Hey! Could I request some fluff with Sirius please?
I was thinking of something a bit too specific like, Sirius not admitting he likes an oblivious! Reader, but still getting jealous of people around them?
Bonus points if the other boys keep pestering Sirius saying things like " thank the heavens you don't have a crush, huh?"
Thank you!
₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ sirius black x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊
sirius isn’t jealous, he swears
1k words
a/n: thank you for requesting angel!!
The third time Glenn Pots touches your arm, not that Sirius is counting, Sirius’ nails have almost drawn blood. He squeezes his fists tightly, grateful that he was no longer holding a glass cup, as it would’ve surely broken.
Sirius leans back in the arm chair, propping his feet up on the coffee table, the picture of casualness. Around him, people danced and cheered and retold the Quidditch game that had ended less than an hour ago, the Gryffindors leaving victorious. Normally, he’d be in the mood for this; he might’ve sung along with the music with James or bothered Remus. More importantly, he might’ve gotten to talk to you.
The thought makes him glance back over at you, sitting on the loveseat in the corner, Glenn Pots leaning into your side. You’re smiling at him, a small one, but still. Before he can fret any more, someone places themselves on the arm of Sirius’ chair, fully blocking the view. This particular person, one with wild hair and crooked glasses, looks like he’s up to no good.
“You alright, Pads?” James asks, his eyes saying that he already knows what’s wrong. “Looking particularly sulky tonight.”
Sirius waves a hand, trying to subtly position himself so he can still see you around James’ body. “Fine. Headache, is all.”
James’ smile grows impossibly wider, glasses slipping down the slope of his nose as he looks down at him. “Hm. Is it, perhaps, one in the shape of a Mr. Pots?”
Sirius turns his glare up to James, squinting at his best friend. Whenever James knows that Sirius is one of his moods, all of his smiles look satisfying enough to punch. If they weren’t friends, and at a party, he might’ve done just that. Instead, he shoves James’ legs off of his lap.
He laughs and catches himself before he could fall to the floor. “You know,” he continues, positioning himself back on the arm, “you could just talk to her. Crazy idea, I know.”
“And why would I do that?” It’s hard to keep the bite out of his voice, but he doesn’t worry about hurting James’ feelings. He knows that Sirius isn’t mad at him; mad at the universe and Pots, yes. Never James, though.
“Sirius, you’re staring.”
From James’ new seat, he can just see Pots. Even from across the room, the way he is looking at you makes him uncomfortable and angry all at once. Like you are something shiny behind a glass case and he has to have you.
“I’m not jealous, James,” Sirius says, far too defensively for that to be true. “I just think that he has a weird laugh. Not like she seems very happy with him anyway.”
James glances over his shoulder at you, pushing his hair back with a rough hand. When he turns back, he wiggles his eyebrows. “Maybe you can go save her. The whole knight-in-shining armor thing. Girls love that, I’ve heard.”
“Oh yeah?” Sirius asks, half listening. He watches as Pots leans closer to tell you something. “And how’s that working out for you?”
When James doesn’t immediately respond, Sirius looks up at him in surprise. “Sorry,” he amends quickly. “Jesus, sorry. I’m a dick.”
James’ smile doesn’t waver, and he dismisses him with a hand as he stands from the chair. “It’s fine, Pads. I know you are just a grumpy bastard in love.”
Sirius groans, leaning his head back against the chair cushion. “I am not in love.”
From the corner of his eye, he can see James rolling his eyes, already turning toward the drink table. “Go talk to her, mate.” His voice is stern, like he’s giving an order. He’s gone before Sirius can say anything else, swallowed in the sea of bodies.
Sirius sighs softly, tucking the longer strands of his dark hair behind his ears. Taking a peek at you, he sees that you’re still there. You look exceptionally beautiful tonight, in his (and Pots’, but he ignores this,) opinion. You’ve done something different with your hair that eases the pain of anger in Sirius’ chest, bit by bit.
Without another doubt, he stands, making his way toward you, dodging dancing and cheering bodies. He’s about halfway there when you glance up, meeting his eyes. Jesus, he’s never met someone who makes him feel this nervous.
“Can I steal you?” he asks once in talking distance. You’re standing before he can even finish asking, forgoing the drink you were cradling in your hands on the nearest table. Saying a quick goodbye to Pots, you come up to his side with already-flushed cheeks. Sirius pretends to not notice the daggers being shot in the back of his head as he steers you away, one hand between your shoulder blades.
He feels more like himself with every step away from that loser. “Hello, gorgeous. Are you having fun?”
You look up at him with a smile that makes Sirius forget how to breathe. “I am now,” you say. Your voice is quieter than the music, but he hears you just fine. He guides you to an unoccupied couch, your thighs brushing against his as you sit. You’re so close that Sirius can smell your perfume and the way your lashes flutter as you look over at him.
He clears his throat, resting a forearm on the back of the couch, upper body angled toward you. “So… Glenn seemed chatty.”
You let out a giggle before saying, “He was. Mostly about himself.”
Sirius doesn’t bother stopping his eye roll. “What a tosser. Should’ve found someone else to talk to, love.”
You meet his eyes. “I wanted to, but he was with someone else.”
A coil of dread unravels somewhere within Sirius. His voice is low when he asks, “Who?”
Your smile widens, like you know something he doesn’t. “You, you idiot.”
He is stunned into silence for a moment, rare for him. Heat rushes up the side of his neck to the tips of his ears. “Me?”
You let out another soft laugh as you shift, mirroring his sitting position. “Yeah, you. I thought you were avoiding me.”
