Summary: In which Draco and Y/N dance and think on what could have been.
A/N: The ending feels a little rushed IMO, but I honestly just couldn’t figure out how I wanted to end this! There isn’t really a concrete ending, which I guess is good for open-ended lovers!
Warnings: mentions of war, pregnancy
Word Count: 1.8k
. . .
Everyone stared.
You thought that perhaps you had never been surrounded by so many people, and right now every single pair of eyes was on you.
Well, on the boy next to you.
He stood with shaking hands, looking to the ground with a face smeared with dirt. Did he know that everyone was looking at him? That everyone was waiting to see what his next move would be?
His eyes bounced from the ground to the opposite end of the clocktower courtyard when a soft voice called, “Draco, come.”
Your own gaze moved from him to the source. His mother. You could see Draco’s assurance falter. Yours did as well. A few moments ago you would have been sure that Draco could resist the call of Voldemort; after all, he had no real respect for the figure. But Narcissa? Draco had, in fact, nothing but respect for his mother.
He stared at her for a moment. Draco looked around him, at the peers he had called both enemies and friends, at the incredibly lessened amount of faces. Maybe he thought he would find the answers in the crowd. People had been telling him what to do all his life; why not now? You had never been one of those people, but Draco also knew he could always turn to you for guidance.
But he did not look your way. Though you stood right beside him, Draco attempted to step down from the marbled stoop upon which you both stood without sparing you even a glance. Later, he would tell you it was because he knew if he met your eyes, he never would have been able to take that step.
He never had to, though, because you reached for his hand just before he could leave your reach. At your touch, he immediately stilled. When he turned to face you, you could see the tears forming in Draco’s eyes. He was afraid.
“You don’t have to do this, Draco,” you said. You knew there were hundreds of eyes on you, but in that moment it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Draco knowing he had another option. Another life, here with you. “Stay with me. I love you.”
You squeezed his hand.
He squeezed back.
. . .
Draco’s hand slipped onto the patch of skin that your ballgown left exposed, breaking you from your reverie. His touch on the small of your back was both a welcome and unfamiliar sensation.
He felt different than he had all those years ago. Back when you were both young and free and warm. A lot had changed since then.
Draco was cold now, in more ways than one. His touch left a whisper of frost everywhere it landed, and his stance was rigid, even as he danced with you on the sweeping floors of Malfoy Manor. The two of you had spoken very few words, only pleasantries and Draco’s invitation to dance. You could tell there was an initial shock when he first saw you. After all, it was the first time you had accepted one of the Malfoys’ gala invites. You always told your friends you couldn’t imagine yourself within the bitter walls of Malfoy Manor, but they knew the real reason you had never attended an event here.
“It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen you,” Draco suddenly said. He spoke quietly, but not necessarily soft. Just hushed.
You nervously shifted your hand from his shoulder to the space just below it. Immediately stunned with how toned he still seemed to be, you moved your hand back to where it had been. You shook off your nerves.
“Yes, I’ve been very busy.”
“So I’ve heard,” Draco commented. “Working our way up to Minister for Magic, are we?”
You flushed before looking up and noticing the smirk Draco wore. He knew you had never wanted such a stuffy job, but he also knew that you would not stop working toward the top until you reached it. And perhaps he was right: what next step was there but Minister for Magic?
You returned his chiding smile. “Not quite the plan, but if that’s where life takes me, who am I to fight it?”
“Ah,” Draco sighed, “you and your ideas of fate.”
A rise in the music called for a quick turn, and Draco spun you around with as much grace as humanly possible. You were not a dancer in any sense of the word, but you had been to enough formal events to know how to tame a dancefloor.
As you settled back into your sways, Draco exhaled. “Perhaps you are onto something. If I had any say in where life took me, I wouldn’t be here right now.” You sent a troubled look Draco’s way. Your expression must have done its job, for he quickly elaborated. “Well, I suppose I would still be dancing with you. But certainly not as an unhappy man married to another woman.”
There it was, you thought. You knew the night wouldn’t last long without some mention of Astoria. However, you had thought that Draco’s first reference to her would be one of a raving nature. After all, she was pregnant with his child–a son you had heard–and you had seen how they grew fond of one another over the past several years. You knew how excited Draco was to be a father, but maybe that didn’t have to mean he was thrilled to be a husband.
But of course, you knew that voicing any of this would lead to conversations you simply weren’t ready to have. And so you congratulated him on the approaching arrival of his son instead.
“I heard about Astoria’s pregnancy,” you told him. The music swelled around you, just enough that the other pairs thought it the perfect moment for a dip, but you and Draco remained still. His wife was not present tonight, and you assumed it was due to the late stage of her pregnancy. You had heard the news months ago, but this was the first time seeing Draco since then. “You must be so happy.”
Foregoing speaking, Draco hummed in agreement. You took the moment that his eyes glazed over as an opportunity to watch his face. There was stress there, and age, undoubtedly, but it also appeared as though some of the lines were from grins and laughter rather than worry. You were glad. If Draco couldn’t have been happy with you, you were satisfied to see that he found it somewhere.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Draco interrupted with a cough and a murmur. He was not looking at you, but at the sparkling ceiling above. They must have cast a charm on it earlier in the day to bring the night sky indoors. “That I must be so content in this life. A beautiful wife, a baby on the way.”
Draco looked back down at you, tightening his grip on your waist just a fraction, just enough for you to notice. “But it wasn’t what I wanted.”
“You always–” you began, but Draco cut you off.
“It was never about what I wanted though,” he said. He gestured around the two of you. “This was always what they planned for me, I suppose, fate be damned.” You both studied the people around you, faceless space-fillers in the grandeur of the Malfoy way of life. And then, without any preface: “I loved you, know you.”
You couldn’t deny that you had dreamt of this moment over many restless nights, alone in your flat while Draco laid happily with a wife that was not you, in a life you weren’t a part of. Though the pair of you had been so close in Hogwarts that nearly everyone assumed you were dating, nothing romantic ever quite happened. Of course, there were late nights in the library and whispered secrets and almost-kisses, but nothing solid. When Draco had asked you to be his date to the Yule Ball in fourth year, you thought that surely he would confess his feelings for you, but later that night, you saw him with another Slytherin and ignored him for a week, even when he brought you sweets every day. But now, over ten years later, for some reason, Draco thought it an opportune moment to say the words you had waited ages for? You were frustrated, angry almost to the point of madness, but you didn’t realize it then. Only later, when the party was over and you returned home, would you reflect on his words and their horrid timing and realize just what an idiot Draco Malfoy really is.
Right now, the only words you could muster were the truth. “So did I.”
“How mindless,” he mused, scoffing as he shook his head a bit, “all those wasted years. All those missed opportunities.” He paused. “Though I suppose one made more difference than all the others.”
You nodded solemnly, needing no more information to know exactly which he referred to. The Battle of Hogwarts had been a sobering event in countless ways, one of which being that it proved loyalties. You still maintained that a part of you had thought Draco would defy Voldemort and his family when the time came. And yet, when it did, you squeezed his hand, and he dropped yours. An ending so devastatingly different from the one you often daydreamed about. There was no way to go back now, but you still said, “You didn’t have to do that.”
And just as you hadn’t needed further explanation, neither did he. As though the conversation had not already been serious, Draco sobered. He looked to the ground, avoiding your eyes. “I thought I did,” he said. “It felt like the only way to protect my family.” He chuckled a bit at his own misfortune, though it was not a pleasant sound. “All that to keep them safe, and they still remain the root of my discontent.”
“I know it’s not worth much, but I do believe they thought they were doing what was best for you.” You shifted the hand on Draco’s shoulder up a notch to rest on his cheek. You knew if anyone looked too closely at the two of you in this moment, they would be suspicious of such an aura between Draco Malfoy, a married man, and this strange unrecognizable woman. But here you were, and you did not mind the stares. “I hope you find happiness, Draco.”
He reached his own hand to rest upon yours, and you could have sworn that his previously icy fingers warmed upon meeting yours. “Maybe we could have had that,” he said. “Happiness.” He glanced into your eyes, and it was the first time you felt he had truly looked at you all night. A flicker of warmth flashed across his eyes, and as soon as you registered it, it disappeared, replaced by an unfeeling glaze. “Maybe if you had told me then.”
And with that, he lowered his hand, dropped your waist, and turned away.
As the orchestra finished their piece, the other partygoers clapped their hands in amusement, hoping for another chapter of music.
You stood, frozen in the middle of the dancefloor, and watched, helpless, as Draco Malfoy left the ballroom, walking away from you again.
And you were left with that damned word, that held so much and yet nothing at all.
Summary: In which Y/N finds Fred after the war, along with a confusing surprise.
