It’s a small, easy to forget but incredibly important detail that Draco befriended Moaning Myrtle.
Think about it. Draco Malfoy - Slytherin pureblood raised to be a blood supremacist Death Eater who threw the “Mudblood” slur around left and right as a child - grew so close with the ghost of a Muggle-born witch who was killed by his master that they exchanged all their secrets and she was his only true confidant in sixth year. He let her see a side of him that nobody else saw; he let her see that he is sensitive, and people bully him too, and he allowed himself to cry in front of her multiple times.
All of this is canon.
That unlikely friendship alone almost certainly contributed to his change in loyalties and loss of faith in Voldemort’s cause. Her being a ghost forced him to look past her blood status and - quite literally - see her soul. She helped open his eyes to how little a person’s blood status actually matters.
It’s absolutely ridiculous that JKR introduced this crucial, in many ways groundbreaking detail … and then totally brushed it off. A huge basis for a full redemption for Draco in Deathly Hallows was already established by this unlikely friendship, but of course, it went nowhere, because she just wouldn’t dwell on any positive plot point or character development for Draco that she herself came up with and put into canon.
Tags: Modern AU, Post Hogwarts, Fluff, Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Drama, Romance, Jealousy and Longing, Confessions, Mutual Pining, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Muggle Born MC
Sebastian Sallow usually liked Muggle London. The chaos of it—the noise, the lights, the odd little shops tucked between tall, mismatched buildings—he found it exhilarating. But more than that, he liked it because you were always the one to bring him here. Whether it was to visit your parents, browse the little Muggle bookstores you loved, or grab takeaway from that noodle place near King’s Cross, London had become a kind of shared escape for the two of you.
But not tonight.
Tonight, he hated Muggle London. And it wasn’t because of the cold drizzle soaking through his jacket, or the fact that the group hadn’t had enough time to properly pregame at Imelda’s flat before you all headed out. No, it was because of Ethan.
Ethan, with his perfectly styled blond hair and easy smile, who walked beside you like he belonged there, like he belonged with you. His hand rested on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd, and you didn’t seem to mind one bit. You’d been laughing at his jokes all night, the sound light and warm in a way that made Sebastian’s chest ache.
“Sebastian, keep up,” Ominis said beside him, tapping his cane lightly against the pavement. His wand, charmed into the cane for moments like this, was concealed, allowing him to navigate the bustling streets with ease.
Sebastian shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and quickened his pace. “I’m coming.”
“You’re sulking,” Ominis said matter-of-factly.
“I’m not.”
“You are. You’ve been glaring daggers at the back of Ethan’s head since we left Imelda's.”
Sebastian gritted his teeth and said nothing. Ominis didn’t press further, though Sebastian could feel his knowing silence like a weight on his shoulders. Ominis knew him too well, had always been able to read him like a book—one he’d long since memorized. He probably knew exactly what Sebastian was thinking: that he’d been in love with you for nearly ten years and hadn’t said a damn thing about it.
It had started back at Hogwarts, back when you were all stupid teenagers and he was still arrogant enough to think he had all the time in the world to tell you. There had been moments—so many moments—when he could have said something, when he’d wanted to say something. But there had always been an excuse, a reason to hold back.
And now? Now he was 25, standing on a Muggle street corner, watching you laugh at some joke your new boyfriend had made, and wondering how the hell he’d let things get to this point.
“This is it!” you announced, stopping in front of a neon-lit doorway. The sign above it blinked in garish, colorful letters: STARLIGHT KARAOKE.
Sebastian stared at it, unimpressed. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of karaoke—he was buzzed enough to find it amusing—but he’d find it far more exciting had your boyfriend not been invited.
“This looks like a disaster waiting to happen,” Imelda muttered, crossing her arms.
“Oh, come on,” you said with a grin, tugging lightly at her sleeve. “It’ll be fun!”
“Fun for you, maybe,” she replied. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”
“Yet,” Garreth chimed in, practically vibrating with excitement as he scanned the doorway. “You’re not drunk enough yet. I’ll fix that.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes, hanging back as the group filed inside. Ethan leaned down to murmur something to you, and you laughed, your smile softening in a way that made Sebastian’s jaw tighten.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Ominis said under his breath, brushing past him toward the entrance.
Sebastian huffed out a humorless laugh. “When do I ever do anything stupid?”
Ominis turned his head just enough to aim a smirk in Sebastian’s direction. “Shall I list the times chronologically or alphabetically?”
Before Sebastian could respond, you turned back to him, holding the door open with an expectant look. “Coming, Sebastian?”
He forced a smile and nodded, stepping inside. The bar was just as loud and chaotic as he’d expected, with bright lights, thumping music, and a stage at the far end of the room.
“Brilliant!” Garreth exclaimed, practically bouncing on his heels. “I’m definitely getting up there.”
Imelda groaned as she slid into a booth near the back. “You would.”
Sebastian lingered by the door, his gaze drifting back to you and Ethan. The two of you were already making your way to the bar, his hand still resting on your back like he had every right to touch you. Sebastian clenched his fists in his pockets, his irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.
This was going to be a very, very long night.
Sebastian trudged toward the booth, reluctantly sliding into the seat beside Ominis and across from Imelda, who had already flagged down a server to order appetizers for the group.
Ominis tapped his fingers against the table, his cane resting neatly by his side. “For fuck's sake, stop brooding,” he said quietly, just loud enough for Sebastian to hear over the music.
“I'm not,” Sebastian muttered, though the way he slouched against the booth’s backrest betrayed him.
“Look, I’m all for theatrics, but if you don’t at least try to enjoy yourself, she’ll notice. And you know she hates that.”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened. Ominis was right, of course. You would notice, and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel guilty for dragging him out. He could practically hear you apologizing now, your brows furrowed with concern as you said something like, “I didn't realize you were so against karaoke! We could have done something else, Seb. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”
It wasn’t your fault—not really. You weren’t the one ruining his night. Ethan was.
The guy was just so… perfect. Too perfect. He didn’t stumble over his words or let his temper get the better of him. He didn’t carry the weight of a shattered family, or the guilt of decisions made long ago that still haunted Sebastian when the nights grew too quiet. Ethan wasn’t rough around the edges, didn’t have cracks threatening to split him open. He didn’t carry around ten years of unresolved feelings and countless missed chances.
