#hp au

[lingi-15]

[dearlizzies]

DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT, POTTER!

the eye of the snake au

summary: A peaceful moment in the library turns into a disaster when Harry shows up. And he looks at you like you hung the stars. Harry is a big yearner in this. #a man who yearns is a man who earns. wc: 2k +

The Hogwarts library was quiet. Too quiet. Suspiciously quiet, in fact, considering it was a friday night and at least three Ravenclaws we’re hidden behind some piles of books, it was too peaceful to be real.

You sat hunched over a stack of books that smelled like mildew and regret, flipping through pages on ancient magical theory. Your quill was leaking ink. Your patience was leaking faster.

And then—there he was.

Harry Potter, leaning against the bookshelf like he was auditioning for a wizarding cologne ad. His hair was a mess. His tie was loose. His expression was soft and annoyingly fond.

You didn’t even look up. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asked, voice all innocent.

You turned a page. “Don’t look at me like that.”

He blinked. “Like what?”

“Like I’m the answer to every riddle in the universe.”

Harry grinned. “You kind of are.”

You slammed the book shut. “I will throw this at your face.”

“You won’t.”

“I will. It’s enchanted. It bites.”

Harry stepped closer. “Then I’ll die doing what I love.”

You stared at him. “Being annoying?”

“Looking at you.”

You groaned so loudly Madam Pince twitched in her sleep three rooms away.

Harry was almost your boyfriend, you two had kissed (never publicly and if he tried you would throw him a stupefy) although you still didn’t get used to him being there all the time.

You narrowed your eyes. “Why are you even here?”

Harry shrugged. “I like books.”

“You once tried to use a spellbook as a plate for a tart.”

“It was a bad book.”

“It was Hogwarts: A History.” You smiled a little at the thought of what Hermione’s expression would be like if she had seen that.

Harry leaned on the table, chin resting on his hand. “You’re so pretty when you’re mad.”

You blinked. “Did you hit your head?”

“Probably. On the way down. Into love.”

You stared at him. “That was the worst line I’ve ever heard.”

“I’ve got more.”

“Please don’t.” You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to scream.”

“Quietly, though. It’s the library.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you haven’t hexed me.”

“I’m saving it for a dramatic moment.”

Harry smiled. “Like when I kiss you?”

You choked on air. “Excuse me?”

“Just planning ahead.”

You pointed a quill at him. “I will stab you.”

“With love?”

“With ink. Permanent. On your forehead.”

Harry leaned closer. “Write your name. Make it official.”

You shoved your chair back so fast it squeaked. “I’m leaving.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

“I—why are you like this?”

Harry shrugged. “You make me stupid.”

“You were already stupid.”

“You just made it romantic.”

Just as you were about to storm off in a blaze of dignity, the book you’d been reading snapped open on its own. A puff of green smoke burst out, followed by a loud noise.

You froze. “Did that book just..?”

Harry blinked. “I think it cursed you.”

You looked down. Your hands were glowing. Your hair was floating.“Potter.”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to murder you.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

You stared at each other for a while, Harry tried to put on a serious expression while your hands shone.

He was trying not to laugh. “You look like a jellyfish.”

“I will end you.”

He pulled out his wand. “Let me fix it.”

“You’re not touching me with that thing.”

“Not even a little?”

You looked at him angrily, but he held back a laugh because your hair was still floating.

“Okay, okay.” He paused. “You’re still glowing.”

“I know.”

He tilted his head. “It’s kind of hot.”

You stared at him. “You have a problem.”

“I have many problems. You’re my favorite one.”

Eventually, after much flailing, the curse wore off. You were left with frizzy hair, glowing fingertips, and a deep desire to throw Harry into the lake.

He offered you a chocolate frog. “Truce?”

You took it. “Temporary.”

He smiled. “I’ll take it.”

You sighed. “Don’t look at me like that, Potter.”

He leaned in, eyes warm. “Like you’re the best part of my day?”

You groaned. “Exactly like that.”