A/N: Ok so I really loved this idea and I was so excited to write it, but at about the 1k word mark I just didn’t know how to finish it? I think it’s pretty obvious where I got a little choppy and was just trying to tie things together, so I apologize in advance for that.
Warnings: mentions of death, war
Word Count: 1.6k
. . .
As the sounds of the battle died around you and the chaos calmed, you had only one thought: Fred Weasley.
You had not seen your boyfriend since he ran off with George and Percy what felt like hours ago. With each injured student, each destructed column you passed, your hopes dimmed, but Fred was resourceful, surely he was fine. Perhaps you would not find him unscathed, but you were not either.
In fact, seconds after Harry revealed himself to be alive, a Death Eater had shot out a curse that sent you flying backward into a pile of Hogwarts’s remains. You could remember someone yelling your name, maybe Hermione, or it could have been Luna: all the commotion had drowned out their call. But after that, everything was blank. You just remembered waking up a little while later in that same heap of rubble and hearing someone cheer that the battle was over. Harry Potter had finally defeated Voldemort. And while that was fabulous, what you really wanted to celebrate was a reunion with Fred.
As you walked through the castle, you wished you could find Harry. You had grown quite fond of the younger boy during your time with Fred, especially since the both of you were always hanging around the Burrow. It had been years since you began to think of him as a friend, and while you wanted to make sure he was alright, above all you wanted him to know how proud you were. But that would have to wait. Harry was likely with Ron and Hermione, acknowledging the end of their long fight. You couldn’t blame him; you wanted the same with Fred. Besides, there would be time later for you to see Harry. You were safe now.
It seemed impossible that anything could pain your soul more than the deaths of your old classmates, but the crumbling walls of the once majestic Hogwarts Castle sent new shudders of heartbreak through you. These walls once held all of your best memories, with Fred, with George, and with all your other best friends. You had graduated the year before, and yet Hogwarts still felt like home. But this—this miserable remnant of your glory days—all it did was hurt.
But then you saw him. As your gaze shifted from the wreckage around you to a figure standing a few metres away, you saw him. Staring at a portrait of all things, the boy who used to taunt the subjects in his school days, was Fred Weasley, seemingly untouched by the destruction around him. You let out a sigh of relief, one so loud that Fred turned his head, immediately to be met by your huge grin.
“Fred,” you exhaled.
All that was stopping you from running into his arms were his confused features. Shouldn’t he be happy? You were both alive and relatively unharmed.
Your first thought was that maybe he hadn’t expected you to survive. He always had that nasty habit of underestimating you, even though you always proved that you could handle yourself. Maybe it was his secret desire to be your knight in shining armour that needed convincing.
In a moment, he appeared to shake off his shock and began taking steps toward you. As soon as he moved, you couldn’t help yourself from flinging yourself at him. You skipped over the rubble strewn on the ground, being particularly careful not to step on any of the portraits (while Fred made fun of them, you had a fondness for most of them). You were still a good distance away from him when you jumped at him and clung to his figure.
“Fred,” you repeated.
His body was not as warm as usual, which you thought strange with all the disorder, but there was no doubt he was still your Fred. Still strong and soft and with a persisting aroma of cinnamon. Still Fred.
As you hung onto him, he moved his arms to hold you tight, using one to stroke the hair on the back of your head. For a moment, all you felt was happiness. The castle was quiet but for the ragged breathing of yourself and Fred. In the distance you could hear the clamber of students and professors in the Great Hall, but for now, it was just you and your lover. It was over, and you were back in the arms of the one you loved.
But then—
“Oh darling, I’m so sorry.”
Fred’s whisper in your ear, and the soberness with which he said it, was perplexing, to say the least. You leaned back to look in his eyes, his beautiful, big eyes, and squinted your own.
“Fred, for what?” you wondered. “What could you possibly be sorry for?”
It was now Fred’s second turn to raise his brows in bewilderment. He shook his head in what seemed like disbelief. “Well . . .” he began; you could feel him lifting his arms off of you as if in a shrug, “because you can see me . . .”
You thought your head was going to explode. What in the world was he going on about?
“How could that be anything but a miracle?”
“Because I’m dead?” Every hair on your body prickled, standing on end. “I died, and if you can see me then—”
“What?” It was impossible for you to even think about any other word at that moment, let alone speak one. You thought that you would not be able to form another coherent thought for the rest of your life.
“I-” Fred hesitates. “Did they not tell you?”
“Who?” This is all happening so fast. “Tell me what?”
“Well, my family, I suppose.”
“That you . . .” you began, “that you’re . . . dead?”
As if not even registering the severity of this, Fred nonchalantly replied, “Well, yes, but that’s not particularly what I’m sorry for, I just mean -”
“You ought to be sorry that you’re dead, Fred Weasley!” you yelled to him, throwing your hands up in the air.
It was at about this time that you realized crowds of people were walking past you and Fred. Some sulked, some sprinted, some simply meandered, but they all had one thing in common: not a single one of them noticed the pair of you. You could have sworn you saw puffs of red hair in the distance and immediately pegged them as the rest of the Weasleys, and yet none of them had approached you. Fred was their kin, but after all these years, they had become your family as well, and yet none of them thought to find you in the aftermath?
Confused, and perhaps a bit stunned, by your silence, Fred must have followed your gaze, for in the next second, as you moved to near those familiar faces, he grabbed your arm.
When you glanced back at him, his eyes were wide, concerned. “I wouldn’t, Y/N. Let them be.”
Without a word, you shook his grip and took a few steps forward. When you neared the entrance to the Great Hall, you realized the Weasleys’ faces were much less jovial than usual. In fact, most, if not all of them, displayed tears.
“Why are they-” you paused. Dazed. Suddenly working out what had the Weasleys so despondent. What their slumped bodies were huddled around.
A body.
Your body.
And Fred’s.
You hadn’t even realized how still you were until Fred’s soft hand on your shoulder sent trembles through each of your individual limbs.
You thought your own death would make you . . . sad?
It wasn’t that you didn’t feel anything, or that you were numb, it was just that the emotions you felt were not miserable ones.
You voiced this to Fred. “I thought it would feel different.”
“I know what you mean,” he replied in a dim voice. “I’m sad for them, but not for myself, if that makes sense.”
You nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. People would not have thought that people like you and Fred would often be on the same page—or even in the same book—in terms of emotions, but it was actually rare that you were not. And now, more than ever, that meant the world to you both.
“Will they be all right?” you asked. Even as the words left your mouth, you knew the answer. They were the Weasleys. They could survive anything. Upon seeing even Ginny in tears, you had faltered for a moment, but you watched as she wiped her eyes and placed a soft kiss on Fred’s forehead, and then on your own. She stood. Hugged George. Steadied herself.
And you did the same.
“Do we stay here now?”
“I’m not sure why you assume I of all people would know the answer to that question,” Fred said, and when you turned toward him you could see the beginnings of a smile forming on his face. You wanted to tell him you thought him the expert on death with all the time he spent with the ghosts and poltergeists in his time at Hogwarts, but you were too distracted by his growing grin. And when he spoke next, you presumed you knew why it had appeared. “But I suppose we can go wherever we’d like now. Together.”
You nodded, once, sniffing back the tears that suddenly threatened to spill over. You didn’t know why you were unexpectedly overcome with emotion, but it likely had something to do with the prospect of spending forever with Fred. Of course, life would be different now, if you could even call it that anymore, but that didn’t mean it would be any less full.
With a kiss on your head and the clasp of your hand, Fred began to tug you toward him. Toward whatever came next. Toward forever.
imagine being apart of the marauders (or at least close friends with them)
wrote this running on 0 hours of sleep so I’ll be editing soon
running into them during one of their pranks in third year
them thinking you were going to rat them out
but instead you lectured them about how idiotic their plan was then told them how they could’ve done better
them being quite shocked
slowly becoming friends
would definitely prank you
because they just wanted to see what you’d do as payback so they could get a few new ideas since they were running out
them seeing you as their little sister by the end of third year
a vast majority of the school thinking you’re dating all three of them
you’re not, of course
but that doesn’t stop people from thinking so
so you guys just ignore them
if they keep bothering you James and Sirius would probably hex them
or the four of them would prank them
or both
being very protective of you when another student starts getting a little too close or stares for a little too long
“I don’t need to be babied!”