Ethan was easy. Exactly the kind of guy you deserved.
Sebastian hated him for it.
The sound of Garreth’s laughter drew Sebastian’s attention to the bar, where you and Ethan were chatting with the bartender. Garreth had joined you, and from the way he was gesturing animatedly, he'd already launched into some story that had the bartender rolling their eyes. You stood beside him, leaning slightly against the counter, your body turned just enough for Sebastian to take in the full effect of what you were wearing. And Merlin, you weren’t making this night any easier for him.
Your outfit was nothing like what you used to wear back at Hogwarts—the plain uniforms, the cozy sweaters, the casual, practical clothes you’d thrown on for lazy weekends in Hogsmeade. No, this was something else entirely. The deep green satin of your dress clung to you, hugging the curves he’d tried not to notice for years but failed miserably at ignoring. The hem barely brushed mid-thigh, showing off your smooth legs, and the neckline dipped just low enough to tease him with a view of soft skin that practically begged to be touched.
Far too low, Sebastian thought bitterly, though he didn’t miss the way his mouth went dry.
You looked nothing like the teenage girl he’d grown up with. You were a woman now, and you looked like it. Confident, gorgeous, utterly captivating—and, worst of all, completely unattainable.
Sebastian’s hands itched with the memory of his fantasies, the ones that haunted him more often than he cared to admit. He’d imagined, countless times, what it would feel like to touch you. To rest his hands on your waist and feel the warmth of your skin through thin fabric. To let his palms skim the curve of your hips, his fingers pressing into soft flesh, guiding you closer to him. He’d thought about the weight of your thighs in his hands, imagined them wrapped around him, imagined how easily he could lose himself in the way you felt.
And your face—Merlin help him, your face. You were laughing at something Ethan said, your lips pulling into that smile that had always made him feel like the ground wasn’t quite steady beneath his feet. He didn’t think he’d ever get over how effortlessly beautiful you were, the way your lashes framed your eyes, how your cheeks dimpled slightly when you laughed.
Long gone was the girl who used to sit cross-legged on the Undercroft floor, teasing him mercilessly about his hair or arguing with him over duelling strategies. And as much as he missed those simpler days, a darker, more selfish part of him didn’t want to go back. Not when this was the woman you’d grown into.
“Stop staring, you’re going to set her on fire,” Ominis drawled beside him, pulling.
“I’m not staring,” Sebastian muttered, dragging his gaze away with a scowl. He wrapped his fingers tightly around his drink, the glass cool against his flushed skin. “I’m… people-watching.”
Ominis snorted softly. “If by ‘people-watching,’ you mean devouring her with your eyes, then yes, you’re doing a fine job of it.”
For a fleeting moment, Sebastian considered reaching over, grabbing Ominis’s cane, and snapping it clean in half. He wouldn’t, of course—Ominis could hex him into oblivion without it—but the thought was tempting. Maybe if Ominis couldn’t use his bloody wand to analyze Sebastian’s every move, he wouldn’t feel so exposed.
But before he could dwell on it, Garreth appeared, weaving through the crowded bar with a tray stacked precariously high with pints and cocktails. His grin was wide, and his balance was questionable at best.
"Guess who just got free drinks!” he announced proudly. “Your girl is magic, Sebastian,” he added with a wink, nodding toward you at the bar.
Sebastian’s stomach twisted at the word your. You weren't his. Not really.
Sebastian reached for one of the drinks Garreth set down—something dark and fizzy that looked like rum and coke. He didn’t care what it was as long as it did the job. Without hesitation, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a long, greedy sip. The burn of the rum was sharp and immediate, but it was better than the heat already clawing at his chest.
Garreth let out a laugh as he slid into the booth beside Imelda. “Alright, Sallow’s setting the pace! Guess that means we’re all drinking fast tonight.”
Imelda rolled her eyes but reached for her own drink anyway. “If I’m getting through this ridiculous evening, I’m going to need it.”
Poppy and Natty followed suit, each grabbing a glass from the tray. Ominis, however, sat perfectly still beside Sebastian, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smirk.
“Pacing yourself, are you?” Ominis asked dryly, raising an unimpressed eyebrow in his direction.
Sebastian ignored him. This drink, whatever it was, wasn’t strong enough—not nearly—but it would have to do. He drained the rest of the glass in one go, slamming it back onto the table with more force than necessary.
Before Ominis could needle him further, you returned to the booth, folder in hand, your heels clicking softly against the floor. His gaze flickered to you automatically, his chest tightening at the sight of you so close.
“I’ve got the song list!” you announced brightly, holding it up like some kind of trophy. The folder was thick, filled to the brim with laminated pages, and your excitement was palpable. You slid into the booth beside Ethan, spreading it out on the table for everyone to see.
“Blimey,” Garreth said, peering over your shoulder. “This place has everything. Oh—there’s Queen! I’m doing Queen.”
“You’re going to butcher Queen,” Imelda said flatly, taking another sip of her drink.
“Oi, have a little faith,” Garreth shot back with a grin.
Sebastian’s eyes flicked to the folder, then back to you. Your enthusiasm was infectious—you always had a way of lighting up a room, of pulling people into your orbit without even trying. He wanted to lean in closer, to let himself get lost in the way your voice lifted with excitement as you pointed out song choices to the others. But the weight of Ethan’s arm draped casually over your shoulder was a bitter reminder that he couldn’t.
“What about you, Seb?” you asked suddenly, your voice breaking through his thoughts. You were looking at him now, your hazel eyes warm and inviting, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him.
“What about me?” he replied.
“What are you going to sing?” you asked, tilting your head slightly as you smiled at him.
Sebastian blinked, caught off guard by your question. He hadn’t even considered getting up to sing, much less what he would sing.
On a regular night, Sebastian would have been all over this. He lived for the spotlight, and he wasn’t shy about it. Sebastian enjoyed attention—the rush of it, the way people’s eyes followed him, the laughter and cheers his antics often earned. He’d have already grabbed the song list, picked something bold and ridiculous, and made sure he was the first one on stage.
But tonight? Tonight, he was in no mood for it.
“I’ll think about it,” he said, shrugging as he reached for another drink from the tray.
You laughed softly, the sound cutting through the tension in his chest. “You? Think about it? Since when are you not impulsive?”
He smirked faintly, lifting the glass to his lips. “Maybe I’ve changed.”
