#hpfemslash

[naralanis]

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

I know, I know, it's been 84 years.

[ticklishraspberries]

Linny with number 25 please? If possible, if not I'll still gonna read everything you post anyway! Have a nice day

prompt list!!

#25: “you’re being really bold for someone within tickling distance.”

Luna knows she's playing with fire, but that's what makes it fun.

"She acts so tough, but Ginny is really just a sweetheart," she tells Neville. "She's secretly a huge softie."

Neville chuckles, sneaking a glance up at Ginny, whose cheeks are beginning to flush. "Is that so?" he asks.

Luna nods. "Oh, yes. She'd never hurt a fly."

“You’re being really bold for someone within tickling distance," Ginny says, placing her book down and shooting a very unconvincing glare in her girlfriend's direction.

Butterflies emerge from their cocoons inside of Luna's belly at the threat, and she raises her brows as if to challenge her. "See what I mean? She can't even threaten me well."

Neville's brown eyes flick between the two girls, then he decides that he's been distracted from his homework for long enough. Once his gaze is averted, Ginny pounces on Luna from behind, arms wrapping around her waist and digging into her sides, making the Ravenclaw girl squeal.

"Is it really a threat if you were practically begging for it?" Ginny asks, her tone hushed and lips brushing the shell of Luna's ear, so that Neville doesn't hear above the sound of high-pitched, airy giggling.

Of course, Ginny is a sweetheart to her, but Luna knows this ruthless side well. The thing is, she would never be so mean if she thought Luna didn't like it. It worked well: Ginny got to uphold her ferocious persona by making her girlfriend a breathless, giggling mess, and Luna got to enjoy being reduced to one.

[hpwlwbigbang]

Artist sign-ups extended

Artist sign-ups have been extended until Sunday 10 July. 

If you’re an artist and you love the women of HP,  you can sign-up using this form. 

We welcome all those who want to create HP wlw art, so if you haven’t done a fest before but you’ve been thinking about it, we’d love to have you!

Pairings this year include: Fleur/Tonks Narcissa/Hermione Hermione/Pansy Narcissa/Lily Nacissa/Petunia

Catch you in the fest!

[ravenclawkward-art]

Luna x Ginny for @hpfemslash-minifest — 13. I can’t sleep alone

.

pose reference

[femmefest]

FEMMEFEST WEEKLY ROUND-UP: WEEK 3

FEMMEFEST WEEKLY ROUND-UP: WEEK 1 FEMMEFEST WEEKLY ROUND-UP: WEEK 2 Let's give it up for all of our writers and artists! We got some beautiful wlw creations :D This is the last round-up as all of the submissions have been posted. Please keep on reading, commenting and sharing. The Flower Girl — A gift for emilattes | ao3 Luna/Ginny Summary: Ginny doesn't care much for flowers but she cares about buying them from Luna. art | digital | G Tenebrae Vincunt (In Absentia Lucis) — A gift for sketchyblondes | ao3 Bellatrix/Narcissa Summary: The walls of Malfoy Manor bear many secrets. fic | 1817 words | R A Swaying Route — A gift for bluemermaid | ao3 Luna/Cho Summary: When Luna loves Cho, she's willing and able to transform her own wants. She wants an adventure, and this weekend the two of them can share something like that. fic | 3150 words | R I heard you were a lion — A gift for luminousgloom | ao3 Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley Summary: Luna's been there for her through thick and thin. It's been the two of them as long as she can remember. When Ginny thinks about happiness she thinks of Luna's smile. When Ginny thinks about Hogwarts she thinks about Luna and her together. When she thinks about home, Luna's there with her. It's always Luna.that. fic | 6922 words | T An Open Letter to My Beloved — A gift for Albuss | ao3 Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley Summary: Pansy Parkinson was not one to complain (at least, not anymore) but her life was rapidly devolving into something she’d never prepared for. fic | 6654 words | T Hearts On A String — A gift for xslytherclawx | ao3 Hannah Abbott/Padma Patil Summary: Padma greets her wife with a good morning kiss in front of their kitchen window art | digital | T the girl and the boot-shaped home — A gift for Tpants | ao3 Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley Summary: At the very top of her boot-shaped home, Luna lived a quiet life while waiting for the world to be safe again. fic | 1224 words | T Oasis — A gift for theskyisgay021 | ao3 Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley Summary: Luna and Ginny find a spot in the forest art | water color | M Some Sort of Punishment — A gift for SailorSlash | ao3 Hermione/Pansy Summary: It was bad enough that Pansy had been sentenced to five hundred hours of community service for something she hadn’t even done, but now, on top of that, the gold, gleaming letter that had just arrived from the Ministry was happy to tell her that she would be working under one Hermione Granger for the duration of her service. fic |2,470 words | R A Little Treat — A gift for xslytherclawx | ao3 Padma/Hannah Summary: Padma's wrist itches and she decides to go check on her partner. fic |938 words | G

