#fourth year

[cabin07slytherinblogs]

Bill Weasley would be a menace when he found out that Ron had asked Fleur to the ball in fourth year. That’s all gremlins ✌️

[diezynueve10-9]

VERAM VOLUNTATEM PART 9

Part 1 | Previous | Masterlist

Summary: It shouldn’t have come as a surprise for Harry that Malfoy was a good student, he has all the right in the world to be surprised by the git being a rather good teacher, though.

On the other end of the Great Hall, Malfoy got up. Harry saw it, and he knew Malfoy knew that he saw. He also knew the other wanted him to follow right away but, honestly, Harry didn’t feel like leaving his lunch unfinished —especially since he was going to need fortitude for what was to come, if he was to expect the same thing as three days ago.

Harry was still queasy about the fact that, last Wednesday, he had willingly subjected himself to a total of forty minutes of Malfoy complaining Harry had as much grace as a stunted troll and forcing thirteenth-century courtly dancing drivel down his throat. More than once Harry wished they had opened the windows just so he could jump out of them.

It was not only mentally taxing, but his body disliked it too. He’d already been jittery at the prospect of performing something he knew he was terrible at in front of someone who Harry specifically didn’t want having blackmail on him. On top of that, it felt like there were knots in his stomach every time Malfoy grabbed him to correct his stance.

The only argument he’d won that day was convincing Malfoy he should lead because he was the champion and everyone expected him to; and even that he’d regretted.

“

‘Fine,’ Malfoy conceded, clearly bothered if the overexaggerated eye-roll was anything to go by. ‘Put your hand on my waist.’

Harry paused.

‘Your what?’

Malfoy gaped at him.

‘You cannot be- Ugh!’  

Done with the Gryffindor’s indecision, Malfoy grabbed Harry's right hand and brought it to the soft area beneath the ribcage and above the hip bone. “Soft” was something odd to think about someone as pointy as Malfoy. His skin was pale as marble, so Harry had always kind of thought it'd be cold like marble too. He tells himself that's why he snatched his hand back as if burnt when the warmth of the Slytherin's body seeped through his fine white shirt and to Harry's fingers.

”

It had felt so different from what touching Malfoy should've been like, Harry's mouth went dry just by thinking about it. Malfoy had been incensed though, and had berated him for not taking it seriously and declared he was not being seen with an untrained baboon. Harry wondered if the blond had heard McGonagall's speech by any chance.

What followed was a sad show of stomping, botched up spins and, once, he even managed to trip Malfoy. Luckily, everything Harry lacked in being a good dancer, he had in being a good Seeker. The hand that should've been properly holding Malfoy (and clearly hadn't been) shot out lightning-fast and scooped Malfoy up before he hit the ground. It was a strange sight, Malfoy's half-surprised, half-bracing-for-impact face; eyes wide and cheeks flushed after forty minutes of dancing and arguing.

Harry had, naively, expected some praise for his quick save; Malfoy hadn't thought the same. As soon as the blond regained his footing, he dusted himself, gathered his things and told Harry they'd see about fixing his astonishing clumsiness on another occasion, and left him alone in the room.

It had been, overall, such an embarrassing afternoon, Harry could feel his cheeks heating up just remembering. What was he thinking? Dancing with Malfoy. Maybe he should just fake sickness and not attend the Yule Ball at all.

It was with great regret that Harry finished the last of his mashed potatoes and got up.

‘Where are you going?’ Hermione asked softly.

‘Extra dance practice.’ Harry was intentionally vague.

Hermione arched a brow at that and, in a more interested tone, inquired:

‘With Professor McGonagall?’

‘No.’ Harry hurried his way out of the Hall, knowing perfectly what the next question would be and he did not want to answer it.

He deliberately took the long route to the West wing, and yet, sooner than he would've liked, he was standing before the fourth floor abandoned classroom. After taking a deep breath, he stepped inside.

The curtains were drawn back, the clear blue sky perfectly visible outside. Sunrays poured into the classroom and illuminated it better than any lamp or candle could. Positioned right under one of the windows, nearly-white hair adopted the warmer tones the sunlight offered. 

Malfoy sat on one of the desks, his back to Harry, he seemed to be writing something and Harry prayed he wasn’t taking notes on the cursed dancing book. The Slytherin was very focused on his task and didn’t hear Harry come in. As he approached, Harry noted with some relief the book wasn’t the same as last time, it was their Transfiguration textbook.

‘Isn’t that essay not due until past Christmas?’ Harry bit down on a smirk at the way Malfoy jolted. 

The scowl the blond sported at the moment was one of the deepest Harry had ever seen, and he could almost taste the venom in the other's voice as he accused:

‘You’re late,’ Malfoy turned sharply back to his work, ‘And yes, there’s still time, but I thought I’d get it started. You had me so bored.’

