loo before I left; they’ve grown rather attached to you.”
Your brief silence must communicate enough of your surprise, because Sirius laughs.
“Oh, right, yeah. They really like you. Shocking.”
SUMMARY: As a bat animagus, you're used to spending time alone: a creature of the night that prefers quiet solitude over the bustle of Hogwarts life. But when one James Potter charges into your life, you start to wonder why you hated daylight so much in the first place.
CW: MDNI 18+, FLUFFFF (James is down so bad), multi-pov, injuries and blood, shy!reader, protective!James, fighting and mentions of reader being bullied, light angst, HEA
AN: bats and deer are known to be close collaborators in the wild, with bats helping keep insects away from the deer, and the deer making it easy for the bats to find food. inspired by “I Hate It Here” from Taylor Swift’s album The Tortured Poets Department.
masterlist
James’ POV
“Pads, what the fuck!” James shifted back into his human form, scrambling to drag Padfoot out of the massive blackberry bushes he’d launched himself into. The run had been quiet, almost peaceful, just the two of them out for a moonlight romp to blow off some steam from the day.
Then, of course, Sirius buggered that right up.
Padfoot yipped and whined, the thorns pulling at his onyx fur, and flopped onto the ground beside it with a dramatic grunt. He quickly shifted back into a disgruntled Sirius, checking over himself for injuries.
“I didn’t know they were like…pointy!” Sirius huffed, relaxing when he realized he only had a few shallow scrapes. “Just wanted a fucking snack—”
“Of course they are—what is that?” A high-pitched clicking sound interrupted them. James crouched down, peering into the thicket of brambles and ripe, midnight purple fruit.
Something tiny and velveteen was trembling in a knot of thorns, it’s squeaks of discomfort barely audible. A wing fluttered out, delicate and leathery, a bead of carmine dripping from a hole pierced clean through the taught flesh.
A wee bat was caught in the brambles.
“Shit,” James cursed, tugging his sweatshirt sleeve down over his hand and shoving his arm socket-deep into the loathsome bush.
“What are you—”
“It’s alright, I’ve got ya’—please don’t bite me, please don’t bite me.” James wrapped his hand as gently as he could around the little bat’s body, feeling it’s heart fluttering rapidly in it’s chest. “Okay, there we go. I’m just gonna—fuck, ow, sodding thorns.” James brought the critter out as carefully as he could, making a concerted effort to keep his fist lax despite the thorns snagging his sleeve and jabbing into his forearm.
Once he had it completely removed from the bush, he slowly uncurled his fingers. The bat lurched upwards, flapping it’s tattered wings once, twice, then plummeted. James dove forward, catching the little thing just before it crashed to the ground, and cradled it safely back to his chest.
“Is that a bat?” Sirius asked, stepping closer.
“Must’ve been eating some fruit,” James muttered to himself, peeking open his fingers to peer at it. It blinked at him, eyes wide and dark as obsidian, the grayish fur of it’s snout stained with blackberry juice. It was trembling terribly, heart going a million miles a minute, and James knew he couldn't just leave it here.
Sirius looked stricken. “Shit, I’m sorry, mate.” he stroked a finger across the wing draped over James’ knuckles and the bat writhed in his hand, clicking disdainfully.
“Should we take it to Hagrid?” James asked, wincing when it’s thumb claw scratched across his inner wrist, uselessly trying to flap the injured appendage. Poor little thing.
“Poppy, probably. Hagrid’ll squish it.”
“Good point. Grab my scarf, will ya’?” Sirius tossed him his scarf from their belongings and James wrapped it as best he could around the creature, effectively immobilizing it, tiny head poking out from the top of the bundle.
“S’kinda cute,” Sirius said, leaning closer.
The bat loosed a vicious hiss, and he recoiled.
“Nevermind, christ.”
As quickly as they could, they hurried to the infirmary, the swaddled bat tucked into the crook of his arm, pressed against his chest.
“Boys! What one earth—” Madam Pomfry rushed to greet them at the door, probably expecting the worst given their history. “What’s that?”
“It got caught in a blackberry bush, tore up it’s wings…” he carefully unfolded the blanket, expecting the bat to try and fly away again, but it seemed to have exhausted itself, lying limply in his hands, breathing hard.
“Oh, dear,” Madam Pomfry tutted, taking the bat from him and setting it onto an examination table. “You poor thing.”
“It’s actually a bat,” Sirius joked, and she swatted him as she rushed past to grab some supplies.
“Have you nothing better to do?” Madam Pomfry bit, returning with a tincture and some stitching supplies.
“You know what, Poppy, I actually do. C’mon James, I bet the kitchens still open—”
“I’m going to stay—if that’s alright,” he said, glancing at Madam Pomfry. “Just to make sure it’s okay.”
“Suit yourself. Stay gorgeous, Pop!” Sirius blew her a kiss before making a swift exit.
Madam Pomfry began cleaning the scratches and tears along it’s wings and soft belly, and James was shocked to see how docile the bat had become. Relaxed even when Madam Pomfry lifted it into her hand to place a clean towel underneath it.
It was rather cute, almost puppy-like as it blinked up at him, nose twitching from the strong scent of the tincture, ears flicking this way and that.
“Dearie, I think it would be best if you changed back,” Madam Pomfry said gently, stroking the bats head.
James looked down at himself, confused. “To a deer?”
Suddenly, there was a flash of magic, one James knew all too well, and then there was a girl sitting where the bat was moments before, his scarf draped around her neck.
He reared back, stunned that not only was the bat an animagus, but an animagus he knew.
“Y/n?” He gawked, and you rolled your eyes.
“Potter,” you replied.
“You-you’re—you’re a bat?”
“And you’re a genius.”
He blinked at you, completely dumbfounded. A bat tracked, he supposed. You were quiet, a loner. He couldn’t remember ever seeing you with more than a friend or two, and you’d never attended a party. Really, he only ever saw you in his afternoon Charms class and in the library in the evenings. You hardly ever spoke, wrapped up in your own world.
He always had the distinct impression that you hated people, and now, staring down the barrel of your glare, he was certain of it. But saints, you were gorgeous. Death glare and all.
It then occurred to him that he’d had his entire hand wrapped around you not even ten minutes prior, and went hot under his collar.
James couldn’t remember the last time he’d been at a loss for words, but here he was, staring slack-jawed like a complete idiot.
“Perhaps you should thank him for saving your from that bush,” Madam Pomfry prodded gently, taking your arm to examine the gashes riddled there.
“Wouldn’t have been an issue if he kept a leash on his dog,” you bit.
James winced, guilt curdling in his stomach even though there was nothing he could have done to stop Sirius. The cuts on your arms looked bad, a deep and angry red, dried blood mixing with the purple stains on your skin.
How could he make this right?
Reader POV
You fought to hold your glare, but the pained look in James’ eye was rapidly unraveling your resolve. Of course it was James fucking Potter that found you. The golden head boy of Gryffindor, in all his infuriatingly handsome and tender-hearted glory, saved your dumbass from crucifixion-by-blackberries.
You’d almost rather be crucified than sit there for another second. The lights in the infirmary were too bright, the space too open, too sterile.
Why couldn’t you have been anywhere else tonight? If you had ever believed in good luck, you certainly wouldn’t believe in it now.
“Thank you, James,” you acquiesced, unable to mask the bitterness in your tone.
James smiled at you despite your tone, because he never stopped fucking smiling. “Thank you for not biting me,” he said, looking down at his palm—still stained with blood. Your blood. Because he had his hand wrapped around you. His giant, deliciously warm hand holding you ever so gently…
“Ow!”
“Sorry, dear. Just a few more,” Madam Pomfry soothed, having made the first stitch while you were distracted. Distracted by James fucking Potter.
You needed to get a grip. Him saving you doesn’t change anything. Sure, you would have been forced to stay there for eternity, or skewer yourself shifting back. But he was still James Potter, the embodiment of everything you despised most.
You hated Hogwarts, hated the crowded halls and musty rooms and catty students. You hated the classes, which either moved too slow or too fast. You hated the professors, with all their snobbery and favoritism.
Thus, you hated James. Because he not only loved the school, but the school loved him back.
Graduation couldn’t come soon enough. No more morning classes, no more roommates, no more James fucking Potter.
James seemed to sense your discomfort, his dark brows drawing together in concern. “Are you alright, though? Really?”
“Fine,” you hissed through gritted teeth, a headache blooming behind your eyes so sharply it rivaled the stitches you were receiving. You squeezed your eyes shut. Merlin, it’s too fucking bright.
You tried desperately to disappear into your mind, that secret garden where it was always midnight, always dark and quiet and safe, and escape for a little while.
“I suppose I’ll leave you to it then,” James said, sounding almost forlorn. Unsure in a way that was so unlike him, it made you open your eyes again. He shuffled on his feet, running a hand through his unruly black hair. “See you in Charms, then?”
You nodded, and he left without another word, glancing back at you a final time before the door swung shut behind him.
“James is a good lad,” Madam Pomfry said, giving you a pointed look. “Would do you well to let him in a little bit.”
You shrugged, and closed your eyes once more.
It wasn’t until you’d been patched up and sent on your way that your realized you still had his scarf wrapped around your neck, the smell of him, sun-dried laundry and cedar, lingering in your nose. You tucked it into the bottom of your trunk, telling yourself you’d take it to the be cleaned tomorrow morning.
The following afternoon…
You were dreading Charms, dragging your feet as you walked down the final corridor. You’d slept most of the day, your schedule being mostly afternoon classes, and the last thing you wanted to do was socialize.
Not that anyone talked to you, but still. Just being around other people was draining. Not to mention, James would be one of those people.
And sure enough, when you made your way into the classroom, you found James sitting next to your usual spot in the back corner, chatting animatedly with his friend Remus. The only one of his friends you found somewhat tolerable.
Of course, every other seat was taken.
James was dressed in his usual Gryffindor attire, a sweater vest and loosely done tie, white sleeves pushed up to show off the thickness of his sun-kissed forearms. Black slacks hugged his toned legs. Really, all of his clothes seemed just a fraction too tight over his Herculean build—saint’s sake you needed to get a hold of yourself. You were not interested in James Potter.
“There you are!” James chirped, and you groaned inwardly. You noticed the other students murmuring to themselves, wondering why James had taken an interest in you of all people, but James seemed oblivious to it. “How are you feeling?” He asked, pulling out your chair for you as you approached.
“I’m fine, a little sore,” you said, dropping into your seat and rummaging through your bag to avoid meeting his eyes.
“Goldenrod helps,” Remus said, giving you sympathetic look. “And chocolate.”
“I’m fine,” you repeated, setting your books on the desk, and Remus shrugged, bidding you both farewell before walking back to the boys usual spot by the sunlit windows. It made your preferred corner look like a cave in comparison.
Flitwick dove into the lecture before James could ask anything else, to your profound relief.
But then—“I brought you these,” James whispered, sliding a tin across the table and under your nose. He seemed almost…nervous? “They’re, ah—they’re blackberry scones.”
Oh, no. You felt your heart swell in real time as you reached for the lid, a current of electricity flying through you when your fingers accidentally grazed his. “Why would you—”
“Ms. y/l/n!” Flitwick scolded. “Pay attention!”
You quickly pushed the tin away, heat scorching your cheeks. “Sorry, sir,” you squeaked, ducking your head back down to your notes. When the lecture resumed, you shot James a rueful glare.
“Sorry.” He grimaced. “They might be rubbish, I’ve never really baked before.”
You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Was this real life? James fucking Potter baked you scones? “James, you shouldn’t have—”
“I wanted to, as an apology for last night.”
“You don't have to apologize. I’d rather just forget it, honestly,” you admitted.
“Oh.” A flicker of hurt passed through his expression as he looked down, and you immediately regretted your blunt words.
You really were terrible in these situations, sucking the fun out of the room like a blackhole.
“Well, I’m glad to have properly met you,” he said after a beat, flashing you a toothy smile, dispersing the tension as quickly as it came.
You stared at him, perplexed. Your attitude had rolled off of him like water on a duck’s back. “Uh, thanks,” you said, painfully awkward, and stuck your nose into your book.