[narcissanetwork]

“Aren’t you worried?” Evans asks eventually, and Narcissa arches an eyebrow, confused.

“About?”

“Me,” Evans says. “I mean. People have been talking, and if your sister finds out—”

[martelldoran]

i have too grieved a heart (redux)

Fandom: HP Characters: Lily/Narcissa, Snape, James, Mary, Dorcas 

NSFW: no

Summary: After the incident at the lake, Lily realises that more than just her relationship with Severus Snape is doomed. She now must say goodbye to Narcissa.

Read on AO3

May 1976

Lily Evans was many things. She was a witch first and foremost, and currently – though not for very much longer – in her 5th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was a proud Gryffindor. She was muggleborn, the first witch in her family. She was a talented potion maker, often spending her free time down in the dungeons mixing her brews and revelling in the multicoloured fumes. She was a dab hand at her charm work and liked to summon little sparkling lights to brighten up her study spaces. She was a passionate friend. She was bright, loved nothing more than spending her afternoons listening to records in the sun, and adored being outdoors surrounded by nature. Yes, Lily Evans was many things.

But at that precise moment, on a sunny afternoon in May after having just sat her Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L, she was absolutely fucking furious.

“Evans!”

It was the bellowing voice of James Potter. He had not stayed to try and remove Severus’s underpants as he had said, instead choosing to charge after her. Reaching the steps to the main door with her breath rushing and chest tight, she didn’t pause.

But then a hand closed around her wrist.

She wrenched herself away. Her wand was lifted and a spell teetered on the edge of her snarling lips as she spun round.

“Do not touch me!”

The boy staggered back onto the grass, hands lifted with the palms facing her. His mouth was a small ‘o’ shape and his hazel eyes were wide.

“Okay, I won’t.”

Her wand did not lower and neither did his hands. White knuckle fury still beat through her.

“I’m sorry, Evans. I went too far. I always go too far,” he said, his voice was tight, restrained as he measured each word. “Not that it’ll make a difference but I’ll apologise to Snape too, though I think I burned that bridge a long time ago.”

This last part he added as an afterthought, saying it more to himself than her. He shifted from foot to foot before slowly lowering his hands. The normally perfectly tousled black hair had fallen flat and was falling into his eyes but he didn’t try to fix it. Instead he continued looking right at her. It made him look like a little boy again.

“I am sorry. Truly. I hope you can see that, Lily. If not now, then later.”

He had said his piece. With a stiff, defeated nod of the head, he turned and made his way back to the lake. The fury had lessened somewhat. She watched his retreating back for just a moment before beginning her ascent up the stairs once again.

Half way across the Entrance Hall he made himself known to her, calling her name. Somehow having detangled himself from the clutches of Sirius Black, he must have skulked in a bush until he’d seen James leaving. Severus Snape’s normally pale, sallow face was flushed and his eyes darted around the hall, never resting on her face for long.

It was as if she was seeing him for the first time. And she was repulsed.

“Lily,” he began, taking a step towards her.

She retreated and raised her wand once more.