He winked. “Then I can’t promise anything.”

tags: @mimisamisasa @callsigncrushx @lilians17 let me know if you wanna be tagged in this au!

[edilzzi]

𝐻𝐴𝑉𝐸 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐹𝑂𝑅𝐺𝑂𝑇𝑇𝐸𝑁?

(ft. Mattheo Riddle)

✧[Summary]✧ It had been months since you two divorced. A moment your life stopped living. It was all painfully tolerable until one night you completely lost yourself and called your ex husband while alcohol was erasing every intelligible bit of your system, including your memories of separating with him.

✧[Content]✧ Angst, ex-husband!mattheo, fem!reader, use of alcohol, modern au.

✧[A/N]✧ These mood swings will kill me one day.

✧[WC]✧ 1.1k

It was a loud friday night. Atleast that was what your foggy mind was replaying over and over again as your unsteady high heels clacked in the quiet pathway leading to your once shared house. Club music still ghostly blaring in your ringing ears as you lift your drunken self straight. Legs weighting more each step, occasionally tripping over nothing.

You haven't been drunk since Mattheo. Restraint over powered the need to drink because there wasn't anybody to take care of you. Except tonight when you stepped foot at the club, resistance wasn't a competition to the strong captivating smell of alcohol.

Just one drink.

Although as time passes by, you couldn't really tell if the bartender refills without command or it was your mouth without it. Either way, you were too busy blabbering incoherent complaints under your breath about how the stools at the bar should be adjustable and had cushions instead of hard wood.

The dance floor was even more irresistible. You loved to dance. This night though, the club didn't seem any different than when you were here with Mattheo, but there wasn't any courage in you to move. Your body was still, staring into the abyss, the music then suddenly blurred in your ears. Vision slowly made out what looked like dark brown eyes.

His eyes.

The same ones that squinted when he smiled and always reassured you everything was okay. The ones that made you believe that was true, and it was, just not anymore. You saw tears in those eyes, and you would wipe them away.

But as you looked straight into those same pupils at this exact moment, you thought you'd see the same version that was in the past.

No.

Those eyes were his, but behind them was lifeless. It wasn't reassuring, neither it was anger or sadness. You couldn't help but find it worse that those eyes that once made you feel everything had now made you feel nothing.

No, he's not actually there. But you couldn't help but yearn for his presence in the slightest way, even if it meant digging deep into the core of your skull just to vaguely remember.

Once the front door of your house creaked opened, the torturous heels were kicked off to the side and tapping of feet was heard around the place.

Where is he?

Reaching into your small purse for a phone, you dialed a number that was still pinned at the top of your messages.

The ringing phone vibrated in Mattheo's pocket as he clicked his apartment door shut. He just came home from work. Still in his work attire, tired eyes and messy hair, he confusingly reached down his pockets to answer whoever at this hour was calling him.

Much to his surprise, your name was the one on the screen. All these months without his ex wife were hell to him. Instinct was to press the glowing red button so he can move on like what was supposed to happen, but his heart ached at the thought of getting one more chance and leaving you once more like he did last time. Mattheo's heart hammered against his chest. Hesitantly, his thumb swipes to answer.

"Where are you? You didn't pick me up and now you're not here!" You slurred, clearly out of your senses.

"I'm sorry?" He already had an idea you were drunk, but not this drunk. He curses himself for caring. Even then, he can't admit he absolutely misses hearing your voice.

"My Mattheo.." You giggle, "You always work too much, when will you come back?"

My Mattheo.

My Mattheo.

My Mattheo.

That's what you always used to call him. It ringed in his ears as everything else you said was in consistent blabbering and mumbling. His mind dissolves into a cloud of memories.

"Helloo??" You pout. Mattheo registered your soft soothing voice and his grip on the phone tightened, blinking a few times.

"I can't come home." He strained, he knew your memories struggled to catch up when intoxicated, but he didn't have the heart to tell. "Something came up, don't wait up for me."

"Okayyy." You dragged, "I'll leave the porch light on, turn it off when you come back."

