#write me more

[baejax-the-great]

If your first comment on a T-rated fic is to demand smut, you gotta work on your social skills

[megatronjawan]

I read that letter from time to time cause it makes me happy when I'm annoyed at times like this (All the time)

[mumfordness]

to whoever wrote this, it's quite beautiful. thank you.

[hazelscribbles]

He traced the line of skin which ran tenuous between shoulder blades, finding in the knotted cords of muscle an impression of dangerous, unexpected strength.  He is reminded--suddenly, and therefore bemusedly--of the Whomping Willow, of afternoons spent lazily tangled at the edge of the Great Lake.  How strange that time should bring them back to Hogwarts.

Rumors had begun to circulate that the Dark Lord was dead, killed by some mewling infant whelped out of one of Dumbledore's pets.  Benedict didn't care one way or the other.  His family name had seen the rise and fall of many wizards, and if the burning black mark on his arm remained so strangely silent he would be glad of it.

So, he mused, would a certain golden-eyed Slytherin.

As though accio-summoned, Cressida stalked across the lawn and scattered several Gryffindor first years.  The new Divination professor paused at arms length, familiar sneer almost obscuring the amused light which lingered around the corner of his eyes.  "I can't believe you enjoy teaching these idiot children."

Benedict raised a dark eyebrow, the effect of which was said to be quite devastating (or so the rumor around the Ravenclaw common room went).  The Head of House simply shrugged one shoulder.  "Perhaps you should have chosen a different subject."

"Transfiguration was already taken," Cressida griped, and received in response only the cool smile of a creature completely familiar to him whatever the various animagus forms both had mastered.