“Shut up, do you want some chocolate?”
oh and speaking of chocolate
they know how to help you through your periods
lots of blankets for cuddling
having an almost endless supply of chocolates, candies and whatever else you may want
Remus helping you study and recommending new books he thinks you might enjoy
“Hey (Y/N), have you read this book yet? I just finished it and it’s really good, you should read it sometime.”
eventually he’d just stop asking and just place it on your bed along with some chocolate
the Marauders not letting you go with them on full nights
them also being scared to tell you at first, especially Remus
but you didn’t really mind
so while they were out on the full moon, you’d be sneaking around the castle getting as much food as possible
Sirius coming to you for advice
letting his walls down whenever he was around you
platonic cuddles!
lots and lots of platonic cuddling
James would be the most protective over you
he’s already the mother hen of the Marauders
but with you?
oh boy
just goes full protection mode
sometimes he can be a little too much
but it’s just because he doesn’t want to see you get hurt
by anyone
will punch someone who looks at you wrong with no hesitation
Peter sneaking around the school with you late at night when you’re bored
often sneaks food to you when you’re hungry in class
when James and Lily started talking at the end of sixth year she’s undeniably jealous of you
she thinks you like him and her smile instantly drops when you’re near
because she’d enter the Gryffidnor Common Room to look for James
only to see him laying on the couch with his head in your lap while you hummed a song, eyes glued to your book
she’d just turn around then ignore him for the next week
that is until seventh year starts
and the two of you are paired together for Potions
it was awkward at first
she’d flash you a convincing smile
though not convincing enough
and you just politely smiled back
but 10 minutes in and Professor Slughorn says something
you quietly mock him under your breathe thinking no one would hear you
but Lily did and she almost got kicked out of class for laughing
and that was the beginning of your friendship with Lily Evans
the boys were very confused a week later when they saw you walk towards her and instead of frowning she pulled you into a hug ?
“When did this happen?”
“Potions.”
helping James ask her out
helping Lily realize her feelings for James
being the one both of them would come to for relationship advice
Jily finally becoming an official couple
going to the Potters for the Christmas holidays
getting a little too drunk in his basement which resulted in everyone passing out
you woke up in Sirius’ arms on the couch
Lily with James’ head on her lap on the opposite side of the couch
Remus had pushed two arm chairs together to sleep
(he was also the most sober one and placed blankets on all of you before going to sleep himself )
Peter was sprawled on the ground
joining The Order right after graduating
you and Sirius being named godparents after Harry is born
the two of spoiled the child beyond belief
then Voldemort happens and whatever
Sirius is wrongfully imprisoned because Pettigrew’s a pussy
you gain custody of Harry James Potter
and though Remus tried to get joint custody and it didn’t work, he often visited and helped you raise Harry
you knew Sirius didn’t kill Pettigrew
Remus, however, did not
you’d still tell Harry about Sirius though because he’s his godfather
time skip to when Sirius escapes Azkaban but instead of staying at 12 Grimmauld Place, he stays at yours
a fairly large house in a Muggle community
Sirius being so happy to finally see you, Remus and Harry again
but then old Voldy comes back again
Battle of the Department of Mysteries happens
and while Remus was holding Harry back from running through the veil with Sirius
you were chasing after Bellatrix
successfully using crucio on her
only stopping when you realized Harry - and his friends - were watching
though they understood and didn’t judge
you broke down that night
and when Harry came the next night the two of you ate dinner in silence
time skip again lmao to Battle of Hogwarts
Tonks and Remus die
you being the last Marauder alive
and being the only one able to grow old with your family
“(Y/N) is most likely to outlive us all.” You remembered James saying one night in the Gryffidnor Common Room
“Why must you always be right, Potter?”
naming your kids after the Marauders
also being the only one to die of old age
though when you woke up one day you noticed you were 17 again and quite scared because what the hell was happened
and you seemed to be in your old dorm back at Hogwarts
then you realized
“Took you long enough.”
A/N: If you don’t understand the ending, reader died (naturally in their sleep) and one (or all) of the Marauders said that last line (you can imagine whoever you’d like)
Taglist (there’s bits of Sirius Black x Platonic!Reader so this counts right?): @jellybeanduck99 @coldlilheart @strangerpilot011 @bravelyparker @emmaloo21 @lozzybowe @jjklefttoe @kamilantya (couldn’t tag you for some reason, sorry)
A/N: Hope you like! Please like, reblog, comment, whatever! I need validation! 😂
***
The sun was out.
You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen it with all the rain and cloud seeming to take over lately. You missed it almost too much. You weren’t about to waste it.
“Freddie!” you called out to the older Weasley twin as you hugged the book in your arms tighter when you ran to him, hearing the last bit of his conversation with Angelina and saw his smile grow when his eyes landed on you. “Hi.” You beamed as their conversation ended.
you just go on living TOOK ME OUT. MY HEART HURTS AND ILL FOREVER BE THINKING ABOUT THIS FIC.
I am so glad/sorry . . . ? I’m glad it made you feel something, but so incredibly sorry it made your heart hurt!! (although that’s also the goal... oops) Thank you so much for reading and allowing me to share my own agony with you :)
Summary: In which Draco Malfoy destroys himself to protect his lover.
A/N: I wrote this between 2 and 4 AM, so it’s a little shitty but I’ve had this little idea for a while and finally got around to writing it so I’m just going to post it, oops. I also did not proofread in the slightest... It’s gonna be a long one, and there will probably be a good bit of backstory also, so sorry if that’s not your thing, but I hope you enjoy the heartbreak!
(PS please ignore the inconsistencies with time travel info and the butterfly effect and whatnot in this fic because quite honestly I didn’t know how else to go about it. You’ll see what I mean!!)
Warnings: mentions of death
Word Count: 4.3k
. . .
Draco Malfoy knew what he had to do.
He had known since four nights ago when Voldemort made an appearance in his own living room. Draco Malfoy, surrounded on one side by laughing Death Eaters and on the other by the grim faces of his parents, watched as his own professor was murdered, while another one watched.
Severus Snape was Draco’s godfather, and this title came with certain duties, even above those of the Dark Lord, one of which being to protect Draco. Draco was unaware of this fact, but Snape had sworn to protect him at all costs, and while it seemed that the vow would have been fulfilled after Dumbledore’s death, Severus Snape still felt a sort of honor in protecting his godson. And, as much as he despised the notion, this meant protecting his heart as well.
And so after Voldemort’s theatrics at Malfoy Manor, Snape pulled Draco aside and told him the most heartbreaking news he would likely ever hear.
“The Dark Lord,” Snape drawled. “He knows of Y/N.”
Draco Malfoy’s solemn face instantly rose to look Snape in the eye, a sudden urgency to his actions.
“What?” he questioned, standing from his chair in the corner of the drawing room to be eye level with Snape. “What does he know about her?”
Snape bowed his head in some manner of helplessness, yet stayed silent as Draco turned on his heel to approach the fireplace. He rested his arm on the ledge above it for a moment before spitting out his words once again, although this time with much more aggression.
“What does he know about her? What does he know about Y/N?”
“Draco,” Snape began, but his usual slow tone was not a quick enough source of information for the desperate Malfoy boy.
Rather than repeat his question to the stone wall he faced, he spun around to face Snape. The look on his face was all the motivation the professor needed to prioritize his answer. He may not particularly like the boy, and he certainly did not like Y/N, but he understood what it was to have the Dark Lord find one’s weakness.
“He knows,” Snape said gravely, “of your relations with her.”
Draco ran his hands across his face and through his cropped hair in angst. “So you’re saying . . .”
“Yes, my boy,” Snape confirmed, knowing exactly what Draco would have to say, “he knows of your love for her.”
Draco collapsed back into his chair as Snape merely watched. He did not expect comfort, and he thought it would be rather strange if he were to receive it. And so Draco, alone, remembered last year’s looming threat of Voldemort harming his parents if he did not do as he was told. He had thought that in itself cruel, although this was not unusual for a creature as horrid as Voldemort, but he recalled being relieved beyond measure that the Dark Lord knew nothing of his relationship with Y/N Y/L/N. He had not known what he would do if she was used as a pawn, a motivational sacrifice.
But now he knew. He knew, and Draco did not know how, but he did. And Draco thought it odd that Voldemort had not yet flaunted that to him, or to anyone, but Snape knew. Logic told Draco that of course Snape knew; he was one of Voldemort’s most trusted allies, but his grief convinced him otherwise.
Draco’s hands paused in his hair and came to lay on his thighs, just close enough to the trouser pocket that contained his wand. He leaned forward from resting on the back of the wooden chair he sat in, and in a collected tone, asked Snape, “How does he know this?”
Hesitant, Snape replied, “I am not sure. Although, you and I both know he has countless sources of information, and—”
His voice suddenly louder and sharper, Draco said, “How do you not know? Surely he would have told you this also?”
It was at this point that Snape realized Draco’s thoughts, and he reached to quell them before they could truly take root. “I assure you—”
But Draco was too quick, and before Snape could let any more words from his mouth, Draco was out of his chair, grabbing Snape’s cloak in one fist and gripping his wand in the other. He held the tip of his wand to Snape’s cheek, and for a man who was usually so composed, Snape seemed almost . . . afraid. However, he had the right, for he had never seen his godson in such a state.
“What did you tell him?” Draco whispered, his face incredibly close to Snape’s, close enough that the professor could smell the scent of shampoo wafting from his hair and the tingle of mint on his breath. He cringed.