"I need to go." Mattheo forced out, grinding his teeth shut to hold back.

"Whennn?" You blurt out.

"Now." He hurried. He was holding boulders up on his shoulders just to not come over there and bring you back to him like he failed to do the first time.

"Do you have anything else you wanna say?" You asked, like you used to do before hanging up.

If you pushed a little harder, he might of sobbed. "No." He responded quietly, if he went a little louder you probably could've hear the way his heart breaks through his words, "Do you?"

"Hmm?" You hummed drunkenly.

"Do you have anything else to tell me?" His voice stern once more, but the tears pooling his vision said otherwise.

"I love you."

Your voice soft, though landing harsh. Mattheo closed his eyes as a tear slipped and a lump in his throat prevented him from responding. It was a phrase he knew all too well coming from your tongue, not on his. And it hurts him knowing that because it's so simple, yet he couldn't bring himself to say it. It made him feel vulnerable, but everyday since he got a taste of what it was like without hearing it, he wished he said it more times than you did.

His fingers trembled against the phone, "I.." His voice shook. He bit down on his bottom lip hard, restricting his sobs.

Just fucking say it.

He covered his mouth with a free hand, not wanting you to hear him. His knees buckled before landing a thud to the wooden floor, why can't he just say it?

Everytime he tried parting his lips to respond, an audible sob that came in chains emerged painfully instead.

I love you too.

Mattheo knew you were drunk. Maybe if he just hanged up you'll forget about it tomorrow.

But..

Part of him really needed to say it. Not because he wants to lead you on if you ever remember, not because he needs to get off his chest, not because he has to, but because he means it.

He still does.

"Fucking hell—" Mattheo muttered under his breath when he got a boost of strength and before restrained pulled him back in chains,

"I love you too."

Work written by me. Some dividers aren't mine and credits go to those who owns them. Please do not copy, translate, or feed my work to AI.

Respectfully yours, Edilzzi.

[rottenherbs]

The Golden Gate

✧.* : C.D x Reader ✎ : During a warm summer evening, you meet Cedric’s parents for the first time, discovering just how deeply you’ve become part of his world. 𖦹 916 A/C: —— cuteee Drabble !! [masterlist] Much Love, Saige ★ request: @certifiedcedricdiggory ϟ taglist ϟ: @littlemadamred @raiweasley

You must’ve changed your outfit three times before settling on something Cedric called “adorably overthought.”

Now you’re standing at the garden gate of the Diggory home, the July sun dipping behind tall hedges and casting soft shadows on the stone path ahead. You twist your fingers together and shoot a sideways glance at Cedric. He’s standing beside you in the glow of late afternoon, arms loose at his sides, hair golden in the light, like nothing could ever rattle him. You know better.

“You’re nervous,” you whisper, half teasing.

“I’m not,” he lies, eyes twinkling. “Okay, maybe a little. Mum’s been cleaning for days. I think she polished the doorknobs with a spell she invented. She’s excited.”

“And your dad?”

Cedric pauses, then shrugs. “He’ll try to intimidate you. Just a little. He does it with everyone. Even Harry.”

You nod slowly. “Good to know.”

He leans in, bumping your shoulder with his. “You’ve got this, love.”

The gate creaks as he opens it, and your shoes crunch gently on the gravel as you follow him up the walk. The Diggory home is warm, sun-drenched and tidy, with ivy curling around the edges of cream-colored stone. You can smell fresh bread, and something sweet—strawberries, maybe—floating in the air. Before you reach the door, it swings open.

Mrs. Diggory is shorter than you expected, with soft auburn hair tied back in a scarf, and a gentle face that crinkles at the corners when she smiles. Her apron is dusted with flour, and she has a wooden spoon in one hand.

“Oh, you must be her,” she says, grinning as she steps forward to pull you into a hug before you can even speak.

You blink. “Um—yes, I guess that’s me.”

She laughs. “Cedric doesn’t stop talking about you. I was beginning to wonder if you were real.”

“Mum,” Cedric groans behind you.