James’ POV
His palms were sweating, why the fuck were his palms sweating? And he couldn’t keep his hands out of his hair. And he wanted to keep talking, merlin, he felt like he could talk your ear off, but he held his tongue.
Talking to him seemed like the last thing you wanted to do, so he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to annoy you further.
You practically ran from him when class ended, and now, he was racking his brain for something he could have done to make you dislike him so much while sitting at dinner in the Great Hall.
There was something different about you, a depth in your eyes that piqued his interest. He was so used to people fawning all over him, tripping over themselves to talk to him, but you couldn't care less about who he was.
If anything, you seemed to like him less because of who he was. Which as driving him a little bit mad.
“You reckon he’s still thinking about that bat girl?” Peter muttered to Remus.
“Oh, absolutely. He was up at 5 a.m. baking,” Remus chuckled. “Spent the entirety of Charms today practically drooling all over her.”
“That's pathetic,” Marlene tittered, and it was enough to draw James out of his head.
“Fuck off, ‘Kinnon,” he said, flicking a chip at her.
“What's the obsession, anyways?” Sirius asked, his feet kicked up on the table, twirling his wand in his fingers. “It's not like you smashed her into a thorn bush.”
“No, I believe that was you,” James bit, avoiding the question, an ember of irritation flaring in his chest. He wasn't obsessed. Just…intrigued. “Have you even apologized?”
“To her human face? No,” Sirius said, looking a bit guilty. Then, he stood up on the bench, sweeping his gray eyes across the Great Hall. “I don't see her.”
“She's not here,” James grumbled, sounding more petulant than he probably should.
“She eats in the library,” Lily supplied.
James whirled around to face her. “How do you know that?”
“Because I pay attention to other people, you git.”
“C’mon, then. I have wrongs to right.” Sirius hopped down and grabbed his bag. James was already on his feet.
“You really shouldn't!” Lily called after them, but they were gone, Great Hall doors swinging shut behind them.
As they neared the library, James felt his skin start to heat, palms going clammy as his heart beat faster and faster. When they reached the doors, James nearly changed his mind, almost told Sirius they should just return to the Great Hall and leave you be, but his friend was on a mission.
Sirius pushed open the doors, startling the dozen students milling around at the front. “Any of you lot seen y/n?”
James felt his lungs shrivel in his chest. This was going to go badly, he could feel it.
“Padfoot,” he chastised.
“She's always back by the Forbidden Section,” a Ravenclaw offered.
“Cheers!” Sirius grabbed James by the elbow and dragged him through the crowd that had gathered and towards the Forbidden Section.
James had never felt so conspicuous in his life, and it made his skin crawl with aversion. Normally, he loved nothing more than being the center of attention, but he didn't want you to see him like that.
They rounded a corner, entering the darker, quieter part of the library, and sure enough, there you were. Curled up in an overstuffed armchair under a single, low-burning lantern, a book open in your lap and a scone in your hand.
You brought it to your lips, nibbling on the edge while your eyes drifted over the page, focused intently on whatever you were reading.
James had the strange realization that he'd very much like to be scone right about now, and felt his cheeks warm for the upteenth time that day. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to clear the image from his mind.
“There she is!” Sirius called, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. Though you quickly masked your surprise with irritation, lips pulling down into an adorable frown.
“Were you looking for me?” You asked, eyes flitting to James before quickly averting.
“We were, doll.” Sirius sauntered up to you, dropping onto his knees in front of your chair. You looked like you couldn’t decide whether to shift and fly away, or kick him in the teeth.
“Sorry to bother you,” James said, leaning against the bookshelf beside you. “Lily said you'd be here.”
“What, um, why exactly were you looking for me?” Your looked back and forth between the two of them, a small furrow forming between your brows, fidgeting in your seat.
“Prongs here was gracious enough to remind me that I hadn't properly apologized for hurting you.” Sirius patted James’ knee. “So, I am sincerely and deeply apologetic for body slamming you into an evil, evil bush.Can you ever forgive my inelegance?”
Your eyes widened, the color of you irises richer, more captivating in the low light.
Fuck, he was staring again.
“It's, uh—it’s okay, Sirius,” you said, glancing up at James again with a look he immediately recognized: help me.
Maybe you didn't hate him so much after all.
“Alright, mutt. You apologized, back off of her,” James said, sticking out his leg to push Sirius back a step. Your eyes melted with gratitude, and James’ heart lost its rhythm, beating slower as something foreign and liquor-sweet flowed through him.
“I vow to be more careful in my pursuit of late-night snacks.” Sirius stood up, crossing his heart.
“Just no snapping bats out of the air, yeah?” You said, a shy little smile lifting the corner of your mouth.
“Never,” Sirius promised, and you nodded.
“How'd the scones come out?” James asked, filling the small gap of silence.
You shot him another grateful look and holy shit, he could get used to that. “You only managed to burn some, so that's good.”
He smirked, thoroughly enjoying this more mischivious side of you. “I blame the ovens,” he said.
“Sure, James,” you chuckled.
He could jump for fucking joy. You laughed at his joke!
“That's impressive, considering it was the ass crack of fucking dawn when he made them,” Sirius teased, flashing him a malicious wink.
You pulled a face, nose scrunched up in faux disgust. “That's way too early.”
“Nocturnal type, hm?” James asked without thinking, mentally smacking himself. Of course you were a night owl, you were a bat for Godric’s sake.
“You could say that,” you giggled. “Most of my classes are later in the day.”
“Then you should study with us tomorrow morning!” Sirius said suddenly, and James groaned, ready to neuter him for being so uncouth. “We're going to meet here after breakfast to study for the Potions exam.”
“Oh, uh—” you started to pick at your nails, loosing your footing in the conversation as quickly as you'd found it.
“No pressure,” James added, seized by the need to alleviate your discomfort. “It’s just going to the four of us, Lily, and Marlene.”
“And Prongs will make more scones!” Sirius waggled his eyebrows.
It's decided; James was going to smother him in his sleep.
“Maybe,” you finally answered, avoiding James’ eye, and his heart sank.
Sirius nodded, apparently satisfied with how this disastrous encounter went. “Lovely. Now, if you'll excuse us, James and I have to, ah, hit the gym…for…Quidditch reasons.”
You raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie, but didn't comment. “Enjoy,” you said, sinking back into your chair and turning your attention back to your book.
James chased a cackling Sirius out of the library. “You're a terrible fucking wingman,” James hissed, smacking him on the back of the head.
“I know, that was god-awful,” Sirius snorted. “But, maybe you'll get to see her tomorrow? So not a complete failure.”
“Or, she’ll never talk to me again because I'm friends with imbeciles that send her to the infirmary!”
“I guess we'll find out!”
“Now, I'm actually taking you to the gym with me as punishment,” James glowered. He needed to work off some of this stagnant energy, too, his mind and body buzzing from that small interaction.
“No! Merlin, please—no!” Sirius cried as James hauled him by the hair down the corridor.
Reader’s POV
You lingered outside the library, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Were you really doing this? You couldn't remember the last time you hung out with more than a few people at a time, let alone in the morning.
But you couldn't deny that at part of you, a miniscule, insignificant part of you that barely garners mentioning, wanted to see James. And with James came his friends.
He'd been kind to you, saved you from certain stabbing, made you apology baked goods, the least you could do is show your face for one morning study session.
There was something about James that was hard to say no to. He was so genuine, so eager. Even you couldn't bring yourself to pop his optimistic bubble, no matter how ambivalent you felt towards most things.
He was making it very difficult to continue despising him.
You could suck it up for one morning to make him happy. And only because he saved you. You owed him. Not because you cared about him, his feelings, or his opinion of you.
Definitely not.
Before you could chicken out, you pushed through the doors and into the library. It was sun-soaked and bustling, energy humming along the walls and marble floors. The chandeliers cast rainbows across the space, brightening the countless rows of books. Dust hung in the air like glitter, and it was almost, almost pretty.
Already, your head was starting to ache.
It didn't take long to find James and his friends, James’ voice carrying across the quiet library.
“She gets headaches if it too bright! Help me or fuck off, Pads,” James said, his voice pitching with distress.
“You need to relax, James. Your stress sweat is stinking up the room,” Marlene teased.
“That is so not helpful,” James bit. “And I smell delightful, thank you very much.”
“Because you practically fumigated the dorm with cologne,” Remus retorted just as you stepped around the corner.
“I did not—y/n!” James nearly toppled off the chair he was standing on, dropping the robes he was trying to pin up over the window.
The whole group swiveled towards you, and your stomach dropped out.
“Morning!” They all chorused.
You managed a small wave. “Good morning,” you mumbled, kicking yourself for agreeing to this. What the hell were you thinking? You didn't belong here.
Then, James was beside you, dropping a brawny arm over your shoulders, the alleged cologne wafting over you like a summer breeze. Verdant and sunny. “I'm so glad you came,” James murmured to you as he lead you to an available spot on the less-sunny side of the table. His bag was sitting in the seat, though his stuff was cluttering the space directly next to it.
He'd saved the spot for you, knowing you'd prefer to be out of the sun.
“Me too,” you found yourself saying, butterflies tickling the underside of your ribs.
That's it, you've officially lost your mind.
James pulled the chair out for you and you sank into it, the shade enveloping you like a cool blanket, and you felt a little more at ease. The group immediately launched into conversation about classes and Quidditch, their ease quickly growing contagious as you worked on your Potions formulas. James was reclined beside you, apparently able to work on his essay while chattering endlessly, and you found yourself chiming in, laughing at his silly quips and lame jokes.
One study session turned into two, then three, then a week passed before you knew it. You'd spend the morning with them, studying in the library or common room, then James would meet up with you for dinner in the library after Quidditch practice, sometimes with Sirius and Remus in tow.
You hadn't given much thought to your new routine, brushing it off as a temporary anomaly, until Saturday morning, when you woke up two hours earlier than usual and realized there would be no studying this morning. A kernel of disappointment lodged in your chest.
You were starting to wonder why you disliked him, any of them, in the first place. They were kind, funny, and more welcoming than ninety percent of the other people you'd met at Hogwarts.
The kernel of disappointed grew into a boulder of guilt, crushing and cold, at the realization. Your comfort was a construct. You'd been so stuck in your own head, in your assumptions, that it hadn't occurred to you that maybe you were wrong. That maybe, way out of your comfort zone, you'd actually love it.
A soft knock sounded against your dorm door. You threw off your covers and wrapped the blanket around yourself before pulling open the door.
You were not expecting to see Lily Evans standing there dressed in shorts and a bikini top, a pair of sunglasses keeping her copper hair out of her face. She had a colorful bag slung over her shoulder.
“Morning, sunshine,” she chirped, smiling at you.
“Oh, uh, hey, Lily. What's up?” You pulled the quilt tighter around yourself. Merlin, Lily was beautiful.
“We're spending the afternoon by the lake and I was wondering if you wanted to join?”
“Who, ah, who’s going to be there?” You asked, tongue thick with anxiety.
“James,” she replied, green eyes glimmering. “And the others too, but who cares about them.”
“Well, I—I don't have a bathing suit—”
Lily pushed past you, dropping her bag onto your bed and rummaging through it before pulling out an adorable black bathing suit. “I had a feeling you'd say that. And before you start—” she held up a finger to shush your protests, “We can make it whatever size you need.”
“Lily—”
“Please? We really want you there. It's been nice having a sane person around,” she said, taking your hands. “And James was too shy to come here and ask himself.”
You snorted. “James Potter? Shy?”
“I know.” Lily nodded solemnly. “He's different with you—good different,” she clarified when your frowned. “He's baking, for Merlin’s sake.”
You giggled, warmth blooming in your chest. “Alright, you win.”
Lily grinned, clapping her hands together. “They're already there, so let's go!”
You quickly changed it the bathing suit and your one pair of shorts, fishing your sunglasses from the very bottom of your trunk.
“Oh, honey,” Lily purred, casting an appreciative eye over you. “He's going to combust.”
Embarrassment burned your cheeks, but deep down, you hoped she was right.