You gave him a curious glance at his comment, your brow furrowing slightly as if you didn’t quite believe him. But after a moment, you let it go, smiling politely before turning your attention back to the song list. You leaned into Ethan’s side, your shoulder brushing his as you chatted animatedly with the girls about potential song choices.
Sebastian tried not to watch, but it was impossible. The way you laughed, your lips parting just enough to reveal the glint of your teeth; the way your eyes sparkled when you teased Poppy for her love of ‘80s Muggle pop music; the way you absentmindedly brushed your fingers against Ethan’s arm.
The bitter knot in Sebastian’s stomach tightened. He took another long drink—something golden and sweet this time—and let the burn settle in his chest.
And the drinks kept coming.
Within thirty minutes, Garreth, ever the opportunist when it came to alcohol, had gone up to the bar twice already, returning with rounds of drinks that no one had asked for but everyone ended up drinking. Sebastian couldn’t even remember what his last drink was—something fruity? All he knew was that his current drink, a half-finished tankard of beer, sat sweating on the table as his head swam pleasantly in the growing haze of alcohol.
The lights in the bar dimmed suddenly, and a spotlight flickered to life on the small stage at the far end of the room. The karaoke host, a chipper man in a sequined blazer, stepped into the spotlight, microphone in hand.
“Alright, everyone, welcome to Starlight Karaoke!” he announced, his voice echoing over the speakers. “We’ve got an exciting night ahead, so I hope you’re all ready to sing your hearts out. First up tonight, let’s give a big round of applause for… Garreth!”
The group erupted into cheers and laughter as Garreth shot up from his seat, knocking over an empty pint glass in his enthusiasm. He threw his arms into the air like he’d just won a Quidditch match, grinning ear to ear as he made his way to the stage.
Sebastian smirked, shaking his head at Garreth’s antics. The bloke could barely hold a tune, but he made up for it with sheer enthusiasm.
“Ten Galleons says he butchers it,” Imelda muttered, taking another sip of her drink.
“No bet,” Sebastian replied.
As Garreth took the mic and the opening notes of a Queen song filled the room, Sebastian leaned back in the booth, his gaze drifting back to you. You were clapping along to the beat, laughing as he missed the first note completely but powered through anyway. Your laughter lit up your whole face, and for a moment, Sebastian could almost pretend it was directed at him.
But then Ethan leaned over, whispering something in your ear that made you laugh even harder, and the illusion shattered.
Sebastian drowned his annoyance in another long swig, and barely registered who went up after Garreth, some Muggle woman whose name he didn’t catch. Her voice wasn’t bad—better than Garreth’s, certainly—but he didn’t care enough to pay attention.
He only really came back into focus, if you could call his drunken haze 'focus', when the host returned to the stage multiple singers later, a wide grin on his face as he scanned his clipboard. “Alright, let’s keep the energy going! Up next, we have… Natty!”
The table erupted into cheers as Natty rose from her seat, flashing a brilliant smile as she made her way to the stage.
“Oh, this is going to be good,” Poppy said, bouncing excitedly in her seat.
“She'll nail it,” Imelda added, a rare note of enthusiasm in her voice.
The opening notes of an Adele song began to play, and Natty took the mic with effortless poise. From the very first note, her voice was stunning—clear, powerful, and full of emotion. The entire table went wild, clapping and cheering as if they were at a concert instead of a small karaoke bar.
Sebastian applauded along half-heartedly, his head still swimming from the drinks and the knot of frustration that had been sitting in his chest all night. But even he couldn’t deny that Natty was incredible.
When she finished, you were practically glowing with excitement, clapping so hard Sebastian wondered if your hands might bruise. You leaned toward Poppy, saying something he couldn’t hear over the applause, and the two of you laughed, your faces lit up with delight.
“Let’s hear it for Natty, everyone!” the host called, clapping along with the crowd. “What a voice, huh?”
She returned to the table, her cheeks slightly flushed from the attention but her smile as bright as ever.
“That was amazing!” you said, pulling her into a hug as she sat down.
Natty laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just a bit of fun.”
“A bit of fun? You could win awards with that voice,” Garreth said, raising his glass in a toast.
Sebastian muttered something vaguely supportive, but the alcohol was really starting to hit him hard now, leaving his head fuzzy and his thoughts jumbled.
The host returned to the stage, scanning his clipboard again. “Alright, who’s feeling brave? I'm out of volunteers and I know there’s some talent in this room just waiting to shine.”
Without fully thinking it through, Sebastian stood, the sudden motion making the room tilt slightly.
“Seb, what are you doing?” Ominis asked, arching a brow.
Sebastian ignored him, striding toward the stage with a confidence that was only half his own—the rest belonged to the drinks coursing through his veins. He approached the stage, wobbling slightly, and the host beamed at him. “Alright, we’ve got a volunteer! What’s your name, mate?”
“Sebastian,” he slurred.
The host’s grin widened, clearly amused by Sebastian’s slightly unsteady footing and the determined glint in his eyes. “Alright, Sebastian! What are you singing for us tonight?”
Sebastian stepped closer, glancing at the clipboard the host was holding out. The words on the page blurred slightly as he squinted, his finger stabbing down on one at random. “This one."
The host looked down, his smile growing even brighter. “Oh, excellent choice! Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Sebastian as he sings Mr. Brightside!”
The room erupted into cheers and scattered applause, though Sebastian’s focus wasn’t on the crowd. His gaze flickered back to your table, where everyone was watching him with varying degrees of amusement and surprise.
You looked a little stunned, your lips parted in a small, disbelieving smile. It was the first time all night that Sebastian felt like he really had your attention, and the knot in his stomach loosened just slightly.
The opening chords of the song began to play, and Sebastian took a deep breath, gripping the mic tightly as he stepped fully into the spotlight. The alcohol coursing through his veins gave him a heady sense of confidence, and he felt his usual self rise to the surface—the version of him that lived for attention, for putting on a show.
He knew he wasn’t a good singer—Merlin, he was awful, really—but that wasn’t the point. It had never been the point. What mattered was committing to the act, selling it with everything he had.
And maybe, just maybe, making you laugh.
The first verse started, and Sebastian threw himself into it with reckless abandon. His voice was off-key from the very first word, but he didn’t care. He strutted across the stage, mic in hand, pointing dramatically at the crowd as he sang, his free hand gesturing wildly to emphasize every line.