“Stay away from me,” she growled, in no mood to hear his excuses.

She knew what he’d say. She was a vengeful, wrathful god, ready to smite down those who had wronged her. She was Artemis condemning Actaeon to die by the jaws of his own dogs.

“Lily, please, I’m sorry,” he pleaded. He had his hands up like James but he took another step towards her. “I didn’t mean it. It just slipped out.”

“And is that supposed to make me feel better?” she snapped, wand trained on his face. “How many times have I heard you say you’re not like them, Mulciber and Avery? Then heard you defend them in the same breath? You agree with what’s being said, don’t you, by the one they call the ‘Dark Lord’. Maybe not all of it but there’s something in there isn’t there, that calls to you.”

Severus, inching forward, shook his head vigorously, lank hair dancing on either side of his face.

“No!” he wailed. “I don’t, I don’t think that, Lily. You’re my friend.”

She wavered. He was her oldest friend. He’d introduced her to magic, told her she was special, been there for every rant and every time her sister rejected her. Emboldened by her indecision, he took yet another step towards her.

A warning shower of red sparks streamed from her wand and crackled at the boy’s feet. He yelped and jumped away.

“I told you. Stay. Back. I don’t want you anywhere near me.” Her voice rose, ringing in the empty Entrance Hall. It was deserted, everybody had surrendered themselves to the sunshine. She hardened herself. “I see it now Severus, you’re one of them or if you’re not, you want to be. You and that fucking chip on your shoulder.”

She gave a humourless laugh, staring him dead in the eye. Her rage had not cooled but she was steady, held up by steel and smouldering fire.

“You’ve made it clear where your loyalties lie. And let me tell you now, if we come across one another out there” -- she gestured vaguely around the Entrance Hall – “I will not hesitate to cut you down.”

At this, he lurched forward, a cry on his lips. He tried to reach for her.

‘Petrificus Totalus!’

The spell screamed within her mind hit him square in the face, freezing the boy’s pained expression to stone. He tumbled to the floor, landing frozen on his side. She was Medusa victorious

“I warned you. Come near me again and I won’t be so lenient.” In that moment with fire coursing through her veins, she meant every word of her threat.

Turning on her heel, Lily tore up the staircase. All in a rush, she could feel the weight of everything that had just happened come crashing down around her. Hot tears bulged in her eyes and a golf ball sized lump in her throat threatened to choke her. A bathroom, a bathroom was what she needed, somewhere nobody would disturb her. Without thinking she turned her course to the girls’ toilet on the second floor.

Bursting through the door with a loud, resonating bang, a painful, heavy sob wracked her body. She stumbled towards the nearest stall and locked herself in. Animalistic wails tore from her mouth and echoed off the tiled walls. It was like her grief had manifested into a physical form and was joining her for a macabre duet.

Hugging herself, she crumpled to the floor. With her back to the door, she leaned her head back against the wood and let the grief she felt come in waves. How had it come to this? All she’d wanted to do was help her friend and now here she was.

Lily had been called a Mudblood before. More times than she truly cared to count. But never had she imagined, even in her wildest dreams, that she’d hear that word come from the mouth of someone she considered her friend, let alone said with such venom.

Tears slid in a continuous stream down her flushed cheeks. They hung off the end of her chin and pooled in the hollows of her neck and collarbones. Slowly, a damp patch grew down the front of her robes but she paid it no mind. Lily was a raw, gaping wound and nothing else mattered but her pain. Her mind was a jumble. The scene by the lake replayed in a hideous loop. Then it was the argument in the Entrance Hall. Severus’s pained expression was seared onto the back of her eyelids and her words echoed in her ears.

How long did she sit there sobbing? She cried and she cried and then, when it seemed like she had no more tears left, she cried once again. Time had no meaning in that cramped toilet stall. It could have been seconds, it could have been days, she didn’t care. Noone would come in here and disturb her anyway. They would hear her howls, assume it was Moaning Myrtle off in one of her moods and steer well clear.