“I told him nothing,” Snape repeated. As Draco breathed heavily into his face, Snape moved excruciatingly slowly to pull his own wand from his robes. Upon success, he pushed the tip of it into the side of Draco’s torso, and when Draco felt the pressure, he immediately backed up.
Both of their wands raised, the two men stared at each other, one defensive, one anguished, each in dangerous states. Snape’s paranoid reaction to his words convinced Draco’s inconsolable mind even further of his guilt. And so he yelled this time, “What did you tell him?”
And he shot a curse at his own godfather. Snape merely blocked the spell and begged Draco to calm himself, but before the boy could even send another curse toward him, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy rushed into the room, both concerned with the noise. Voldemort had left, and along with him any commotion, so the Manor had been silent, until the sound of Draco’s shattered voice rang through the halls. Upon seeing her son and old friend seemingly preparing to duel, Narcissa Malfoy approached Draco, and he finally noticed her.
“Mother, go,” he urged her, not wavering in his hostility toward Snape, though softening his voice a bit for his mother. Narcissa saw her son’s hands shake a bit as he aimed his wand at Snape, but he never shot another curse. Something in him broke a bit when his mother entered the room, and perhaps it was because of her lack of hesitation in approaching him despite his clearly unsteady state. Lucius did nothing, though Draco would admit his presence alone intimidated him out of trying to harm Snape further.
In a moment of weakness, or perhaps strength, Draco stalked from the room and into the gardens, and it was in the following moments of solitude that he realized what his next step had to be: what he had to do to protect Y/N.
. . .
Y/N Y/L/N’s reaction upon seeing her boyfriend was always hearty. This was mostly due to her cheerful demeanor, and that it always took her a moment to read Draco’s own mood and subsequently shift hers to fit it.
And so when Draco Apparated to her home just days before the start of their last year at Hogwarts, she needed time to adjust to his obvious devastation.
She heard a pop outside her bedroom window some time in the early afternoon, and when she looked outside, she was delighted to see a head of blonde hair headed for her backyard. That was her and Draco’s spot when she was home, and he knew that she always heard him arrive and did not need to announce himself.
Y/N threw on a sweater to brave the crisp air outside and rushed down the stairs to meet Draco. She swung open the door in the kitchen that led to her grassy backyard and nearly shouted a greeting to her boyfriend, but she noticed that he was sitting, slouched, on the brick wall around her mother’s garden, and his head was hanging low, so she sobered her presence.
Not realizing the severity of his state, Y/N still maintained a certain level of joy in his appearance. She walked around the dirt patch of fruits, vegetables, and regular flowers, and stood in front of Draco. She furrowed her eyebrows a bit and teased, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
When Draco did not answer and continued to stare at the grass beneath his dress shoes, Y/N sighed and took a seat next to him. She knew life had been terrible to him recently, especially after last year. She had been the one to convince him he was better than Voldemort’s plans, and so Draco had not harmed anyone. He had tried desperately to destroy the Vanishing Cabinet, but to no avail, and Y/N did her best to pull him through the guilt that wracked him every day because of it. It had been unbelievably difficult to forgive him for what happened because of his actions, but she had already fought so hard to convince him that he could survive Voldemort’s threats, and it seemed she was the only one who could do so. If for no one else, Y/N stayed with Draco Malfoy because he needed her, and because he would destroy himself without her.
And consequently, it was Draco Malfoy’s most menacing fear, that Voldemort would come to realize his love for Y/N. And now he had, and Draco had tried to find any solution but the one he could come to to deal with this fact. But every plan had a roadblock, most of them being that Y/N would wind up hurt, and after all she had sacrificed for him, Draco could not allow that.
“We need to go somewhere else,” Draco whispered, and his tone immediately filled Y/N with dread.
Yet, she quickly responded, “Anywhere,” and without another word, Draco took her hand and Apparated them away.
After the initial shock of the Apparition, Y/N adjusted to her surroundings to find that Draco had already begun walking away. They were on a shore of some sort, although Y/N had no idea where, and Draco was walking along the sand, away from her, under a grey sky.
“Draco!” she shouted, but he did not turn around, and she assumed the crashing of the waves was disturbing his hearing. However, she chased after him, tripping through the sifting sand, and he still did not respond to her repeated shout despite her new proximity. He did not seem to be heading toward anything in particular, and as Y/N looked around even further, she could not find anything that he even could be aiming for.
So caught up in her own thoughts and determination in reaching her horribly despondent Draco, Y/N did not even realize that he had suddenly stopped walking and was staring at the sea. So when she took a break from watching her own feet to ensure their stability and was met with a prompt crash into somebody else, she gasped. Without a word, Draco gripped the top of her arm to stop her from tumbling over, and she couldn’t say she wasn’t grateful, but she was also infuriated.
“Draco Malfoy,” she scolded. “You Apparate us to the middle of nowhere, with no warning, and then leave me practically stranded down the shoreline? Merlin, I hardly had time to figure out where I was before I had to start chasing you down—”
Draco spoke. “Y/N. Please.”
Just the tone of his voice was enough to silence her, for despite her frustration, she would always listen to Draco.
She softened immediately. “What’s wrong?”
Draco, without granting her even a quick glance, continued to stare at the waves, and the shores upon which they crashed. “I’d like to think that I’m out there in some other life.”
Y/N said nothing.
“That maybe I’m a wave in the ocean, and you’re the sand.” He paused. Shook his head. “No. Then again, perhaps it’s the other way around. Yes, you’ve always been the ocean, so I suppose I’m the grain of sand.”
“Maybe we could both be waves,” Y/N suggested, not quite sure where Draco was going with this, but knowing it would lead to him defaming himself in order to raise her up. “Maybe we’re small waves that meet and make something big.”
Draco scoffed. “You’ve always thought too highly of me,” he mumbled. “You think the best of people like me.”
“Of course I do,” she protested. “You’ve given me no reason not to. Even when you thought you were irredeemable, you proved yourself wrong.”
“No,” Draco interrupted. “I’ve proven myself right this time.”
Confused, and a bit shaken, Y/N whispered, “Draco, you’re scaring me. What’s happened?”
A beat of silence.
A wave’s thunder.
A recession of water.
A lifetime of uncertainty.
“He knows, Y/N,” Draco finally said. “He knows.”
The grim look on Draco’s face was all Y/N needed in order to know that he was speaking of Voldemort. No one else, not even his father, could instill such simultaneous fear and disgust in the eyes of Draco Malfoy. Their peers dubbed him a coward for joining Voldemort’s side, but Y/N knew the truth: knew that he had no intention of ever again following through with one of his dark plans. She knew that he was incredibly afraid of what his role entailed, but that he faced it in order to protect those he loved. He was called a coward, but Y/N thought Draco Malfoy was the bravest person she had ever met.
And for someone so brave to look so grave in this moment, in her presence: the place he usually felt most at peace . . . Well, it was disturbing. And there could be nothing else but her safety that would have Draco so troubled, so after a moment, Y/N understood what he meant. On the surface, this seemed to be an unconcerning issue. After all, so what if Voldemort knew that Draco had a girlfriend? Her blood status was not an issue. She was a half-blood, after all. But when she went to voice this, she remembered how Draco had been threatened with his family’s safety last year. How Voldemort swore that if he did not complete the task at hand, his parents would be killed. How if he found out Draco loved someone else, he would approach his threats with the same mercilessness.
As soon as the realization struck her, Y/N shifted her thinking to formulating a plan. “I’ll hide,” she suggested. “I’ll go somewhere he can’t find me. I’m not sure if the safest place would be Hogwarts, that might be too obvious.”
“Y/N,” Draco spoke, although she did not hear.
“My parents,” she continued frantically. “I’ll have to tell them or - or send them away, I don’t—”
And this time, when Draco repeated her name, with more urgency in his voice than she had ever heard, Y/N noticed. After the initial aggression with which he spoke her name, Draco’s voice softened. “Nowhere will be safe enough. He’ll find you. No matter what.”
Her body went cold.
Draco was a man of extremes. A man of loyalty and ferocity and an innate desperation to protect those he cared for, no matter what the cost. He had proven so before. There was no doubt in Y/N’s mind that he would do anything to keep her safe, even if that meant breaking her heart, along with his own.
“No,” Y/N protested, sure she knew what Draco was thinking. After all, how many times had she been able to finish his sentences for him? How many times had she read his mind before he even formulated a thought in his own consciousness? How many times had she known what he would do, how he would act before he knew so himself? “We’re not breaking up. I’m not letting you go through this by yourself Draco, we’ve seen how—”
“I’m not breaking up with you,” Draco said solemnly. It had been what felt like a lifetime since he looked at her, since he touched her.