The group at your table was losing it. Garreth was practically falling out of his seat with laughter, slapping the table and hollering in encouragement. Imelda was smirking, shaking her head in amused disbelief. Poppy and Natty were clapping along, their smiles wide. Even Ominis, who rarely indulged in public displays of hilarity, was chuckling.
But Sebastian didn’t care about any of that. His eyes flicked back to you, zeroing in on the way you were laughing—your head tilted back, your hand covering your mouth as if you couldn’t quite believe what you were seeing. You were beaming, your eyes sparkling under the dim lights, and for a fleeting moment, Sebastian felt like he’d won.
The chorus hit, and Sebastian went all in. He dropped to one knee, his arm outstretched toward your table as he belted out the lyrics, his voice cracking on the high notes. It was ridiculous and over-the-top, but the crowd ate it up, cheering louder as he poured every ounce of his energy into the performance.
By the time the second verse rolled around, Sebastian had abandoned any semblance of shame. He hopped off the stage, weaving through the tables as he sang, pointing at random patrons like he was the lead singer of a sold-out concert. When he reached your table, he paused dramatically, leaning onto the edge of it and locking eyes with you as he sang the next line.
You were laughing so hard now that tears were forming at the corners of your eyes, your shoulders shaking as you tried to catch your breath. Ethan was laughing too, but Sebastian barely noticed him. For this one, fleeting moment, he had you—all of you.
As the song built toward its final chorus, Sebastian turned and ran back to the stage, sliding to his knees just in time for the big finish. His voice cracked gloriously on the last line, but it didn’t matter. The entire bar erupted into applause and cheers as the final notes played, and Sebastian rose unsteadily to his feet, throwing his arms into the air like he’d just won the Triwizard Tournament.
“Give it up for Sebastian, everyone!” the host called, clapping along with the crowd.
The applause roared in Sebastian’s ears, a mix of cheers and laughter that, for a brief moment, felt like triumph. He stood there on the stage, breathing heavily, grinning like an idiot as the adrenaline coursed through him. For a second, he allowed himself to bask in it—the lights, the applause, your laughter ringing in his head.
But then it hit him.
The drinks, all of them—too many to count—rose in his stomach like a tide, the nauseating swirl of alcohol and exertion catching up with him all at once. His grin faltered, replaced by a sharp twist of discomfort in his gut.
He took a shaky step back, gripping the mic stand for support as the room tilted dangerously. The crowd was still cheering, but the sound felt distant now, muffled beneath the rising roar of nausea.
“Alright, let’s give one last round of applause for Sebastian!” the host called, his voice booming over the speakers.
Sebastian managed a half-hearted wave before staggering off the stage, his legs barely cooperating as he darted clumsily between tables. His shoulder clipped the edge of someone’s chair, but he didn’t stop to apologize. He couldn’t. The only thing on his mind was getting outside before he made an even bigger fool of himself.
The cold night air hit him like a slap when he burst through the bar’s doors and into the street. He barely made it a few feet before doubling over, bracing his hands on his knees as he heaved onto the pavement.
For a moment, everything else disappeared—the bar, the laughter, the ache in his chest. All he could focus on was the sharp sting in his throat and the cold bite of the drizzle on his overheated skin.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, the sober part of his brain registered how humiliating this was, but thankfully, the alcohol dulled any real sense of shame.
“Sebastian?”
The sound of your voice cut through the haze, soft and concerned, and Sebastian groaned inwardly.
He didn’t turn to look at you, didn’t even straighten up, just waved a hand vaguely in your direction. “Don’t,” he muttered hoarsely.
You ignored him, your heels clicking softly against the pavement as you approached. He heard the faint rustle of fabric as you crouched down beside him, your hand brushing lightly against his back.
“Are you okay?” you asked, your tone gentle but laced with worry.
He let out a laugh, though it came out more like a wheeze. “Do I look okay?”
You let out a small laugh—not mocking, but soft, almost amused.
“Well,” you said lightly, “you did just sing Mr. Brightside like your life depended on it, so I’d say you’re doing better than most.”
Sebastian groaned, letting his head hang lower. “I’m never drinking again.”
“You say that every time,” you teased, your hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on his back.
The touch made his breath hitch slightly, but he didn’t pull away.
“You don’t have to stay out here,” he mumbled after a moment. “Go back inside. Enjoy your night.”
You didn’t move, your hand still steady against him. “I’m not leaving you out here like this,” you said simply. “Besides, you’d do the same for me.”
The sincerity in your voice caught him off guard, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He stayed silent, the cool drizzle calming the nausea as he slowly straightened up, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.
When he finally turned to look at you, his chest tightened. Your makeup was slightly smudged around your eyes, likely from laughing too hard earlier, and your face had a faint shine from the heat and sweat of the crowded bar. But Merlin, you’d never looked better.
You were watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite place.
“You’re a mess,” you said gently, a faint smile tugging at your lips.
He laughed weakly "Yeah, well, nothing new there.”
“Come on,” you said, looping your arm through his to steady him. “Let’s get you some water and sit you down before you pass out.”
Sebastian shook his head, resisting the gentle pull of your arm. “I’m not going back in there,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. He wobbled slightly as he straightened, leaning back against the cold brick wall of the bar. “Still nauseous. Don’t want to risk it.”
That wasn’t entirely a lie—his stomach was still a volatile mess—but the thought of returning to that table, to him, was what truly made his chest tighten and his head spin. The way Ethan had leaned into you all night, the way you’d laughed at his every word, every touch, was enough to make Sebastian want to turn around and walk straight into traffic.
You frowned slightly, studying him, but you didn’t press. You never did. That was one of the things about you that always made his chest ache—that quiet patience, that unshakable understanding that gave him space without making him feel abandoned.
“Okay,” you said softly, stepping back but keeping your hand lightly on his arm. “We don’t have to go back in. Let’s find somewhere quieter.”
He blinked at you, caught off guard. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” you interrupted gently, your tone leaving no room for argument. “Come on. There’s a bench just around the corner. You can sit, catch your breath, and I’ll find you some water.”
Sebastian hesitated, searching your face as though you might be joking, but there was only sincerity in your eyes. Even after he’d emptied his stomach on the pavement right in front of you, his breath sour with alcohol and probably vomit, you didn’t flinch.
