A few years back i read a vampire book that was actually very good and i’ve had an obsession for MONTHS about wanting to read it again. Except i can’t find it anywhere bc it’s not famous or anything.
In the book, the main character used to be a vampire but with some magic thing she got changed into a human. In the book, vampires can’t feel the touch of others or objects and that’s mostly why she wanted to be human. We discover pretty quickly her vampire bf/friend(who i think is named something like Rhodes) sacrificed himself so she could do it.
Anyway, before dying, he brings her to a dorm in an university where he entered her in the art department so she can do photography. So when she wakes up from her magical sleep or whatever she starts school and becomes friends with this boy who i think is from the philippine. And he’s cute with glasses and super into arts. They talk at a beach party and then comes in the love interest.
He’s this tall popular blond guy that comes from a super rich family and when they first meet, he’s racing on a boat with his brothers and they almost crash and then they have a short interaction she leaves hating him but also curious. They interacted a few times and flirt but not rly bc she’s a bit weird bc she was literally a vampire 2 weeks ago. One I remember in particular is when she’s standing outside his dorm under the rain and she feels it on her skin for the first time and he comes out shirtless and joins her.
The guy is sweet and obsessed with her in a super cute way and they date and she meets his family and they have sex and everything is good. Her friend from the beginning eventually figures out something is weird and he understands she kinda is a vampire but he’s in love with her so he doesn’t care that much. They have a fallout cause he wants her but she’s in love with blond guy.
Then, her ex-bf, who is still a vampire and an asshole, finally finds her. It’s not a good thing bc he’s super mad she became human and while she was a “vegetarian” vampire, he killed people violently. I’m pretty sure friendzone guy dies and they catch her.
They try to turn her back into a vampire with some potion but it doesn’t work so she lies and passes for a vampire until she escapes and find blond guy. The poor dude was super depressed since she left but knows she’s a vampire now and tries to push her away with garlic which is funny but he’s also crying so it’s sad.
I don’t remember how it end but i remember it was SO GOOD and i want to read it again so bad so if someone knows pls pls pls tell. I am DYING over here.
James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew belting out ‘Werewolves of London’ by Warren Zevon for Remus Lupin’s greatest embarrassment in the middle of the Great Hall during their seventh year. That’s it. That’s the headcannon.
All I want in life is a movie where the main character is a woman and we see her clutch her purse when walking past a man. I want it to be completely unrelated to the plot but we still see her walk faster at night or watch carefully the group of men she walks by. I want a dude to not understand that action and his girl friend/sister/girlfriend to explain to him that this is an everyday thing for many women.
“I was always flirting with you.” “What? When did that ever happen?” “I mean, I looked at you… And sometimes you looked back.” This is from a prompt I saw on tumblr.
Shdksjsjdjdjsje first of all this is how I flirt and it’s perfectly legitimate 😂😂😂 wc: 724
“Draco… that’s not flirting. You looked at everyone we went to school with.”
“No, I didn’t! Everyone else was just… in the way of my eyes! I looked at you.”
Harry bit the inside of his cheek to hold in his laughter. “Alright, let’s pretend that’s true.”
“It is,” Draco retorted, pouting. His ice cream cone was melting in his hand, forgotten in the heat of his rubbish argument. Harry watched a violet drop slide down the cone towards his pale fingers.
“Fine, you devilish Casanova,” Harry purred, smirking. “What was going through your head while you flirted with thirteen-year-old Harry Potter?”
“The vehement notion that I hated your fucking guts, and—”
“There it is,” Harry grumbled, rolling his eyes.
“—And the unfortunate truth that I couldn’t keep my eyes off you,” Draco finished.
Harry stared at him, dumbstruck. The drop of blackberry cream slid down the back of Draco’s hand; he didn’t seem to notice, too busy piercing Harry with those intense, fiery silver eyes.
Like he was serious.
“Pull the other one,” Harry said weakly. Draco’s brows drew down, his frown deepening.
“I don’t understand what about this is so hard to believe,” he muttered. Harry—ice cream long finished—threw his hands up in vexation.
“You hated me, Draco. You’re trying to tell me you were flirting with me the whole time, by looking at me while thinking about how much you hated me?” Harry huffed. He couldn’t tell if he was more amused or perplexed or defensive or annoyed. “What kind of fond, affectionate thoughts were going through your head, whenever you took your flirting to the next level and punched me in the face?”