But Y/N was too relieved at his words to comprehend the stern tone with which he spoke them. She released an alleviating sigh, thanking the universe that Draco had not gone to extremes this time, that maybe he would let her help him and they would confront this together.
“But we can’t be together either,” he continued after a moment. Y/N’s shot from the sky above her to the boy who stood stoic next to her. She tilted her head in confusion and opened her mouth to voice her bewilderment, but before she could let out more than a syllable, Draco clarified. “It’s not enough to part ways, Y/N. I’ll still love you, and he’ll still know that. I can’t care for you at all.”
This time, although still perplexed, Y/N did not move to speak. Rather, she allowed Draco to think aloud.
“A memory charm won’t be enough either, not even on the both of us. I’ve heard lovers can still feel a connection between themselves after their memories are taken. And I can’t think of any other solution . . .”
When he did not continue, Y/N whispered, “What does this mean?”
“It means I need to make a reality where I never fell in love with you.”
She furrowed her eyebrows at the sea. “If I even considered entertaining this idea, how in the hell would you go about that? We’re wizards, Draco, but even we can’t change the past to that extreme. There’s no way to—”
She stopped speaking, stopped the flailing of her arms, stopped breathing, when Draco Malfoy pulled a Time-Turner from his pocket. Even without knowledge of how Draco planned to use it, Y/N would have been shocked at his possession of one. Time-Turners were extremely rare, likely due to the peril they risked, and the last she had heard of someone owning one was Albus Dumbledore himself.
“How did you—”
“My father stole it,” Draco filled in the gaps. “I know it’s not an honorable way to come into possession of one, but I plan to use it nobly.” He turned to look at her, finally, for what seemed like the first time in years. He met her eyes for a split second, then shifted them to the charm that lay in his open palm. He grasped it shut. “Point is, Y/N, I have it, and I intend to use it to protect you. I’ll go back to before we met, I’ll prevent it, I swear.”
“Draco, you can’t just make this decision,” Y/N professed angrily. “I know I’m in danger, but I never thought loving you would be completely safe. I mean, come on, you’re Draco Malfoy. Even without You-Know-Who, your friends serve a mighty threat.”
“This isn’t a joke, Y/N.”
“I know it’s not, Draco. But this is my life too.”
When he looked up, Y/N thought he would meet her eyes, but they instead drifted over her face and to the clouds above them. He threw his hands in the air in frustration, still clasping the Time-Turner with all his might. “And that’s exactly why I need to do this! I can’t be the reason you lose it! I need to make this world so that I never put you in danger by falling in love with you.”
Y/N was not one to back down from a fight, but even she knew there was nothing to be done to change Draco’s mind. The only thing that had ever been greater than Draco’s love for her was his fear of Voldemort, and in this moment, his two phobias were colliding. And that meant there would be no steering his proposed course of action.
So rather than continue to fight him, although she desperately longed to, Y/N sat in the sand and motioned for her forlorn lover to join. He appeared hesitant, but the fact that Y/N was no longer protesting him convinced him to lower to the ground. Y/N had always been the only one able to drag him out of his conservative shell. As unproblematic an action as it seemed, Draco Malfoy would not be caught dead sitting in damp sand in the presence of anyone but his Y/N. Something about her made him forget about the trivial issues of everyday life. Sometimes she cleared his mind completely, but it was much too cloudy today for him to hope for such an outcome.
As soon as he was seated next to her, Y/N rested her head on his shoulder.
“I know there’s no way I could change your mind, but is there a chance I could convince you to wait a bit?” She looked up at him, his blue eyes, his light hair, his perfect face. “To give us some time just to be here?”
She felt his chest move with a deep breath, and she saw his head dip with a wordless nod.
And so Draco Malfoy and Y/N Y/L/N sat on an unknown, unnamed shore, exchanging stories of their time together, of the highs and lows, the laughs and tears, for what they both knew to be a long time, but what felt like none at all.
They recounted their night at the Yule Ball, and Y/N told him it was the first time she had ever seen him truly carefree. He told her he used to despise her for supporting Harry Potter, and she laughed knowingly, assuring him she already knew, but glad that he had learned to agree with her views (although only tolerate the boy). She remembered how jealous she had been when Pansy Parkinson was his Potions partner but how relieved she felt when he admitted he smelt her in his Amortentia.
And when the words were no longer enough, Draco and Y/N sat in silence, with only the crashing waves as ambience, and they watched the sun set an ocean away from their problems. Tears fell from both lovers’ eyes, especially when Y/N sat back and placed her hand on Draco’s cheek.
“You know I don’t want this,” she whispered. “But I know that you’re going to do it either way. Because that’s just who you are. You’ll do anything to protect those you love. But Draco Malfoy, before you do, I need you to know,” she paused, blinking harsh tears from her stinging eyes and trying to ignore those forming in Draco’s own, “that there is no reality in the universe in which I do not love you. I will love you in any and every world that allows us to meet.”
Draco tugged his lips into his mouth and closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, the pooling tears escaped. “And I you. Always.”
Without another word, Y/N pulled Draco’s face to her own and met his lips softer than ever before. They were both shivering at this point, but as soon as their lips connected, their bodies warmed. Draco tugged Y/N into him with a hand behind her neck, and deepened their kiss just enough to communicate his love, his yearning for another lifetime of such kisses. The kiss broke with Y/N’s shuddering breath, and she rested her forehead against Draco’s, her hand still holding his face. She felt wetness pooling at the tops of her fingers, and she swiped across Draco’s face with her thumb, all the while her eyes closed.
“You know I only wish to keep you safe,” Draco sighed. “I would not do this if I did not truly believe it to be the only way.”
Y/N nodded, and sucked in a sharp breath at the sound of a tick.
She opened her eyes to see Draco’s hands around the Time-Turner under their faces and quickly looked up at him. For a moment it seemed he would not meet her gaze, and Y/N panicked, thinking she would be forced to abandon this world looking into something other than her lover’s eyes.
But then Draco looked up, and in his mind, he wavered. He could not leave her. How could he possibly think he would be okay without her?
But if they stayed, he would eventually be without her when Voldemort reached her, and that would hurt infinitely more.
Another twist of the Time-Turner.
Countless more.
“Wait.”
Draco’s hands stilled.
“What do I do?” Y/N spoke. “The me in this reality? What does this me do without you?”
Draco shook his head slightly, almost in pain, but before he resumed his motions, he offered, “You just go on living, I suppose.”
One last turn. A twist in time. A seal of fate.
. . .
It is snowing at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
A young girl is walking to class with her peers, smiling wondrously at the frenzy of snowflakes. A blond boy walks the same path with his own companions. He races ahead of the two boys with him and crafts a snowball out of fallen snow in his gloved hands.
In another, much more fortunate reality, the same events conspire. However, in this universe, when the boy throws the pack of snow, it hits Harry Potter, his intended target, rather than the back of the beautiful girl’s head. So she hurries her pace upon predicting a brawl and ducks into the castle, already on the way to her next lesson. The boy smirks at his friends and mocks Harry Potter’s misfortune. In this universe, Y/N Y/L/N and Draco Malfoy never meet.
And so, years later, when Draco Malfoy’s heart breaks, it is not because he lived to regret falling for Y/N Y/L/N, but rather because he never got the chance.
You weren’t dumb. Although you seemed to be quite oblivious to the classes such as muggle studies and divination, you weren’t dumb. In fact, you were smart. Smart enough to realize what Remus was. Besides being the sweetest, kindest and funniest boy, he was a werewolf. You noticed, even in First year, Remus’ frequent disappearance from classes every month. At first, you believed his excuse of visiting his sick mother and barely regarded his scars. You were happy enough to have a friend who just enjoyed sitting and talking.
Truthfully, you didn’t mind the fact that the boy you were in love with was a werewolf. Who cares? He was more than his “monthly condition,” and though you’d never admit it to his face, it was your sole duty to ensure he felt comfortable and loved.
desc: he wanted to tell you how he felt. he wanted to let himself love you. he wanted to do all of these things, but first he made a promise that nobody would get hurt. but when fred was busy looking out for your heart, who was looking out for his?
word count: 3.8k
pairing: WELL THERE ISN’T ANY PAIRING IS THERE???? because unrequited love sucks and i’m feeling real sad and wanted to make fred feel sad too (sry i’m mad at myself too it’s alright you can hate me)
warning(s): angst/sadness/pure heartbreak/i hate everything
A/N: i’d like to personally apologize to fred weasley/people who love fred weasley. might i suggest listening to the piano version of all too well by taylor swift whilst reading this. feel free to cry with me, thanks. PS: i do NOT give consent for my work to be reposted on any other platform.
Just how many times had he heard the words, “Best friends always fall for one another”?
He’d very much like to tell the people that had told him that to kindly piss off, thank you very much.