It was a gorgeous day, temperate and blue-skied, a rare, cloudless afternoon in Scotland. It seemed half the school was frolicking around the grounds, piled onto picnic blankets and playing football in the open fields, wildflowers dotting the hillside.
When your reached the edge of the lake, your traitorous eyes immediately found James.
Waist-deep in the blue water and sun-kissed, rippling muscles on display as he splashed around with Peter and Remus, dark hair slicked back and dripping onto his broad shoulders. He was practically glowing, a gilded God among scrawny teenagers, and your mouth went sandy.
Then, he saw you.
If you thought he was glowing before—Lily was right, the poor boy damn near combusted. His face shattered into an enormous smile, his glasses going crooked from the force of it.
“Y/n!” He called loudly enough to alert everyone in the general vicinity, throwing his arms out in surprise.
“Hey, James,” you laughed, giving him a timid wave. It felt like every eye turned to you, burning into your skin like the dazzling sunlight. “I'm just going to go set my stuff down,” you said to Lily, spotting a shady tree just by the water you could retreat to.
The tree was just wide enough to hide you from prying eyes, the shadow of its leaves a balm on your overheated skin. You'd only been outside for five minutes, and already you were floundering. Here you were, hiding away instead of running into the water with Lily, towards the fucking Adonis waiting for you.
“Hey, you.”
You jumped, whirling around to find James standing right behind you, rubbing a towel over his sopping hair. “Oh, uh, hey.” Merlin, he was even more beautiful up close.
“Lily dragged you out, huh?” He wrapped the towel around his waist, leaving his hair even wilder than usual.
“She did,” you replied, desperately trying to keep your eyes from wandering down his torso. “Said you were too much of a pansy to ask me yourself.”
James guffawed, head falling back on his shoulders as he laughed. “That witch,” he chuckled. “You didn't come just to humiliate me, did you?”
You rolled your eyes. “Well, you are the center of the universe.”
“Your universe, ideally.” He flirted, and your stomach flipped, somersaulting with your lungs and leaving you a bit breathless.
Thankfully, a screech from Lily being thrown into the water by Remus saved you from having to formulate a response. You turned at the sound, and your gaze snagged on a group of fifth years ogling James, and glaring daggers at you.
One of the girls shielded her mouth with her hand, muttering something to her friend while her eyes flicked up and down your body, and they burst out laughing.
Anxiety coiled tight in your chest, skin suddenly too tight on your body, the bathing suit suffocating. Everything was too bright, too loud, too open—
“Hey,” James said gently, his hands finding your hips and turning so his body was blocking yours from the girls. “Love, look at me. What's happened?” He bent down, trying to catch your eyes as they bounced around from onlooker to onlooker.
Fuck, everyone was looking.
“Them,” you mumbled, voice pitched an octave higher.
James looked back towards them, brows furrowed, and you made a hiss of protest, grabbing his chin and turning his head back towards you.
“Don't look,” you pleaded, crossing yours arms over your chest to cover yourself.
His confused expression twisted in consternation, guilt flickering in his eyes. “Look at me.”
You couldn't, too focused on the others.
“Don't look at them, look at me,” he said, a little firmer, his grip tightening on your hips. Your eyes flicked up to his, finding them molten, burning, pupils wide and dark. “Do you want to be here with me?” He asked.
Tentatively, you nodded. Unable to lie to him when he was looking at you, holding you, like that.
“I want you here with me too. More than anything.”
“James—”
“If you want to go back to your dorm, I'll take you myself right now,” he promised, voice trodden with sincerity. “We will do whatever you want to do. Just say the word.”
We will. The two words echoed in your mind, as tangible and concrete as your bat sonar. Whatever you decided, whatever you wanted, he was with you.
“I want to stay here,” you said, forcing yourself to hold his eye so he knew you meant it.
“Would you like to swim, or stay here in the shade?”
You hesitated, then— "Swim,” you answered.
He grinned, and one his hands skimmed across your hip towards your stomach. “That's a brave girl,” he cooed, and with a flick of his wrist, he popped the button of your shorts open.
Your mind went gooey as James helped you shimmy your shorts down your legs, letting them drop into a heap at your feet, tingles erupting over your skin in the wake of his hands.
“Brace yourself, sweetheart. Water’s cold,” was his only warning before he scooped you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and charging into the frigid water with you in his arms.
“James!” You shrieked as he spun you, the heat of his body a sharp contrast to the bite of the water reaching your ribs.
“Couldn't let you talk yourself out of it,” he hummed, one of his hands coming up to smooth the hair out of your face. Droplets of water ran down your neck, making you shiver, and his smile widened.
“Just don't throw me,” you warned, failing miserably at sounding stern.
He scoffed. “You're crazy if you think I'm letting you go now, love.”
Then, a giant arc of water came crashing over the both of you, soaking you completely in a blast of cold. James tightened his grip on you, sturdy enough to keep you both upright under the onslaught.
You sputtered and wiped the water from your eyes, cursing, only to find Sirius doubled over laughing.
“Hold that thought,” James said, carefully setting you on your feet, the water reaching your chest. He shot a withering glare at Sirius, and the tattooed boy straightened, eyes glinting with challenge. “You're gonna regret that.” And James lunged, tackling Sirius back into the water with an echoing splash.
You wasted the afternoon in the water, splashing and horseplaying until you were shivering, toes numb and fingers crinkly, cheeks sore from smiling.
James wrapped an arm around your middle from behind, catching you mid-yawn, the setting sun and the cold sapping the last dreggs of your energy. “C’mon, love. Your lips are looking a little blue,” he murmured, resting his chin against your shoulder.
“Why are you looking at my lips?” You chided lightly, turning your head so your nose brushed his cheek.
He chuckled. “Can't help myself.”
You let him coax you out of the water and onto the plush grass, and stretched out on your towel under the tree you scouted earlier, letting the warmth of the sinking sun soak into your chilled skin.
James sat beside you, his back against the tree and legs stretched long. “Never thought I'd see this,” he said, quietly enough you weren't sure if he was speaking to you.
“See what?” You asked, tilting your head back to peer up at him, dappled sunlight kissing his tanned chest.
“You stretched out in the sun like a housecat,” he teased. “Sunshine looks pretty on you.”
Affection curled in your chest, simpering and saccharine. “Thanks, Jamie.” You inched up at bit, resting your head on his lap and letting your eyes flutter closed, basking in the drowsy decadence of it all.
His fingers combed thorough your hair, untangling the knots sewn by the water, and drawing you deeper into oncoming sleep.
“But you look stunning in the moonlight too,” he murmured, fingertip tracing the slope of your nose, the curve of your jaw. “My little night dweller.”
It felt like a dream, sweet and simple and golden, and you couldn't believe how different your life looked with James Potter in it.
“Tell me something awful about you,” you asked, twisting to look up at him.
“Something awful?” He smirked, dropping his arm over your waist, thumb grazing lazily on your skin. “I snore in my sleep. I put too much sugar in my tea. What kind of awful are you after?”
You giggled, shaking your head. “Nevermind.”
“I’d think you'd find plenty awful about me,” he ribbed.
“You'd think,” you hummed, turning your face away so you didn't melt under the radiance in his gaze.
Quickly, you were succumbing to James’ charm, being drawn closer and closer to his gravity, a lonely moon caught in the heavy orbit of the sun.
You felt helpless to it, and that scared you more than anything. You didn't want to need him, to need anybody. It was so much safer to be on your own.
But you weren't sure you wanted safer anymore.
James’ POV
After that day by the lake, James was hooked. Trailing your scent, your energy, your presence like a starving hound. He couldn't get enough of you, and you were kind enough to indulge him. Things hadn't progressed further than they did that day, lingering touches and loaded glances.
Normally, James would dive head first into the deep end, but he found himself wanting to follow your lead. Relishing in the quiet in between moments as much as the more charged ones, content to just be near you, savor you in whatever capacity you'd allow him.
He was just grateful you'd let him in at all. It felt like a gift, a glimpse at something secret and deeply rare, and it was not a blessing he was keen to squander by indulging in his usual hedonistic impulses.
He was happy to tread lightly, to let you step out of the shadows one bit at a time. Patience was never a virtue of his, but for you, he'd find the strength.
A week later, James was late to dinner, Quidditch practice having run well over. Sweat and dirt still clung to him, his training uniform uncomfortable against his balmy skin. But he was fucking starved, the gnawing in his stomach eating away at his mood.
The only thing getting him through was knowing that you'd be there waiting for him. He hadn't seen you at all that day, and it was wearing on him much like the hunger. Leaving him raw and wanting.
He went to push open the doors to the Great Hall at the same moment Lily came dashing out of them.
“Lils?”
“James! What took you so damn long?” She grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into the Hall. “I was just going to look for you!”
“Practice ran long, saints, Lily—what's up?” He registered the shouting in the next moment, Sirius’ booming voice echoing off the high ceiling. A crowd had gathered at the end of one of the tables, jostling and jeering. Slughorn was in the thick of it, trying to get between Sirius and whoever he was raging at with little success.
Then, James noticed you standing just behind Sirius, Remus hovering protectively at your side. You had a hand pressed to your mouth, the other arm wrapped around your torso. Tears were pooling in your pretty eyes, and the last shred of James’ patience severed.
He knew instantly what had transpired, had heard the mutterings in the hall, the gossip and the merciless chatter. He knew people were talking about the two of you, the Head Boy and Hogwarts' resident recluse, and he knew that it was wearing on you, despite the brave face you put on.
He just never thought anyone would take it this far.
He was across the Hall in a few long strides. He grabbed the bloke Sirius was screaming at by his hood and yanked him backwards, throwing him down onto the ground. “What do we have here?” James snarled, looming over the sniveling rat, his boot placed firmly on the pricks sternum to keep him from scuttling away. “Upsetting my girl, are we?”
“No, no! I, uh—”
“What happened, love?” James asked, looking over his shoulder to you, but you only shook your head, too upset to speak. His rage flared hotter. “Padfoot?” James tried again, turning to Sirius.
“Him and his buddies were crowding her, calling her mute—” Sirius voice broke, splintering with anger. “Asked if her tongue worked at all,” Sirius spat, glaring at the other two boys cowering behind Slughorn.
James turned his attention back to the roach under his boot. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't rip your tongue out and shove it up your ass?”
“Fuck, Potter! It was a joke!” He sputtered.
“Let’s see if it was worth the laugh, then,” James cocked his foot back, kicking the kid sharply once in the side, then again in the kidneys when he curled up to protect his vitals.
Too fucking bad.
James kicked him a third time, pain shooting up his shin from the force, but before he could drop onto him, imagining ripping the fuckers tongue out with his bare hands, breaking his face open under his fists, a pair of arms wrapped around his middle. They pulled back on him with meager strength, trying to tug him away from his groveling victim.
He immediately knew it was you.
“Stop, Jamie. Please stop,” you whimpered, your forehead pressed between his shoulder blades. “It’s done. It’s over.”
His hand rested over yours on his abdomen, his breath coming out in jagged huffs. He hadn't realized he was shaking with rage until he felt your steadiness pressed against him. Trying to hold him together.
“He hurt you,” was all James could think to say, the crimson pulse of anger still throbbing at the edges of his vision. No one fucking hurt you.
“And you hurt him back,” you murmured into his jersey, clinging to him like you were afraid he'd lunge again. Hurting him wasn't enough. He needed to ruin him, throttle him, beat him so badly no one fucked with you ever again— “It's over.”
James drew a deep inhale, trying to focus at your warmth against his back, your willowy fingers clasped under his. “It's over,” James repeated, fixing the perpetrators with a warning glare. “So apologize, and stay the fuck away from her.”
They all nodded, muttering apologies while scooping up their groaning friend and hurrying out of the Great Hall. Only once they were gone did you release him.
James turned to face you, guilt churning in his stomach and an apology on his tongue, but you were already half-way down the aisle, wiping angrily at your cheeks as you stormed out. Leaving James standing there, feeling as filthy inside as he was on the outside.
No, no, no.
He knew he shouldn't. Knew he should let you go, give you space so you both could calm down. But he ran after you anyways.