Eventually, however, she stilled and the tears dried up. There was a certain calmness to her now. With a dull realisation, she was unsurprised about Severus. Some dark part of her already knew that he was lost. He wanted to be the best, he always had. And if following this man got him what he wanted then so be it. He would do it.

Ever since they were children, there had been this urge to prove himself and to rise above everyone else. It came out when they raced across fields and threw stones into a lake. It came out during exams and every time there was a potion or poison to be brewed. Glory would be his one way or another.

“Lily? Lily, are you in here?” Dorcas Meadowes’s husky, mellow voice cut across her reverie. She hadn’t even heard the door open.

“Yeah, I’m here.” Her voice was thick and raspy with disuse.

“Will you come out? We’re worried about you.” She was closer now, right outside the door.

“I can’t. I never want to come out,” she moaned. Her face hurt. There was no need to look in a mirror to see how awful she looked, she could feel the swelling around her eyes and cheeks.

“Don’t say that, come on, open the door,” Dorcas reasoned, giving the handle a gentle shake.

When no answer came, there was a weary sigh and she murmured, “Alohamora.”

Lily shifted her weight off the door just enough so that she wouldn’t keel over when her friend opened it. Dorcas knelt next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. The redhead leaned in, the familiar scent of wood smoke and amber in her nose. Dorcas’ shirt was open at the collar - her blue Ravenclaw tie undone and hanging loose around her shoulders – exposing the dark skin of her throat.

“Let’s go.”

Not wasting any time, Dorcas pulled Lily up by her armpits and observed the damage. Her glittering black eyes skated over her from top to bottom. She pursed her full lips together and tsked loudly.

“Oh dear. You truly look awful, you know that,” she said, a sad but understanding smile on her face.

A sniffle and a half-hearted quirk of the lips was all the answer she received. With a sigh, Dorcas propelled her from the bathroom. Quick steps and a firm hand on the small of her back guided her through the corridors. They didn’t meet a soul, the castle was almost deserted. Through the fog clouding her brain, Lily registered this and was thankful. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to see her, a Prefect, like this.

“Oh, good heavens! Is everything alright Miss Evans?” It was the deep, plumy voice of the Fat Lady. She ignored the portrait’s question.

“Pygmy Puff,” she mumbled. Somehow, from somewhere, a new wave of tears rushed up and threatened to spill down her cheeks.

The portrait swung open but Lily didn’t move.

“Marlene is waiting for you, honey. Go on in,” murmured Dorcas, giving her a gentle push.

Silently, she climbed through the portrait hole, leaving Dorcas to make her way back to the Ravenclaw common room, and was immediately met by Marlene. She appeared in a whirlwind of blonde hair, ready to ferry Lily up to their dormitory. The common room was full, that much she knew, and she could tell that every single pair of eyes were trained on her as a heavy silence fell. But she was too tired to care. She wanted to go to bed.

“Is Remus here?” she rasped.

Marlene nodded and pointed to the cluster of armchairs by the fire where all four of the Marauders were staring at her. All but Peter Pettigrew were unnaturally still, caught in the spell of Lily’s dishevelled appearance. Peter couldn’t seem to stop himself from twitching, fidgeting with anything he could lay his chubby hands on.

In a daze, she approached the four boys. Although she could feel James’ eyes boring into her, taking in every single red blotch and the puffiness of her face, she refused to look at him. If she did then there was no way to stop the tears that were once more lingering right beneath the surface.

“Remus, I can’t do my rounds tonight. Can you cover?” Her voice was dead, a thick monotone that didn’t sound like her.

“Uh, yeah, yeah of course I can. Whatever you need.”

There was a slight pause before he asked, “What will I tell Cissa?”

But she had already turned away, Marlene her golden shadow.

“Whatever you want. I don’t care,” she sighed.

In that moment, she didn’t. She couldn’t bear to think of Narcissa, with her star bright eyes, gleaming hair and the purest of pureblood status. It hurt too much.