He’d been hurt many times before. Of course he had. Fred was used to it at this point, he reckoned his body had adapted easily to the constant blows to the shins or knees and things. As a brother, he was always getting ragged on and wrestled with by his other siblings. He’d ended up with black eyes, split lips, knees to the stomach more times than he could count on two hands. As an athlete, he’d taken countless bludgers to the body, either on the Quidditch pitch or in the comfort of his own backyard. George had been prone to getting hurt, too. Of course, Fred had always jumped at the chance to help George feel better, whenever he needed it. Fred loved being the older of the two. He always took his job as “big brother” very seriously, and it only got stronger once Ron and Ginny were born. He wanted to be somebody they could need.
But there was something different about this type of hurt. He couldn’t control it. He couldn’t make sense of it, and nobody could fix it, not even his own twin.
On the outside, Fred had always put forth an aura of confidence. Nothing could get him down, could it? He’d be dammed if he ever let anyone see him with nothing but a huge grin on his face, that usual mischievous glint in his eye. But on the inside, he was just like everyone else.
As a hoarse cry escaped him, he clamped his hand over his mouth, desperate to not let the sounds of his broken heart echo their way down into the common room, to where his friends were indulging in hot cups of butterbeer, cheering for Harry’s tumultuous win versus the others in the tournament, all the while unaware of Fred, unable to control his emotions and crumpling to the ground like a pit of scrap parchment thrown into the bin.
It was his own fault really. He shouldn’t have been so bloody stupid in the first place. He had this coming from the start. He felt a painful, unfamiliar burn in the back of his throat before his vision turned blurry yet again. He didn’t want to replay the sound of you saying I’m so sorry over and over in his head, like a broken record. He muffled some sort of expletive under his breath, and though he’d never admit it, all he yearned for was nothing more than a tight embrace from his brother.
request(s): from anon(s): How would George say I love you to his s/o for the first time? | How would George propose to his S/O?
warning(s): none man it’s all fluff, not proofread
A/N: i put these two requests together nonnies and i hope you don’t mind! also my undying love for this boy knows no fucking end he’s just perfect </3
You stood at the far end of the Room of Requirement, practicing your stunning charms with the rest of the DA while Umbridge went blissfully unaware of any of your illicit gatherings.
Fred stood at the other end and watched you carefully. He reacted a moment to slowly, and your spell sent him flying backwards, hitting the ground with a loud thump.
His brothers, next to you, fell into a fit of laughter as Fred struggled to stand up properly. He came over to you and said, “If you weren’t one of my closest friends I’d actually be a bit offended at how bloody brilliant that was,”
“Thanks, Freddie,” you told him, brushing some dirt off of his sweater.
George picked you up and spun you around. “Bloody hell. Please do that to him all the time.”
You laughed, grinning giddily. “I’ll do my best, Georgie,”
“You’re brilliant,” he told you. “Beyond brilliant—I love you, Y/N—I will never let him live this down.”
Your heart skipped a beat at the I love you part. You nursed that I love you for weeks, for months, and wondered—did he truly mean it? If he did, how did he mean it? Did he want to be more than friends, or something—or was it just a friendly I love you?
Which, of course, brings you to now.
“I love you, you know.”
You were both still recovering from the aftermath of the war. The gash above your eyebrow had healed into a slight scar, and George was still finding bruises and burns along his arms. Almost losing you, almost losing Fred, it proved to be a lot for George to handle. He was slowly but surely falling back into his normal routine. But the coziness of your tidy home that was very close to the Burrow made everything seem a bit lighter. That, and the fact that everything was over. Truly over.
“I love you, too,” you told him back, pressing your lips to his as you stood out in your garden in the setting sun. You went back to fixing the lavender and sunflowers, when George said something that caught you off guard.
“I meant it. When I first told you that I loved you.” A small smile tugged at the edges of his lips. Ever since the war, all George seemed to want to do was reminisce. It was as if he were trying to hold onto something that he almost lost. Your heart raced at the thought.
Thinking on this, you stood up and crossed your arms. “When, in the Room of Requirement during that DA meeting? You’re mad,”
“Yeah, for you, I was,” he replied, swinging his arms around your waist and grinned, “And I still am. It’s just hard to imagine we almost didn’t have all this...” he peered at your house, at the fire in the living space burning slowly inside, at you, in his arms, happy and healthy and alive.
“I knew you meant it,” you lied. “You weren’t so subtle with your feelings.” At this, you laughed, and his face flushed red even though he laughed, too. “I’m just joking, darling. I meant it too...even though we hadn’t truly confessed our feelings yet.”
George pressed a kiss to your temple as you waved at Mrs. Weasley from across the road. She was watering the flowers on her windowsill, and waved back at you both before making her way back inside the Burrow.
Not thinking anymore on it, you picked up the watering can and continued to water the lavender and sunflowers, turning away from George. You asked him, “Love, can you bring out the roses from the kitchen? I reckon those need a little sunlight, too,”
But George didn’t listen. When you turned back around, he was still there, peering at you admiringly, and ran his fingers through your hair, down your arms, and across your rose pink sundress. He played absentmindedly with your loose curls that fell across your shoulders, and you watched the rise and fall of his chest with every breath.
“What is it, George?”
He brought his hand to you cheek and wrapped it around your neck, smiling nervously at you and furrowing his brows. “I never want to be without you,”
He was nervous. You could tell. But why? You placed your hands upon his chest and asked him with a concerned tone to your voice, “Are you alright?”
And the answer was yes. Of course it was. Because as soon as he knelt down in front of you, and opened a box with a diamond ring, you were the one who was not alright.
“Marry me,” he said with a hitch in his voice. You’d almost missed it.
“What?” You asked him, bewildered.
He cleared his throat and actually laughed. He was proposing to you, and the bloke laughed. “I reckon I probably could have done that better—” Your heart could not stop racing. Were you dreaming this, or did George Weasley actually just ask you to be his wife? “I love you—I always have and I always will—you’re the one I want to wake up next to every morning, the one I want to always tease, the one I want to grow old with, so darling, will you—”
“Yes!” you cried, maybe a little too excitedly. Tears were escaping your eyes with no effort. “Yes, I’ll marry you,”
When the ring was on your finger, and the millions of hugs and kisses were exchanged, you admitted to George, “I didn’t know, actually. That you truly loved me then. I just hoped.” You sat in the grass underneath the sun, breathing in the summer air.
He embraced you tightly from behind and pressed a kiss onto your shoulder. The grass around your ankle was tickling you slightly. You pulled George’s arms tighter around you and twirled a sunflower in your hand. “I’m glad you did. Now you’re stuck with me forever. Hope you’re ready for a lifetime of pranks from your brother-in-law,”
You beamed at the thought and bit your bottom lip. “I reckon he’ll be rather happy about that, yeah?”
You felt George smile against your skin and excited nerves swallowed you whole when he told you, “Not as much as me, love.”
tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley
reblogs + feedback are always appreciated! :) drop me a message if you’d like to be added to the tag list
Pairing: James Potter x gn!Reader - Marauders x Reader Content
Word Count: 5.9k (jdklfdh im sorry)
Warnings: Underage Drinking, Implications of… yeah. I think that’s about it.
Requested: Yes, a long time (i feel bad for only getting to it but i hope the nonnie stuck around to see this piece) by an anon who asked for James x Reader with childhood best friends to lovers trope.
Summary: In which, James Potter was busy writing himself a message on the wall but was too blind to read what he had to say.
Pictures.
In actuality they were only images. For Muggles, they stood stagnant, for James Potter they moved slightly.
Summary: Harry visits his first love at St. Mungo’s Hospital
After the war, it was expected that the Wizarding World would be in shambles. Harry’s friends, his family all separated to grieve in their own personal way. He, in fact, didn’t see Hermione for the longest time after the war neither did he see the Weasley family very often. He understood. Living through the war was almost as bad as dying from it. The memories stick to your teeth and implant themselves into your bones so you’re forced to relive it every time you close your eyes. But, week after week and month after month, the Wizarding World seemed to heal by individual stitches. Harry saw Hermione and Ron more often, debating on whether or not to return to school, and he was squished in a large hug from Mrs. Weasley. He even traveled and saw Luna who had been living in a small cottage in the woods. But, you. It was you he had seen the most, every Sunday of every week at St. Mungos.
You were, by all definition, Harry’s first love, perhaps even only love. Next to him, side by side, you faced the difficulties that Harry had seen throughout his years at Hogwarts. However, during the war, something happened. No one was quite sure what took place to make you lose sanity, but Harry didn’t care. You were still the girl he loved, still, the girl he had faith in.
Harry tousled his hair and held the bouquet of flowers in his grip. He entered St. Mungos which was quieter than usual and greeted the nurse at the front.
“Here for Y/N?” she asked,
“How is she today?” Harry replied, looking around the halls.