“Y/n!” He shouted, running out into the hall and catching up to you in a few long strides. “Hey, wait—sweetheart, please—”
“I can't do this James,” you blurted, spinning on your heel to face him, and he staggered to a stop. “I-It's too much.” You shook your head as tears rolled down your cheeks, like you'd come to some sort of decision in your head. “I thought I could, but I can't—I tried, I—I’m sorry.”
His mind was reeling, too cluttered with anger and adrenaline and panic to find the words to make you stay. “Baby, don't go—” He reached for you, but you took a step back, then another. “We can do this—” His fingers brushed your hand the same moment you shifted, rocketing off through an open window, disappearing into the dark night.
“No, y/n! Wait!” He cried, but you were long gone, leaving his heart cleaved in two, his soul hollowed out. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath, tugging hard at the roots of his hair. It wasn't enough. “Fuck!” He shouted, his fist connecting with the stone wall and making the nosy portraits scatter. Something cracked in his hand, but he could barely feel it over the agony in his chest.
“Prongs,” Sirius called, he, Lily, and Remus following him out onto the hall.
“I went too far,” James muttered, chest rising and falling rapidly, barely able to breathe through the crushing guilt. The sucking vacuum of emptiness you left behind.
“We all did,” Remus said gently. “Sirius whacked one of them in the head with a dinner plate.”
James loosed a wry chuckle, splintered and uneven, and shook his head. “I fucked this up, pushed her too far.”
None of his friends commented. The pity on their faces was answer enough.
“You can fix it, just—just give her some space,” Lily said, approaching cautiously. Like he was some kind of wild animal.
He stepped back from her, unable to bear their sympathy when he felt so wretched. “I'll see you later,” he muttered, turning on his heel and stalking away.
Reader’s POV
A week later…
Burrowed under your blankets, cocooned in the thick warmth of your own labored breathing, steamy from your countless shed tears.
You couldn't believe you had run off like that, skittish as a hare, spooked at the first sign of trouble. He'd stood up for you, damn near got himself expelled because some dip shits wagged their tongues at you.
But you couldn't escape the cloying tar pit of shame their words opened in your gut—what if they were right? What if all you were to James was a conquest? Another trophy for his display case?
It ate through you, sticky and dark and consuming, worsened by the guilt swimming through like a barbed alligator. Because how could you think that of him? How could you dismiss all you'd learned about his heart over the last few weeks so flippantly?
James wasn't like that, and he surely wouldn't have risked his Head Boy status for a meager hunt already halfway snared. He wouldn't treat someone like a consolation prize.
But…how well did you really know him?
Certainly not enough to expose yourself to the inevitable agony of trying to wrap your arms around the sun. He was James fucking Potter. He was everything. And you were bitter and lonely and lost.
You were better off here, saving all your romanticism for your inner life, rather than waste it on a fantasy.
“Y/n,” one of your roommates called gently, shaking your shoulder through the quilt. “You have some visitors.”
“I don't feel well,” you muttered petulantly.
“That makes two of you,” Sirius said, and your stomach dropped.
Slowly, you inched yourself out of the blanket, squinting at the golden sunlight filtering into the room. The air was decidedly cooler out there than in your little cave, and it stung your tear-scraped cheeks.
Sirius and Remus stood by your bed, the latter looking supremely uncomfortable.
“What do you want?” You asked, scrubbing a hand over your face to clear the cobwebs and crustys.
“Normally we wouldn't, ah, get involved,” Remus began, scratching the back of his head. “But—”
“But James is our best mate, and he's an absolute disaster,” Sirius cut in. “And clearly you aren't fairing much better.”
“So you've come to lecture me?” You bit, stung by his bluntness.
“No,” Remus said, glaring pointedly at Sirius. “We wanted to talk to you because—”
“Because we probably understand what you're feeling better than anyone,” Sirius finished.
You raised an incredulous eyebrow. “That’s presumptuous.”
“Perhaps,” Remus placated. “But we know better than anyone what it's like to be loved by James, and not really understand why.”
Your jaw clenched, a bitchy retort lashing at the backs of your teeth despite the glow his words stoked to life in your chest. James didn't love you. How could he?
Sirius sat on the edge of your bed, yet again completely unperturbed by your attitude. “James can be really fucking naive, and entirely too optimistic. Down right ignorant sometimes if I’m honest—”
“But he's also genuine, and loyal,” Remus interjected. “And it makes you want to, ah, redirect him, if you will.”
“You push him away because you don't think he understands what he's signing himself up for,” Sirius clarified. “Moons and I have done it at least a dozen times each.”
“And how is that relevant to me?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, like that would stop them from seeing into your heart further.
“Maybe it isn't.” Sirius shrugged. “Maybe you actually do think he's a brute and hate him for defending your honor in front of the entire school.”
Ouch.
You shot him a loathsome glare.
“Or maybe you're scared shitless by how loudly he loves, so you bailed to try and protect yourself,” he shot back.
“And to protect him from you,” Remus added.
You shook your head, fresh tears burning behind your eyes. You hated how right they were, and how pathetic it made you feel.
“Look,” Sirius said, softening his voice. “We just wanted to say that it's worth it.”
You looked back up at them, their faces blurred with salt water, as the fight rinsed from your body like grime from a window pane.
Remus offered you a handkerchief. “It's vulnerable, and it's messy, but it's worth it,” Remus said. “He’s worth it.”
Sirius nodded sagely. “You just have to trust him.”
“It's not him I don't trust,” you murmured, ringing the handkerchief in your hands, Remus’ initials staring up at you in delicate silver thread.
Remus gave you a sad, knowing smile. “You have to trust yourself too.”
“Alright, that's quite enough sentimentality for one afternoon,” Sirius said, pushing to his feet and ushering Remus towards the door.
“His first match back is Saturday!” Remus called over his shoulder as Sirius herded him out onto the hall.
“We'll save you a seat,” Sirius said with a wink before closing the door behind him.
Their words echoed in your mind, ringing true despite the countless excuses you'd made over the last few days. Deep down, you knew Remus was right; James was worth it.
But could you love him the way he deserved with all your pessimism and anxiety and thorns?
Would it be so bad to try?
James’ POV
He didn't see you for two weeks after that, besides in Charms, where you kept your head down and refused to look at him. He returned to his usual spot beside Remus, wishing it was your warmth he felt instead of the afternoon sun.
Two weeks he sat in evening detention, staring out the windows and hoping to see your silhouette flutter past the moon. 14 days he was benched from Quidditch for his injured hand, remembering the way your soft skin felt under his rough palm. 336 hours he found himself without words, preferring the silence over pointless chatter. 20160 seconds he spent in his head, where you were still beside him, and you looked at him with fondness instead of fear.
Everyone was buzzing for his first match back on the pitch. But he felt disconnected from it all, like the James Potter they were talking about was someone else entirely.
He didn't want to be that James Potter, he wanted to be your Jamie.
He hoped the feeling would melt away once the match started, flying through the air always did wonders for his mood, but if anything, he felt worse. You weren't there to watch him, so what was the fucking point?
His mood reflected in his play, and so the match went on, and on, and on. In the sixth hour, the sun long ago set, the players were dead in the air, the stands listless. But Quidditch didn't stop until the snitch was caught or enough points were scored that losing team forfeited, and James hadn’t scored a single point.
His hand was aching, sore from disuse, and his captain was screaming at him. Even his friends looked disappointed, slumped against one another in their seats, where they hadn't budged for the entire game.
Something whizzed by, catching his attention. At first he thought it was the snitch, and lifted his hand to signal the Seeker, but then it flew by again. Zipping by like a little shadow.
He nearly fell off his broom when he realized.
You slowed a bit, fluttering around his head, the delicate breeze from your wings ruffling his sweaty hair.
“Hey, you,” he murmured, unable to stop the smile pulling the corners of his mouth. He reached out to touch you when you suddenly banked away, swooping down towards the goals.
You gripped the top of the largest hoop with your little feet, and dangled upside down from it, stretching your wings before wrapping them around yourself, like you were getting comfy.
The Hufflepuff Keeper spotted you and flew a bit closer, curious. James was about to shout for them to leave you alone when you loosed a wrathful hiss, flaring your wings, and the Keeper reared back, screeching about a flying rat.
“Potter!” King shouted at him, and he turned just in time to catch the Quaffle headed his way.
The Keeper was too distracted by you to guard the hoop properly, and James smirked.
“Potter scores ten points for Gryffindor!”
“Another ten for James Potter!”
“That's 50 points for Gryffindor, what a come back!”
The continued scoring seemed to re-energize the game, the crowd on its feet and roaring in approval. James couldn't remember the last time he enjoyed a Quidditch match so much, and it was all because of you.
“And the Seeker catches the snitch! GRYFFINDOR WINS!”
James whooped and cheered with his team, but he was searching the sky for you, his heart so full he thought he might choke on it. It seemed you were gone, though, as he had a feeling you might be, the excitement and cheering too much for your sensitive ears.
He landed heavily on the ground, his muscles exhausted from hours of staying airborne, and straightened to greet the crowd of Gryffindors that were pouring onto the pitch. But as soon as he did, he spotted you racing towards him.
“You did it!” You cried, throwing your arms around his neck as your body collided with his, making him stagger back a step.
His mind short-circuited, struggling to process what was happening. You weren't gone, you were here and wearing his scarf and…hugging him? In front of the entire student body?
Did he fall off his broom and hit his head? Because this had to be a dream.
He dropped his broom to hold you properly, one arm looped around your waist, the other holding your head against his shoulder. He squeezed as tight as his tired muscles could, burying his nose into your neck and drawing a long, greedy inhale.
“Couldn't have done it without you,” he murmured, fighting back the tears of relief pooling behind his eyes. You were here. It wasn't a dream, or a fantasy. You were real, solid and beautiful and trembling in his arms as the crowd cheered, confetti raining over your heads as fireworks popped in the obsidian sky.
You pulled your head back, cheeks streaked with tears and gave him a wobbly little smile. “I'm so proud of you, and I'm sorry for what I said.”
He shushed you with a peck on the cheek, then another on your nose, temple, the corner of your mouth—Merlin, he couldn't stop himself.
“I want to try again,” you said through water-logged giggles, fingers curling the hood of his uniform. “Please, Jamie?”
“Of course,” he said, caving to temptation and pecking your lips. “I’m yours,” he mumbled against your lips, and you grinned, kissing him again. You tasted like nectar and moonlight. Sweeter than any victory. And he let himself indulge, setting you on your feet so he could kiss you harder, deeper, drown in your winsome little sounds as you finally, finally, opened up for him.
The shadow to his sunlight, the moon to his tides, the other half of his heart, safe in his arms at long last.
Having a Hufflepuff girlfriend means unexpected holiday surprises and interior design crimes.
791 words, established relationship, LOVESICK THEO, fluff, teasing (complaining) from the boys. theodore x fem!Hufflepuff!reader
Theodore Nott loved his dormitory. Even with his far too loud roommates, it was a sanctuary. Calm, quiet, a solace in the hectic castle.
Which is why he pauses with his hand on the doorknob.
Because there’s cackling coming from behind the door. Very loud, very real, and very un-Slytherin.
He turns the door cautiously, poking his head through the opening slowly.
Blaise notices first, and his voice is smug as he greets the new entrance.
“There he is. See Theodore, I think this is a great reminder of why we don’t date Hufflepuffs, yeah?”
Theo froze mid-step, his eyes immediately finding the cause of the chaos.
There, in the middle of their room, was a Christmas tree. Not an elegant one, with matching silver ornaments and pearls like the ones in the common room.
This Christmas tree was entirely tasteless. It looked like it’d been rolled in glitter, its lights were blinking mismatched colors, and the star on top looked suspiciously lopsided.
But right there next to it, glitter drenched and hair stuck with tinsel, stood you.
Theodores eyes softened immediately.
“Do you realize this will never come out of our sheets?” Mattheo asks solemnly.
Blaise nods sharply once. “This has got to be a breach of our security.”
“Theo, I sneezed glitter.” Enzo complains, all of the boys looking at your boyfriend.