“Fine,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Lead the way.”
You smiled faintly, slipping your arm through his again to steady him as you started walking. The rain had eased to a faint drizzle, the cool mist brushing against his flushed skin as the two of you made your way down the street.
When you reached the bench, tucked under the glow of a streetlamp, you guided him to sit down. He sank onto the wooden slats with a heavy sigh, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. You stood for a moment, watching him, before crouching down in front of him, your hands resting lightly on his knees.
“Stay here,” you said softly. “I’ll grab some water. You’ll feel better once you drink something that isn't alcoholic.”
He nodded wordlessly, his eyes flicking to yours. The way you crouched there, so close, your expression calm and steady, made his stomach twist.
He wanted to say something—to thank you, to apologize, to tell you how much it meant to him that you hadn’t just left him there. But the words tangled in his throat, too heavy to form.
You seemed to understand anyway, your lips curling into the faintest of smiles. You gave his knee a small squeeze before straightening up, your heels clicking softly against the pavement as you turned back toward the bar.
Sebastian watched you go, the sound of the door swinging shut behind you leaving him alone with his thoughts. He tilted his head back, letting the drizzle cool his flushed face, and exhaled a slow, shuddering breath.
Even now, as the alcohol dulled the sharper edges of his feelings, one truth remained painfully clear: he was utterly, hopelessly in love with you. And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep pretending otherwise.
The sound of the door opening pulled Sebastian back out of his spiral. You emerged a moment later, a takeout cup of water in one hand and a few paper napkins clutched in the other. Even through his drunken haze, Sebastian could see how the drizzle had soaked through your dress. Your hair clung damply to the sides of your face, and the smudged remnants of your makeup had smeared further down your cheeks, dark streaks underlining your tired but still warm eyes.
You crossed the street toward him, shivering slightly as the night air bit at your damp skin, but your steps didn’t falter.
“You’re soaked,” he said, his voice low and rough, tinged with guilt.
You shrugged, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. “It’s just water,” you said lightly, holding the cup out to him. “Here. Drink.”
Sebastian hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering between your face and the cup in your hand. Then, finally, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he took it from you.
“Thanks,” he murmured, looking down at the cup as though it might offer some kind of answer to the mess in his head.
“You’re welcome.” You sank down onto the bench beside him, shivering slightly but making no move to go back inside. “I told the others you weren’t feeling well. Garreth offered to come check on you, but…” You trailed off, glancing at him with a knowing smile. “I figured you wouldn’t want that.”
Sebastian snorted softly, taking a cautious sip of the water. It was cold and crisp, settling uneasily in his stomach, but he forced himself to take another sip. “Yeah, thanks for sparing me that particular nightmare.”
You laughed quietly, the sound soft and warm despite the chill in the air. “It’s the least I could do.”
The two of you sat in silence for a while, the rain falling softly around you, the distant hum of the city filling the gaps. Sebastian kept his gaze fixed on the water in his hands, but he was acutely aware of your presence beside him—the faint warmth radiating from your body, the way your damp dress clung to your skin, the quiet steadiness in your breathing.
Sebastian glanced sideways at you. “Why didn’t you sing tonight?” he asked.
You turned your head toward him, blinking in mild surprise at the question. “Oh,” you said, smiling faintly. “I actually put my name in while you were up there.”
Sebastian’s brows furrowed. “You did?”
You nodded, pushing a damp strand of hair away from your face. “Yeah, but I missed my turn. They called me while I was out here with you.”
Your tone was light, matter-of-fact, and there wasn’t even a hint of annoyance in your voice. You said it like it didn’t bother you at all, like it wasn’t a big deal that you’d given up your moment in the spotlight to sit outside in the rain with him.
But it made Sebastian’s stomach twist.
“Shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“Seb,” you interrupted gently, your voice steady. “It’s fine. Really.”
“It’s not fine,” he said, shaking his head. He couldn’t meet your eyes, his gaze dropping back to the cup in his hands. “You were looking forward to it, weren’t you? And I—
“Stop,” you said firmly, your hand brushing lightly against his arm. “There’s always next time.”
Sebastian swallowed the tight knot of affection that rose in his chest and forced a smirk onto his face. “Wise words," he said, his eyes narrowing. "So wise, in fact... are you sure you're drunk?” he said, trying to shift the tone to something lighter.
You laughed. “I'm completely sober, Seb,” you replied, your voice light but matter-of-fact.
Sebastian blinked, his brows furrowing as the words sank in. He hazily tried to piece together the night’s events, though the drinks had turned everything into a fuzzy blur. He couldn’t recall seeing you with a drink, but he’d been too caught up in his own misery to notice much of anything.
“You are?” he asked, his voice tinged with confusion. “Why?”
Your expression faltered, the easy smile you’d worn slipping into something more guarded. You shifted slightly on the bench, turning your gaze away from him to focus on a crack in the pavement. “Just… didn’t feel like drinking tonight,” you said softly, your tone deliberately casual.
But it wasn’t casual—not to Sebastian. He knew you well enough to recognize when you were deflecting, and the way your shoulders tensed told him there was more to it than you were letting on.
He tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as he studied you. “Did something happen?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the teasing edge gone.
“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Nothing happened.”
Sebastian hesitated for a moment, the rational part of his brain—the one that knew you’d been patient with him—telling him to let it go. You’d come out into the rain for him, stayed with him, got water for him. He owed you the same patience in return. But the alcohol coursing through his veins was making his tongue loose, his thoughts bolder, and his emotions louder than they should have been.
“Then why?” he pressed, his voice softer this time, but still insistent. “That's not like you. You're usually trying to compete with me."
You tensed beside him, your shoulders stiffening just enough for him to notice. You didn’t look at him, your gaze fixed firmly on the pavement.
“It’s not a big deal,” you murmured, but the casual tone you were aiming for fell flat.
“It’s a big deal if you’re lying about it,” he countered, and even as the words left his mouth, he knew he should’ve bitten them back.
Your head snapped toward him, your eyes sharp now, guarded in a way that felt like a knife twisting in his chest. “I’m not lying,” you said, and though your voice was calm, there was a clear edge to it.
Sebastian cursed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I want to make sure you're okay."
You let out a heavy sigh, your gaze still fixed on the crack in the pavement. It was the kind of sigh that made his chest tighten, like he’d hit on something you’d been trying to bury all night.