‘Sorry,’ Harry said, all false contrition. ‘I didn’t realize my presence was needed for you to be entertained.’

‘Why, of course,’ Malfoy continued without looking at him, ‘why else do you think kings kept buffoons in their Court?’

Harry counted to ten to keep calm. Either Hermione was off in her assumption of Malfoy fancying him, or Malfoy was doing a terrific job at hiding it. He took a peek at the book to see which paragraphs Malfoy had highlighted –Harry hadn’t started his essay nor could remember what it was about– but nearly half the page had been underlined and there were writings in every single margin.

‘I didn’t know you were so… thorough,’ Harry noted. ‘I’d never have the patience for that.’

Malfoy huffed a laugh.

‘Unlike you, I do concern myself with the academic part of school. Not that I expect you to understand.’ 

Then, he pulled the leather sketchbook out of his bag and set it on the table. With a quick chant Harry didn’t quite catch, he tapped it with the tip of his wand and the little Golden Snidget Harry’d seen Malfoy draw a few days ago slipped from in between the pages and fluttered her lightning-fast ink wings around the room.

‘Well, Potter, since you won’t learn respectable dancing theory no matter what expert manual I bring, I’ve decided to start with something you already know how to do.’

‘Er…’ Was all Harry could guess, his eyes never leaving the fluttering drawing.

‘It’s not a real Snitch, but the ball was designed after the bird, so it’ll have to do.’

‘W-what am I supposed to do with it?’ Harry asked, slightly shaky as Malfoy grabbed hold of right wrist and brought it to his own waist, keeping it there for a few seconds to be sure Harry wasn’t going to flinch away, then rested his own hand on the other’s shoulder. The Slytherin blinked down impassively at his partner.

‘Why, catch it, of course.’ He offered his right hand for Harry to take, when he did, he began counting the steps. ‘1,2,3…’

What followed was a terrible attempt of keeping sight of the Snidget while controlling his feet.

‘Quit looking downwards, Potter.’

‘If I step on you, I’m not cleaning your fancy shoes.’

‘Of course you are.’

After that, Harry ensured all his attention went to following the Snidget. For that, he didn’t need his brain, only his eyes, and the rest of his body would follow. In that state of focus, he waltzed through rows of desks while pulling Malfoy along. More than once the Snidget got within reach, but every time Harry unhooked his fingers from Malfoy’s, the elusive drawing escaped his grasp.

‘Remember: to catch it, you mustn't let go of your partner’s hand.’

‘You do realize that’s impossible, right?’

Malfoy sighed.

‘Of course a Gryffindor wouldn’t see a path other than the one straight ahead.’ He took his hand from Harry’s shoulder to remove the one holding his waist. ‘I said don’t let go of my hand, but, if you free the rest of my body, and open your arms wide,’ Malfoy demonstrated for Harry, ‘then I naturally make an arc in this direction, which allows me to…’ he stretched his arm and pulled the Snidget, already running away from them, out of the air before falling back into position right next to Harry, ‘get it for you.’

Harry was sure the other had created another Snidget and set it free inside his stomach to make him nervous. He wouldn’t put it past Malfoy.

‘Let’s go again, from the beginning.’

They practiced the move until Harry started getting the hang of throwing Malfoy around without driving him into any piece of furniture. Before the next turn, the Snidget shot upwards and hovered above their heads.

‘How am I supposed to get it up there?’

‘Did you already forget you’re not dancing alone?’

The blond brought their joined hands to the other side of his waist and lifted his brows in challenge. Harry understood immediately what he meant. 

The boy wasn’t exactly light, but thanks to his slender frame, he was also not that difficult to lift. Malfoy’s fist closed around the Snidget and he smirked down at Harry,

‘150 points for Slytherin.’

‘Hey! I’m the one who’s lifted you up!’

‘And yet it’s in my hand, is it not? Don’t be a sore loser, Scarhead.’ Malfoy laughed and stuck the small bird back on the sketchbook page where it belonged. ‘For the next step we don’t need it.’

‘There’s more?’ Harry asked, genuinely confused. Malfoy didn’t grace him with an answer, simply took his place by Harry’s chest and grabbed his hand.

‘This time, when I reach six on the count, you're gonna dip me.’

‘Dip?’

‘Do keep up, Potter. On six, you move your right hand to my upper back and hold my waist with your left. The whole point is to lower my upper body, so don’t lose your footing and keep supporting my back.’

The first few tries, Malfoy complained Harry was doing it too soon and kept threatening not to drop him or else. On the third attempt, they finally got it right.

Harry scooped up Malfoy’s waist with his left hand while keeping the other under his shoulder blades for extra support. Malfoy rested his left hand on Harry’s mid-back as the right one slithered its way up Harry’s arm and perched itself on the boy’s neck.