He shakes his head, collecting himself as tendrils of hair slip out of place. “Not at all. Too busy being an idiot, apparently.”
Your smile grows, as does his uncharacteristic nervousness. It’s hard not to tease him, just a little. “Aw, you’re too pretty to be an idiot.”
His laugh hits your ears, even louder than the music. Prettier too.
Summary: Y/N is the Herbology professor who has worked in Hogwarts for a few years since Professor Sprout retired. She has never really interacted with Snape, until Dumbledore assigns the both of them to work on combined lesson courses to improve student engagement. Things seem professional, maybe with a hint of unspoken attraction simmering beneath the surface. Until one thing leads to another.
A/N: Sorry if some facts about HP is not the most accurate, I haven't read/watched it in a few years 😅 Also please let me know of areas for improvement, this is my first fanfic
~~
She was never one to be fond of the Potions Master, finding his demeanor to be rather scary, unapproachable, but nonetheless mysterious. Despite that she has been a professor for a while, they haven't a conversation beyond anything but polite "good morning"s. And sometimes he doesn't even return it, nonchalantly acknowledging her with a curt nod, and just like that he's gone within the blink of an eye, his long coat swooshing behind him. They've shared a few stolen glances during dinner, but neither of them brought it up, merely brushing it off as a coincidence.
She couldn't get over his mysterious personality, wanting to dig deeper, wanting to learn more about him. She knew he was a past Death Eater, and she knew about his love for Lily, his broken heart, his entire being shredded and torn to pieces by her death. She ached to have a proper conversation with him like he did with Minerva and the other professors, but just didn't have the courage to. After all, she was not a Griffindor.
"Y/N, Severus," She was snapped out of her daze by the familiar, kind voice of the Headmaster, "I apologize for disturbing your dinner, but could the both of you follow me to my office? I have something to discuss." Snape, who sat two seats away from her, took a last sip of his wine and stood up from his seat. Y/N took it as a queue to get up too. She wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin and stood up. Her eyebrows knitted together, what on earth could Dumblemore possibly want with the both of them, surely he could've just called them separately? How odd. She shook away her thoughts, following behind the two men as they exited the great hall.
She struggled to keep up with Snape's long strides, descending down the stairs carefully to not trip over her own feet while trying to match his pace. Dumbledore was quite ahead of them, his white hair glimmering under the candlelight that lit up the ancient halls. She would never get over how magical and magnificent the castle looked at night, and the stars that hung across the sky, reminding of her youth at Hogwarts, when she used to sneak out to the Quidditch field at night with her friends to stargaze and have heart-to-heart talks.
Enough of the sentimental talk, she snapped out of her daze, and couldn't help but realise that she had caught up to Snape, they were almost walking side by side. "But I haven't walked any faster.." She thought. Then it struck her "He couldn't have slowed down for me..right?" She looked up at him, catching a glimpse of his crooked nose when he turned his head ever so slightly towards her, eyes darting to her figure and returning to look straight ahead within a second.
The corner of her mouth curled slightly, maybe his heart wasn't that cold after all.
~~
The pair entered the Headmaster's office, each taking a seat in front of his desk. She slumped ever so slightly into the soft cushioned chair, while Snape sat halfway in the chair with a rigid upright posture, his expression unreadable.
"I'm sure the both of you are wondering why I you're here. Well, to put things simple, I need the both of you to work together," Dumbledore stated simply, as if it wasn't that big of a deal at all. Snape let out a strangled "What?". Y/N was taken aback, why would they ever need to work together? Potions and Herbology are two completely different subjects.
Before she could retaliate, Dumbledore put up a hand in silence. She nervously bit her lip waiting for him to continue. "I apologize for the suddeness, but Minerva and I have discussed this. The older 6th and 7th year students, despite not choosing to further their studies for NEWTs in these two subjects, still lack foundation abilities. We found that it is still preferred by employers to have knowledge in these subjects beyond the OWLs. Hence we think that it is necessary to provide compulsory combined potions and herbology lessons for students. I know these aren't the best circumstances for the both of you, but I do hope I can get your understanding and cooperation."
Her mouth dropped in shock. Her, the kind, patient Herbology professor who is loved and adored by students. And Snape, the moody and fierce Potions Master known "affectionately" as the Dungeon Bat? Them working together? Teaching together? Not in a million years. And Snape surely felt the same through how tight his jaw was clenched.
She sighed, there was no way they would be able to do this, and she hesitated before speaking, "Sir, are you absolutely sure there are no other arrangements that can be made? I will be glad to do group or individual tutoring after school-hours or on weekends." Dumbledore glanced at her above his crescent-shaped glasses and sighed, "I'm deeply sorry Y/N, we do not want to take away any more of these students' time to revise for their upcoming tests. The only solution is to squeeze in an hour and a half of combined lessons in the afternoons." She slumped even more into the chair, and closed her eyes tightly despite feeling Snape's intense gaze on her. She wanted to dissapitate into the air, dissapear off the face of the Earth.
