#year seven

[discountmalinois]

Interesting looking cat.

[theficpusher]

First of all, apologies again for my unintended hiatus. (At least it didn't last longer than the actual thing... ahem, looking at you, 1D...) Secondly, another HUGE thank you to all the writers, betas, reccers, commenters, kudosers, readers, artists, etc who continue to make and support amazing fics for this fandom. I'm so proud to be a part of this community. Lastly, since I missed the seven year anniversary, here is big list of all the recs posted here during years seven and eight of The Fic Pusher. YEAR SEVEN Vampires (part 2) Golf Dentists Librarians Pokemon Rare(-ish) Kinks Barista Louis Peter Pan Barista Harry Rare Pairs Detectives Mix Tapes brats Pumpkins "but daddy i love him" aka disapproving parents Liam Grief Sugar Baby Louis

YEAR EIGHT Never Have I Ever Poppers Yachts Thanksgiving Infidelity (Part 2) Santa Claus Mall Santas Tutoring Groupies Curses Harry's Thighs Hockey And all the other past yearly roundups: YEAR ONE YEAR TWO YEAR THREE YEAR FOUR YEAR FIVE YEAR SIX

Also, a reminder, that the ask box is always open, so if you have any requests, I'll add it to my ongoing ideas list. No promises that it’ll get done quickly, but I will try if you put in a request. Thank you again for following and reblogging these recs over the past eight years!

[enyairl]

The Lion’s Gossip

Summary: While Poppy and Garreth maintain a loyal, heartbroken vigil in the Hospital Wing, Ominis retreats into the silence of the music room, unable to face the weight of his guilt. The peace of the ward stands in stark contrast to the Gryffindor common room, where Leander has launched a calculated smear campaign. Exploiting his "betrayed hero" status, Leander spreads vile rumors about her role in Professor Fig’s death, her "volatile" magic, and her alleged infidelity. Witnessing the systematic destruction of her reputation while she lies helpless, Garreth’s usual jovial nature vanishes, replaced by a white-hot, vengeful rage.

Characters: Garreth Weasley, Poppy Sweeting, Leander Prewett, Ominis Gaunt.

Word Count: ~620 words

Masterlist

The air in the Hospital Wing was a stagnant weight, thick with the sharp, medicinal tang of Wiggenweld potion and the cloying scent of sterile linen. Behind the white curtains, the world had slowed to a rhythmic, fragile rasp.

Poppy had tried to convince Ominis to join them, her hand resting on his arm as she pleaded with him to face the ward, but he had pulled away with a sharp, final jerk of his shoulder. He hadn't dared to cross the threshold again. His guilt had turned into a physical barrier, and despite Poppy's insistence that their friend needed them all, he had turned his back on them and left. He sought refuge a world away in the music room, where the silence was at least honest. In his absence, it was Poppy and Garreth who kept the watch, their presence a quiet, stubborn defiance against the clinical coldness of the ward.

Poppy sat on the edge of the chair, her fingers moving in a gentle, soothing motion as she caressed her friend’s hair. She wore a brave smile—the kind of look she gave to a wounded beast that was too frightened to understand it was being helped.

"She’s going to be fine, Garreth," Poppy whispered, her voice a fraction too bright, sounding like it might shatter if the room grew any quieter. "Nurse Blainey says the internal mending is already starting. She’s just... she’s just resting. She’ll wake up and tell us some ridiculous story about a dragon she saw in the dark, and we’ll laugh."

Garreth didn't answer. He couldn't. He sat slumped in the chair nest to her, his jaw clenched so tight the bone seemed to sharpen beneath his skin. His eyes never left her still form, tracing the pale, serene mask of her face as if searching for a flicker of the girl who had laughed with him in the library only days ago. The grief was a palpable weight on his shoulders, but it was the anger—cold, jagged, and directed inward—that made his breath hitch.

Seeing the raw vulnerability in the boy who was usually the castle’s source of chaos, Poppy leaned over. She didn't say anything; she just pulled him into a side hug, her hand rubbing his arm in a steady, grounding rhythm. Garreth leaned into the embrace, he leaned his head over hers, finding more strength in that silent contact than any platitude could have offered.

Hours later, the moon was high, casting skeletal shadows across the grounds. Garreth finally left the infirmary, his steps heavy and echoing as he made his way back to the Gryffindor common room.