They froze in position for a few seconds, panting. Their cheeks were flushed by exertion. This time, though, instead of looking scared and about to hit the ground, Malfoy looked quite pleased. Harry felt a rush of pride run through his chest at having met the standards of someone as demanding as Malfoy –not that he cared about Malfoy’s approval usually. 

They had been practicing for quite a while, the sweat on Harry’s face being just enough for the glasses to slip from his ears and hit Malfoy on the bridge of his nose. The pure-blood flinched minutely and made a pathetic sound suspiciously similar to a soft “ouch”.

Unable to hold back, Harry brought his dance partner back to a straight position, lest his belly-laugh made him drop Malfoy.

‘Think your visual aid attacking my face is funny, you speccy?’

Malfoy couldn’t have been that angry, Harry thought as his laugh passed, because he was still holding on to Harry’s neck. 

He had gotten quite comfortable with holding Malfoy’s waist on the course of the afternoon, so he was content to let his hands rest there while the Slytherin went through all the moves they had covered. It was probably unconscious, the moment Malfoy’s fingers hooked around the longer hair on Harry’s nape, but it relaxed and tensed him in a way that was difficult to understand. Just as Harry leaned slightly into the contact, the hand was withdrawn and Malfoy walked away.

‘That’s all I had to teach you, I’d say. Just move your feet in the pattern we’ve practiced and it should be fine.’ Malfoy rambled on as he stuffed his belongings haphazardly inside his duffel and slung it over his shoulder. He crossed the room in a brisk walk and opened the door, apparently not intending to say anything more.

‘Wait,’ Harry stopped him, ‘there really aren't any more moves?’

‘Not that you’ll need for Yule,’ the blond replied without looking back and promptly left.

Harry hadn’t realized how dark the room had gotten until then. Red light spilled from the windows, signaling the last hours of the afternoon. He’d get some dinner if he hurried, but he wasn’t in the mood to hurry, or to face Ron and Hermione’s interrogation, so he decided to go straight for the dorms.

He picked his glasses up from the floor and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. After hours of having just enough room to breathe between him and Malfoy, the air of the castle felt freezing cold.

Harry left the room in a befuddled state. He barely noticed the trek up to Gryffindor Tower at all, lost in his own mind. He’d been in a room alone with Malfoy, no-one else knew where they had been, and neither of them had ended up killed or maimed. And that wasn’t the most surprising fact today. 

Malfoy –cold and haughty Malfoy– had seen Harry not getting it and, instead of hitting him over the head with the book, had adapted his method taking Harry’s interests and strengths into account. And he’d actually gotten some potential out of him, too. For the better part of the session, Harry hadn’t felt clumsy or hopeless.

With a small smile, he gave the Fat Lady the password and made his way straight for the bathroom.

He started shredding his clothes for a shower, but first, he checked his neck on the mirror. For some reason, he expected to find some kind of mark there. Logically, he knew the contact hadn’t been strong enough to leave a bruise, but it felt scorching hot under his skin in the area where he could still imagine Malfoy’s hand.

After fifteen minutes under cold water to try and wash the strange prickle in his neck away, he was ready to go to bed. He laid on his four-poster, all lights off except for the pale moonlight filtering through the window.

They’d only practiced for an afternoon, but Harry already felt infinitely more confident about the Yule Ball.

And when he let his eyes fall shut, it wasn’t the steps he saw behind his eyelids, but the faint curl of Malfoy’s mouth when he’d said ‘Let’s go again, from the beginning’.

Previous | Masterlist

[yallthemwitches]

Chapter 4: Fourth Year

“Apparently boggart Lily liked snogging you a little too much.” “And the real Lily?” She can’t help it, her head snaps up. He leans against the table with both hands, looking forward so that the gold flecks in his eyes are visible behind his lenses.  “Excuse me?” “Did you like it? The idea of me snogging you?” She thought the snitches that used to swoop around her insides had long flown to greater pastures but, as though waking from a long hibernation, their wings start to flap again, beating thunderously against her ribcage.  “Because I–I liked it. And I think that if maybe we–you know–got to know each other a bit more—”

Read it on AO3 or Below the Cut!

She never forgave him, but the anger did pass. Besides, she had bigger things to worry about—life altering things. She had tits now. 

Puberty was strange, adding to a long list of stuff that she only wished someone had given her a guidebook for rather than being thrown headfirst into the fray. “You look ...different,” Severus had said one day down by the muddy riverbank on the outskirts of town, his cheeks filling with more color than she had ever seen. It was hot and their splashing made her top stick to her like a second skin. 

“A good different or bad?”

“I don’t know—just different.”