Never before had the walk up to her dorm seemed so long. Every step was an effort. It was like her bones had been replaced with lead and added weights had been strapped to her ankles and wrists for good measure.

The quiet of the dorm was a blessing. Not bothering to undress, Lily kicked off her shoes and collapsed into bed. Marlene perched on the edge. Her blue-grey eyes were stormy. Words pressed up against her lips, clamouring to be released but she kept her mouth shut tight. She simply stroked Lily’s hair, placed a gentle kiss on her forehead head, told her to get some sleep and bade her goodnight. With a flick of her wand the curtains to her four-poster shut, enclosing her in blessed darkness.

It didn’t take long for sleep to claim her.

When she awoke, the grey light of the pre-dawn leaked between the curtains of her bed and the familiar snuffles and even breathing of her roommates cradled her sleep addled mind. She was still in her robes from the day before, rumpled and creased. Her sleep though deep had clearly been plagued by ceaseless tossing and turning. Mouth dry and tasting stale, Lily sat up and pawed at her still puffy face. The damage of the day before a cruel mask she would have to wear for a few more hours yet.

Lily slid from bed as silently as she could, gathered her wash bag and towel, and slipped into the stone stairwell. Before the cold could seep from the flagstone through her socks to chill her feet, she flited upstairs to the wash room. Peeling off her soiled robes, she shivered as the cool air met slid over her bare skin.

The shower’s warm water was bliss. It beat the last of sleep’s cobwebs away, leaving her mind clear and focussed. Of course, all she could think about was the previous day’s events. If it hadn’t been clear to her before, it was now. For some witches and wizards, it didn’t matter what she did or who she became. It wouldn’t matter if she was the most powerful witch or the most talented. For those few people, she would be a Muggleborn before all else, a parasite siphoning off magic from those who they deemed needed, no, deserved it more.

Names flashed in her mind: Rodolphus Lestrange, Evan Rosier, and, of course, Bellatrix Black. Narcissa’s sister. Her sweet, darling Narcissa who she loved so dearly. Bellatrix’s name appeared in The Daily Prophet almost daily now. The young witch made no attempt to hide her name or her loyalties. The more chaos and misery she sowed the better. It was reported just yesterday that she was single-handedly responsible for over 80 muggle deaths and had seriously injured several muggleborn witches and wizards over the last few months. Details on the way she conducted her business were scant but gruesome. Torture was her art and her greatest pleasure. After all, what information could a muggle possibly give her? No, it was all a game.

As she pondered these thoughts, Lily scrubbed herself clean with care and precision. She dragged the sponge across her skin until she was pink and raw. A growing sense of dread grew in the pit of her stomach and settled there, rock hard and heavy. There was something she knew she had to do.

She couldn’t shake the feeling of dread for the rest of the morning. It was there while she dressed, and crowded her while she ate a solitary breakfast in the Great Hall. Her owl, Artemis, somehow knew she was there and brought her that morning’s copy of the Daily Prophet but she couldn’t bear to open it. She didn’t need to know about the latest terrors and growing anti-muggle sentiment that was growing in certain wizarding circles. Any other morning it wouldn’t be an issue, but after the previous afternoon’s excitement, she could live without it.

Th first of her friends to make their way to the Great Hall that morning was Mary MacDonald. Mary had not changed much in the five years she had known her. She was still small and slight and still wore her hair in a blunt bob with a heavy fringe that hung into her eyes. When she rose to meet her, the Hufflepuff embraced Lily without a word. They stood like that, intertwined, for several minutes.

“Yesterday was a bit shite, wasn’t it,” said Mary, stepping back from their hug.

Lily chuckled.

“That’s something of an understatement.”

Mary inclined her head and shrugged one shoulder.

“Look, I know that Severus has been your friend for a long time, but maybe it’ll do the two of you some good to have some distance? Let the dust settle. He can maybe get his priorities in order,” she offered.

Lily wasn’t so sure but she nodded anyway.

“I meant to ask,” she said, with the most unsubtle change of subject known to witchkind. “How did Dorcas find me?”