He expected the usual late-night hush—the soft crackle of the fire and the low murmur of students finishing essays. But as he stepped through the portrait hole, the atmosphere hit him like a physical blow. It was a hive of whispers.

Garreth moved toward the dormitory stairs, his senses heightened by the long hours he’d spent submerged in the heavy silence of the hospital wing. He began to catch snippets of conversation that chilled his blood.

"He says she practically led them into a trap," a third-year whispered to a friend near the hearth. "That Fig's death wasn't an accident—it was her fault."

"I heard the Ministry actually had to... well, spay her," another student added, their voice dripping with a false, sickly kind of sympathy. "The reports say her magic is too volatile. It shouldn't be reproduced. It's for the best, really."

A pair of sixth-year girls huddled by the window, their voices low and sharp. "Poor Leander. He said she was seeing half the Slytherin house behind his back. Sallow, Gaunt... Can you imagine the nerve? Playing the hero while acting like a common flirt."

A cold, white-hot rage erupted in Garreth’s chest—a bitterness he hadn't known he was capable of feeling. He stopped on the stairs, his hands curling into fists until his nails bit into his palms.

He knew exactly where these words were coming from. He knew who was spinning this vile, ugly web.

Leander Prewett was sitting in the center of a group of older students, looking every bit the tragic, betrayed hero. He was nursing a mug of tea, his head bowed, occasionally offering a "reluctant" confirmation to the questions being hurled at him.

While she lay unconscious, fighting for her next breath, Leander had begun his campaign of erasure. He was painting her as a liability, a cheat, and a murderer, all to ensure that when she finally woke up, there would be no world left for her to return to.

It was poison from a well Garreth didn't know how to stop. He looked at the "Star Captain," the golden boy who was currently murdering a girl’s soul with a few well-placed lies, and for the first time in his life, Garreth Weasley didn't want to brew a potion or tell a joke.

He wanted to draw blood.

[729925]

1546

[gutterclan]

Wolf death: Finch | Joined Spring 1, Lost Winter 7

A founding member of The Sanctuary Pack, Finch was born into captivity and raised to be used in dogfighting matches, passed off by his unscrupulous owner as a high-content wolfdog.

He escaped this captivity with deep scars both mental and physical, and when the Pack found him he was a prickly, standoffish wolf, slow to trust and lacking in any manners-- having been raised away from other wolves, he had little idea how to act around them.

Heartsick from the violence of his youth, he swore off fighting, and became a pupsitter; he decided that he would rather protect others than shed blood ever again. He also served as a surrogate father for many of the pack's litters.

He became mates with the herbalist Saturn early in the pack's history, but the two broke up quickly after having their first litter, and Finch spent a long time bitter over the breakup, blaming himself. He considered himself broken and unlovable, and thought this breakup was clear proof he was right.

Over the years, Finch mellowed slightly, and maintained a good relationship with his pups- Dace, Grackle, Grayling, and the adopted Carnassial. His close, loving ties to friends and family gradually drew Finch out of his shell. In particular, his friendship with another captive-raised wolf, Hat Trick, helped to show him that a wolf with no 'innate' wolflike manners could still have successful relationships and be worthy of affection and respect.

By his old age, Finch was in a healthy enough place with himself that he was able to enter into another relationship, and spent his twilight years happily mated to Hayseed, raising three pups with his new mate- Maize, Holiday, and Farrier.

While he never lost his prickliness, Over the years Finch did come to realize that he wasn't the violent, unlovable monster he once considered himself to be.

He leaves behind a tight group of friends and a large, loving family.

Far from cruel or bloodthirsty, Finch lived his life as a nurterer and protector, and he will be remembered as a father to most of The Sanctuary Pack; even those pups he didn't sire or raise himself grew up in his pupsitting den, and Finch's comforting presence is a fixture in the puphood memories of the majority of Sanctuary's wolves.

[custom decor is Azra #4406's Old Trauma]

[pineforestwitch]

First watercolor I've done in a looong time. Year Seven Fayette

Reference photo found on pinterest, not owned by me.

[didyaputyanameinda-gobletoffiya]

Is that Lipstick?

script written by the lovely @saltylittleslytherin​ for @smolbeanpippin​‘s script swap.

Gryffindor Girls’ Dorms:

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Gryffindor Common Room:

fin.