Severus wasn’t the only one to notice. She felt the change the second she stepped on the platform in September: boys, their eyes roaming every inch of her like she’d transformed into some shiny object they’d want to steal. Their bodies had changed too—some better than others but changed just the same. They were taller, voices lower, and faces littered with patchy stubble or red bumps. Potter’s shoulders had become more toned and square too—not that she was taking note.

It only took until October to choose one. On some random day, Fifth year Hufflepuff, Robert Altwood, asked her to Hogsmeade and she couldn’t possibly say no. He was older, on the quidditch team and most importantly he was fit— like really fit. 

She liked how it felt when people stared as they held hands in the halls, liked that when they studied together he drew circles on her thigh under the table; really liked when he kissed her goodbye before class with hot, hungry lips. It had nothing to do with how Potter saw of course, but it didn’t hurt either. 

“So, you and Altwood..” Black croons at the start of class. He also had grown over summer, his good looks only fueling an already stoked ego. “Good for you, Evans—and here I thought you and ole’ Snivelly would be making greasy babies by the end of term.”

“Fuck off, Black.” She shoots him a glare over her shoulder which he relishes, teeth gleaming. “Ohhh, I get it now. You traded in your crush on Prongs for the next best thing. Good thinking—hitting him where it hurts.”

Beside him, James looks up as though breaking out of a trance, eyes focusing anywhere but her. 

“Hey! I’m not like Altwood,” he quips, icier than she’s ever heard him speak to his mate. It only makes Sirius laugh harder.

“Yeah, you’re right. You aren’t snogging Evans’ face off before every class.”

When it’s announced they would be learning about boggarts, even Black and Potter’s interest pique. “The concept is simple,” explains Professor Slothrop, “A boggart transforms into what you fear the most and thus you must combat it with fear’s greatest opposition: laughter.”

“Wanna bet Snivellus’ worst fear is a proper bath?”

Potter says it loud enough for the class to hear and the room erupts in a rumble of giggles, meanwhile Severus’ knuckles turn white on the table. “Poor bloke has no chance—he’s never laughed a day in his life.”

Severus keeps his head down, seething behind a curtain of hair. Lily places a hand on his forearm and he looks up at her, a tiny smile threatening at his otherwise pallid face. 

When the class lines up for the practical exercise Black and Potter rush to the front, wrestling like children. If any other student had done the same, they would have been endlessly mocked but practically every girl swoons when the two claw at each other's ties and hair, only exacerbating their usual state of dishevelment. 

“Idiots—,” Severus says under his breath. He follows quickly behind the boys, slotting himself third in line and in front of Lily. “—the whole sodding school.”

Sirius takes the lead, many girls stepping out of line to watch him push back his hair and poise his wand. Normally he is the definition of haughty entitlement but even paces away, Lily can see his jaw clicking.

With a flick of Professor Slothrop’s wrist, the trunk clicks open and a broad shouldered man steps out. He has the same jawline as Sirius; the same deep gray eyes. Unlike his son, the man’s gaze isn’t full of careless ease and mischief but something cold and cruel. He lifts his wand directly to Sirius' forehead, the sleek tip almost touching with a spell already poised on his lips. Crui—

“Riddikulus!”

With a flatulent sound, the man’s wand goes limp in his hand and his body balloons up into the air. The whole class bursts into laughs while Sirius’ face goes alight with pure, unadulterated joy. 

“Potter! You’re up!”

Lily leans in to watch James move into Sirius’ previous spot, bumping into Severus’ back. It’s silly really—why would she care what Potter fears? And what would he have to fear anyways? It’s probably losing the quidditch cup…that or going bald. 

James takes his place and the floating, engorged man shifts as though entering through a kaleidoscope. An ornate oak bed drops to the ground.

It hits her hard and fast, making the room spin. The smell of sickness. Images flash through her mind like flipping through some horrific picture book: the tubes, bottles of medicine littering the floor, her mother with shallow cheeks and thinned hair pulled back in a yellow bandana. It isn’t just the smell of sickness she realizes--it is the smell of creeping death.

Under the bed covers an elderly couple hold hands, their bodies pockmarked and sickly. The woman reaches out to James, her arm shaking and frail; dark red splotches mixing with hues of purple and blue as the disease spreads upwards. She smiles and even on the verge of death it is bright and encompassing— his smile.

“R-Riddikulus!”

The bed and the sick couple splash into a puddle of green slime at their feet, making some of the students’ squeal when it encroaches towards the line. When he turns, she expects to see the same triumphant glee that Sirius had sported just moments before but James face is still pale, color only starting to rush in as he faces his audience. In an instant, his usual charisma turns on as though changing a channel. 

How many times had she done the same when Mum was dying? 

“You’re up Sniv,” James sneers as he makes his way to join Sirius at the outskirts of the room. Lily tracks him with her eyes. Reaching his mate he is all smiles again and an image of the woman returns, teeth gleaming amongst the sickness.