“She’s how she usually is, though I suppose today she is a bit tired. Go on then,” she directed Harry.
As Harry approached your hospital room, he took a deep breath. It killed him to see you like this. Why couldn’t he have stopped you from fighting? Why didn’t he tell you to stay home? Guilt bit at him. But, instead of delaying, he knocked on the door.
“Come in,” your sweet voice rang. Harry turned the doorknob to see you, sitting perched on your bed. You were reading some sort of book with your legs crossed. “Oh! Harry! I didn’t know you were coming today.”
Harry paced in, feeling a smile on his lips. “Why wouldn’t I be here? I come every Sunday.”
Your eyes furrowed, “Is it Sunday already? Have you brought me flowers? You shouldn’t have!”
“I always bring you flowers,” Harry reminded, moving towards the vase to throw out last week’s flowers and placing the new ones in them.
“Do you?” you tried to remember, narrowing your eyes in concentration.
“Yes,” he sat next to your bed, holding your hand in his.
“How did you know I love Forget-Me-Nots?”
“I suppose I just had an inkling,” Harry replied brushing off the fact that you told him you love Forget-Me-Nots every time. “What are you reading?”
You flipped the book to show off the cover, “I’m reading Romeo and Juliet.”
Harry squinted in his glasses to see the book reading the title ‘Little Women,’ he frowned slightly before answering, “Last week you were reading Romeo and Juliet, you’re reading Little Women this week.”
You shook your head, “No! This book is about four sisters and a lovely fellow named Laurie, and…” you trailed off, “Oh.”
Harry patted your hand, “No worries, we’re all a little forgetful sometimes.”
“Why are you here, Harry?” you asked, crossing your legs to face him.
“What do you mean?”
“Isn’t the war starting? You should be out there finding the Horcruxes!”
Summary: In which George Weasley tries to spare his lover.
A/N: I thought this fic was going to go in a very different direction, but as I wrote, I just . . . well, kept writing. And as I did, the story changed in my mind, and this is the product. Don’t even know what else to say.
Warnings: mentions of death, argument, food
Word Count: 3.7k
. . .
George Weasley had not been the same since the war.
This was to be expected, of course. His best friend, his twin brother, had been killed, and how could he possibly be the same with his other half missing?
The short answer was that he could not.
The long answer, however—the real answer,—was that he really did try. For weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, George Weasley thought for sure he would never be happy again. His joke shop was mere metres below his own feet at every moment, and yet he could never bring himself to down the flight of stairs leading to the shop. Instead, someone else took care of the logistics and cancelled the coming inventory when she realized Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes would not be back in business for quite a while. This was the same person who made sure George always had a glass of water on his bedside table and who checked in on him every hour or so just to see if he had found the energy to wake. Each morning, she slipped into George’s room from her temporary sleeping spot on the living room couch, and spread open the curtains that she had drawn the night before, just in case George awoke and reached for the sunlight. In the early days, she did not realize just how long it would be until he would do so.
. . .
It was May 29 of 1998, twenty-seven days after George had lost Fred, when he realized this wonderful woman, his beautiful Y/N, had lost people too. George fancied himself a relatively empathetic person, but in the pain of losing his brother, he had forgotten that his girlfriend deserved the same care she had gifted to him. She never had a chance to mourn: since day one, it was her providing for George, and he was too consumed with his own grief to see it. However, when George awoke on that morning near the end of such a terrible month, he saw the clothes laid out and the window cracked open for what they truly were: Y/N’s love.
She had known not to push him in the beginning. Perhaps just the suggestion of a shower here and there, or an offer of dinner. But recently things had been different. She knew what George needed—she knew better than anyone—and he could not have been more grateful in that moment for the sunlight streaming through the open blinds and the sounds of Diagon Alley slipping through the cracked open window. When he sat up in bed, he could have sworn his head spun around one thousand times.
Maybe it was during this momentary loss of consciousness that George Weasley’s brain opened wide enough to realize he would never deserve Y/N Y/L/N.
He had told her countless times before, of course, but always out of adoration and genuine confusion on how he landed such a perfect woman. She had been there through everything, and George knew that if he did not take action, she would continue to suffer for him. He had been a horrid partner up to this point, and he could not allow himself comfort at her expense. After all, he would never be the same, so what was the point of keeping her waiting around for her George to come back?
. . .
At the sound of creaking floorboards, Y/N instantly shot up from her spot at the kitchen table. She had just finished making breakfast and was enjoying her share of the eggs she made. Her share, George figured, because there was another plate of food sitting at the other end of the table. A brief moment of selfish panic crossed his mind at the thought of her lovingly preparing something for anyone other than himself.
He lifted his gaze from the plate of eggs and toast when Y/N cleared her throat.
“George,” she whispered. Her body seemed to unconsciously back up, sending her chair skidding across the wooden floor. She nearly moved to approach him but thought better of it, deciding to merely gesture toward the empty spot across from her. She knew him well. “There’s food,” she said.
“For me?” George asked with a hitch in his throat at the effort of speaking after so many weeks of silence.
“Of course. Who else?” Y/N replied, shaking her head. “Although I usually bring it into your room and just leave it there, and sometimes when I come back it’s gone, and other times you’ve hardly touched it, but obviously you know that. After all you’re the one that eats-”
George cut off her nervous rambling with a silent nod and took a seat, thinking even further about how he could never make up for what he had put her through. Y/N’s mouth snapped shut, and she stared as he lifted his fork. Apparently deciding he was not going to flee, she sat back down as well. As he took small, slow bites, George noticed that Y/N had not moved from her straight-backed, hands-on-her-lap position. He looked up to meet her eyes and was greeted with a hesitant smile.
George spoke suddenly. “You don’t have to be so tense, Y/N. I’m not going to go feral.”
Without knowing what her reaction should be, Y/N let out a timid laugh that made her lips quiver and moved her hands to the top of the table. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
“Yes, well, I figured there were some things I needed to talk to you about,” George explained. This was a shock to both of them, George jumping into things right away. Well, he had never been the kind to wait around for things to happen: he always made them happen. While Y/N was surely taken aback, only George knew the true gravity of his words. “After breakfast.”
“Certainly,” Y/N conceded, allowing George whatever time he wanted or needed to take to discuss what was on his mind, even if it was something as simple as wishing for an additional piece of toast or salt for his eggs. Y/N was not the best cook, but she definitely tried, especially for George. She made him the same breakfast she herself ate every morning, along with any other meal she prepared, and when he did not eat it worried her. She had been so incredibly relieved when she entered his room five days after the battle and noticed that he had taken a bite of his toast. It was a step up from eating nothing. And every day, she made him food that she hoped and prayed he would eat. She would do anything for him, just as she knew he would do the same for her.
She could not have known that in his own mind, George was doubting if he ever could have acted out of care for her in the same manner that she had for him. There was a small seed of doubt, and although George Weasley seemed the farthest thing from a worrier, when it came to Y/N, he was constantly and painfully aware of his inadequacies. And he would convince her of them, if it was the last thing he said to her.
. . .
Y/N had stared at him while he ate the rest of his meal, a feat she was both shocked and unsurprised that he could accomplish. He and his brothers had always been big eaters, but the past few weeks had proven just how little George could survive on. Y/N thought that his stomach had surely shrunk in the time since the war.
What had not diminished in even the slightest was Y/N’s complete and utter admiration for her lover. While he scolded himself for being so weak, she marveled at how strong he had remained through it all. Sure, he had taken some much needed time to recuperate, but not even one half of the infamous Weasley Twins could heal from such a heartbreak in a matter of days. And his healing would not be finished, but Y/N couldn’t help but hope that his actions today were a telling sign of what was to come.
Just as she began to smile to herself, George cleared his throat and pushed his now empty plate away, eliciting an ear-shattering screech as it ran along the wooden dining table. His sudden movement shocked Y/N back into reality, and she recalled George’s concerned tone when he had said they needed to discuss some things. Certainly nothing could be worse than what had already happened to them, so why should she worry?
And yet, as sure as she was that nothing could ever hurt her more than seeing her Georgie with a broken heart, his next words came near.
“You know I’m not one to dance around anything,” he began in a timid murmur. When Y/N moved her attention to George rather than his empty plate, she could not see his hands, and knowing him, she assumed they were under the table twiddling with each others’ thumbs, just as he did every time he seemed particularly anxious. What he could be anxious about, she could not know, but she had spent more than enough time around George Weasley to recognize his tells, and the fact that they were apparent led her to jump to the worst conclusions. “I especially don’t when it comes to you, because, well, I just think you always deserve honesty. And this is something I’ve been thinking about- well, not for a long time, I suppose, but for long enough in my mind-”
“George,” she cut him off, causing him to shift his attention from the top of the table to her eyes, which at this point were nervously flitting around the room. Before she spoke her next words, she focused again on the man seated across from her. “What is it?”