“The stupid, frequently recurring ones where I thought I might die if I didn’t just touch you,” Draco growled, hackles raised. “The pathetic ones where I was desperate to see your face up close, after every summer, to find all the new freckles on your cheeks from long hours in the sun, and to learn how much taller you’d gotten while I wasn’t watching. The idiotic ones where any time you looked back, when your eyes looked for me in the Great Hall instead of your legions of admirers, I felt like my fucking soul was on fire.”
Harry’s jaw dropped. The ice cream cone was now crushed in Draco’s fist, spilling over his hand. He still didn’t notice.
He looked furious.
“You really are an idiot,” Draco said, his voice low and threatening. “There was not a single person at that bloody school I watched half as much as you, of course I was flirting with you—”
“Draco, that’s not flirting,” Harry argued again, finding his speech in the reliable space of antagonism. “Flirting is actions and words—”
“When it’s convenient, you arsehole,” Draco snarled, standing abruptly, the flimsy plastic chair scraping across the tile floor. He dropped the ruined cone onto the table, pointing a shaking, purple-cream-covered finger at Harry. “How nice for you, that you’re so familiar with open admiration, you can’t fathom ever needing to hide it. Bully for you, Potter, that you never had such trivial problems as a crush, especially not a crush that would turn your whole family against you, that would get you disowned faster than you could say your own name, that would get you and your loved ones killed if the live-in Master Legilimens caught the faintest whiff of it. How bloody delightful it must have been to know open, honest romantic interest, to not have had to resort to such petty and pitiful measures when your desire spilled out of you, when it was the only way I knew how to be around you and survive it.”
Harry sat, stunned, gaping at Draco’s flushed, angry, pretty face. To Harry’s horror, a tear fell down Draco’s cheek, and Draco blinked, surprised, then turned on his heel and stormed out of the shop. The bell jingled over the door as it swung shut, throwing the entire ice cream parlor into a tense, shocked silence.
“Shit,” Harry breathed.
“Fuck are you doing, mate?” Mr. Fortescue called, turning the attention of Harry and the nosy patrons. “Get after him!”
Harry jumped up out of his seat, vanished the ice cream mess, and ran out the door, frantically calling Draco’s name. The patrons followed eagerly, like a flock of hungry geese.
😘Part Two, as requested 😂thanks for the prompt, @drarrymybeloved !! wc: 945
Harry darted around groups of people, calling Draco’s name. Diagon Alley seemed unusually packed now that he was in a hurry. A small crowd was starting to amass behind him, wondering what could have gotten the Saviour in such a tizzy. The patrons of Fortescue’s were eagerly filling them in.
He saw a flash of white blond hair disappearing into Madam Malkin’s—of course—and sprinted down the street, slipping into the robe shop and locking the door behind him.
Draco looked up from his hushed conversation with Madam Malkin and groaned, turning away and wiping his face with his sleeve. She stepped in front of him, glaring at Harry.
“Now, Auror Potter, I’ll need to see a warrant if you’re going to barge in here—”
“I’m not an Auror,” Harry mumbled, at the same time as Draco’s “He’s not an Auror.” Draco put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but she continued her protective efforts, despite the blush on her cheeks.
“Well, I’ll not have you harrassing my employees and locking my doors during business hours!” she snapped. Harry pulled out a pouch of Galleons.
“I’ll pay,” he said. “I need to talk to him.” Draco rolled his eyes.
“I don’t want to talk,” Draco muttered.
“Then listen,” Harry retorted.
“Don’t have much choice, do I?” Draco said. “You’ve locked us all in, Potter.”
“Er, right,” Harry mumbled, but didn’t move to unlock the door, because the crowd of nosy onlookers was gathering at the windows. Madam Malkin huffed and darkened them, cutting off most of the light in the shop.
“Make it quick, Mr. Potter,” she grumbled, and disappeared into the back of the shop.
Draco raised an expectant eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes were red-rimmed and steely, his cheeks flushed from anger, his bright hair tousled from running to evade Harry, and suddenly Harry forgot the entirety of the English language.
His shoulders sagged, and he stared, instead, looking directly at Draco Malfoy, seeing him. His gut churned with guilt, his mouth dried up; he had no idea how to fix this.
Draco started tapping his foot impatiently.
“Not much to listen to, Potter.”
Harry swallowed, nearly frozen with fear at the precariousness of this—these past few weeks had been some of the best of his life, and he was so close to fucking it all up, as he usually did when he opened his mouth. He wished he could pull them back from the edge with silence, but this definitely, unfortunately, required words.
He just hoped he wouldn’t make everything worse.
“You never put anything in your tea, but you didn’t like the taste, and it drove me mad,” is what came out of Harry’s mouth. Typical. Draco’s face went from defensive to indignant in less than a second.