Severus straightens his shoulders and takes a step forward. The slime recedes slowly, flowing back to the middle of the room until it grows into a gelatinous mass. Human flesh forms and a couple appears, so tightly intertwined it takes seconds to register it isn’t one single body. Their lips are locked with a frenzy bordering on desperate, tongues slipping together with breathy moans. Details materialize in their figures as their hands wrap around each other: an auburn fringe, untidy black hair, glasses askew, green eyes burning—-

“Riddikulus!”

It’s not Severus who casts the spell. Professor Slothrop jumps in front of the line with his wand poised and the boggart James and Lily burst into a cloud of confetti. Behind her students gasp, hair becoming littered with strips of color. 

Once everything settles, Severus is already gone.

Sirius is the first one to break the silence, howling with laughter and bending at the waist. He shakes the confetti from his hair and turns to clasp James’ shoulder but James just stands there frozen in place. If he looked pale when he faced the boggart, now he is downright translucent, his eyes blown and directed straight at her.

He looks absolutely haunted. 

After class ends, the news travels so fast Lily wouldn’t be surprised to find an article about it in the next morning’s social section of The Daily Prophet. Everywhere people make kissing noises at her and feign snogging by turning around and wrapping their hands around their bodies. 

Severus doesn’t show for charms and then again for potions. But he can’t hide forever. 

“Sev, stop ignoring me.” She stands outside the broad door of the Slytherin Common Room, the giant statue of a serpent staring back at her with dead eyes. She hates coming down here—nothing good ever happened this far back in the dungeons.

“I’m not ignoring you I’m just—” She has never seen him like this before, not even when his parents would drink too much and start to row. His uniform is disheveled and it’s clear he had just pulled himself out from the covers of his bed. Dark red circles line his eyes and she swears she can see blue veins running through his forehead. 

“It’s Black and Potter—they must have done something,” he lunges towards her, grabbing her shoulders with clawing fingers. “You know how they are—I bet they planned the whole thing, snuck into the classroom and—and—”

“And what?” She sputters, feeling on edge by his encroachment. She doesn’t like him like this—like he would do anything if it meant getting his way. “I know Potter and Black are tricky arseholes, but that was a real boggart, Sev. If it wasn’t then Professor Slothrop would have—”

“Professor Slothrop is an idiot,” Severus gasps ,“All of our Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers have been and you know it. It wouldn’t be the first time Potter and Black snuck something behind one of their backs.”

His fingers dig deeper into her shoulders, creating a dull ache. 

“Sev, you’re hurting me,” she tugs away, but he isn’t ready to let her go just yet. 

“Lil, you have to believe me. I would never want what happened today, not in a million years.”

Yes, because it’s your biggest fear.

In the end, she agrees to believe him, which is only a partial lie. She believes he would never want the events of the day to happen, but she doesn’t believe that the boggart was some elaborate set up. Severus’ worst fear was her and James together—the same thing that she had practically confided in him about a year earlier when being tormented by the rest of the school. It wasn’t Robert or Lupin or even universally handsome Sirius Black—Potter was his greatest threat because he knew it could actually be true. 

Thinking about it made her head hurt so much she almost missed the familiar, light voice of Robert calling after her as she trudges down the corridors to her next class. When he bounds up to her, she feels a weight start to lift, everything going soft and airy with promises of sweet touches and—

“I think we should break up.”

"—what?”

He gives her a pouting face that feels more taunting than sorrowful. “You’re really great—I’ve had a lot of fun with you but—”

But your best friend is in love with you. But the whole school is now talking about how some supernatural version of you snogged my quidditch rival.

“You don’t have to explain it Robert, I think I get it,” she says, being more articulate than she ever dreamed she would be being dumped. 

“It’s not you, really. It’s me. You’re just—”

A muggleborn, a freak, an idiot who doesn’t see the writing on the wall even if it animated itself and screamed. 

“—a lot.”

Well, at least he summed it up nicely.

Later at dinner, she realizes it’s the first she’s seen James since the incident. He sits at the end of the table surrounded by his usual crowd, spooning up a thick helping of mushroom soup and watching it slop back into his bowl in thick clumps. It’s oddly reminiscent of the boggart slime.

“Altwood is a git,” Mary says at her side, ripping off a piece of bread with her teeth. “It’s not like you even snogged Potter in the first place— and honestly the fact that people are conflating the two worries me about the intelligence level at this school.”

Lily looks down into her own bowl, feeling more nauseous by the sight of food than hungry. 

“People just want to say shit because you're a muggleborn,” Marlene adds, pointing her butter knife. “They're all just knobheads trying to fulfill the stupid stereotype that we muggleborns are easy.”

