This is an open-minded blog Any discrimination will not be tolerated • Available on AO3 & Wattpad @The_Crystal_Quill • REQUESTS ARE CLOSED!! • Check out my Masterlist below
[Disclosure: none of the gifs, pictures, fanart, or other used in my masterlist belong to me unless stated otherwise]
I do not now, nor ever, give permission for any of my works to be stolen, republished, reposted, or fed to AI. If anyone finds my work used elsewhere please contact me.
Available on Archive of Our Own @The_Crystal_Quill
Available on Wattpad @The_Crystal_Quill
(So you can save them for later)
Rules For Request Below
Let me know if you want to be tagged in anything! :)
Like and reblog to support creators!! Keep our fandoms alive!
Though I still love the HP fandom and books, I do NOT support the Author Who Must Not Be Named.
Fandoms:
⚡️⚡️⚡️Harry Potter⚡️⚡️⚡️
💥💥💥MCU💥💥💥
🎪🎪🎪DC🎪🎪🎪
✨✨✨Merlin✨✨✨
⚜️⚜️⚜️Once Upon a Time⚜️⚜️⚜️
👻👻👻Supernatural👻👻👻
🔱🔱🔱Percy Jackson🔱🔱🔱
🕰🕰🕰MPHFPC🕰🕰🕰
⚔️⚔️⚔️Narnia⚔️⚔️⚔️
🍎🍎🍎Good Omens🍎🍎🍎
☁️☁️☁️Sky High☁️☁️☁️
🏴☠️🏴☠️🏴☠️One Piece🏴☠️🏴☠️🏴☠️
Crossovers:
The Curious Misadventures of (Y/N) Addams (Addams Family/Harry Potter)
Marvel/DC
Miscellaneous Character Department
(find who you're looking for)
Characters I've Considered Writing For:
Vinsmoke Sanji (OP!LA)
James Maguire (Derry Girls)
Tyler Galpin (Wednesday)
Jason Todd (DC)
Tim Drake (DC)
Robin DeNoir (The Secret of Moonacre)
Hort of Bloodbrook (The School for Good and Evil)
Negasonic Teenage Warhead (Deadpool 2)
Rules For Requests:
Mostly xreader, check with me for ships first
X gn!reader by request, fem!reader is my default
If you want to request for a character not on my masterlist, ask me first to see if I know them
I do not write smut (but I'm willing to write a hint of spice or implied)
No pedophelia, incest, sexual assault of any kind, etc.
Be polite and have good manners - always.
I do not tolerate disrespect.
Please let me know if you liked what I wrote for your request :)
Keep fandoms alive by supporting our writers!!!!!!!!!
Damian Wayne x f!reader fluff <3 hoping to break through my writer's block.
Dedicated to (do people still dedicate fics??) @h0ttie-with-a-b0dy who writes my favourite Damian fics!! ILYSM and your Damian is perfect <3
Please tell me what you think! And why not check out my Masterlist while you're here? Or my Damian-List?
Damian's art room was one of his favourite spaces. it was immaculately organised, beautifully furnished, and lined with large windows that filled the space with light. He could think of no better place to relax with his favourite person.
(Y/N) was sprawled across a carpet that cost more than her apartment, bathed in sunbeams behind warm-toned curtains. Damian had long since forfeited in trying to get her to sit on a chair, rather than laying about on the floor like a house cat. But alas, the Persian rug is where she stayed.
Countless sketchbooks and canvases had captured her beauty, immortalised her through his eyes; but sometimes it simply didn't feel enough.
It was a warm summer's day in Gotham, and a window let a breeze drift through, shifting the satin drapes and softly blowing a strand of her hair. Today, (Y/N) was wearing an outfit that he hadn't yet seen her in; red gym shorts and a loose cream-coloured blouse. He liked it. It tempted him to do something he'd wanted to do for some time.
Damian lowered himself from the chaise-lounge, putting his latest sketchbook on a table, and knelt by her side. He took a moment to admire her, eyes closed, hair spread across a silk cushion, arms lazily stretched out, completely at peace.
As gently as possible, he carefully removed an earbud and spoke in a low voice. "Beloved? Are you awake?" He asked, watching her eyes just barely blink open.
She hummed lazily, a smile gracing her glossy lips. "Yeah, Dami. What's up?" (Y/N) stretched, ignoring the soothing melodies of their shared playlist for a moment.