“Oh, well, we looked for a while but couldn’t find you so we asked Remus, who asked Sirius, who asked James and for some reason, he knew that you were in the bathrooms,” Mary explained. “I don’t know how he knew. He disappeared up into his dormitory and when he came back, he knew where you were.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Lily murmured, unable to work out how on earth James Potter could have worked out where she’d been hiding.

After a few more minutes, Lily left Mary in the Great Hall and hurried up to the owlery. She scratched out a quick note and sent Artemis out to find the addressee.

As she watched her owl swoop through the sky, she felt a tremor of trepidation through her body.

A rap on the door alerted Lily to her presence. She swept into the spare classroom with a flourish, her long, white blonde hair swishing as she twirled. Star bright eyes twinkled at her and a broad smile adorned her face. She was as brilliant as a winter’s day and just as beautiful. Lily’s heart wrenched and she longed to fall into her embrace, to lose herself to a thousand kisses.

Narcissa pulled her close before she could say a word. She cupped her face, one hand slipping through her hair, and kissed her deeply. Lily could feel her resolve weakening with every second. All too soon, Cissa pulled away with a coy smile.

“Hello darling.” Her voice was warm, an undercurrent of excitement running through her words.

Her head was cocked to the side and she ever so gently pushed a stray strand of hair away from Lily’s face. The redhead shifted out of the embrace needing to put space between them. If she felt her touch again then she knew any remaining resolve would leave her.

“We, uh, we need to talk,” Lily mumbled.

“Uh oh, that sounds ominous!” she laughed, her smile hadn’t faltered for even a second.

“This has to end.”

The words were out like a bullet train.

Narcissa let out a cold, humourless laugh.

“No. Don’t be ridiculous. This isn’t ending. Lily, come on, this is us,” she insisted, reaching to take her hands. But Lily avoided her touch.

Hurt flashed across Narcissa’s face. It was only for a second then a mask of cool collectedness covered it.

“Is this because of what happened at the lake?” she asked, very matter of fact. “Snape is an idiot. Mulciber and Avery are rubbing off on him.”

She was being dismissive. Of course she was. It was her go to defence mechanism.

“Well, yes. They are. That’s part of the problem. What he said, there are others who think that as well.”

“And they’re wrong.”

“Even when it’s the likes of your family saying it, Cissa?”

There was a beat where neither of them said anything.

“Oh, come on, Lily! Just because my family runs their mouths about Muggleborns and blood purity doesn’t mean I believe that nonsense.”

Lily wanted to stop this. She wanted forget about the lake, the war, and the man hellbent on securing pure blood supremacy but there was no turning back now. Even if she wished it with all her heart, she couldn’t go back to how it was before. If there had been such a thing as before.

“Bellatrix isn’t just running her mouth though is she. She’s killing people Cis. She’d kill me too.” The words faltered in her mouth, turning to ash.

She couldn’t keep looking at Narcissa. She shone too brightly.

The blonde shifted, stiffened.

“I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you told me yourself what she did to Dromeda. Why wouldn’t she do the same to you?” Lily reasoned in a quiet voice. Her eyes were trained on the hem of her robes. “I don’t want to be the reason you get hurt. . . And I don’t want to get hurt.”

The pause was bloated, filling with unsaid words, waiting to burst open like a sore.

“That’s bullshit Lily and you know it. We could run away. I could protect you.”

“I know that you would try but your loyalty is to them, not to me, and I wouldn’t ask you to choose. But, I can’t be with you like this. Your family would never accept me, never accept us. It was always a fool’s game to think otherwise.”

“You know what, Lily, you could have been a Slytherin with that attitude,” Cissa snapped, lips pursed and jaw jutting.

“Yeah, well we both know why that didn’t happen.”

“There are Muggleborns in Slytherin!”

“Oh, and Elijah Robertson’s head just magically cracked itself open on the flagstone did it?”