Lily snorts, taking her spoon and sloshing her soup against the side of the bowl. “Well bad luck for them. According to Altwood I’m the farthest thing from easy—I’m a lot.”

She takes another glance down the table and is not prepared to find him staring back. In the years past she’s seen his eyes filled with many things: happiness, mischief, pity, sorrow—but none of them compare to the sheer hollowness that now watches her.

Was it really so bad? Did seeing them snog–very realistically–really cause him this much pain?

In great Potter fashion, the answers come unsolicited and wrapped in ambiguity. 

“Uhm—hi.”

She looks up from her parchment, shocked to have heard a voice, much less his. She had chosen this part of the library knowing no one would come down this way, the shelves lined with ancient tomes that were barely legible between the deep foxing on the pages and archaic script. 

In short, James looks like shit. His hair had gotten more unruly this year, but now it points in different directions as though he’d walked into an electric current. His eyes hold the same hollowness as before, but up close there’s something deeper and dark and ready to boil up.

“Look—I know you probably don’t want to see me, but I’m not here to faff around and make you feel bad.”

“A first,” she snorts, folding her arms and turning back to her book. He makes a frustrated sort of squeak and shifts his weight. He’s clearly not used to fighting for attention. 

“I just want you to know I had nothing nothing to do with what happened today. I swear to Godric Evans, I—” 

Something inside of him breaks open, the cogs in his brain working overtime until he looks absolutely tortured and the words start pouring out. “I mean, how was I supposed to know that Snivellus would conjure that— even think about that …It’s just–It’s just…” His voice cracks off into a furious groan, hands running through his hair and tugging on the roots.

“I know you didn’t do it,” Lily says, crossing her arms. She shouldn’t get as much satisfaction from his suffering as she does, but something about it makes her feel like she is seeing him with an unfiltered lense. 

“How could you, it was a bloody boggart.”

“I just assumed you’d think I was trying to take the piss.” Even though his voice is still cracked, his body relaxes, shoulders falling back with relief. 

“Severus certainly does—but even I know you aren’t smart enough to pull something like rigging a boggart response.”

Like another click of a channel his demeanor changes, vulnerability transforming into pride. 

“So, you think I’m smart?”

Bloody infuriating. An absolute terror.

“That’s not the point, Potter,” she screams, throwing her hands in the air. “ Christ, how are you capable of making every conversation an ego trip? Do you think about anything else? Is there any room left in that inflated brain of yours?”

Another change in the programming. A familiar sad smile. 

“What can I say: I am—by your definition—the world’s biggest wanker.”

It stings to have last year's conversation make a reappearance—maybe too much. He’s doing it on purpose, reminding her of his absolute lack of interest in her so that she believes his story. As though she needs convincing—his eyes have said everything she’s needed to know all day.

“Well, at least Altwood is good for it,” James adds. It’s bait and she knows it but she doesn’t care. 

“Good for nothing, ” she spits. “Seeing as he broke up with me.”

At the very least, it makes him pause.

“Merlin—damn. That’s… I’m sorry Evans.” 

“Yeah, well,” she looks back down at her parchment, hoping that if she blushes he will have the decency not to point it out. “Apparently boggart Lily liked snogging you a little too much.”

“And the real Lily?”

She can’t help it, her head snaps up. He leans against the table with both hands, looking forward so that the gold flecks in his eyes are visible behind his lenses. 

“Excuse me? ”

“Did you like it? The idea of me snogging you?”

She thought the snitches that used to swoop around her insides had long flown to greater pastures but as though waking from a long hibernation, their wings start to flap again, beating thunderously against her ribcage. 

“Because I–I liked it. And I think that if maybe we–you know–got to know each other a bit more—”

No no no no no

It’s last year coming back to haunt her. You’d think he would have come up with a better plan by now—the “pretend you like her to humiliate her” bit already stale from third year’s charade. She slams her book closed, snatching her parchment away to stand and shove it in her bag. 

“You make me sick, Potter,” she spits, whipping her hair over her shoulder. “What? Think it would be a laugh to make Severus’ fears a reality then?”

“No. I just want you to go out with me.”

It's definitely like third year again, because her heart is already in her throat and cutting off her air supply; the snitches making good time clawing through her chest to turn her into a cloud of wings and gold just like boggart Lily had done as confetti. She might as well be a boggart herself: a kaleidoscope of images shifting inside her without consent: an ornate bed, his smile, the trembling hand, his broad shoulders, Severus’ clenching fingers, her mother, his mother, the smell of sickness, the smell of death…

She didn’t know when the tears had come, but she hates him for it. “Leave me alone.I’m tired of your stupid jokes— I mean it this time.”

But like always, he is full of surprises: he smiles—a wide, genuine one and she hates him for it too. 