"I know how difficult it is to plan combined subject lessons, and I will increase your salaries accordingly". Her eyes shot open. It wouldn't hurt to send some extra money to her parents back home, they were saving up for a trip to Italy anyway. He got her good. "Okay", she replied, defeated. Snape merely nodded, and she noticed a slight frown that appeared between his eyebrows.
synopsis: a one night stand in egypt has him reeling about what could’ve been. bill returns home to see his possibilities right in front of him
a/n: i wanted more bill x reader and there barely is any so i had to take matters into my own hands
part two
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
you stared at the bump that was protruding from under your dress. summer was all year round in egypt, but as you got bigger, your dresses got tighter and shorter, and you knew that it was time to return home and face the undying music.
a consequence of a night you knew you would never forget. he was lucky, you thought, he would never have to know your world, carry your burdens.
only thing you regretted was he would be missing out on a child’s life. his child’s life. but there was also the possibility that he would’ve never given a damn to begin with.
your lips connected and all you could taste was the bitterness of his rum that he had chugged before letting you drag him away from the tantalizing bar maids. his hand mushed into your hair, and kissed you roughly. he was all teeth, and you felt your lip in between his. it made you feel the thrill of it all as his hands roamed your body. it was dark, people were dancing around you and you could hardly feel anything but him until you realized what this was going to lead to. you were anything but someone to fuck on the dance floor like this.
you grabbed the man and pulled him close as you ducked the arms of dancers and dashed towards the bathroom. you threw the door open, seeing a woman washing her hands. it was ill lit, a neon pink decal above the mirror was your only light as you kicked the girl out with a mere gaze.
you pulled the man back onto you before slamming the door shut with the weight of his body. he moaned as you kissed him, a hand reaching for the lock, you turned it and let yourself roam his body.
he was attractive, a redhead, which was new for you but you’d try anytbing once. he had a scar on his face that made you question everything but he was a great kisser, and that was all it seemed to matter in the moment.
he didn’t bother asking your name, and nor did you, all you knew him by was- “sir!” you screamed as he fucked you against the door. you were gripping his shoulder as he was holding you. you threw your head back and the thumping got louder. he was frantically fucking you, and you felt yourself tense up as you came, moaning loudly as you shook. you felt cum trail down your leg and realized he too had came.
“fuck.” you muttered as he set you down.
the house was the same. old, creaky, dusty, hateful and wretched. but it was home. and as you set your bags down, really taking it all back in, the familiar house elf from your childhood came to greet you.
“mistress y/n.” kreacher gazed at you with squinted eyes, taking in your pregnant self, “how was your trip.” it was more of a statement rather than a question so you ignored him as he stalked away with your bags.
your father was supposed to be here, but as you gazed at the clock, you realized that you had arrived earlier than you had expected. so you grabbed your remaining bag and hauled it up the steps, following kreacher to your old room, you passed the portrait of your grandmother and the silence was suddenly filled with a shriek of disdain.
“don’t tell me you got yourself impregnated unwed! a disgrace this great house has been brought, such a disgrace, like your father!” walburga shouted, and you sneered, “i missed you too, grandmother.”
as you looked at your room, everything left in its place as the night you had left it, you realized with a sinking feeling that you weren’t a teenager anymore.
you let a hand trace down your belly, you were a mother now.
as you toured your old belongings, you came across the pictures that you had pinned poorly to your budoir, pictures of you with harry and your father, a makeshift family, you had always said. another with your old friends, cedric before he passed and cho.
a knock at the door brought you out of your thoughts and you pulled your feelings back and turned to see your father at the doorway.
you sniffled, wiping your teary eyes, “sorry, it’s the hormones.” you excused and embraced sirius. sirius chuckled warmly, “don’t worry about it, kid. im just glad your home.”
you pulled back and sirius looked down at your belly, “you too.” he talked to the baby and you laughed.
sirius grabbed your arm and pulled you into the hallway, “molly has been preparing a dinner for your return at her home.” he looked at you, “i understand if you don’t want to attend, but harry will be there.”
and now you were apparating to the burrow, a long heavy coat over you as you had failed to realize too late that no one knew of your surprise.
as you opened the door to the weasley home, nothing but the warm scent of cinnamon and honey filled your nose as you walked in. shouts and banter could be heard from somewhere in the house and all eyes were on you suddenly.
molly was practically jumping up and down as she ran to hug you. as she hugged you, you realized that your belly was bumping against her, but molly didn’t seem to notice in her joy. you had always been like a second daughter to her, coming around so often after harry had set your father free.
“i’m so happy you’re back, my darling girl!” molly kissed your forehead and she laughed joyfully. she greeted sirius with a smile, “i just know your father is so happy that you’re home, he wouldn’t stop talking about it when you wrote that you would!” you turned to your father who was now a slight shade of pink.
before you could say anything else, harry, hermione and ron all ran up to you. harry was the first to hug you, and unlike molly, he was the first to notice you were different. harry frowned as he pulled back and you exhaled. you tugged the coat off reluctantly and your bump was now in full view.
the three looked down at you with shock and you smiled sheepishly, “surprise?”
hermione didn’t care as she hugged you, screaming joyfully that she was going to be aunt.
harry and sirius exchanged a series of looks and all ron could do was stare.
“blimey, y/n, but you certainly put some weight on abroad.” he hid his shock and hermione pulled away from you with a roll of her eyes, “she’s not fat, she’s pregnant, ronald!”
you chuckled, “it’s alright. trust me i thought i was getting fat too.”
molly was busying herself in preparing the dinner so she was the last to notice your bump. yet still the loudest in her congratulations.
it seemed that everyone, your father, harry, hermione and the rest of the weasley family all made the pointed question not to ask about the father.
wouldn’t be the first time someone from the noble house of black would be a single parent. sirius was with you, and that earned you some interesting nicknames growing up.
but you and your father liked to joke that you were like zeus and athena. a mere thought turned into a child, you didn’t need a mother if you had your father.
but after he was put away, you found the much needed influence of a girl in tonks, who had done the great deed of taking you in, even if she was barely an adult herself.
and after your father had returned during your fourth year, you spent time with him until you realized that the world of war had no place for you, and you had saved yourself the rest of the despair after cedric died.