George inhaled a deep breath, which, if even possible, made Y/N more nervous, recognizing that he was steeling himself for something. “This past month, you have been so good to me, Y/N,” he said, looking down once more. “So good. And I will never be able to completely express how grateful I am for you. I never would have thought I could be sitting here at a dining table having a conversation only weeks after . . .” George drifted off and threw his arms onto the table, crossing them to create a pillow for his head which quickly followed suit. Y/N had known this situation was too good to be true: of course George would not magically wake up one day and be able to discuss the war. But no matter how long she had cared for him at his worst, she would never feel any less heartbroken at seeing him in a state of devastation. With his hands now in sight, Y/N reached across the table and gently laid one of hers on top of his, and at this, he peeked up at her through his lashes and sighed. George parted his lips and shut them again, and Y/N could see his mind working through his own thoughts. With another exhale, George continued, this time maintaining eye contact.
She deserves at least that, he figured.
With a somewhat stinging smile, George shook his head. “See now this is exactly what I mean. Here I am working up to tell you to leave me, and your priority is-”
“What?”
George ceased his speech immediately, realizing his mistake. He shut his eyes for a moment. “Y/N,” he began.
“No,” she interrupted again. “What the hell are you on about, George?”
“That’s not what I meant, Y/N. If you would just-”
Y/N rose from her chair, sending it sliding across the floor, just as she had earlier, although this time her shock came from a drastically different place than when she had seen George for what seemed like the first time in months. The harsh sound silenced them both, and Y/N stood with a seething stare. How dare George come back to her just to try and get rid of her moments later? He was absolutely unbelievable, and she would stand for no such thing.
During an eternal minute of silence in which both parties considered their next move, Y/N’s brain ventured across a horrible thought. The most horrible one she had ever encountered, to be quite honest. And in a moment of vulnerability, she voiced it.
“Do you . . .” she whispered. Cleared her voice. Tried again. “Do you not love me anymore?”
“No!” George replied, shouting out his answer before Y/N could even finish her question. “No, no, of course it’s not that, darling. It’s anything but that.”
Her anger returned. “Then what could possibly be the issue? What more could we ever need?”
George at least granted her a sympathetic look, tilting his head to the side, perhaps attempting to shake around his thoughts in the hopes that they would come together to form a sentence. But when it came to Y/N, George Weasley’s brain was always mush.
“I just can’t be the man you need me to be anymore,” he decided to respond.
“George, you must know I don’t expect you to go back to normal right away,” Y/N reasoned, with much more compassion in her voice and demeanor than before.
George stood abruptly. “No, Y/N, I mean ever. I’ll never be the same, and that’s not fair to you in the slightest. If I can spare you any more pain than I’ve already caused . . . Well, I have to. I owe that to you.”
Without responding, Y/N collected her and George’s dishes from the table and brought them around to the sink. George stood still, simply watching her movements, completely mesmerized as he was by everything she did. Even in this moment, when he knew that although he was trying to do the right thing and was failing miserably, Y/N still responded with just the right amount of grace and fire.
After dropping the plates and silverware into the sink and allowing them to clatter for a moment, Y/N gripped the edge of the porcelain, and even from across the room, George could see how the bumps of her knuckles turned white. She sniffed once and tilted her head back to look at the ceiling of their flat.
“You once told me you’ve loved me since third year,” she whispered. But George could still hear her. He always heard her.
The redheaded man nodded, not disagreeing at all with her statement. “And I have.”
“And do you think I haven’t changed since then?” With a deep breath, Y/N twirled around and crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you think I’m the same as I was when we met?”
George gave a slight shake of his head, yet still replied, “It’s not the same.”
Y/N raised her eyebrows and let out a mirthless bark. “It’s not the same?” she asked. “Of course it’s not the same, George, but what could be? Do you forget that Cedric Diggory and I were friends? That I told him to ask Cho to the Yule Ball because I knew them both so well? That I cheered him on during every Triwizard event? Do you not remember that yourself and Fr-” she paused, trying not to let her passion outweigh her empathy for George’s condition. “When yourself and your brother had to distract me with pranks because his death took such a toll on me, and not even gifting the nastiest batch of Puking Pastilles to Draco Malfoy could cheer me up?” Y/N looked down at the floor, recalling just how difficult that time had been for her, when Harry Potter had returned with the corpse of one of her best friends, and the world seemed to move on while everything around her came to a standstill. When she introduced herself to young Harry, simply because they shared such a horrible similarity. When she convinced her friends that Voldemort was back, for how could anyone else have defeated someone as powerful and just as the brave Cedric Diggory? When her broken heart was healed by the mischievous George Weasley, and she realized that perhaps her love for him went a bit past that of a friend. “Nothing could compare to what you’ve gone through, George, to the loss that you’ve suffered, but how dare you pretend I know nothing of the heartbreak that comes with losing someone you love.”
George felt horrible. Of course he remembered that. As awful as what happened to Diggory was, it brought him and Y/N together, and a part of him would always hold some twisted sort of gratitude for it. “Of course that’s-”
“That’s not what you meant, I know.” She waved him away. “But my point is, George, I have changed. Not just because of Cedric, but because of so many other things. And you have loved me through all of them.” Y/N brushed her hair behind her shoulder and stepped away from the kitchen sink to approach George. Taking both of his hands in hers, she begged him, “Let me love you through this.”
As George’s eyes brimmed with tears, he could not help but think of how his brother—how Fred—would smirk at him in the moment, but later, in private, admit that he was glad he found Y/N.
“Even if she was best friends with both of us and chose the worse twin,” he would say with a cheeky wink from across the counter of their joke shop, probably while he restocked love potions or some other form of hijinx, “I still think she’s good for you. Amazing, really.”
And then he would spike George’s drink with a crushed up hiccough sweet for him to drink right before his date with Y/N, and George would curse him and love him for it all the same. It would be irritating, but he and Y/N would laugh about it, and that was always Fred’s way.
And in that moment, perhaps only that one, George realized that as hesitant as she was to say it, Y/N missed Fred, too. After all, they had once been a trio, and she had lost him just as much as George had. George had grasped earlier that morning that she lost people in the war but had been too focused on his own pain to understand that they had lost the same people.
When George looked up at Y/N from his previous gaze on their linked hands, he noticed that she was looking at him with tears in her own eyes. She had been thinking the same thing, that while her world had been revolving around George’s wellbeing, she had not been as kind to herself as she deserved. Fred and George would always have a relationship unique to themselves, but that didn’t mean Y/N wasn’t a part of their friendship. In fact, she was a big part, and therefore she was missing a big part of herself. So at the same time George exited his nightmarish reverie, Y/N too reentered reality. And their hands were still linked. As they had been through this all, even if they had not known it.
“I couldn’t leave you, Georgie,” Y/N murmured. “Even if you pushed me right out the door and down the staircase.”
George laughed for what seemed like the first time in years, and he was surprised at how genuine it sounded to his own ears. Standing in the kitchen of the flat he used to share with his best friend in the whole world, George was reminded of Fred in the best way possible: laughter.
Y/N seemed to think the same thing, for despite the wetness pooling in her eyes, she smiled up at her lover and gave him a small nod. “You’re going to be okay, George,” she assured him, only because she knew so herself.
“We’re going to be okay,” George corrected her. He squeezed her hands and spun them around so that Y/N could sit on the kitchen chair while George kneeled on the ground. He lowered her down with his hands and then placed them on the top of her legs. As he traced small shapes on the knobs of her knees, George muttered, “I’m never trying to do the noble thing again.”
Y/N laughed, this time with real humor. “Promise?”
“Pinky swear,” George said, hooking his pinky finger around hers.
She cupped his face in her hands. “And even if it’s the evil thing to do, never try to get rid of me again, okay? Nothing could ever make me leave you. Nothing could ever make me stop loving you.”
“And if something dreadful happens in the future?” George asked with a serious tone.
“I’ll stay. I’ll never leave.”
With a much lighter voice, George wondered, “What if fifty years from now, when we’re old and grey, our favorite cat runs away and we find out some nasty little boy found it and kept it for himself? Or maybe a dog, I haven’t thought that far ahead, to be completely honest with you. I’d even be fine with a hamster if that’s what you wanted-”
“George,” Y/N said. “Even if something as foul as that were to happen to us, we could figure it out. Together this time. No more making decisions by yourself.”
Pushing his joke aside, George leant forward as hastily as he could to place a lingering kiss on Y/N’s lips. He poured every ounce of love he possibly could into that kiss, and as Y/N sighed into him with the relief of his mouth on hers once again, George Weasley knew he was the luckiest man alive. Because he knew that in the coming years, they would each face more heartbreak. It was inevitable. But neither of them would be alone. And they would always have someone to love them through it.