"I have a request." He stated with a matching smile, waiting for her hum of acknowledgement. "May I paint on you?"
Her smile warmed impossibly, heat flushing to her cheeks, and she nodded. "Sure, go ahead."
Damian's smile widened, a rare expression of mischief crossing his handsome face, which she would surely have noticed had she not closed her eyes again and stretched out more comfortably. He settled the earbud back in its place before standing to collect his supplies.
What better canvas could there be?
Damian didn't reach for the colourful paints lining his shelves, nor the dozens of paintbrushes that filled his draws. Instead, Damian opened a small box with a different kind of artistic tool stored inside.
He crouched back down beside her, laying a towel out under her arm to protect the expensive décor. (Y/N) paid him no mind as he began, painting from her wrist down to her fingers in beautifully intricate designs. Instead, she allowed herself to drift off, secure in the comfort of his presence.
He continued up to her elbow, keeping the patterns minimal as he reached higher, adding extra flourishes as he went.
He laid her arm down on the towel, paused for a moment or two to admire his work. It was thrilling, in a way -- to decorate her with his talents like this. And he was itching to do it again.
When she finally awoke from her nap, (Y/N) stretched out on the floor, cracking her stiff joints from being still for too long. She sat up and rubbed at her eyes, seeing Damian sat at his easel, painting whatever had inspired him now. "I fell asleep?"
"You did." He answered, shooting her a smile before returning to his painting -- adding the finishing touches to his latest portrait of her. "Alfred will be serving dinner soon."
"M'kay." She yawned. "I'll go wash up."
Damian continued with his painting as she shuffled to the sink, listening to the tap running for a minute. It was silent for a while. Then she cut the water off.
"Damian..." (Y/N) said, voice thick with suspicion.
"Yes, beloved?" He asked innocently.
"Why isn't this coming off?"
The mischievous look was back, and this time she noticed. "Oh, that." He shrugged, brushing off her hard stare. "That would be the henna."
A beat passed, and (Y/N) rubbed off the dried crust on her arm. "Henna? Are you joking?"
"I am not."
"Wh..." (Y/N) struggled for a reply, possibly for the first time since they'd met. "Wha- y- why?!"
"Because it stains." He answered, washing out his paintbrush in his water cup.
It was a frustratingly slow conversation, and (Y/N) hadn't decided on her opinion of the situation just yet. "For how long?"
He shrugged again. "Maybe a week. Maybe longer."
(Y/N) blinked in astonishment, arm now crustless and decorated with intricate patterns. "My gods, Damian, you basically gave me a tattoo."
"A temporary one, beloved, let's not be dramatic."
All she seemed capable of was gaping. Lost for words, she studied the patterns climbing up her arm, heart fluttering at what she saw along the side of her forearm. "Did you..." she stilled, questioning if Damian had always been such a menace or if she had simply been a bad influence on him. "Did you sign it?"
Coming to face her, Damian took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to the ring-like designs on her knuckles. "Of course, I sign all of my masterpieces." He admired his name staining her skin with pride.
Finally accepting the shocking situation she found herself in, (Y/N) huffed a disbelieving laugh. "You're crazy."
His finger traced the patterns up her arm, ignoring her light scolding. "It is an honour to adorn your beauty with my work, Habibti." With a final kiss to her skin, Damian pulled her along beside him. "Now come, Alfred will call for us soon."
"Oh jeez, your brothers are never gonna let this go." She lamented, though, if she were being honest, (Y/N) could hardly bring herself to care if they saw his name staining her skin.
When the marks faded and her skin was a blank canvas once more, perhaps she would let him to it again.
So long as he let her return the favour.
•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•
You made it to the end?! Thank you for reading! Please leave a like before you go!!
What did you think? This is my first Damian fic. Give me your thoughtsssss
Summary: When Sanji pisses you off so you punish him by committing culinary atrocities
Sanji x reader. Crackfic. Enjoy.
Checkout my Masterlist and my Sanji List
(Ignore the laziest moodboard I’ve ever done)
"Please, mon amor, don't do this," Sanji pleaded, moments away from dropping to his knees and begging like a man who has never known dignity. Hands pressed together at his heart, lips turned down, eyes wide.
He received no acknowledgement - only cold silence.
It was at that moment that Zoro decided to enter, pausing at the threshold when he noticed the scene before him. "What's going on?"