“I’m only teasing,” she says brightly, then steps aside. “Come in, come in, I just finished the treacle tart.”

The inside of the house feels like a memory—wooden beams across the ceiling, rugs worn soft from years of feet, the scent of lemon polish and sugar. It smells like a childhood, and a home that has never stopped loving.

You slip off your shoes and step inside, nerves quieting just a little. You can feel Cedric’s hand ghost across the small of your back, and it steadies you.

“Amos!” Mrs. Diggory calls toward the back of the house. “They’re here!”

A moment later, a man steps into the sitting room. He’s tall like Cedric, broad-shouldered and neatly dressed. He gives you a long look before offering a firm handshake.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, trying to sound confident.

He studies you for a beat longer, then says, “Cedric tells me you helped him prepare for the second task.”

You nod. “I—I tried. I mean, he did all the hard parts, obviously.”

His brow lifts. “You told him about the bubblehead charm.”

Your mouth opens slightly. “How did—?”

“He talks in his sleep,” Amos says dryly.

Cedric groans again and mutters something about moving out.

But Amos’s expression softens, and he nods once. “Good head on your shoulders. He’s lucky.”

You manage a small smile, still half-uncertain if that was approval or a warning, but Cedric squeezes your hand just then, and it feels like a quiet promise: You’re doing fine.

The rest of the evening is something out of a strange, sweet dream. You eat in the sunroom, where bees buzz lazily around flowering pots on the windowsill. The food is comforting and too good to be polite about. The treacle tart is magical, and you’re halfway through a second slice before realizing Mrs. Diggory has been watching you with something like glee.

“You eat like you belong here,” she says fondly, and it feels more like a blessing than a comment.

Cedric rolls his eyes but smiles, brushing your knee with his under the table.

Amos tells stories from Cedric’s childhood, each more embarrassing than the last—like the time he accidentally charmed his toy broomstick to follow him around crying. You learn about his habit of humming when he reads and his disastrous first attempt at baking bread.

“Burned it black as coal,” Amos chuckles, shaking his head. “Still swears it was the oven’s fault.”

“You’re lucky I’m the mature one,” Cedric mutters, cheeks flushed.

After dinner, you help bring dishes to the sink, even when Mrs. Diggory insists you’re a guest. The two of you end up elbow-to-elbow at the basin, laughing over bubbles and how Cedric always forgets where the spoons go.

“You’ve made him softer,” she says suddenly, gently. “He was always kind, but there’s something calmer about him now. He’s… steadier. That’s you, isn’t it?”

Your throat goes tight, and you can only nod.

She gives you a smile that makes your chest warm and pats your hand with wet fingers.

Later, when you and Cedric sit in the garden under the stars, the fireflies blinking lazily between hedges, you finally exhale.

“I think it went okay,” you whisper.

Cedric looks over at you, moonlight catching in his lashes. “They love you.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” he says, then leans in, forehead brushing yours. “And I do, too.”

The night folds around you like a secret kept safe, and in that moment, the world is just your knees touching in the grass, the quiet hum of summer, and the boy who held your hand through it all.

[jxerv]

Just to let you know what I’m doing

[chris0803tristana]

some doodle and headcanon Ps: I wrote by my hand, pls forgive me if you spot some spelling mistake, I wrote wrong Tsugera name (so sorry buddy ;-;)

[zusaroll]

And we definitely need a HP au.

Putting Cameron to Hufflepuff because we don’t throw all the antagonists to Slytherin, plus this kid stubborn af.

And we have Knox in Slytherin, because he IS an asshole. Period.

[toctua]

i love hiim!!!

Okay, I started an Instagram account, but I don't plan on being very active there (honestly, I'm still not used to it). But I really want to follow everyone who blogs there. If you're on Instagram and you're blogging about HP or Hogwarts Legacy, just let me know. I'll be stalking you!!! You don't have to follow me, just give me your nickname, I'm not kidding. Other people's blogs inspire me, so I'd love to follow everyone who's active in the fandom right now.