“why didn’t anyone wake me for dinner?” a voice could be heard calling down the steps. you turned to molly who smiled, “bill is home from egypt. i was assuming he was tired after traveling all day, so i let him sleep.” she mentioned and you nodded.
out of all the weasley siblings, you had only met ron, the twins, ginny and the insufferable percy. the two eldest weasley brothers had been a total mystery to you, something out of legend as you hadn’t even seen pictures.
“hurry down now, bill.” molly called out, and as he finally rounded the corner towards the table, you realized with a wave of nausea who it was.
and seemingly, he did too.
bill hadn’t bothered to properly greet his family when he came home. it would all be in due time, he excused, and made his way to his bedroom where he would continue to wallow in the sorrow.
it had been just a few months since that night but it was like she had been a siren, a woman untouchable that he only desired more of. she consumed his thoughts, his dreams, even his nightmares.
bill had to leave egypt to escape her, or at least the thought of her. but back home, it seemed to intensify even more.
all he could remember were her piercing eyes, a sight he would never forget.
as he heard clamor downstairs bill sat up and stretched. he saw fred exiting the room and he stopped him, “what’s going on?”
fred shrugged, “mum said sirius and his daughter were coming over for dinner.” bill waved a hand as his brother left and threw himself into the pillows with a yawn.
he tried to make himself comfortable but the smell of the food had snaked its way up to his room, and now all he could feel was the pain of his empty stomach.
so with a sigh, bill pulled himself together and set down to greet his family and the guests.
you gulped as the silence seemed to drag on.
“bill?” you asked and he nodded. the same man from the nightclub was standing in front of you. in a pair of sweats, ruffled hair and a cheap hoodie, he was standing there.
same facial scar, same hanging earring. the father of your child was bill weasley.
bill was astounded. hearing his name from your lips had him flown back into a muddle of daydreams. he had imagined this moment before. meeting tou again, and professing his love to you.
but the shock of seeing you with his own two eyes for the second time was enough to send him back into a slumber.
you had stood up and he had noticed it. a bulging piece of evidence from under your dress, bills mind went to all the possibilities.
what if the baby is mine? was she pregnant during and i had missed it? have i gone so crazy that i’m imagining her face on other bodies?
“between the looks of you two, i’m assuming you two know each other?” fred let out a whistle and you and bill looked at each other before answering at the same time.
“yes.”
“no.” you echoed.
fred and george both cringed and suddenly things became awkward. molly caught their hint and clapped a hand, “dinner will resume in twenty minutes. let’s all have tea in the living room!”
your father looked at you with a raised eyebrow and you shrugged slightly as he was dragged off.
bill went outside, and a cigarette appeared in his hand. he was nervous, seeing you was too much. seeing you pregnant was coma worthy, and how he was still standing was an achievement.
you followed him and stood away slightly as you realized he was smoking.
silence once again, and you cleared your throat as you moved a hand down your belly, “it’s yours.”
“what?” bill was too busy trying to focus on his cigarette and missed your comment.
you repeated, “the baby. it’s yours.”
bill looked at your belly and back at you, “i know it’s a shock. trust me, this wasn’t in my plans. but we didn’t even know each others names and i-“
bill was too busy gazing at your belly than to listen to your rant, “may i?” he held out a hand, and you stopped mid sentence to grab his hand. a reluctant step forward, you set his hand on your belly, “it’s too early to feel anything but-“
bill gasped, there it was. a small kick just on his hand. you had felt it too, and your shock was mutal.
bill tossed his cigarette and smiled as both hands grabbed your belly, “wow.” he whispered.
you looked at bill, “bill,”
bill looked at you, “y/n.”
you raised an eyebrow and bill laughed, “how could i forget the name of sirius black’s rebellious daughter who ran off into the night?”
“you knew it was me?”
bill shook his head, “i never saw a picture, i just knew of you.”
you scoffed, “i guess i could say the same thing.”
bill pulled back his hands and was now crossing them, “i understand why you kept this to yourself. a million chances and it wouldn’t be this lucky.”
you nodded, “if you don’t want to be involved that’s fine. wouldn’t be the first time i do something alone.” you looked down at your belly and held it before looking at the sun setting just overhead.
bill held out a hand, “i want to be. i want to be a father. and i want to be with you.” he was pink, a shade of embarrassment as he realized what he had said.
“really?”
bill nodded, “it might sound incredibly odd but- i just haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. i left egypt, quit my job because you were haunting me. knowing this, knowing how perfect this turned out to be makes me realize one thing.”
you raised an eyebrow, “what is it?”
bill smiled, “that you were true to your word.”
as zippers were heard being zipped, you fixed your hair. the panting of the man was heard quietly as he looked at you once more, “will i see you again?” words slurred just so slightly that you laughed.
“i hope that for your sake, you do.” you left him right after that, leaving the man to fade into the darkness just as the blasting music met your ears.
James Potter smells like vanilla extract and cinnamon and something slightly burnt.
He’s barefoot in the kitchen, sweater sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a dusting of flour in his hair like it settled there just to rest. The brown jumper — the one you gave him last Christmas — fits him better this year, clinging in a way that’s almost unfair. You’re curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, pretending to read while he hums out-of-tune carols and wreaks gentle chaos in the kitchen.