"Stay out of this, moss-head." The cook shot back, refusing to take his eyes off of the woman in the kitchen.
Nami and Usopp sniffed out the drama hours ago, sat at the back of the room watching it unfold as if it were peak entertainment. They beckoned the swordsman over, eager to gossip about the situation Sanji had gotten himself into. “He’s being punished.” Usopp explained, sipping on a lemonade as he watched.
“Why?”
Nami gave a cool smile, crossing a leg over her knee. “Because he’s an idiot.” Her smile only grew when the cook shot a glare over his shoulder. “He flirted with a waitress in town.”
“I was not flirting!” Sanji insisted. “I swear, I wasn’t!”
“Oh, excuse me,” Nami rolled her eyes, “he accidentally flirted with a waitress in the town.”
“I told him that ‘charm’ would bite him in the ass one day.” Usopp chuckled, paying no mind to the gesture Sanji sent his way.
“My love, please, there’s no need to take such drastic measures—”
“—Drastic?!” (Y/N) seethed, grabbing a knife.
Zoro tensed, wondering what the hell she was going to do with it. “Um… so what exactly is the punishment?”
“I’m calling it ‘culinary torture’.” Usopp answered, drink forgotten as the drama finally started up. “He’s locked out of the kitchen.”
“Darling, please, what are you— THAT IS A BREAD KNIFE! YOU CAN’T USE IT TO CUT MEAT!”
“Oh, I didn’t realise you were in charge of my free will.” (Y/N) sassed, using the knife with more force as she sliced through a chicken breast with added fervour.
“Did someone say meat?” Luffy appeared, smile stretched wide. “What’s for dinner?”
“Chicken.” (Y/N) replied.
“No, my love, please don’t— you’re supposed to cut against the grain. The texture—!”
“—Be quiet, Sanji.” She spat, dropping the meat into the nearest pan.
“That’s a SAUCEPAN! It’s for sauces — you can’t cook chicken in that!” The cook exclaimed, a face of horror overtaking him as he gripped his hair in both hands.
Luffy sat down with the others, beyond confused. “What’s going on?”
“Sanji’s being punished.” Zoro mused.
“Oh, okay.”
“What are you doing now?” Sanji asked, his voice shaking with dread.
“Pasta.” Replied (Y/N), seconds before they heard snapping and a cry from the chef.
“NO! DID YOU REALLY JUST SNAP SPAGHETTI?!”
“Did you really call that girl ‘beautiful’ in front of me?” (Y/N) scoffed as she filled another pan with boiling water.
“I was truly only being nice—”
“And I truly don’t care.”
“You are the only woman I have eyes for! IS THAT MAYONNAISE?!”
“And what about the woman at the market? You certainly had eyes for her.” (Y/N) turned up the heat, determined to overcook the spaghetti just the right amount.
“It was an accidental wink.”
“A wink, nonetheless.” (Y/N) strained the pasta and added it to the now cooked chicken, then reached for the spice rack.
A weak gasp escaped the man, a hand brought to his chest to clutch his heart. “Mon amor, I am begging you, don’t.”
It was all the motive she needed.
A large sprinkle of oregano would finish the dish off nicely.
“PLEASE, this has gone too far!” Sanji cried, face pale as a pained sound escaped him as she continued to sprinkle the herb in. He was doing his very best not to let his tears fall.
"You know what? I think I'm going to add some prawns."
"With chicken??"
"And how about a nice cheese sauce?" She pondered aloud, grabbing a frying pan and adding her ingredients.
"You can't make sauce in a frying pan!"
"And you can't accept your fate." (Y/N) shrugged him off, grabbing the bread knife and some garlic.
Finally, Sanji began to cry. "No! Stop! You don't chop garlic-- stop using the bread knife! Please!"
She blocked out his pleads and gasps of horror, continuing with her preparations as the rest of the crew watched in amusement. Before they knew it, dinner was served and Sanji was forced to watch as their friends ate without complaint.
The cook was served last. His plate was gracelessly dropped in front of him and (Y/N) sat herself down at the opposite end of the table, daring him to complain. The crew watched the interaction in silence, bets made and breaths held. With wet eyes, Sanji looked up to her pleadingly, but was disappointed to find the heartbreak on his face had no effect.
Finally, the man accepted his fate. He grabbed his cutlery, only to pause.