“See, that’s the thing, Evans. I mean it too.”

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

Hello everyone! I need some advice for the Drarry fanfic I’m writing!

Who should Cho Chang end up with?

Ginny Weasley

Hermione Granger

Luna Lovegood

Voting ended onOct 30, 2024

Check the reblogs for a few more polls!

Also: I won’t necessarily do as the results of the polls say. But I will keep them in mind!

[aquagirl1978]

[halloworhorecrux]

Harry getting exasperated by Draco after fourth year, and an incident that shall not be named. It's like all of sudden he can't seem to stop getting hurt. The Incident was just the beginning, broken ribs and femur and tailbone that had him unable to attend the YuleBall. This was not going to stop Draco "I need to show off my designer robes" Malfoy. Harry finds him on the stairs leading down to the dungeons after following Snape. There he is a sweaty out of breath Draco Malfoy. He could be a maiden

Sickly child from the past. Either way Harry feels enough pity that he lifts him up and says he is taking him to Madam Promfrey but draco is about to die of embarrassment and anger, definitely anger so he says he will just go back to the Slytherin dorms. This is how Draco finds out that Harry has been inside their dorms before and spends an hour berating Potter about traditions and decorum. Harry puts up with the huffing and puffing Malfoy because it's like an angry ferret chittering at him. Not that he would ever say that aloud.

There seems to be a mutual agreement to forget this has happened until the second task happens. No Draco isn't Harry's treasure. Not in the conventional way. The stands hover and wrap the front of the lake. And before the cannon can even signal the beginning of the first task. Draco is shoved by rowdy students into the lake. His words of " My father" the last thing heard. Everyone is busy looking at the champions only Harry sees that Draco malfoy is not rising back up so he knocks back the gillyweed and dives for the Slytherin while people call him out as a cheater. Draco does not know how to swim and is being dragged by the grindylows, and Harry has to fight them to take back the flailing boy. Harry doesn't have to do the task because he saved someone and is applauded because he fought off not only the grindylows, but demented seahorses to retrieve his prize. His prize who spend their time in infirmary berating him for stealing the gillyweed from Uncle Sev and all the ways that the Triwizard tournament is an honor that he has besmirched with his fumbling.

Before the third task begins, Harry sees Draco at the front of the stand when he decides that should be a shit.

" Oy Malfoy, try not to get into any trouble while I'm busy. Kinda trying to win tournament, don't have time for damsels in distress"

And that's how Harry is chased into the Maze with a willy Slytherin by his side. They realize their in trouble when they can't get back out the way they came. Draco is definitely berating Harry again for calling him a Damsel. If anything he is a refined gentleman of the highest quality. Harry thinks he is something, alright. Maybe he does think Draco is fine, but only little after they haven't sniped at each other since the Incident. So they do the trials when a hulky Bulgarian finds them and trys to crucio them because what the fuck . Instead they lose Harry's wand because why not. They finally reach the trophy and thank merlin because Draco is so over this shit.

The cemetery happens but instead of an Avada, Draco is hit with a bone breaking curse. The only thing he can is be as quite as possible. Draco hears the resurrection and his father is there and he is crying but can't call out for help because he has never felt unsure of his father's love but he isn't willing to do it now. Harry fights using dracos wand but no knows that and that's what helps Harry decide dead or nort he is rescuing Draco one last time. He is sure that Malfoy is dead.

Imagine his surprise when he portkeys back to hogwarts and he finds grey eyes silently crying.

Draco has never been silent in his life, he has never been silent in anything. Whether it's his love or hate, he has never been silent. So Harry feels like he and draco finally share the worst sort of feeling. The horrible feeling of having to be not seen or heard by people who are suppose to love you. The uncertainty of calling out for help to a father, an aunt, your blood. Its blood not being thicker than water.

They each understand the terrible thing they have just witnessed.

It's under the cover of night that Draco finally speaks

" I thought you were going to leave me there"

"Never" Harry replies. "Never,never never" he cradels the blonde into him softly,his bones are still regrowing slowly. Skelegrow should only be taken once in a six month period.

" Your my damsel in distress of course I saved you "

" Of course, I'm yours"

and it's meant to be a joke. It's meant sound rude or even petty to call Draco that.

They start to cry together because that just means Draco is Harry's and Harry has something he doesn't have to share. Draco's proclamation confirms that he is Harry's.

Continued.. So we've established they have a thing. This weird thing because for the last month of fourth year, there is no Harry without D

[withregulus]

Chapter 41: Fourth year: December - Acme of Darkness

Wednesday, December 4, 1974 As they had promised, the Slytherins won their match on Sunday against Hufflepuff. Everyone learned that McGonagall gave three weeks of detention to the Marauders, who were the culprits of this change of hours. 