He’s smug when he walks over, holding a tray of misshapen cookies like it’s a trophy.
“They’re caramelized,” he announces, far too proudly.
You tilt your head. “They’re burnt.”
He grins, unbothered. “No, darling. Car-a-mel-ized.”
You lean forward to inspect them. “James… the reindeer lost their faces.”
He glances down. One of the cookies has melted into something vaguely goat-like.
“They’re modern art,” he says.
“They’re suffering.”
He laughs, a soft huff through his nose, and sets the tray carefully on the coffee table. Then he collapses onto the couch beside you with a dramatic sigh.
“Well,” he says, resting his head on the back cushion like this is the end of an era. “Darling, I’ve decided I am officially a baking man.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You literally just set Santa’s batch on fire.”
“I didn’t set them on fire—”
“They sizzled, James.”
“They were enthusiastic!”
You bite your lip to hide a grin as he stretches an arm behind you. You shift slightly to make space, only for him to tug you gently against his side, hand coming to rest at your waist.
“If you keep burning cookies like this,” you murmur, “your mum’s never letting you near the oven again.”
He gasps — softly, playfully. “She loves my cookies.”
“She literally moved the fire extinguisher closer.”
He snorts. “Precaution.”
You reach up to flick flour from his hair. “Disaster.”
Still, he smiles. And so do you.
You press a kiss to his cheek, slow and warm. He turns to meet your eyes, and something in his gaze lingers — soft and golden and just a little smug.
“You know,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours, “I’d like it on record that I looked incredible while failing.”
You hum. “You did.”
“I mean, this jumper?” He tugs on the sleeve a little. “It brings out my domestic charm.”
You scoff lightly, but you’re already sinking closer, melting into him, sweater and all. “It’s because I bought it.”
“It’s because I wear it,” he whispers, nuzzling your jaw.
Outside, snowflakes keep falling like feathers from a sleeping sky. Inside, it smells like sugar and something scorched and something safe. You close your eyes, and he holds you there — warm hands, warm sweater, warm boy.
You're playing Quidditch with the other Gryffindors when you see Newt Scamander walking into the Forbidden Forest. Of course you fake an injury and slip away to check on him.
Just out of curiosity.
…Right?
When inside the Forest, he finds you instead.
"Oi! Quit daydreaming and fly!"
"Are you even listening?"
You turned around and shook your head in apology. "Ah, sorry."
You waited until a good half-hour of the practice had passed to bang your arm on a goalpost, successfully injuring yourself. The Captain sighed in disappointment and told you off for a solid ten minutes before sending you off to Madam Pomfrey.
Wasting an idle fifteen minutes battling Peeves in the corridors, you ran back to the Quidditch pitch knowing the Gryffindors would have left. But to your dismay, you couldn't find the one Hufflepuff either. Where did he go?
You grabbed your broom and took off, swirling around the grounds before landing in an opening in the Forest. Just when you did, something moved by the tree behind you.
Whipping your wand out, you spun around, broom held mid-air like a baton ready to bash the beast's head. But there was no beast in sight. You frowned, narrowing your eyes and mumbling a revealing charm. A single leaf wiggled in response. Slowly, a twig detached itself, climbed down the tree to your eye level, and stood on a lower branch.
You chuckled to yourself, lowering your defence wards and weapons before taking a step closer to the tree. "Hello there," you gave the Bowtruckle a little wave. The two leaves atop its head twitched in caution. It squeaked and ran, disappearing into the foliage. "Hey, wait! Oh come on, I'm not that scary!"
"Not at all, he's j-just extremely s-shy," a soft, low voice stammered a little to your left. You looked around to find a young boy in yellow robes fixing his glasses, the Bowtruckle on his shoulder trying desperately to hide in his ridiculously messy mop of hair. Beautiful, glittery hair.
"Well, then I shan't be surprised if Bowtruckles were your favourite species," you grinned, smacking his upper arm, laughing when he jumped at the touch. "See?"
"S… Sorry, just bad with…" Newt Scamander waved at your hands vaguely.
"Physical touch?"
He nodded, head tilted low.
"Aww, sorry. You'll get used to it," you smiled. "Shoulda prepared yourself for it when you first agreed to be best friends with clingy me." With that, you sat on the grass, laid your broom beside you, and patted the ground. Newt nibbled the inside of his cheek, weighing the pros and cons of spending a free afternoon with you in the forest, before quickly sitting across from you.
You both crossed your legs and removed your cloaks –– the forest was far too warm. You tossed yours against the tree, striking perfectly and letting it sink to rest on the roots. Newt shuffled over, picked it up, patted the poor fabric, folded it neatly and placed it atop his own. You could see a subtle head-shake, lips twitching at the tips. "What's so funny? I'm tired from practice, okay?!"
He nodded, letting out a chuckle before beckoning the Bowtruckle down. "Say hello," he patted it.
A low grunt and a wave followed, making you laugh. "Oh, you're hardly friendly. Hello. Say, Scamander, why are you here anyway? Don't––" you added, when he opened his mouth warily. "Don't tell me you just walked in, I saw you coming in here an hour ago."
"I… Ju– Just…" He gulped, eyes darted back up. Seeing you waiting with a patient smile, his shoulders relaxed a bit. "I come here… to s… study."
"You study here? Merlin's beard, the Forbidden Forest is your quiet space? Takes a damn lot of courage to even come in here, you're in the wrong house!" You clapped, laughing and cheering. "Makes sense. You do love animals, it would make sense to want to study in the middle of a bloody jungle. And for someone who's boggart is an office desk…"
His mouth twitched in a smirk, making you laugh. "It's not exactly Care of Magical Creatures, though…"
"Oh?"