“Potter, what the hell—”
“I watched you, every day, across the Great Hall. You had a cup of tea, every morning, and you drank it black, but you grimaced after every sip. I kept waiting for you to just give in and add the bloody milk and sugar, but you never did. I didn’t see you add anything to your tea until I saw you in this shop, this year, wandlessly stirring sugar into your teacup at the sewing machine.”
“What does that have to do with—?” Draco cut off as Harry stepped closer.
“The second I saw that, Draco, I knew I was doomed, because I could spend the rest of my life trying to learn everything there is to know about you and I would hardly scratch the surface.” Harry took another step. “Because I’ll only ever know what you allow me to know. What you want me to know.”
Draco closed his mouth, his expression wary.
“It drove me mad, that I knew how you took your tea, but I didn’t know how you liked your tea,” Harry continued. “It was so rare that I could catch you off guard, to see what was really you, and yet every time I got a glimpse, I managed to royally fuck it up.” He glanced down at Draco’s chest, where he knew he’d left scars on Draco’s body, after catching Draco with his guard down.
“Draco, I’m sorry,” Harry managed. Draco’s lips pressed together in a hard line. “You gave me that insight of your own free will, and I couldn’t even believe it, because the idea of you ever wanting anything to do with me was—well, unbelievable.” Harry was desperate to touch him. He clenched his hands at his sides to prevent it. “You’re right: I’m not used to anyone hiding their feelings about me. People have always been very straightforward in what they thought of me.” He swallowed down memories of the Dursleys, of the adoring patrons of the Leaky Cauldron when he was eleven, of the young Draco Malfoy—
Who had tried to befriend him, first, in his own strange, entitled way, right here in this very shop.
Draco glanced to the two platforms in the middle of the shop, where their eleven-year-old selves had once stood. His mouth twisted in thought—a gesture Harry recognized, but his eyes were still cold and defensive. Harry was starting to panic, a little. He was terrible with words.
“Draco—”
“Do you really want to know?” Draco interrupted. “Everything?”
“Everything,” Harry nodded eagerly. Draco’s lips twitched, igniting a spark of hope in Harry’s chest.
“I don’t even like tea,” Draco said. “Never did.”
“Okay,” Harry replied with a tentative smile. “What do you like, then?”
Draco smirked. He bit his lip, then leaned in for a kiss, which ended much too soon.
Some bitches will say ‘my boyfriend’s the best’ and then date a racist and homophobic asshole who wears Kappa and thinks Christ Brown is the best the music industry has to offer.
Sometimes I feel ashamed about something I do/think in the hp fandom and then I remember JK Rowling doesn’t agree with me and I tell myself I must be doing something right.
For exemple:
Tonks was non-binary
being in love with half of the Slytherins
being in love with fanon Draco
but also shipping drarry
shipping linny
shipping wolfstar
shipping deamus
shipping pansmione
shipping dorlene
basically shipping a lot of gay and lesbian couple
James was Indian
James was pansexual
James definitely had a crush on Remus at some point
James may have been an asshole as teen but he grew and evolved
Snape’s feelings about Lily we’re not healthy
hating Snape
hating Dumbledore
the point system was unfair and encouraged house rivalry
Slytherins were treated unfairly and with prejudices from both students and teachers
Regulus was the real Slytherin hero
young Peter was hot and a good person
Hermione was black
Lavender was black
hear me out, ✨plus size Lily✨
Cho Chang’s character was very lazy writing
Albus Severus Potter was possibly the worst name Harry could’ve given this poor child
headcanoning Peter as asexual just because he doesn’t fit your beauty standards is wrong
anyone else trying to write sad songs about break ups but then starts feeling like a fraud because the only relationship you’ve ever been in was with that guy in kindergarten and you’re not even sure he knew you were dating?
fleur delacour falling in love with bill weasley because he sees her. his youngest brother looked and went hair-eyes-teeth-legs, thought body, thought sex. her whole life, men have been looking and seeing a thing, not a girl. since she turned thirteen and bud-breasts pressed up against her shirts and boys at school wanted to sit close, men back home lingered too long in hugs.
until she was fifteen she dressed herself in shame before she put any clothes on at all. wore everything a few sizes too big, a few inches too long. draped herself in thick fabrics to hide the body beneath them. never learned that hot eyes on her were the fault of their owners, not her. took the uncomfortable stares and the endless flirtation as a fact of life. was fourteen the first time she dared to say “stop looking!” and met only laughter.