While November quietly gave way to December and the corridors froze with a particularly voracious air, classes continued at Hogwarts. Since the beginning of the week, Lorelei had noticed that the girls had only one word on their lips: "Sirius Black". She who wanted to forget him and his bet, which he had made to Lorelei, she does not stink of it. It was especially annoying to hear her name all day long in whispers or in the girls' bathrooms. This stupid snogging competition had driven all the girls crazy, they were just waiting for Sirius to kiss them. 

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[rose-of-the-grave]

Lean On Me

Pairing: Harry x Hermione

Hey, here's a somewhat angsty fic of Harry being a bit anxious about the third task! This was inspired by this request. As always I'm the author (please don't repost)

Masterlist. Read on Ao3

Warnings: kissing, anxiety, fear of abandonment, established relationship, fluff, Hermione making Harry smile

Word Count: 926

Description: Harry is nervous about the third task but he has his girlfriend by his side. They might be young but they know that they are meant for each other.

Taglist: @sylveryfire, @jake26786

On a random Friday evening Harry was sitting up on the Astronomy Tower, overlooking the Black Lake. After the second trial he was getting nervous. He had managed to avoid death for the past fourteen years of his life but now it looked like his good luck could come to an end. They put an age restriction on the cup for a reason. He never wanted to compete but now he was in it. Tied for first place with Cedric.

Why couldn’t he just get a break from risking his life for once?

“Hey.”

He kept on looking forward, recognizing Hermione’s voice.

“You’re the best.”

“What are you doing up here?”

She took a seat next to him. “I was worried about you. I haven’t seen you since lunch.”

They hadn’t been dating long, only getting together after the first task. Even after knowing him for three and a half years she still felt as if there was a part of himself that he kept hidden and it hurt knowing that. She knew that he loved her and that he trusted her but sometimes she suspected he didn’t want to worry her.

Hermione still remembered the day they realized that they wanted to be more than friends. It had been strained ever since he and Ron stopped hanging out but she had tried to let him know that she was there for him no matter what. After seeing him being chased by the Hungarian Horntail she knew that she had to tell him what she had realized over the summer. Out of everyone that she wrote to over the summer, he was the only one to consistently respond and actually take an interest.

Once they had started dating, he had still been the same boy who she had been friends with. Caring and compassionate. He always showed her how much he loved her, despite others telling her that she was too much at times. Whether it was listening to her ramble on about her most recent book or how he would find little gifts that made her heart melt. Whether it was a new book that she had mentioned once in passing, some treats for Crookshanks, or a heartfelt note, he never failed to make her day a bit better.

Hermione took one of his hands in her own, “Hey, I know you’re worried about the third task but trust me. You will be fine. We can go over some of the spells that are taught in the upper years so you’ll be on an even playing field. I found a book that has tons.”

“Thanks. Right now, I just want to sit here and think.”

“Okay.” She leaned her head down on his shoulder and just sat there next to him, her mere presence calming. His arm snaked around her waist, holding her close to him. They sat there looking out into the distance for a while, comfortable with just staying there together. After a while, her neck was starting to hurt so she pulled away to stretch only for him to make a small noise that almost sounded like a whine.

“I’m right here. I’m not leaving.” She said, looking at him. That was one of the things that she had quickly realized after they started dating. He did not like parting ways, even when it was just for a few minutes. Every time however she would simply try her best to show him that even if she left for a little while she would never actually leave him.

“Trust me, you’re never getting rid of me.”

He hugged her, his head nestling under her chin. She returned his hug, squeezing tightly. When he finally pulled away she ruffled his hair a bit. Smiling, she took him in. With his messy black hair, a smile on his face with his glasses sort of askew. Pulling them off, she turned them around to put them on her face.

She then got a wonderful idea, making various weird faces at him. He started to laugh and the sound of his joy made looking goofy worth it. He was absolutely adorable. From the way he scrunched his nose to the light in his eyes. If there was one thing that she loved doing more than anything it was putting a smile on his face. She knew she couldn’t protect him from everything, that was his burden as the chosen one but she vowed to always protect her Harry. The eleven year old boy who became her best friend and was always by her side. The twelve year old who defended her when others insulted her because she was a muggleborn. The thirteen year old who trusted in her. He may be the boy who lived to the rest of the world but to her he was Harry. Her best friend, her rock, her everything.

She started to laugh as well along with him. Harry leaned in to kiss her, but neither of them could stop laughing. With everything going on it was difficult at times to find something worth laughing about.

“You’re the best.”

She blushed.

“I honestly don’t know what I would do without you Mione. I love you.”

She met his eyes, her own a bit watery. This wasn’t the first time that they had said those words but it always got to her, knowing just how much he meant. Some people, including her parents, were a bit skeptical because they were still so young but she knew that she had found her person

“I love you too.”