You smiled up at Theodore right as the star on top of the tree gave a cheerful pop and sprayed a puff of gold into the air.
“Suprise?”
Theodore’s chest tightened in the fond, hopeless way it always did when he was around you.
Blaise groaned, “he’s making the face again, Merlin help me.”
“What face?” Theo asked on reflex, his eyes never leaving yours.
“The one where you look at her like she hung the bloody moon.” Mattheo supplied. “It’s disgusting. Stop.”
You giggled, trying to wipe your hands on your jeans, only getting more glitter stuck to you. “I was trying to make the room less gloomy. It looks like a dungeon in here.”
“It is a dungeon.” Enzo pointed out.
“But it doesn’t have to look like it,” you counter, shrugging.
Theo wanted to kiss you. Badly. But kissing you while you were covered in glitter like a Christmas angel might kill him on the spot, and his roommates would never let him live it down.
Instead, he crosses the room, stepping nonchalantly over Blaise’s body sprawled on the floor as if he’d been shot.
“You did this for me?” He asks, reaching up to brush a bit of glitter off your jaw, only to get it stuck to his own fingers.
“Of course. For all of you. I thought some cheer would liven the place up. I didn’t think it would make such a mess,” you admit, sheepishly avoiding his eyes.
“A little?” Enzo asks in outrage. “The tree is glowing.”
“And radioactive,” Mattheo chimes in.
Theodore glares at them over his shoulder before turning back to you. “I love it.”
Your eyes lit up brighter than the rainbow lights still blinking colors onto your face.
“Really?”
“Of course he does,” Blaise laughs, “he’s stupid in love. It’s tragic, really.”
Theodore ignores them, hooking a finger under your chin to tilt your face toward his. “It’s perfect,” he says, ignoring the groans behind him. “You’re perfect.”
Your cheeks warm under the weight of his gaze and compliments, “you’re just saying that because you’re biased.”
“Maybe,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “But I still mean it.”
Mattheo makes a horrible gagging noise. “Please, have mercy. I’m begging you.”
You laugh, giving Theo’s chest a soft swat. “They’re right, you should see how ridiculous you look when you’re being sweet.”
Theo didn’t care one bit. “I only look ridiculous when you bring glitter into the dungeons.”
“Really? Do you actually hate it?”
Blaise cut off Theodore’s reassurance. “Hate it? I think Theodore is ready to be covered in glitter for the rest of his life.”
“Our gloomy, mysterious image is really suffering because of you, you know?” Mattheo complains.
“I’m going to find glitter in my hair until Easter,” Enzo sighs.
“Shut up, all of you.” Theo speaks, leveling them with a glare.
He pulled you closer until your chest pressed into his, right as the star gave another puff of sparkle.
Everyone groaned again, but Theo didn’t even blink.
“I love you,” he said simply.
Your breath caught, “I love you too.”
Blaise threw his hands in the air, “brilliant. We’ve lost him. Another soul claimed by the glittering Hufflepuffs.”
Enzo nods reluctantly. “Face it, they’re adorable. Repulsive… but cute.”
Theo didn’t let you go, even as the commentary continued behind you and glitter floated through the air like enchanted snowflakes.
Because, honestly, he thinks he can get used to this. The glitter, the ugly tree, the warmth you brought into the dungeons.
You beam up at him, and he decides glitter isn’t such a threat after all.
The Hogwarts Rumor Mill spreads gossip faster than a Firebolt. The newest scandal wrecking havoc on the school? You and Enzo have secretly been dating for months.
enzo x fem!reader, friends to lovers, kinda fake dating, fluff and comedy, 1.1k words
There were few things that were fact at Hogwarts. A couple of them included, the Slytherin vs Gryffindor quidditch match always ended with someone in the hospital wing, Ravenclaws gave the best advice, and the Hogwarts rumor mill ran faster than any firebolt could dream.
You’d heard secrets about third years you’d never met within an hour of them happening, told Pansy something and then heard Hermione Granger talking about it two tables over, even the professors weren’t safe in the endless grapevine.
It was always easy to figure out who the latest victim was based on who got stares at mealtimes or giggled at before class.
Which is why when you and Enzo walk into the Great Hall, laughing and shoulder to shoulder as usual, you immediately know that something is off. Half the school turns to stare, chatter quieting and giggles starting to echo from the younger years.
You pause mid step, and Enzo has to drag you through the last bit of aisle to your usual seats.
“That was weird, right?”
Your friends raise their eyebrows, but say nothing. You turn to Lorenzo for explanation, only to find him with a grin on his face.
“You haven’t heard?” He asks.
“Heard what?”
“That we’ve been secretly dating for four months. Apparently it’s very romantic,” he says casually, sending you a wink and stealing a peice of bacon off your plate.
You look at him in shock. “I feel like I would have remembered that.”
“That’s alright,” he says cheerfully, “everyone else remembers for you.”
You shove his shoulder and try to steal your food back, only for him to scarf it down and stick his tongue out at you like a child.
By the time you get to your first class you’ve gotten knowing smirks from three different people, a fourth year actually winks at you, and you hear a Hufflepuff say something that sounds suspiciously like finally.
It spreads like wildfire. You an Enzo: secret relationship, very private, very intense.
According to a Ravenclaw in your Arithmancy class, you two sneak up to the Astronomy Tower for moonlit, romantic rendezvous. A second year Slytherin insists she saw you wearing matching socks as a sign of commitment.
The next few days are chaos. People are weirdly supportive. Even Professor Flitwick calls you a ‘charming pair’ when you accidentally sit too close in Charms.
You try to stay calm, but Enzo makes it increasingly difficult. He’s always been touchy, but suddenly he’s sitting next to you in every single class and free time, slinging an arm around your shoulder like it belongs there. He starts calling you darling like it’s your legal name.
He appears next to you in the corridors between class, interlacing your fingers and winking to onlookers.
You glare at him, “you’re making this worse.”
“Making what worse?”
“The fact that I’m getting asked about our fictional relationship six times a day.”
“Oh no,” he gasps in mock horror, “you mean people think you’re dating a tall, charming, devastatingly handsome Slytherin with flawless hair? What a nightmare!”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet here we are, holding hands.”
You roll your eyes, but you don’t let go.
The following week someone sees the two of you sharing a cloak in the rain, and suddenly the length has been raised, and it’s actually been seven months.
Lorenzo finds the whole thing hilarious.
You try to laugh along, ignoring how real it feels when his arm automatically finds your waist and your head tilts to lay on his shoulder during study sessions like it belongs there.
The two of you are working on an essay in the library one night, ignoring the prying eyes around you and tossing Berties Bott’s beans into each others mouths.
“I’ve had multiple people ask me what your favorite flower is this week,” he mentions casually, narrowly missing the popcorn flavored bean you throw at him.
“Why?” you question incredulously.
“Hogsmeade is coming up. Apparently dating me doesn’t make you off limits,” he rolls his eyes as he says it, and you miss the way his grip tightens around his quill.
“Maybe they think I’m secretly pining after someone else.”
He leans conspiratorially towards you. “Are you?”
You hesitate, “maybe.”
His smile falters for had a second, but he quickly recovers. “How scandalous.”
You go back to writing, trying not to focus on how comforting his presence is, even when he finishes his essay and rests his chin on your shoulder to watch you finish yours.
“You know,” he says as the two of you walk back to your dorms, hands interlocked even though there were no other students around. “If we were dating, I think we’d make a brilliant couple.”
“You think?”
He pauses for a moment, helping you cross into the common room. His voice is softer when he speaks, “Yeah, I think so.”
Your heart pounds in your chest alarmingly, and you fight to change the subject. “You still owe me for the toast you stole this morning.”
He walks you all the way to the stairwell that leads to the girls dorms.
“Noted, girlfriend tax.”
You throw a crumpled parchment at him, and he bids you goodnight even as it smacks him in the face.
You’re whispering with Pansy the next day, panic laced in your voice upon the realization that your heart seems to not realize Enzo isn’t actually your boyfriend.
She’s laughing when a seventh year Ravenclaw approaches the two of you, looking down at his feet.
“Hey Yn… I didn’t want to get in the way of you and Enzo, but rumor has it maybe it’s not true, so I was just wondering if maybe you’d want to join me in Hogsmeade next week?”
Before you can even open your mouth to answer, Enzo appears behind you as if summoned, flinging an arm around your shoulder.
His grin is far too wide when he speaks. “Hogsmeade? Awfully bad weather for a date, don’t you think, love?”
Your head instantly turns to his at the pet name, and you can’t help the fluttering in your stomach when you meet his eyes.
“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interfere,” the other boy scrambles away, opting to not stand there and witness you looking at Enzo with hearts in your eyes.
“I’m never going to get asked on a date again.”
Enzo grins, bringing his hand up to rest on your jaw.
“Good. I can take you on however many you want.”
You feel the weight of every hand hold, every shared smile, and every almost touch come rushing forward.
You push up on your tippy toes to get closer to him, and his breath hitches when your noses brush.
“For real?” You question.
“We’ll make the most brilliant couple in the castle, if you’ll have me, of course.”
You push your lips into his as a response, bodies slotting together like puzzle pieces as fireworks go off in your stomach.
Just saying, I know for a fact, I'd agree for the date with a Ravenclaw, f-ing up my chance with Lo, if he hasn't said anything about loving me like this before that moment...
BUT, more importantly, I am completely in love with how you've written it. It's funny, it's sweet, it's charming. It's basically exactly like how Lorenzo would be (in my dreamland)
YES ENZOS PERFECT TIMING!!!! i loved this reblog 😭😭 thank you for taking the time to leave a message!!!!! I’m so glad you enjoyed it and that you are so kind 🥹
Reading a story you wrote when you were 13 is something that makes you realise that there was always something weird and lonely about you. Mostly weird.
The Hogwarts Rumor Mill spreads gossip faster than a Firebolt. The newest scandal wrecking havoc on the school? You and Enzo have secretly been dating for months.
enzo x fem!reader, friends to lovers, kinda fake dating, fluff and comedy, 1.1k words
There were few things that were fact at Hogwarts. A couple of them included, the Slytherin vs Gryffindor quidditch match always ended with someone in the hospital wing, Ravenclaws gave the best advice, and the Hogwarts rumor mill ran faster than any firebolt could dream.
You’d heard secrets about third years you’d never met within an hour of them happening, told Pansy something and then heard Hermione Granger talking about it two tables over, even the professors weren’t safe in the endless grapevine.
It was always easy to figure out who the latest victim was based on who got stares at mealtimes or giggled at before class.
Which is why when you and Enzo walk into the Great Hall, laughing and shoulder to shoulder as usual, you immediately know that something is off. Half the school turns to stare, chatter quieting and giggles starting to echo from the younger years.
You pause mid step, and Enzo has to drag you through the last bit of aisle to your usual seats.
“That was weird, right?”
Your friends raise their eyebrows, but say nothing. You turn to Lorenzo for explanation, only to find him with a grin on his face.
“You haven’t heard?” He asks.
“Heard what?”
“That we’ve been secretly dating for four months. Apparently it’s very romantic,” he says casually, sending you a wink and stealing a peice of bacon off your plate.
You look at him in shock. “I feel like I would have remembered that.”
“That’s alright,” he says cheerfully, “everyone else remembers for you.”
You shove his shoulder and try to steal your food back, only for him to scarf it down and stick his tongue out at you like a child.
By the time you get to your first class you’ve gotten knowing smirks from three different people, a fourth year actually winks at you, and you hear a Hufflepuff say something that sounds suspiciously like finally.
It spreads like wildfire. You an Enzo: secret relationship, very private, very intense.
According to a Ravenclaw in your Arithmancy class, you two sneak up to the Astronomy Tower for moonlit, romantic rendezvous. A second year Slytherin insists she saw you wearing matching socks as a sign of commitment.
The next few days are chaos. People are weirdly supportive. Even Professor Flitwick calls you a ‘charming pair’ when you accidentally sit too close in Charms.
You try to stay calm, but Enzo makes it increasingly difficult. He’s always been touchy, but suddenly he’s sitting next to you in every single class and free time, slinging an arm around your shoulder like it belongs there. He starts calling you darling like it’s your legal name.