“It’s Ethan,” you said quietly, almost too quietly for him to hear.
Sebastian froze, his jaw tightening. That name was like a lit match against dry tinder, and he could already feel the heat rising in his chest.
“What about him?” he asked, trying—and failing—to keep his voice steady.
You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your damp dress. “It wasn’t a big deal. Last time we went out, he made a… comment.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of comment?”
You let out another sigh, this one more frustrated than anything else, and finally turned to look at him. “He said I… I didn’t realize how many calories were in the drinks I was ordering. That I might want to be more mindful about it next time.”
Sebastian stared at you, the words hitting him like a physical blow. “He what?” he said, his voice sharp enough to make you flinch.
“Seb—”
“No,” he interrupted, his voice rising. “No, don’t ‘Seb’ me. What exactly did he say?"
You sighed again, still not looking at him. “It wasn’t a big deal. He just said that maybe I should slow down if I didn’t want to—” You cut yourself off, your voice catching slightly, and shook your head. “It wasn’t meant to be mean. He was trying to be kind about it, I think. And he wasn’t wrong. I’ve put on some weight. Relationship weight or whatever.”
Sebastian froze, his stomach flipping at your words. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if the heat rising in his chest was from the alcohol or the sheer, unfiltered rage he felt boiling beneath the surface.
“Kind?” his laugh was sharp and humorless, his hand running through his hair as he tried to process what he was hearing. “That’s not kind, that’s insulting. That’s manipulative. That’s—”
“Sebastian,” you cut in, your voice firm but quiet. “It’s not that big a deal. Honestly. Maybe he has a point. I mean…” You hesitated, looking away again. “I have gotten a bit, um. Squishy.”
Sebastian stared at you, the shock of your words rooting him to the bench. For a moment, he couldn’t even breathe, let alone speak.
“You’re joking,” he said finally, his voice low and disbelieving.
"...what do you mean? Obviously I have, none of my jeans—”
"No, not that," Sebastian cut you off sharply, his voice firm now, almost trembling with the sheer intensity of his frustration. “I mean you thinking he has a point. I mean you letting him make you feel like there’s anything wrong with you.”
You blinked at him, startled, the guarded tension in your expression faltering. “Seb—”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, the cup of water forgotten in his hands. The alcohol in his system buzzed like static in his head, loosening the leash he usually kept on himself. Every ounce of frustration, every unspoken feeling, and every burning thought about you—and him—rose to the surface all at once.
“I hated him the second I met him, you know,” Sebastian started, sitting back up and staring straight ahead. His hands were shaking, and his voice was louder now, frustration bleeding through. “I hated his perfect little smile, his smooth charm, the way he always had something clever to say. But now? Now I have a real reason to hate him. Because he’s clearly delusional.”
Your eyes widened, your mouth opening slightly in shock, but Sebastian didn’t stop. He couldn’t. It was like he’d opened Pandora’s box, and everything he’d ever wanted to say was spilling out in a flood he couldn’t control.
“Do you even hear yourself?” he demanded, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’re sitting here, trying to convince me that he has a point—as if there’s anything about you that needs fixing. Relationship weight? Fuck, if that’s what relationship weight looks like, then you should wear it proudly. Because Merlin help me, you—” He gestured to you vaguely, almost wildly. “You look damn good, and I don’t know what’s wrong with him that he can’t see that.”
You froze, staring at him as though you hadn’t heard him correctly. But Sebastian wasn’t done. Not even close.
“You know what? No, screw that. You’re more than that,” he continued, his voice rising. “You’re fucking gorgeous. Do you have any idea what you do to people? What you do to me?" His voice cracked slightly, and he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Everything about you—everything—is perfect. And he… he’s too blind to see it. Too blind to see how lucky he is to have you.”
Your mouth fell open, your eyes wide as you stared at him in stunned silence. The streetlamp above cast a soft glow on your damp skin, your hair still clinging to your face, but to Sebastian, you’d never looked more radiant—or more surprised.
He exhaled sharply, his heart pounding in his chest as the words kept coming. "Do you know how many times I’ve imagined what it would feel like? To touch you?” he leaned back, his voice lowering, raw and trembling with emotion. “Do you even know what it’s like to ache for someone the way I ache for you? To imagine every curve, every inch, every soft part of you like it’s a map I’ve been dying to trace? You have no idea what you’ve done to me. No idea how much I’ve wanted—needed you.”
His breathing was uneven now, his chest rising and falling as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “And it’s not just the way you look, either,” he continued, his voice rising again, his frustration spilling over. “It’s you. The way you laugh, the way you smile, the way you always know exactly what to say to make everything feel okay, even when it’s not. Everything about you was designed to dismantle me, and it has been. For ten. Fucking. Years.”
“He doesn’t deserve you,” he muttered, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “He never did. Because if he can look at you—you—and make you feel like you’re anything less than perfect, then he’s a fucking idiot. And if I were him... If I were him, you'd never question how much I love you—” Sebastian’s voice caught, suddenly painfully and acutely aware of how much he’d just said.
Fuck.
You were still staring at him, your chest rising and falling as though you couldn’t catch your breath, your expression completely frozen in shock.
Sebastian looked away, his gaze fixed on the pavement. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t have said all that. I shouldn’t—” He broke off, his hands gripping the edge of the bench so tightly his knuckles turned white.
You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even blinked, your lips parted slightly, your breath coming in shallow, uneven waves. The streetlamp’s light cast a soft glow over you, illuminating every detail of your stunned expression.
Sebastian's heart was pounded so hard it felt like it might burst, each second of your silence a knife twisting deeper into his chest. He had ruined it—he knew he had. He had taken the fragile balance of your friendship and shattered it with his drunken, reckless confession.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered under his breath, raking a shaky hand through his damp hair. “I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”
Still, you didn’t say anything, your gaze locked on his, your expression unreadable. The dread pooled in his stomach, hot and acidic, as he stumbled over his next words. “Just—forget I said anything, okay? Chalk it up to the drinks or—”
But then you moved, cutting him off mid-sentence.
Your hand shot out, cupping his face. His eyes widened, his mind reeling as your thumb brushed lightly against his cheek, wiping away the drizzle that clung to his skin.
“Wha—” he started, but the words never made it out.
Because the next thing he knew, your lips were on his.