He nodded again.
"Let me take a wild guess." He looked up, eyes far off but alert, the way they always were. "You're writing your own book on magical beings?"
"…" He gulped and shook his head vigorously, hair flying. "No, no, just ta..king my own notes," he denied slowly.
"If that's what you call it for now, sure," you flashed a grin. "I don't know about your writing skills, but I do know you're mad about these ones," you waved at the Bowtruckle, holding out your pinky finger, waiting. The creature pulled a face but relented. You felt a little leafy twig wrapping around your finger and glanced at Newt, beaming with pride. "Look! He likes me!"
Newt was probably surprised too, the way he smiled a little grin. "Who wouldn't?" you heard him mutter.
"I heard that," you smirked, holding out your free hand.
The Hufflepuff gazed at it for three long seconds before clasping your hand in his own. "…"
"Wanna go back inside or stay? I could bribe a Prefect of ours to help get in after curfew."
Pairing: not really one, it just focuses on Y/n. Yes, Draco and the golden trio are friends in this one!
Warnings: mentions of dead mom, verbal abuse, screaming, use of emotions and past mistakes as leverage/ammo, angst, reader blaming herself, lil bit of fluff, explanation of how mom died
Summary: Dolores Umbridge crosses a line that should never be crossed. And yes Ik this is different from my normal stuff, but this has been spinning in my head for half an hour before I decided to write this!
If your interested, you can find my other works here!
You unpack your bag, huffing. You did not want to have to deal with another day of Umbridge and her shit.
“And don’t forget to stay tuned in to see what kind of shit Dolores Umbridge pulls in today’s class!” Draco says as he walks in, sitting down next to you. You laugh, feeling a soft hit to the back of your head, seeing Hermione sit in her seat behind you.
“Well good morning to you too, ‘Mione!” you say, and she rolls her eyes. “You woke up everyone in the dorm last night with your snoring. Honestly, I think it’s gotten worse.”
“Sorry ‘Mione, but I dunno what you want me to do. It’s not like I can just not sleep.” you say, your hand playing with your choker. It was a nervous habit, one you’d do when you needed a bit of extra comfort.
“Good morning class, I expect you finished all your homework and are ready to turn it in.” Umbridge says, and you groan, turning back around in your seat. You were going to hate today.
😢
Somehow the topic had drifted to the Unforgivable Curses again, just like almost every class. You were just glad Neville wasn’t here so he wouldn’t have people throwing it at him almost every day.
“Y/n? Are you even listening?” “Hmm? Sorry.” you say, refocusing on the talks.
It’d only been two minutes. 2. Minutes.
“Tell me, do you enjoy hurting people?” Umbridge asked you, and you seethed. “I don’t believe-“
“Do you enjoy killing?” “I’ll kill you.” you say, looking her in the eye.
“What, like you did your mother?”
Your heart dropped as you processed what Umbridge just said. “Y/n-“ Draco says, but you ignore him.
The sound of your chair scraping loudly on the floor echoes throughout the room as you get up, shoving your things in your bag.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Umbridge asked as you grabbed the door handle. “I didn’t say you could leave.”
“You- crossed- a fucking line- that should not- have been crossed.” Your voice was shaky, there were tears in your eyes.
“What? Are you upset? Because I’m trying to reveal the truth?” You spin around, feeling the tears roll down your face as your classmates watch.
“YOU CROSSED A FUCKING LINE DOLORES! YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT MY MOTHER! YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED! YOU CROSSED A LINE! A LINE, THAT MIGHT I ADD, SHOULD NOT HAVE BEEN CROSSED?!” You were practically screaming, and you swung the door open before slamming it shut behind you, a resounding boom coming from behind you as you run down the stairs.
You didn’t know where you were going, but you were getting away from her, so it had to be better, right?
😢
You sit under one of the tables in the Great Hall, head on your arms, arms on your knees. You tried to muffle your sobs. You didn’t need the whole school knowing you were crying.
“Y/n! Y/n!” you heard Harry shout, and you cover your mouth, begging yourself to shut up.
“Where did she go?” Ron asks, and you see his shoes walk past the table. You pull your knees closer to your chest, making sure your shoes weren’t visible. “I’m not sure. Draco, did you already check the Slytherin common room?”
“Yes, Potter. Did you check Gryffindor’s?” “She’s not there!” Hermione’s voice yelled, her footsteps running in. “She’s got to be around here somewhere, we’ve checked basically everywhere.”
You wince hearing a hiccup slip out of your throat, and four pairs of feet turn to where you were hiding.
“Y/n?” Ron’s voice was soft as you saw him squat down, looking under the table. You cover your face, trying to dry your tears. God, this was embarrassing. “Hey, it’s okay, we’re not mad.”
You look over when you feel Hermione scoot in next to you, sitting on her ankles as she bent forwards. Harry followed, and so did Draco. You felt another sob rise in your throat as Hermione rubbed your back, Draco’s head on your shoulder.
You sat there like that, in silence, for a while. When you were finally able to see straight, you rubbed your nose.
“I’m sorry.” you mutter, burying your face into your jeans. “Hey, none of that. It’s not your fault, stop blaming yourself. She-“
“But it is my fault, Harry! She died trying to stop me from getting hurt because I didn’t listen to her. It’s my fault!” you say, your hands fisting the ends of your pant legs. You explain what had happened.