He appears next to you in the corridors between class, interlacing your fingers and winking to onlookers.
You glare at him, “you’re making this worse.”
“Making what worse?”
“The fact that I’m getting asked about our fictional relationship six times a day.”
“Oh no,” he gasps in mock horror, “you mean people think you’re dating a tall, charming, devastatingly handsome Slytherin with flawless hair? What a nightmare!”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet here we are, holding hands.”
You roll your eyes, but you don’t let go.
The following week someone sees the two of you sharing a cloak in the rain, and suddenly the length has been raised, and it’s actually been seven months.
Lorenzo finds the whole thing hilarious.
You try to laugh along, ignoring how real it feels when his arm automatically finds your waist and your head tilts to lay on his shoulder during study sessions like it belongs there.
The two of you are working on an essay in the library one night, ignoring the prying eyes around you and tossing Berties Bott’s beans into each others mouths.
“I’ve had multiple people ask me what your favorite flower is this week,” he mentions casually, narrowly missing the popcorn flavored bean you throw at him.
“Why?” you question incredulously.
“Hogsmeade is coming up. Apparently dating me doesn’t make you off limits,” he rolls his eyes as he says it, and you miss the way his grip tightens around his quill.
“Maybe they think I’m secretly pining after someone else.”
He leans conspiratorially towards you. “Are you?”
You hesitate, “maybe.”
His smile falters for had a second, but he quickly recovers. “How scandalous.”
You go back to writing, trying not to focus on how comforting his presence is, even when he finishes his essay and rests his chin on your shoulder to watch you finish yours.
“You know,” he says as the two of you walk back to your dorms, hands interlocked even though there were no other students around. “If we were dating, I think we’d make a brilliant couple.”
“You think?”
He pauses for a moment, helping you cross into the common room. His voice is softer when he speaks, “Yeah, I think so.”
Your heart pounds in your chest alarmingly, and you fight to change the subject. “You still owe me for the toast you stole this morning.”
He walks you all the way to the stairwell that leads to the girls dorms.
“Noted, girlfriend tax.”
You throw a crumpled parchment at him, and he bids you goodnight even as it smacks him in the face.
You’re whispering with Pansy the next day, panic laced in your voice upon the realization that your heart seems to not realize Enzo isn’t actually your boyfriend.
She’s laughing when a seventh year Ravenclaw approaches the two of you, looking down at his feet.
“Hey Yn… I didn’t want to get in the way of you and Enzo, but rumor has it maybe it’s not true, so I was just wondering if maybe you’d want to join me in Hogsmeade next week?”
Before you can even open your mouth to answer, Enzo appears behind you as if summoned, flinging an arm around your shoulder.
His grin is far too wide when he speaks. “Hogsmeade? Awfully bad weather for a date, don’t you think, love?”
Your head instantly turns to his at the pet name, and you can’t help the fluttering in your stomach when you meet his eyes.
“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interfere,” the other boy scrambles away, opting to not stand there and witness you looking at Enzo with hearts in your eyes.
“I’m never going to get asked on a date again.”
Enzo grins, bringing his hand up to rest on your jaw.
“Good. I can take you on however many you want.”
You feel the weight of every hand hold, every shared smile, and every almost touch come rushing forward.
You push up on your tippy toes to get closer to him, and his breath hitches when your noses brush.
“For real?” You question.
“We’ll make the most brilliant couple in the castle, if you’ll have me, of course.”
You push your lips into his as a response, bodies slotting together like puzzle pieces as fireworks go off in your stomach.
I always go crazy when you reblog my work bc i’m literally obsessed with your writing 😭😭 especially your enzo ones, your enzo is canon to me 🤭 so i’m soooo glad you liked 😚😚
hii cara!! hru sweetheart?? i just wanted to say that secrets of the sweets is the best george fic i've ever read!!! i started giggling in the middle of the night because of it :)) you don't have to, but i'd love to read more about these two ((george x hufflepuff!reader is my favourite dynamic)) maybe something to do with their first date, or hufflepuff!reader meeting molly for the first time! don't feel pressured to write if you don’t want! take care of yourself <3
hiiiii anon!!!! this is the sweetest message, omg 🥹 you made my day 🫶 that is such high praise, i’m so glad you liked it!! thank you for dropping by my inbox!!! i love both of these ideas… i’ve posted their date here!! and i fully plan on writing her and molly being lovely soon! i hope you’re having a wonderful day anon 🤍🤍
part 2 for secret of the sweets, fluuffffff, hannah and susan cameo, 837 words, for the anon who requested!!! 🤍
You've changed outfits about fourteen different times now, switching scarfs, hats, and cloaks as if wearing the wrong color would ruin the entire day.
"Yn, you look good. Relax," Hannah laughs, spelling your mirror so you can't stare at it any longer.
"I'm nervous."
Susan gasps, "really? I had no idea!"
You throw a discarded hat at her, and she catches it with a smile.
"You gave that man delicious food out of the kindness of your heart, I think you could show up in a potato sack and he'd still take you out."
You groan, flopping onto your bed to relax.
"What do people even do on dates?"
Hannah shrugs, "beats me. The only one I've been on was mostly just Ernie talking about pygmy puffs."
A giggle escapes you, you'd all but forgotten about that short lived Hufflepuff romance.
Susan briefs you on first date etiquette, gathered from her extensive research of romantic comedies. Hannah adjusts your hair with her wand, and soon they're falling behind you in the Great Hall, watching you with fake tears and comments about 'they grow up so fast.'
George is already waiting for you by the doors, and you feel faint of breath at the way he lights up when he sees you.
"Hello there, sweets."
You wrinkle your nose at the nickname, but he's insistent that it matches your theme.
"Are you ready for the best Hogsmeade trip of your life?" He offers you his arm with a flourish.
"That seems like an awfully big promise," you say, letting him take your arm.
"You know me, I'm a big promise type of guy." He grins as he leads you into town, talking easily the whole way down the path.
It's not loud or overly dramatic— his words fill the silence comfortably. You don't talk much, but he notices your puffs of laughter and eyebrow raises. You notice the way that every once in a while, when he looked over at you, his face would soften just a smidge as if he was remembering that you were still on his arm.
Your arm felt awkward and stiff by the time the two of you finally reached Honeydukes, but you refused to move it until George pulled away to open the door for you.
"I feel like I'm cheating on you by being here," he says.
You squint your eyes at him, "It's Honeydukes, George. As much as I like you, I'm not enchanting my sweets to fly or explode."
He sighs dramatically, "I guess you just don't like me that much."
You roll your eyes, not wanting to linger too long on the topic of your affection for the bright eyed boy next to you without knowing about his.
He grabs a basket and takes you up and down each aisle, pointing out the importance of each treat he puts in the basket.
"You have to try these ones, they're mum's favorite."
"These ones remind me of home."
You watch him with poorly concealed adoration as he shares memories of his family and home. He pays for the basket before you can object, and soon he's pulling you through a side alley by the shop. There's a small bench behind the building, and you can see where bird feeders hang, waiting for spring to officially arrive.
George hands you sweet after sweet to try.
"Woah, I'm barely done with the last one," you object when he moves to hand you another truffle.
"Sorry," he rubs the back of his neck, "I just want you to try all my favorites."
Your heart swells in your chest, and you find yourself inching closer to George on the small bench.
His hand brushes against your own, and neither of you move. The quiet is peaceful.
"I want to say thank you, by the way."
You turn to him, surprise on your face.
"For what? I've barely done anything today."
He laughs, moving to fully intertwine your fingers. "You don't have to around me." His thumb swipes along your knuckles softly. "I mean for the baking, and the encouragements, and the fact that you thought I was worth all that."
You smile bashfully, "you are. I wanted you to know that."
"I can't believe you talked to mum. You're the bravest witch I know."
You smack his shoulder with your free hand, rejecting the notion. "She was really nice."
"That's because she likes you." He pauses, and then softer, "so do I."
Your breath catches in your throat.
"I was hoping it was you all along. You always smelled like something baking when you rushed into Astronomy at night, and I was never able to focus when you took the telescope next to mine. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I would like to keep seeing you. In an official way."
Your heart hammers against your ribs as you look into his sincere eyes.
"I'd like that," your voice is quiet, but there's no hesitancy.
Hiii I loved your Cedric x potter!reader and was wondering if you could write one where Cedric meets her whole family?
hello anon!!! you are my first request on this blog!!!! so thank you so much!! 🥳🥳 Cedric meeting the fam has been posted here !! I hope you like it and thank you for reading 😚😚
part two of About Time… now that you and Cedric have gone official, it’s time to finally give your parents what they want. A holiday visit to the Potter home quickly becomes chaotic.
mostly humor tbh, fluff in between, cedric is lovesick and the potters love embarassing their children. ft. the extended family (sirius, remus, and marlene). for the anon that requested 💛 1.1k words
Snow crunched under your boots as you approached your childhood home. There was a golden light spilling out of the windows, steam twirling from the chimney, and you could hear laughter even from where you stood ten feet away.
There were snowflakes clinging to Cedic's eyelashes, and the top of his head was damp from the blizzard that decided to ambush the two of you as soon as you apparated home. You'd spent the first week of the winter holidays at the Diggory home, an easy feat considering you shared a favorite topic with Cedric’s parents— how lovely their son is. They'd fawned over the two of you, shown scrapbook after scrapbook of Cedric's childhood photos, and mentioned grandchildren at least five times.
It was cute that Cedric thought your home would be easier.
Cute, and completely incorrect. Especially when you stepped into the entryway and saw a pair of black chelsea boots sitting beside your mother's trainers.
"Oh no."
Cedric didn't even have a chance to panic before Sirius was bellowing through the entire house.
"THE SNOGGERS HAVE ARRIVED!"
Cedric's eyes grew wide, but you just laughed and grabbed him by the hand, pulling him right into the den of lions.
Sirius stood in your kitchen in an ugly christmas sweater and plaid pajama pants, your mother's floral apron on his waist and brandishing a ladle in his hand like a sword.
"Did you miss me?" He grinned, accepting your hug with open arms before turning and giving Cedric one as well.
"Did they invite all of you over?" Cedric clung to your side, hand clutching your own as you interrogated your uncle.
"We've been betting on this since second year, darling. There's no way we were missing Cedric's first visit."
His grin is evil, but it only gets worse when another voice joins in.
"Especially since you two already earned me ten galleons," Marlene Mckinnon appears in the kitchen with a flourish, and Remus trails behind her.
"I knew it was going to happen at Hogwarts, I shouldn't have let Sirius sway me," he shoots a glare to the grinning man, but it's too soft to mean anything.
"You were betting too?" Cedric asks incredulously, looking between the three surprise guests.
"Of course we were! You have so much to learn about this family."
You roll your eyes, finally being told the location of your parents, and make your way into the living room.
The house has been decorated without you, and you move under strings of fairy lights, enchanted mistletoe, and jingle bells that played themselves.
"There's our girl! We missed you, bug!" You hear your father before you see him, and soon he's got you trapped in a bear hug, lifting you off the ground with his face smashed into your hair.
"Honey, you're going to suffocate her," your mother chides, pulling you into a much softer embrace. "And Cedric, of course. We're so glad to finally meet you."
Your boyfriend welcomed the affection, even as his eyes stayed locked on your father, who was giving his best scary-dad impression.
"Mr.Potter," Cedric greeted politely, offering a handshake.
James can't keep the charade up for long, and he bursts into laughter, practically tackling Cedric.
"No need to be scared, we're big fans."
You turn to your mother to make a quip about his dramatics, only to have your jaw drop upon catching sight of the tree.
It reached all the way to the ceiling, rainbow lights and sparkling ornaments all around it. But what caught your eye was the top of the tree. Where your golden star usually sat, there was now a polaroid secured to the tip.
"You cannot be serious," you deadpan, taking a few steps to get a closer look.
When you've turned around, Cedric is burning red in the face, and your parents have smug grins on their faces.
"Harry sent us the picture, we just had to display it for dear Cedric's visit!"