Narcissa drew up short, whatever she was about to say died in her mouth. And whatever it was must have left a sour taste judging by the way her face twisted.

“N-nobody knows who did that.” She faltered, voice meek and unsure. It was an unsettling role to see her play.

“Yeah. Sure. But it’s an open secret. Everyone knows that it was Dolohov and his goons,” Lily scoffed. She could feel her ire beginning to rise, heart racing. Before she could argue any further, she added, “I’ve made up my mind. I can’t be with you anymore.”

With a huff, Narcissa slumped against a desk.

“I don’t want this to end.”

It was a whispered admission. Tears glimmered at the edges of her star-bright eyes and there was an almost imperceptible wobble to her bottom lip.

“I know. But it has to.”

Lily hated seeing her like this, hated the fact that it was her fault. She shifted, twisting her hands together. They sat in silence once more. There had been a seismic shift between them and now they stood on opposing sides of an endless ravine. There was nothing either of them could say that would bring the other back.

“So, that’s it,” murmured Narcissa. Her tears remained unshed and her light had dimmed. Their eyes met and Lily thought she saw the faint ghost of a smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t suppose I get one last kiss?”

There was no question. Pushing off the desk she had been leaning against, Lily closed the gap between them in two strides. The pull was as magnetic as it had always been. With gentle hands at her waist, she pulled the blonde girl into a standing position. The rich silk of her robes was slippery under her fingers; its familiarity calmed the fluttering of her pulse. The expensive perfume Narcissa so loved to wear tickled her nose as they drew closer.

Their lips brushed together like a sweet whisper. Again and again and again. They were all featherlight touches.

Until they weren’t.

They were a thunder storm breaking through a summer drought. Mouths hot and bruising, they drank each other up. Hands tangled in hair and grabbed at clothes; all Lily wanted to do was lose herself in this last fevered embrace. She gripped the girl tight, crushing her against her as if they might sink together and never be apart. Heart pounding and blood rushing in her ears, her mind was a tumultuous sea of everything Narcissa.

But, with time, as with all things, they slowed. Foreheads pressed together, still breathing each other, their eyes locked together. A pink flush had crept into the blonde’s cheeks and her lips were cherry red. They stayed that way until their breathing stilled and became even once more.

It was Narcissa that pulled away first, smoothing her hair and straightening her clothes. She now avoided Lily’s gaze, trying to compose herself.

Lily said nothing. What more could she say? Anything else would be an insult.

Cissa brushed and brushed and brushed down her robes but the wrinkles in the silvery silk would not disappear so easily. She paused, head bowed, and sighed. When she raised her chin once more her jaw was set and eyes tight, but that practised mask of cool collectedness was full of cracks.

“I will see you around, darling,” she said, squaring off her shoulders and drawing herself up to her full height.

With a flash of a smile and an airy wave of the hand, she spun on her heel and left. It was only as the door snicked shut that Lily allowed her tears to come. From some unknown reserve, the tears came and fell silently onto her cheeks. She had never felt more alone.

[oliivverwood]

respect the unexpected

pansmione + studying and get together for @onlykatelyn

-

Respect is earned, plain and simple. Fact.

Respect wasn't something passed down by family name or by blood; everyone is different. Fact.

Respect is not necessarily akin to admiration. Fact.

Hermione respected Pansy Parkinson. This was a fact.

Pansy was, in simpler terms, her direct Slytherin counterpart in some ways. They of course had no short amounts of differences, and there had certainly been a point where there was no respect at all, but now- Now? Now.

Now, in their eighth year of school, fresh out of a battle that would leave fresh scars on the mind and the body, there was respect.

Pansy Parkinson stayed quiet. She put her head down and she studied. She did not speak to anyone except Malfoy and Nott unless addressed and didn't dare use her scathing remarks on anyone again.

She earned Hermione's respect when she got a higher mark in Arithmancy; full marks plus extra extra credit as opposed to Hermione's full marks plus extra credit.

Hermione did the most rational thing she could think of and approached Pansy in the corner library where she spent all her free time revising.