😢
You’d been playing in the road, and a truck was barreling down the road, way too fast for how dark it was. You’d followed a kitten, trying to befriend it so it would come with you. You’d always loved animals.
Your mother had seen, and rushed outside, shoving you out of the way just before you got hit. But, because of that, she’d been run over, dying almost immediately. The car had screeched to a stop, and the rest you’d forgotten, which was a small mercy.
😢
“Y/n, it’s not your fault. She crossed a line, she’s the one in the wrong here. Not you. You were just a kid.” Draco says, and you sniff, snot running out of your nose.
“It was-“ “Not your fault. Now stop blaming yourself, or I’m going to like you.” Ron says, and you laugh. “There, that’s better. Now, who’s going to tell Dumbledore?”
You crawl out from under the table, helping Hermione up, then Ron. “I call dibs, my eyes are still red and I want to be the one to get that hag kicked out.”
“That’s the girl I know and am slightly terrified of!” Draco jokes, and you shove him lightly.
😢
Anyways, thank you for reading, and lmk what you thought of this Hogwarts fic! Have a wonderful day, lovelies! Don’t forget to ask me if you want to be tagged later!
Could write about something that readers does that just short circuit the boys ( separately, please)? Like something cute that just leaves them in that awe moment?
Thank you!
₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ james potter x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊
james short-circuits when you casually do something sweet
793 words
a/n: hi! i decided to do this with just james, but if i get ideas for the other boys i will definitely do it. thank you for requesting ʚ♡ɞ
The pub is loud, but not so loud as to be overwhelming. After all, most of that volume is coming from your table. You’re surrounded with your friends, all people from your Hogwarts days. But it’s the glasses-clad boy sitting next to you, his warm thigh pressing into yours, that you’re aware of most.
You’re pressed into James’ side in the booth, his hand intertwined with yours on your lap. You’re both in separate conversations, his a ‘heated’ argument with Sirius on who’s the better Quidditch player, your’s a gossip session with Marlene. Despite that, James squeezes your hand every couple of minutes and kisses your brow when you need a refill.
When Marlene leaves, whether for the bathroom or for a drink (you’re unsure,) you’re left to your own devices. You angle yourself towards James, your crossed legs nudging his thigh. He must think you need him, because he removes himself from his conversation faster than you can blink, his gaze now on you.
His smile is boyish, glasses pushed up high on his nose. “You okay, angel?” He asks, smooshing his nose and lips to your temple in what you think is supposed to be a kiss.
“I’m okay,” you say, voice low but not upset. To anyone else, you know you look as lovesick as you feel. Resting your head against his bicep, it flexes in surprise and then settles. He squeezes your hand.
“You having fun?” he asks softly, just for you to hear. He even ducks his head down to get a better look at you, strands of curly hair falling before his eyes. He shoves them back with a huff.
James is like this everytime you go out together. It could be a diner, a club, a bar; it’s almost like he can’t relax nor have fun unless he knows you're okay too.
You laugh softly into his shoulder, his shirt scrunching beneath your cheek as you tilt your head up at him. “Relax, Jamie. Please. This is fun.” Which is no lie.
He studies you for a moment, so you take the opportunity to do the same, taking in the slope of his nose, the roundness of his eyes that are surrounded with long lashes, the natural pink of his lips. You could observe his face for hours, you think, and always be entertained and completely in love.
Bending further down, he smooches the side of your nose, glasses bumping into you. The hair he had, so carefully, pushed back moments ago falls right back. The thick, dark, curly locks long enough to reach the outer corners of his eyes. Before he can move them back, always rougher than you like, you do it for him.
With your free hand, you gather the loose strands in one swoop, tucking them behind his ear. You do it without thinking, not like you’ve never done it before. The look in James’ eye says something different.
A girlish giggle escapes your lips. “What?”
He just stares at you for a moment, completely holding your attention. You’re unaware that Remus is watching the two of you with a curious eye from down the booth, that Sirius has taken one too many shots and is now singing the British National Anthem. For you, it is just James.
Before you can ask again, his lips are on yours. They are warm and soft, tasting like whatever drink, (one you don’t particularly like), he was drinking earlier. His hand abandons yours to cup your cheek, warm thumb brushing just below your eye, like he’s trying to memorize every slope of your face. (He already has.)
He pulls away after another moment, kissing the high of your cheek as he tugs you against his side once again.
“What was that for?” It bursts out for you; not a complaint, not at all, more so curious. Your cheeks warm and then spread down to your neck.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just rests his chin on the top of your head. James being quiet isn’t a common thing, but it isn’t abnormal either. You know that when he wants to tell you something, he always does.
“Just love you, ‘s all,” He says, quiet enough for just you to hear, his tone somewhat bashful. Now you understand. If you were to look up at him, his cheeks would be tinged with pink.
You grin into the junction between his neck and shoulder, fingers toying with the hem of his (your) sweatshirt.
“Merlin, Potter… If I had known snogging you would make you go all sappy, I would’ve done it ages ago.”
He groans, pressing his face into your hair, laughing softly. “You’re the worst.”
His arms that tighten around you say something different.
sirius patches you up after you fight someone in his honor
1.3k words
By the time you make it to The Fat Lady, your knuckles are stinging. There’s blood on them too, although you’re unsure if it’s yours or someone else’s. You’re not even sure if you got in more than two solid punches.
You murmur the password quietly, ignoring the astonished look The Fat Lady gives. You step through the portrait hole, praying that the rest of the Gryffindors are already at dinner. That’s where you should be too, with the rest of the boys. Devouring the lavish food Hogwarts never seems to run out of.