"Mummmm," you whined like a child, disbelief and embarrassment all over your face at the knowledge of your entire family gathering around a photo of you and Cedric snogging like characters in a romance novel.
"Marlene enchanted it to sing if you touch it, here.."
"No!" You cry out, looking to escape anymore embarrassment.
Luckily, your father gets called into the kitchen as mashed potato master, and your mother allows the two of you to finally set your things down, pulling wrapped presents out of your bag and setting them down under the mortifying evergreen.
You thought dinner would be better.
Instead, Harry took it upon himself to recount every embarrassing thing you've ever done, Sirius pulled out pictures of you at two years old in a snitch costume, and Marlene proposed a toast that the two of you could stay 'hot and devoted for eternity.'
You're thankful for your mother, who is the gentle calm in the chaos of the table.
Until she turns to Cedric, a particular gleam in her eye.
"So, Cedric. What exactly are your intentions with my daughter?"
The inhabitants of the table all lean in at that, and you gasped, horrified. "Mum!"
Cedric took it in stride, swallowing his last bit before meeting your mother's eyes. "Respect her, support her. Hopefully one day marry her."
The room went dead silent.
Sirius dropped a roll. Remus spit out his drink. Marlene let out the loudest squeal you'd ever heard.
You shot a terrified look over to your father, whose eyes were huge behind his glasses.
"Bloody hell," he choked out.
Voices all started at once, and you hid your face behind a napkin while Cedric laughed hysterically.
After a sweet dessert and far too many more embarrassing stories, you and Cedric were curled up in a loveseat by the fire. It was finally quiet in the Potter house. Marlene was on the floor painting Harry's nails, Remus was sipping a cup of tea in the corner, and your mother was upstairs doing some last minute gift wrapping.
You could hear Sirius and your father talking while they cleaned dishes, and you rested your head against Cedric's chest, heart fuzzy and full with the comfort of your home.
"Your family's brilliant." Cedric tells you from where his head is nuzzled in your hair.
"They're lunatics."
"They're loud and messy and full of love. I didn't realize how much I wanted something like this."
You soften, looking up at him. "Good, because you've already got a place on the tree. That means you're stuck with us."
"You promise?"
"This is a life sentence, Diggory," you jest, before pulling him down into a sweet kiss.
A camera flash goes off, and you turn in shock to find your father already inspecting the photograph.
"Oh this one's definitely going in the family newsletter."
The Hogwarts Rumor Mill spreads gossip faster than a Firebolt. The newest scandal wrecking havoc on the school? You and Enzo have secretly been dating for months.
enzo x fem!reader, friends to lovers, kinda fake dating, fluff and comedy, 1.1k words
There were few things that were fact at Hogwarts. A couple of them included, the Slytherin vs Gryffindor quidditch match always ended with someone in the hospital wing, Ravenclaws gave the best advice, and the Hogwarts rumor mill ran faster than any firebolt could dream.
You’d heard secrets about third years you’d never met within an hour of them happening, told Pansy something and then heard Hermione Granger talking about it two tables over, even the professors weren’t safe in the endless grapevine.
It was always easy to figure out who the latest victim was based on who got stares at mealtimes or giggled at before class.
Which is why when you and Enzo walk into the Great Hall, laughing and shoulder to shoulder as usual, you immediately know that something is off. Half the school turns to stare, chatter quieting and giggles starting to echo from the younger years.
You pause mid step, and Enzo has to drag you through the last bit of aisle to your usual seats.
“That was weird, right?”
Your friends raise their eyebrows, but say nothing. You turn to Lorenzo for explanation, only to find him with a grin on his face.
“You haven’t heard?” He asks.
“Heard what?”
“That we’ve been secretly dating for four months. Apparently it’s very romantic,” he says casually, sending you a wink and stealing a peice of bacon off your plate.
You look at him in shock. “I feel like I would have remembered that.”
“That’s alright,” he says cheerfully, “everyone else remembers for you.”
You shove his shoulder and try to steal your food back, only for him to scarf it down and stick his tongue out at you like a child.
By the time you get to your first class you’ve gotten knowing smirks from three different people, a fourth year actually winks at you, and you hear a Hufflepuff say something that sounds suspiciously like finally.
It spreads like wildfire. You an Enzo: secret relationship, very private, very intense.
According to a Ravenclaw in your Arithmancy class, you two sneak up to the Astronomy Tower for moonlit, romantic rendezvous. A second year Slytherin insists she saw you wearing matching socks as a sign of commitment.
The next few days are chaos. People are weirdly supportive. Even Professor Flitwick calls you a ‘charming pair’ when you accidentally sit too close in Charms.
You try to stay calm, but Enzo makes it increasingly difficult. He’s always been touchy, but suddenly he’s sitting next to you in every single class and free time, slinging an arm around your shoulder like it belongs there. He starts calling you darling like it’s your legal name.
He appears next to you in the corridors between class, interlacing your fingers and winking to onlookers.
You glare at him, “you’re making this worse.”
“Making what worse?”
“The fact that I’m getting asked about our fictional relationship six times a day.”
“Oh no,” he gasps in mock horror, “you mean people think you’re dating a tall, charming, devastatingly handsome Slytherin with flawless hair? What a nightmare!”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet here we are, holding hands.”
You roll your eyes, but you don’t let go.
The following week someone sees the two of you sharing a cloak in the rain, and suddenly the length has been raised, and it’s actually been seven months.
Lorenzo finds the whole thing hilarious.
You try to laugh along, ignoring how real it feels when his arm automatically finds your waist and your head tilts to lay on his shoulder during study sessions like it belongs there.
The two of you are working on an essay in the library one night, ignoring the prying eyes around you and tossing Berties Bott’s beans into each others mouths.
“I’ve had multiple people ask me what your favorite flower is this week,” he mentions casually, narrowly missing the popcorn flavored bean you throw at him.
“Why?” you question incredulously.
“Hogsmeade is coming up. Apparently dating me doesn’t make you off limits,” he rolls his eyes as he says it, and you miss the way his grip tightens around his quill.
“Maybe they think I’m secretly pining after someone else.”
He leans conspiratorially towards you. “Are you?”
You hesitate, “maybe.”
His smile falters for had a second, but he quickly recovers. “How scandalous.”
You go back to writing, trying not to focus on how comforting his presence is, even when he finishes his essay and rests his chin on your shoulder to watch you finish yours.
“You know,” he says as the two of you walk back to your dorms, hands interlocked even though there were no other students around. “If we were dating, I think we’d make a brilliant couple.”
“You think?”
He pauses for a moment, helping you cross into the common room. His voice is softer when he speaks, “Yeah, I think so.”
Your heart pounds in your chest alarmingly, and you fight to change the subject. “You still owe me for the toast you stole this morning.”
He walks you all the way to the stairwell that leads to the girls dorms.
“Noted, girlfriend tax.”
You throw a crumpled parchment at him, and he bids you goodnight even as it smacks him in the face.
You’re whispering with Pansy the next day, panic laced in your voice upon the realization that your heart seems to not realize Enzo isn’t actually your boyfriend.
She’s laughing when a seventh year Ravenclaw approaches the two of you, looking down at his feet.
“Hey Yn… I didn’t want to get in the way of you and Enzo, but rumor has it maybe it’s not true, so I was just wondering if maybe you’d want to join me in Hogsmeade next week?”
Before you can even open your mouth to answer, Enzo appears behind you as if summoned, flinging an arm around your shoulder.
His grin is far too wide when he speaks. “Hogsmeade? Awfully bad weather for a date, don’t you think, love?”
Your head instantly turns to his at the pet name, and you can’t help the fluttering in your stomach when you meet his eyes.
“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interfere,” the other boy scrambles away, opting to not stand there and witness you looking at Enzo with hearts in your eyes.
“I’m never going to get asked on a date again.”
Enzo grins, bringing his hand up to rest on your jaw.
“Good. I can take you on however many you want.”
You feel the weight of every hand hold, every shared smile, and every almost touch come rushing forward.
You push up on your tippy toes to get closer to him, and his breath hitches when your noses brush.
“For real?” You question.
“We’ll make the most brilliant couple in the castle, if you’ll have me, of course.”
You push your lips into his as a response, bodies slotting together like puzzle pieces as fireworks go off in your stomach.
An over-excited Gryffindor has decided superlatives are the way to get people interested the Hogwarts Yearbook. You immediately set your sights on Most Likely to Get Married and end up shocked at the lengths Draco will go to help you win.
draco x fem!reader, reader is slytherin, established relationship, lowkey lavender and cormac slander, risks of second hand embarrassment 😁 fluff and comedy. 1.9k words
The Hogwarts Yearbook was nothing but a forgettable blimp in the heads of the student body. Photos were taken on the first day of term, snapped by a prefect in the common room and sent off to Professor Sprout, never to be thought of again.
Occasionally you'd find a dusty copy of one of the past years while in the library, like the one time the 1978-1979 book had been used to prop the leg of a wobbly table.
The Yearbook Committee had always been made up of a couple Hufflepuffs that were too kind to say no when their head of house begged them to assist her, and they sold about two copies a year.
This year, however, an overly-excited muggleborn had taken over. She was Gryffindor through and through, with a flair for the dramatic and a compulsive need to make the yearbook known— a spectacle.
Which is how you found yourself in the Slytherin common room at seven in the morning, crowded around an enchanted bulletin board.
Yearbook Superlatives— to be voted for on the 19th of next month.
Underneath the title was a two foot list of superlatives, ranging from 'most likely to take over the Ministry' to 'most house spirit'.
There were duo awards too, 'biggest bromance' sat right between 'most likely to hex each others eyebrows off' and 'most likely to get married.'
Your eyes settled on the last one, the pink glitter it was written in somehow twinkling even in the dim lighting of the dungeons.
Your hand clutches Pansy’s arm next to you, and you make a decision.
You’re winning that award.
Not for the recognition (a little for the recognition), but because you and Draco had been dating for almost a year and no one seemed to notice.
It wasn’t for lack of trying, you were practically the walking poster child for ‘I’m so in love with my boyfriend.’ You held his hand at breakfast, kissed his cheek in the quiet courtyard, left notes in his satchel that said things like ‘you looked unfairly fine in potions today’ with snake doodles and lipstick marks.
But Draco was just so.. Draco. He wasn’t like Theodore Nott, who kissed his girlfriend like the world was ending at least twice a day in the Great Hall, or like Lorenzo Berkshire who flirted so loudly in every classroom he’d once lost house points for saying ‘things so vulgar it scarred other classmates’.
You loved Draco just as he was, even with his sharp eyes and sharper silences. He simply existed next to you. He gave you his scarf without a word, held your hot pink quill without complaining, and smirked whenever you’d whisper something flirty in his ear during Charms.
You loved him, but to everyone else, your relationship was about as transparent as Peeves the Poltergeist’s ugly outfit. And that would not win you a couple award.
“You want me to what?” Draco asks, spoon frozen halfway to his mouth like you’d just asked him to kiss the giant squid.
“Increase your public affection output by thirty-percent,” you shrug, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“Thirty per-”
“Minimum,” you interrupt, “not Theo level, just smile at me more, tell me I’m brilliant loud enough for other people to hear.”
“You are brilliant. I tell you about four times a day.”
“I know, but you whisper it!”
“Yeah, because your ears turn pink and your eyes sparkle and I quite like keeping that to myself.”
You can tell your ears are flushing just the way he said, but you still smack his shoulder.
“That’s sweet of you, but no one votes for the couple that flirts with emotionally meaningful undertones.”
He huffs out a sigh and looks across the table with a look that says ‘help me please,’ but Theodore just pats his shoulder.
“You gotta step it up, buddy.”
It wouldn’t have been such a big deal if it weren’t for the fact that Lavender and Cormac were campaigning like their lives depended on it.
Everyone knew they were a nightmare couple. Sure their photos looked good, Lavender’s curls fell in ringlets around her face as if she wasn’t even trying, and Cormac’s face was frustratingly symmetric. But they were fire and gasoline, to the point that they fought multiple times a month, loudly, in public spaces. Cormac once said ‘I love you’ and Lavender responded with ‘I’m not talking to you.’
And somehow, people were still voting for them!