It wasn’t tentative or hesitant—it was deliberate, firm, and warm in a way that stole every coherent thought from his mind. The faint taste of cherry chapstick hit him first, followed by the soft press of your mouth against his, and Sebastian froze, his brain short-circuiting.
You were kissing him. You were kissing him.
Holy shit.
It was better than anything he’d ever imagined.
His initial shock melted away, and he responded instinctively, his hands moving on their own as they found your waist. His fingers curled against the damp fabric of your dress, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, as his body surrendered completely to the overwhelming sensation of you.
It was messy and uncoordinated—his head was still spinning from the drinks, and he was sure he tasted like regret and bad decisions—but none of it seemed to matter. Not when you were holding his face like he was the only thing that existed, not when your lips were so soft and sweet and utterly addictive, not when you leaned into him like this was exactly where you wanted to be. In fact, Sebastian thought he might actually die from how perfect this moment was.
When you finally pulled back, just slightly, he let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes fluttered open, and he found you staring at him, your cheeks flushed, your lips still parted like you couldn’t quite believe what had just happened either.
“Did that—” he started, his voice hoarse, but he swallowed hard and tried again. “Did that just happen, or am I drunker than I thought?”
You let out a breathy laugh, your thumb brushing against his jaw. “It happened,” you murmured.
Sebastian blinked, his mind still struggling to catch up. “You kissed me,” he said dumbly.
You smiled faintly, your hand still cradling his face. “I did.”
“And you…” He hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not… regretting it?”
Your smile widened just slightly, your gaze warm as you leaned in again, your lips brushing softly against his in a way that made his chest tighten. “Not even a little,” you murmured.
Sebastian exhaled shakily, his hands tightening on your waist. "...You know I just puked my guts out right?"
You laughed, the sound warm and bright, breaking through the tension like sunlight through storm clouds. “I’m painfully aware,” you teased. “But for some reason, I don’t really care.”
Sebastian stared at you, his chest tightening at the way your eyes sparkled, even in the dim light. “You don’t care,” he repeated, his voice still tinged with disbelief.
You shrugged, your smile softening into something more tender. “I figured if you could pour your heart out to me, the least I could do was give you an honest answer.”
“By kissing me,” he said, still dazed, though a crooked grin was slowly tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“By kissing you,” you confirmed, your voice quieter now, almost shy.
Sebastian’s grin widened despite himself, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol in his system. “I didn’t know that was an option,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “Because if I’d known, I might’ve poured my heart out a lot sooner.”
You laughed again, the sound soft and light. Your hand was still cradling his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek in a way that made his pulse race. “Well,” you teased gently, “better late than never, right?”
His chest tightened at the way you were looking at him, your eyes so open, so full of something he’d dared to hope for but never believed he’d see. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Better late than never.”
For a moment, you both just stayed there, the soft rain misting around you, your foreheads resting together as your breaths mingled. It felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you, the city noise fading into a distant hum, and Sebastian let himself get lost in the moment—in you.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “Even like this. Especially like this.”
Your cheeks flushed, and you tilted your head slightly, your smile turning a little shy. “You’re just saying that because you’re drunk.”
“I’m saying that because it’s true,” Sebastian countered, his voice firm but soft.
The sincerity in his voice seemed to catch you off guard, your lips parting slightly as you stared at him. He could see the faint tremble of your bottom lip, the way your eyes flickered like you were trying to process everything at once.
“I love you too,” you admitted suddenly.
Sebastian froze.
The rain pattered softly around you, the city’s distant hum faded to nothing, and those three words echoed in his head like a bomb going off. He blinked, staring at you as if he’d misheard, as if he couldn’t possibly have understood what you’d just said.
“What?” he croaked.
You smiled at him, small and unsure but real, your eyes shining with a vulnerability that made his chest ache. “I said I love you too,” you repeated, your voice steadier this time. “I always have."
The words broke something loose in him—something fragile and aching that had been buried for far too long. A soft, shaky laugh escaped his lips, and before he could stop himself, he kissed you again.
“Ten years,” he murmured against your lips. “I can’t believe I’ve wasted ten fucking years.”
You laughed, the sound light and warm, and it felt like a balm against all the years of longing and regret. “Well,” you teased, your fingers carding through his hair, “you’ll just have to make up for lost time.”
He let out a shaky laugh. “So… does this mean you’ll dump Ethan?”
You laughed, the sound muffled as you buried your face in his shoulder, your breath warm against his neck. “Yes, Sebastian,” you said, your voice laced with amusement. “This means I’ll dump Ethan.”
“Good,” he said, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.
You laughed, the sound filling the cool night air, and Sebastian swore he’d never heard anything more beautiful. In that moment, soaked to the skin and still buzzing from the night’s chaos, he realized something with startling clarity.
He was hopelessly, irreversibly, entirely yours—and for the first time, he wasn’t scared of what that meant.
Summary: After years in Azkaban, Sirius faces the consequences of erasing the memories of the woman he loved (loves*)
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort (no comfort really), memory loss (magically induced), mentions of imprisonment (Azkaban), angst, unrequited love..ish.
You looked the same as you always did. Same hair, pulled back into that messy ponytail you wore whenever the wind was blowing your way. Same bright smile stretched across your lips as you greeted every customer who came near your stall. Same setup, too—bouquets and pots of flowers placed carefully on the table and along the floor, your easels standing behind you, paintings he couldn’t quite see yet but already knew were beautiful.
Sirius didn’t know why he’d come. He knew he shouldn’t be here. He knew seeing you again would only hurt. But after all those years in Azkaban, his first thought had been of you. And somehow, his body started moving before his mind could catch up. Almost like some part of him remembered where he belonged, even after all this time. Even when the rest of him screamed to turn around.
You looked exactly the same as the day he lost you. Just before he cast the spell. Just before he made you forget him.
He’d told himself it was the only way. That it was too dangerous for you to remember him, to be involved in his world—especially as a Muggle. You would’ve tried to help him, no question. You would’ve done anything for him. And that was exactly what terrified him.
He remembered that day so clearly.
You’d been laughing at your stall, selling bouquets and your art, completely unaware of him standing behind the trees, watching with silent tears streaking down his face. His wand tucked ready in his sleeve.
He hadn’t wanted to do it. But he knew he needed to.