"May I sit here?" Hermione asked smoothly, seemingly startling Pansy out of her studious trance. The way her knuckles tightened around her quill did not escape Hermione's notice. "Relax, Parkinson. I want to study next to someone who's not making me do their essay, for once."

Pansy did not relax, but she nodded, a sharp movement.

Hermione slid into the seat next to Pansy, setting up her work station and opening the right books. "Now, I didn't quite understand what Vector was on about when she said this about mathemagical fields..."

--

Hermione continued to study with Pansy almost everyday after that. She needed a breather, sometimes, from Harry's frantic theorising about Malfoy and Ron's nagging about revising his essays. She wanted someone to revise her essays, for once.

And Pansy did. Revise her essays, that is.

Pansy's studying habits were routinely, which delighted Hermione to no end. She used the same quetzacoatl feather quills, with a night-sky blue inkpot that always was on her right side. Pansy was left handed. Her notes were always neat and straight and her handwriting was small and clear.

They only talked business, at the beginning, for maybe the first month and a half. Pansy remained cool, calm and collected, answering and asking Hermione questions about the subject at ease, not broaching any other topics.

Until one day, she looked irritated. Upset. It was the face she used to wear back before the war, before Pansy lost her superiority complex. Hermione knew that the other girl wouldn't dare think herself better than anyone nowadays, even if she was. So she asked.

"Knut for your thoughts, Parkinson?" She asked casually. Pansy froze, her quill not moving.

"People are wondering what you're doing, associating with me." She murmured, continuing with her essay as if there was absolutely nothing going on at all, no, she was perfectly fine, she was Pansy Parkinson, perfect pureblood princess. Hermione saw through this act, an effect of years of training. Even though none of it mattered now- the Parkinson name had been dragged through the mud.

"Well, Pansy." Hermione smoothed out her own skirt, making sure to emphasise the first name use. For some reason, she relished the way Pansy stiffened again. "I believe we're studying together."

"Ah." Pansy said. Then, Hermione thought, and was slightly pleased, that she heard Pansy mumble a low, "no shit, Granger."

--

Hermione had always had a thing for intelligence.

It was why Cormac didn't work out. Krum and her weren't on the same wavelength. Ron's clever was a different sort than hers.

Pansy and her were in sync. Their grades were tied for top in the year, some of the top in history. It was astounding. For Pansy, it was a miracle. Pansy had been so pleased, when she found out from Hermione in the library, that she decided to use a sugar quill instead of the quetzacoatl to celebrate. She even offered one to Hermione. It was a hidden gloat.

Hermione had found this insanely adorable, that breaking out a sugar quill was Pansy's idea of celebrating. It didn't hurt to watch Pansy eating it either, her tongue poking out for small kitten kicks or sticking out fully for long drags, up and down and-

Hermione had a thing for Pansy. Fact.

That was fine.

It was okay.

She was acknowledging it.

--

Hermione studied with Pansy for months. People took their focus off them, instead moving on to gossip about other things.

With every day that passed, Hermione's crush grew.

It was an issue.

Maybe not.

When they moved into the restricted section for some personal reading, they walked side by side, shoulders and hips brushing with each step and swing of the arms. The shelves left only a very narrow walkway.

Suddenly, Pansy turned, swinging towards Hermiome, accidentally pushing her back onto the shelf.

"Oh," Pansy murmured. "Sorry, my books are here."

Pansy made to reach for the books, over Hermione's head. Pansy was tall, with long legs and a slim torso and a delicate neck. Hermione looked up slightly as Pansy reached over her head, breath hitching as she realised how close their faces were.

Pansy placed a hand on Hermione's hip. "For balance." She uttered, the trademark smirk gracing her features, and she continued reaching for the book.

There was nobody here.

It was the restricted section.

When Pansy found her book, Hermione leaned in.

--

If Madam Pince saw Parkinson and Granger walk out the restricted section, hand in hand, hair ruffled and shirts buttoned wrong, she didn't say anything.