What you find, no, who you find, in the common area is not what you were hoping for. Sirius looked like he was readying to leave, coming down the spiral stone staircase that leads up to the boy’s dormitories. His defined eyebrows are raised, mouth slightly open in shock, when you meet his eyes. You know what he sees: a black eye forming paired with blood knuckles. Within moments, that expression is completely wiped, replaced with something harder, something that might prove whatever the hell has been happening between you two the last few months.
Sirius is right in front of you before you can explain, hand gently gripping your chin to tilt it up toward him, trying to get a better look. “Merlin, what the hell happened to you?” He asks, his face taut.
You try to open your mouth and explain, but close it before doing so. He points to the red couch sitting in front of the fireplace.
“Sit,” he says firmly, although not unkindly. He steers you with a gentle hand toward it, as if preparing for your obstinance.
As you sit, you see him in the corner of your eye, hurrying back up the stairs he had just descended. No doubt going to get the small medical kit he had stolen from Madam Pomfrey a couple years ago. The same one he used to patch James up after he gets hexed by a couple of Slytherins or when the full moon is harsh on Remus (when is it not?)
He comes back down in a moment, maneuvering around the furniture and forgotten textbooks to crouch in front of you, the small kit in his hand. He lays it down on the rug beside him to reveal its measly contents: some bandages, a sewing needle and thread, and a half empty bottle of a healing salve.
His voice breaks the silence first. “Who did this to you?” He asks, his voice is low now. Controlled. Not angry yet, but close.
What happened earlier floods back into your mind. The words blood traitor and disgrace are so clear that you can almost see them before you. You swallow, your throat dry as he cleans off the blood from your knuckles with a damp rag he must’ve grabbed before he came back down. “It was one of your cousin. Bellatrix, isn’t it?.”
His hand stills on yours for just a moment, then continues to wipe the bumps of your knuckles. His other hand holds your wrist steady, his thumb running over your pulse point.
You keep talking because if you stop to look at him for any longer, your heart will start to beat in a way that only seems to happen when he’s around. Like it’s trying to beat its way out of your chest and go to him.
Despite that, you struggle to explain, but you know he’ll never let you go until you do. “She was whining about.. you. Said that your parents should be ashamed of what they’re son has become. Someone who hangs around ‘half-breeds’ and ‘muggle-borns.’”
He lets out a slow breath, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. At some point, he had pulled out bandages, now carefully wrapping your knuckles in the tan gauze. You’ve only ever seen him this meticulous with his hands from when he’s holding his vinyls or involved in a prank.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” He says slowly, like he’s trying to figure out what he should say versus what he wants to say. He looks up and finally meets your eyes.
Sirius has always been the most beautiful boy you’ve met. That’s the only word that seems appropriate to describe him, with his pale skin, high cheekbones, and defined jaw. He looks like he belongs in one of those magazines that the younger boys read, the ones with men and women dressed up in fancy clothing, posed in dramatic poses.
You must make a face and strain an injury, because something burns and he tsks. “It’s not like I was just going to sit there and listen to that rubbish. I mean, would you if they were talking about me? Or James?”
You both know he wouldn’t have. Sirius is not an extremely rash person, but he has never backed down from a fight, whether he has his wand ready or not. Especially if it is in regards to someone he loves. Someone who would do the same for him.
He’s shaking his head now, reaching for the salve jar. You like this version of Sirius most, you think, despite the circumstances. The one that doesn’t feel the need to fill every second of silence with a tease or joke. He mutters something under his breath that sounds close to “idiot.”
When he looks back up at the jar, he shifts to sit up higher in order to reach your bruising eye. You let both of your eyes close as you feel his warm breath against your skin. The salve is cool on your bruise, but eases the stinging in mere moments.
“Don’t tuck your thumb in next time, gorgeous. You're lucky you didn’t break your hand,” he says. His voice is softer than before, a mix of amusement, disbelief, and something else that you can’t quite pinpoint.
You can’t help but smile at him, something he quickly returns. It’s not his wicked smile, nor his teasing one; it’s a soft one, a small upturn of the corners of his pink lips. His hand, still by your eye, moves to cup your cheek, thumb drawing a line beneath your bruise. You lean into it automatically, trying to act casual despite your quickly increasing heart rate. He has always had this kind of effect on you. The warmth of his hand lingers even after it drops away. He clears his throat as he puts the salve and leftover bandages back into the stolen kit.
“I’d do it all over again, y’know,” You say quietly. You’re not sure what made you say it; maybe it was the disbelief in his eyes when you told him about the reason, or the way his hand lingered on your face. Or maybe it’s because all of his touches and looks seem to linger these days. Watching you across the table at the library when you pretend to read, making you a plate at breakfast when you’re late so James doesn’t steal all of the fruit you love.
He swallows and says softly “I know you would.” He opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. “Just next time, maybe tell me beforehand? I’d like to have your back properly.” He looks like he wants to say more, with the way he’s studying your face, but chooses not to. Instead, he just stands up, brushes his hand over your hair with a casualness that doesn’t quite match the look in his eyes nor the longing on his face.
He holds a pale, long fingered hand out to you, offering you one of those small smiles. “Come on, love. Let’s get out of here before James sends a search party.” You take his hand before he’s even done talking. “I’d also love to see the damage you’ve done to poor Bellatrix.”
You smile to yourself as you walk, still hand in hand, toward the portrait. All the blood and bruises might be worth it, you think, as long as Sirius still holds your hand afterwards.