“They’re a bit of a power couple. Like chaotic and kinda toxic, but still hot.”
Overhearing that comment in the corridor almost made you rip your hair out.
You’d submitted your and Draco’s name for the superlative ballot, even when he complained that it was a silly muggle tradition that had nothing to do with actual compatibility.
You were holding his hand at dinner one night, on top of the table this time, when Cormac and Lavender made a scene in front of the great oak doors.
“You’ll dedicate your quidditch match win to me, right?” She coos, loud enough for her voice to pierce through the chatter and scraping of utensils.
“They’re always for you, baby.” He reassures, sweeping her into a deep bow and kissing her so intensely you feel the need to avert your eyes.
You turn to Draco with a grimace. “I think Im gonna vomit.”
He lets out a puff of laughter, squeezing your hand. “Don’t worry, he’s not winning that match.”
You roll your eyes as the boys launch into discussion of game plans and flying strategies for the upcoming game against Gryffindor.
You make your way down to the stands the next day, clad in a sweater and jeans, using a green headband that Draco gifted you for your birthday to hold the pesky flyaways out of your face.
Gryffindor vs Slytherin was always the biggest game of the year, and it seemed like no matter how this game went the teams would be playing each other again in a few weeks for the House Cup.
The school had attached a screen to the score board, another genius idea from the muggles, and it showed the players as they mounted their brooms and took off.
The camera floated around the crowd, blurring together snippets of game play with overexcited crowd reactions. It shows a couple Hufflepuffs, one side of their face painted red and the other green as they cheered for every single development in the game.
It flickers to Daphne’s face when her boyfriend almost gets hit with a bludger, upping the drama and intensity of the crowd.
You roll your eyes as soon as Cormac makes a slightly impressive save and blows a kiss to the stands, already knowing where the camera is going.
Lavender comes up on screen, wearing Cormac’s sweater with his number painted on her face. But what catches your eye is the poster she’s holding in her hands.
‘Vote Lavender and Cormac, my boyfriend actually likes me.’
You grit your teeth. There were no names, but everyone knew who it was targeted at. A couple gasps echo through the crowd, and Pansy grabs your arm to hold you back from storming over to the Gryffindor stands and doing something that would surely get you disqualified and probably expelled.
“Just focus on the game,” she mutters, and you force your attention back to the pitch, eyes finally finding your boyfriend.
You can tell he’s seen it, just based on the way his jaw ticks, knuckles going white where he holds his broom.
He plays with renewed fire the last half of the game, and before you notice it he’s disappeared, broom zooming across the pitch where you assume he’s seen the snitch.
He and Potter both dive towards an area on the west end of the pitch, only for Draco to pull back and fly up towards the sky once again, hand raised in the air.
The cheers leave your mouth immediately, jumping up and down in celebration with the rest of your house upon seeing the golden glimmer of the snitch in his hand.
Players start landing on solid soil again, and you barely register Lavender storming over to Cormac in the sea of exiting red and gold.
You’re standing on the pitch, waiting for Draco to dismount, but he continues to linger in the air even after everyone else lands.
Other people notice as well, whispers traveling through the crowd of every house as students stare at your boyfriend, finally landing in front of them.
He clears his throat, and you can’t tell if his face is flushed from exertion or anxiety, but you feel your own light up when he starts speaking, the entire student body hanging onto his words.
“Some of you may know that I’m dating Yn, the most radiant and wildly impressive person at this school. Though some of you may not, as I’m not the most publicly affectionate.”
You can’t help but cover your face with your hands as your classmates take turns staring over at you, but you peek through your fingers as he speaks again.
“I refuse to have anyone believing that I don’t like my girlfriend,” he glares over towards where the Gryffindor are standing. “In fact, I’m in love with Yn.” And then, as if it couldn’t get anymore embarrassing, he says, “And I will list thirty reasons as to why.”
You choke on air while Pansy aggressively pats your back, the other girls around you squealing.
“One: she makes me tea when I cry and never calls me out for lying about it being allergies. Two: she writes me notes with snakes wearing top hats on them and it always makes me laugh at her absurdity. Three: she’s the only person I’ve ever met that isn’t scared of my mother.” A few laughs travel through the crowd, but Draco pushes on. “Four: she’s calls me pretty boy when she’s tipsy, and it’s the only nickname I tolerate. Five: she hexed Cormac one time for saying I had no merits past my family name.”
You hear a cough in the back, “I thought he didn’t hear that.”
Draco laughs, “I did, I just didn’t say anything because my beautiful girlfriend told me not to start anything. Six:”
But he can’t get any more reasons out, because you’ve raced over to where he’s standing and grabbed his shirt collar to kiss him right then and there.
The entire crowd cheers, even the Gryffindors who are still mourning their loss.
A week later, you’re taking a photo together, Draco’s arms lifting your body and staring up at you like you hung the stars.
The over-excited yearbook president squeals, “they so picked the right couple!”
And you both buy a copy of the yearbook that year, ripping out and hanging the page that has your photo on the wall.
Most Likely to Get Married sits above the photo exactly where it belongs, and you can’t help but kiss your boyfriend with a giddy smile every time you see it.
You loved spending summers with your best friend Ginny at the Burrow. If only it wasn’t so hard to act unaffected around her older brother.
ron x fem!reader, bff!ginny, domestic fluff af, 1.4k words
The Burrow was the craziest, most disastrous thing you ever loved.
Even with its tilted frame, moaning ghoul, and the occasional explosion, you’d never felt more comfortable. Joining your best friend Ginny in her overflowing house had easily become your favorite part of summer.
“We’re going to have a family quidditch tournament next week, but the rules are we can’t play our actual positions,” Ginny smirked as the two of you made your way to her room. “I fully plan on playing beater, so let me know which one of my brothers annoys you most.”
You laugh as the two of you enter her room, flopping down on the trundle bed you’ve been sleeping in for the past few days.
“Your family is always nice to me, Gin. I love spending the summer here.”
Ginny rolls her eyes playfully. “Yeah, yeah. Very polite of you. I’m just saying, if Ron gets weird again, I’ll bludger him for you.”
“You’re the best friend a girl could ask for,” you placate.
“Thanks, I try.”
The two of you continue your easy banter while getting ready for bed, although you decide to stay up late anyway to paint your nails without one of the boys complaining about ‘fumigating the whole house with the girlyness.’
Ginny is coating her toe nails in an offensive shade of orange when the two of you fall into conversation about classmates.
“Ron’s friend Dean isn’t bad to look at. Don’t you think?”
You try to fight a gasp at Ginny’s declaration, instead breaking into giggles.
“What?” She defends immediately. “He’s tall, you know.”
“No, you’re right. There are definitely worse options. Just didn’t think that was your type.”
She rolls her eyes, adjusting so she can see you better.
“And who do you think is a better option?”
Your face flushes red, but you know you can’t say the truth. Telling Ginny that her older brother was the object of your affections was a one way ticket to disaster, and you valued her friendship more than whatever fantasy you had of Ron.
“You know, Harry’s gotten taller this summer, too.”
She lets out a squeal that is rather unlike her, and the two of you dissolve into giggles. You savour the comfortable feeling of being a girl at a sleepover, where nothing feels more important than whispered secrets and silliness. Ginny used to hate the whole premise of what you’re doing now, raised around brothers who expected her to act like them or get left behind. It was a testament to your friendship how much she’d opened up and let herself be a teenage girl around you.
Another reason you could never betray her trust.
You simply had to shove down any lingering butterflies or tummy tingles around her admittedly handsome and kind older brother.
Ginny was already gone when you woke up the next morning, and you padded out of her room blearily, not bothering to tame your bed hair or fully wake up as you approached the bathroom.
You’re startled to find it occupied, but Ron barely bats an eye, just gestures with a hand for you to join him while continuing to brush his teeth with the other one.
You slide in next to him, arms brushing in the small room while you begin to clean your own teeth. His pajama sleeves are rolled up, and his hair looks to be in a similar state as your own.
He catches your eye in the mirror and makes a ridiculous face that has you almost snorting toothpaste up your nose.
“Don’t laugh,” he garbles around a mouth full of foam. “Mum’ll kill me if you choke.”
“Don’t make faces at me!” You protest as you rinse your mouth.
He manages to splatter toothpaste all over the mirror, and he rolls his eyes when you make him clean it up. But he still hands you a towel without hesitation, and bumps his shoulder into yours with a grin when you finish up.
You find yourself in a much better mood when you return to Ginny’s room to get dressed.
Slowly, mornings morph into your favorite time of the day. You’re unsure how, but every day you end up next to Ron at the bathroom sink, and everyday you find yourself standing a little bit closer, laughing a little bit louder, and having to fight a whole lot harder to suppress the butterflies.
Ginny walks past once, pausing to raise an eyebrow as a particularly odd facial expression leaves Ron with toothpaste dripping down his chin and you fighting to keep your laugh in.
The two of you straighten up immediately when you notice her, but she doesn’t say anything before continuing her journey past the room.
The moment she’s gone you make eye contact in the mirror and end up laughing again.
You keep your morning moments close to your chest, trying to convince yourself that the little habit is a gift of getting along with your best friend’s family and nothing else.
It isn’t until a few weeks later that it spreads into other rooms of the house.
You were in the kitchen one night after dinner, peacefully sudsing up plates and bowls while the breeze filtered in through the cracked window.
You’d volunteered to do the dishes so the other kids could get some flying in before the sun went down and Molly forced them inside.
You could hear Ginny laughing with Fred through the window as you scrubbed.
You barely noticed when Ron sidled up beside you with a towel in his hand, far too comfortable with his presence at your side, solid and steady in a way that made your heart feel especially full.
You handed him a plate silently, and his towel was already in motion, wiping it dry with a furrowed brow like it was the most important job of his life.
“You’ve got something on your face,” he says quietly after you’ve gone through most of the dishes.
You blink at him in confusion, waiting for him to explain. Instead, he reaches over and swipes his thumb just above your jaw, retracting it so you can see the soap suds.
It was barely a brush against your skin, but you feel your whole body start to burn.
That night, Ginny asks you again if there’s anyone in particular you fancy. You deny it with a bright red face that you hide behind your copy of Witch Weekly.
It isn’t until laundry day that you realize just how deep you’re in.
You and Ron are hanging sheets on an enchanted clothesline when he mutters, “I like doing this with you.”
You can’t help the laughter that spills from your lips. “Hanging laundry?”
He grins, as if only now realizing the ridiculousness of what he said.
“And dishes. And brushing our teeth.”
“Real entertaining lives we live.”
“Just being around. That’s what I like.”
Your heart is doing acrobatics in your chest when he throws a sheet over the line and subsequently knocks you in the face with wet linen.
“Ronald!”
Ginny hears your laughter from inside, and she looks out the window just in time to see you start chasing her brother around the yard with a handful of clothespins.
She’s laying in your bed when you enter her room that night, and you lay down next to her with a questioning smile on your face.
“What’s up, Gin?”
She rolls over and props her face in her chin, a smug smile on her face.
“You’re in love with my brother.” She says it far too loudly, with a confidence that dares you to deny it.
You choke on air, rolling over to cover her mouth with your hand. “What? Why would you say that? And why would you say it so loud?”
She laughs, rolling back over and huffing.
“I saw the toothpaste thing. And the dishes. And the laundry. You might as well just admit it.”
You light up red. “I’m not-”
“I’m not judging!” She interrupts your halfhearted denial. “As long as I’m invited to the wedding.”
You stare at her in shock.
“I’d make a great maid of honor.”
“What?”
“I’ve already decided to start my toast with ‘to the girl that loved him despite the stinky socks’.”
You can’t help but dissolve into laughter, both in relief at how she was taking it and the absolute absurdity of her speech.
“I thought you were gonna hate me.” You confess quietly.
She snorts under her breath. “I hate that you’ve sold yourself so short, I mean, come on! Ron??”
You laugh, but her voice is sincere. “I think he likes you too. I mean, he let you borrow his broom. That’s basically a proposal in Weasley language.”
You bump your shoulders together on the small bed. “You really are the best friend a girl could ask for.”
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