it’s not until she’s nearly sixteen and her sister is turning ten that she sees eyes begin to slide over her and to gabrielle. a friend of their father’s, not even that deep into a bottle of wine, caresses a child-round cheek and murmurs a line from lolita, eyes too bright and lips too dry. gabrielle flickers a panicked glance around the room. that look is so familiar. the same hour fleur switches her baggy sweatshirt for a crop top and rolls her skirt over two inches.
they will look at her. never at her sister.
at school, the same. at home, the same. slowly, she learns to be less ashamed of the looking. to play to the object they expect her to be. she comes to scotland and she’s the centre of attention. they hear her name pulled out of the goblet of fire and all anyone wants to talk about is her legs in that skirt. she defeats a dragon and boys whisper all the dirty things they want to do to her just moments after they finish comparing cedric’s charmwork to krum’s reflexes to harry’s flying. they watch her pass in the hallways and their eyes glaze over like she’s a thing put there for their pleasure.
fleur lifts her head high and lets the stares keep coming.
then she meets bill weasley, and not long after he asks her how she’s doing. asks it like he really means it, like it matters to him that she still gets nervous going around blind corners, that vines make her skin crawl and that the green flash of a hex makes her mind go too blank with fear to defend herself. he brings her a bottle of his favourite whiskey and sinks deep into it, tells her about his life and his job and asks about that night in the maze she doesn’t think about. he doesn’t look at her legs even once.
the next time she brings him her favourite wine and they share it. she’s giggling and silly by the end of the evening and he laughs with her, laughs at her like an equal and not like a thing he wants to fuck. he takes her to her door and leaves her in the care of her friends and he doesn’t do it because he thinks it’ll make scoring easier next time. doesn’t decide his actions based on which will result in sex the fastest.
he doesn’t ask her out until he’s laid himself bare for her, doesn’t even touch her until she reaches down and presses her fingers into his. the first night she feels brave enough to go home with him he keeps her up at the kitchen table until three am telling her all the things he likes about her. her physical appearance doesn’t even make the top one hundred. he says, how much you love your sister. how fierce you look when i take the last croissant. that funny french way you roll your ‘r’s. how you try to tell me jokes but laugh too much to finish them. how you know exactly how many children you want, and the precise shade of blue you’ll use to decorate your nursery. the bravery of you. the way your mind moves so fast sometimes i can’t keep up with it. the fact that i think you could do my job ten times as effectively as i can. they fall asleep on top of his covers, fully clothed, and the next morning fleur has to say yes i want this i am sure that i want this ten times before he starts to undress her.
his family call her all the things she’s heard a million times before. fleur lifts her head high and lets the insults keep coming. his brothers still sometimes look at her like they’ve forgotten to see a person, his mother mutters under her breath about fleur’s lack of suitability, his sister takes every opportunity to express her dislike. they see her beauty and they think they know her. they watch her move and they think she’s nothing more than her body and face.
but bill weasley sees her. and fleur will not let anything—not a war, not lycanthropy, not a disapproving family—take him away from her.
One night during sixth year while they’re sitting in the common room, Remus mentions that he’s not ticklish at all and, of course, Sirius is determined to put him to the test. He pounces on Remus, wiggling his fingers up and down his sides, roaring with laughter as Remus writhes beneath him, begging for mercy as they tumble off the edge of the couch. It takes only a moment to realize what they’ve just done, now a tangle of arms and legs and flushed cheeks sprawled on the floor, Sirius hovering on top of Remus. They’re so close that Sirius can feel Remus’ heart beating against his chest, so close that he isn’t thinking straight and presses a gentle kiss on his lips.
The phone rings. It was an absurd wedding gift from his father in-law, and one which much to Harry’s surprise, had actually worked when he’d plugged it into the landline. Arthur had taken to phoning him on it, just for the pure novelty of the thing—though how they’d managed to get a BT engineer out to the Burrow without causing an incident, Harry doesn’t know. He’s not sure he wants to.
“Hello?”
“Uhm,, is this…is this the Potter residence?”
There’s a beat of silence as Harry adjusts the receiver against his ear, not quite sure he’s heard who he thinks he has. “…Dudley?”
“Yea…uhm, Harry?”
“Dudley.” Harry repeats numbly, turning to look at Ginny who is looking at him expectantly, eyebrows raised. “Uh…Christ, Dudley, hi how did…how did you find this number?”
There’s another beat of silence and the crackle of static that might have been a sigh or simply just the line breaking up. “Hi, sorry I know you probably…sorry this was stupid. I uh, I put your name in the computer and this was the only thing that came up.”
“Oh.” Harry breathes, still trying to recover his equilibrium. Ten minutes ago he’d been using his wand to clear away dinner, he’d been getting ready to sit down and read through some reports before putting the kids to bed, and now somehow, he’s talking to his muggle cousin who he hasn’t seen since… “How, how are you?”