He spent an hour just watching you, memorizing your face, your joy, the way you lit up with every little moment. That was why he had to let you go. Because he couldn’t let the light in your eyes dim. He couldn’t be the reason the sparkle vanished. If keeping you safe meant losing you, he would do it. Even if it broke him.
You were talking to a customer when he finally did it. When he finally cast the obliviate spell on the love of his life.
You blinked. Just for a second. Then you shook your head and looked around, dazed. And even then, even with your memories gone, your eyes found his. Like something inside you still knew.
He turned and walked away before he could start to regret it.
—
And now here he was, walking up to your stall again. Like the years hadn’t happened. Like the war hadn’t torn everything apart. It felt like a different life. An easier one. A softer one.
You glanced up from your notepad as he approached.
“Hi there!” you beamed.
He paused.
There it was. The difference.
You were smiling at him, yes—but there was no recognition. No mischief, no affection behind your eyes. No warmth reserved just for him.
You looked at him like he was just another stranger.
And he supposed he was, but that look nearly destroyed him.
He hadn’t realized how deeply it would hurt—to look at someone who once loved him so fully, so freely, and see… nothing.
But it was his own fault, wasn’t it?
He was the one who erased himself. He just hadn’t thought he’d ever be standing in front of you again. Hadn’t thought about how you’d look at him, if you ever did.
He stared. And you tilted your head, just slightly, the way you always did when you were trying to figure someone out.
That snapped him out of it—almost.
“Hi, angel,” he said.
The nickname slipped out before he could stop it. Before he could remember that you weren’t his anymore.
Something sparked in your eyes. There and gone in an instant.
“Do I know you?” you asked, your voice soft, curious. Like part of you was already reaching, trying to grasp something you couldn’t see.
“No!” he blurted. Too fast. Too loud.
A few shoppers turned to look. “I mean—no, I don’t believe so,” he amended, scratching the back of his neck, embarrassed.
The way you looked at him then—he could see it. Something tugging at your memory. Something just out of reach.
“I’m Sirius,” he said.
You smiled again. “Y/N,” you replied, offering your hand. He hesitated for just a second before taking it. A jolt passed through him, sharp and unexpected, and by the look in your eyes, you felt it too.
“I like your name,” you said, a little breathless. “Sirius is actually my favourite star. Well, all the stars in Orion’s Belt, really. But Sirius has always been my favourite.”
“Does that automatically make me your favorite person, then?” he asked with a faint grin, trying to mask the way his heart was pounding.
But then his eyes drifted past you—and stopped.
“That’s me,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.
You turned around to see he was looking at your paintings. “Oh. That does quite look like you, doesn’t it?” you said slowly.
He saw the confusion flash across your face.
“I think… a lot of my paintings do,” you added, as if only just realizing it.
It wasn’t just a resemblance. They were him. Completely.
The way his hair caught the light. The exact curve of his jaw. The crinkle in the corner of his eyes. The little dimple he had always hated but you adored.
But never the full face. Never completely him.
Just fragments. A profile. A glimpse. A look over the shoulder, like the one you’d painted—the one with his eyes full of love and heartbreak.
You’d never seen him to be able to paint him. Not really. Not with your memories gone. And yet you had.
Sirius couldn’t breathe.
And when you turned to look at him again—really look—you saw it.
The love still in his eyes. The tenderness you used to drink in. The sorrow that never left.
“I—” you started.
“It was nice meeting you, Y/N,” he said quickly, wincing at his speed to cover up. “I hope to see you around again soon.”
But you heard it.
The way he hesitated on meeting.
The soft ache when he said your name.
The way his eyes lingered just a little too long, like he was afraid to let go.
And before you could say a word, he turned and walked away.
I never really understood Lily's popularity in the books, because when I was reading them, I thought Muggle-borns would be kind of overlooked, not that popular during that time, which I believe was around the rise of Voldemort. I imagined the popular girls would be more like the classic stereotype: pretty and rich, and in a magical society, people would probably favor pure-bloods. I thought a Muggle-born would be more like in those typical movies where the popular girls take an unpopular person and turn them into a sort of lapdog.
In the end, it wasn’t like that, so I’ve always wondered , what kind of prejudice do Muggle-borns actually face? They’re certainly not marginalized
That’s the whole problem, my friends! There’s no actual systemic prejudice. There’s no material reality in which a society has been constructed with something like apartheid against Muggle-borns. There’s no real equivalent to what we’ve lived through with racist or xenophobic systems, where a social structure systematically marginalizes certain groups and builds an entire worldview that excludes them.
Rowling spends her whole damn series TELLING us that this is the case, but she never actually SHOWS it. Because every Muggle-born character has THE SAME RIGHTS as the rest of the magical population.
What we see isn’t a structural issue. It’s a fringe cult of a few nutjobs who hate them. That’s it. It’s not a systemic problem, it’s an isolated one.
Harry didn't say anything at first, letting Hermione focus on the task at hand. "Yeah but I'm your favorite idiot." he said with a lopsided smile, biting his lower lip to resist the urge to make a sound at the sharp pain that washed through one of his wounds.
"Oi!" The injury hadn't even been that bad- at least he had thought it wasn't, but it had seemingly gotten worse over time. Madam Pomfrey would have had to file a report that the defense teacher had been injured so....
Hermione was the logical solution.
"Thank merlin you didn't become a healer." Harry quipped, "Your bedside manner is lacking in a couple of spots." He chuckled, glancing over at her. "Seriously, thanks. You didn't have to do this."
Thinking about Lily and how her entry into the magical world might have been, I don't see her as a Hermione Granger type, reading all the school books before even starting classes. I think she'd be more normal in that sense. That is, she would be a good student, but she wouldn't go overboard like Hermione. I imagine her enjoying summer vacation with Severus and looking forward to September 1st to attend Hogwarts, imagining scenarios in her head about what studying there would be like—only to later realize it's not that easy and that she'd struggle in her first exams. From there, she'd gradually start improving.
I also see her realizing that her achievements are overshadowed by those of her pure-blood classmates, or how whenever she receives a compliment, it’s always followed by something like, "You're very smart for a muggleborn"
My muse catches your muse’s wrist before they can leave, their grip tightening just slightly.
the pressure on his wrist has him stopping, turning back to face the girl he never thought he'd see again, much less consider dating. "everything okay, hermione?"