“Good, yea” Dudley replies, seeming to rally, “You?”
“Yea, uh, doing well…”
The conversation lasts maybe a half hour, faltering and awkward. But they’re going for a coffee at the end of the week and Harry supposes…that’s…that’s a thing that is happening.
*
“Harry…”
Harry turns and looks up, and looks up some more at the looming figure blocking out the light.
“Dudley,” he says, standing up and hoping the pang of something awful doesn’t show on his face. For a moment he thought he’d been looking at Vernon. “It’s good to see you.”
Dudley gives him a look that says he clearly knows Harry is lying, but is thankful for being humored. “You too, you’re looking good…”
They pass the first few minutes with awkward pleasantries and even more awkward silences. But it’s…nice would be too strong a word, but it’s not bad either. He even manages to get a smile out of him when he calls him Big D, the other man shaking his head with a self depreciating eye roll.
“Dad died,” Dudley says after a while, and Harry feels an icy hot flash go down his spine, curdling in his gut.
“Oh,” he says, not quite sure how he’s supposed to feel about that, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Dudley snorts into his coffee. “Somehow I doubt it.” and it’s not accusing, but Harry still can’t help but feel like he should defend himself. The words they locked me in a cupboard are on the cusp of his tongue but Dudley gets there before him. “There’s a lot of things…looking back…lot of things…” and it’s not an apology, not really. “Took me a long time to realize certain things weren’t right…too long.”
Harry nods at that, because yes, it had also taken him a long time too to understand the full of extent of what had gone on in 4 Privet Drive. He still doesn’t like tight spaces.
“You realize things though, when you have kids,” Dudley carries on, shaking his head, “Like they’re just kids, how can you do that to a kid? They need you for everything.”
And Harry can relate to that too. Lily is three and Ginny is pregnant again and James already has an alarming alacrity for finding trouble and with or without magic Harry doesn’t have enough hands to deal with it all. But he loves it, and he loves them, and the thought of anyone ever treating his children the way he remembers his first eleven years of life is enough to make the electric lights over their head flicker.
“You’ve got kids?”
“Two,” Harry says, “third one on the way. You?”
“Nice. Just the one, so far.” He hands over his phone, the image of a bright young girl with dark skin and tight ringlet curls staring back at him from the grasp of Dudley’s arms. “Effie.” He smiles ruefully at Harry’s obvious surprise. “Dad wasn’t too happy about that either.”
“She’s gorgeous.” Harry says, handing the phone back and pulling out his own wallet to reveal the moving pictures inside.
Dudley flinches a bit at that, but he guffaws broadly when he spies James. “Cor, he don’t half look like you. No glasses though.”
“No,” Harry says, pushing his own glasses back up his nose. “He’s got his mother’s eyes, thankfully.”
“Actually, Harry, there was something I was hoping we could…talk about.”
And ah, there it is. “What about?”
“It’s…it’s about Effie…”
And when he’s done talking Harry just wants to lean back and laugh and laugh and laugh, because of course Vernon Dursley’s granddaughter is a witch, of course she is. But he doesn’t, because Dudley is doing the one thing he can think of to try and help his child, and Harry can’t fault him for that.
*
They keep in touch after that. Christmas cards, postcards—gifts for the kids on birthdays. The year Effie turns eleven—the same as James—Harry drops a casually long thought out text into the familial void.
“Diagon A this weekend, if you’re up for it?”
The text comes back quickly, a little too quickly for the way Dudders pecks at his phone whenever Harry has seen him typing. “Snds gd, 1st pint on u ;-) - Big D 🍺🍺🍺👌👍”
It’ll be painfully awkward, it always is. But it’s something.
Last night i met the love of my life in a dream and i think my subconscious is great at creating plots so here it is:
In my dream, i was at a concert with my family for some reason and at a point, i got bored so i went in the kids playroom. There was only two person there; a very cute five years old girl and a boy my age with a guitar. I sat down and because it’s a dream i wasn’t socially awkward so i started talking with the guy. We talked for like an hour and started flirting??? and we got along so well. He was also really cute and like, exactly my type. Anyway, he started playing guitar while i played some game with the girl, who was his little sister. I started to sing with him and his sister fell asleep on a couch next to me. Then, he started to sing ‘Your Song’ and i sang with him and we were just smiling at each other. He looked down and blushed and istg he was the cutest person ever. He gave me his number and then i had like a flash forward of kissing him, meeting his parents, moving in a flat and getting married, like in movies. Then i woke up and was really sad because HE DIDNT ACTUALLY EXIST.