The knife and fork were at the wrong side.
The minx knew exactly how to get under his skin. And perhaps there was something thrilling about that; though, he could never admit it.
Sanji was at least wise enough to say nothing about the intentional mix-up. He swapped the cutlery to the correct hands, took a breath, and prepared himself to eat the monstruosity before him.
The spaghetti was lathered in a creamy cheese sauce at the centre of the plate -- half the size that it ought to be and not cooked al dente, as it should be. A mix of chicken and shrimp (a blasphemous combination) sat on top, in a buttery sauce of chopped garlic and oregano. No one else seemed to notice, but the chicken was too tough, a result of being cut with the grain.
To anyone else, it was a decent meal. But to Sanji -- a chef with a passion for culinary rules and refined senses for taste and texture -- it was all wrong. She broke every rule. And she knew it.
Obediently, Sanji brought a forkful to his lips, doing his best to keep a straight face as he chewed. Nami discreetly passed some cash to Usopp under the table.
Dinner was mostly silent as their friends watched the interaction, whispering between each other. This could very well be the highlight of their week; a drama they'd be bringing up for years.
He'd barely gotten halfway through the dish when he simply couldn't stand it any longer. He dropped the cutlery and pressed his face into his hands. "(Y/N), mon amor, I am sorry. I swear to you, the flirting was completely unintentional. I was only being nice--"
Nami audibly sucked in a breath, Usopp squeezed his eyes together, and even Zoro shook his head. Yep, he was fucked.
"Sanji, you really ought to learn the difference between being nice and being a flirt." (Y/N) glared at him, slowly cutting into her pasta with her knife and fork, ignoring the pained tensing of his jaw.
"I know that." He admitted defeat. "And I swear to you, I will not make that mistake again. And I will spend however long it takes making it up to you."
It was then that the others finally felt like they were intruding on this lovers' quarrel and not watching a scripted drama.
(Y/N) put down her cutlery and faced him fully, lips pursed and eyes steady, giving him a scathing look. She would forgive him, of course, but he would certainly feel her wrath for days to come. "You're cleaning up."
"Of course." Sanji conceded.
"I'm making breakfast tomorrow."
He ducked his head and sucked in a breath, but nodded anyway. "Alright."
"And from now on, the only person you will flirt with is me."
"Absolutely."
There was a silence again as everyone deciphered if it was safe.
Luffy, with his clean plate pushed aside, was the first to speak. "So... what's for desert?"
"Chocolate sauerkraut cake."
"Darling, PLEASE--"
•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•
Sanji, the whole time:
Poor thing needs at least 5 cigarettes at the end of dinner.
•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•
Please tell me what you think - I’m an approval driven hoe I swear :(
The Curious Misadventures of (Y/N) Addams Chapter 18 teaser
I've just started the next part of the crossover, and i've worked out about half of the chapter, but here's a little sneak peak of what I'll be working on after my birthday chaos dies down...
So, like life couldn’t get crazier, you may have heard that Spain is kind of on fire at the minute and — not to put personal information on the internet but — I kind of live there. In that sort of area.
It’s under control at the minute. Apparently. But it’s the middle of the night and I can’t sleep because it’s hot, as usual, but it’s making me anxious and the smoke is carried in the wind so it smells smokey in my room and
A/N: This came into my head and wouldn’t leave until I shared it.
Dick Grayson:
• Dick strikes me as the kind of guy who has nicknames for everyone
• (you know it’s true)
• So he’ll start with the generic ones like Babe and Sweetheart
• And he’ll probably stick with it
• But eventually he’ll settle on some other slightly less common ones
• I think he’d like using Honey and Sweetie
• And yeah, occasionally he likes to use a super fucking cheesy one
• Sweetums. Sugarpie. Honeypot. Shnookums.
The cheesier the better
Love is in the cheeeeese
I just know he loves to be a little bit annoying with it
Especially likes to use cheesy ones in front of other people
"Pookie, do you want another drink?" "Who're your friends, Honey-Bunny?"
Gods of Olympus give you strength when he does that
6/10 pretty standard and likes to be an occasional menace
Jason Todd:
He doesn't strike me as the type to use nicknames often
And definitely not with just anyone
He'd start experimenting with pet-names pre-relationship, as a kind of subtle way to flirt and test the waters
Yeah Babe and Sweetheart at first, too
But I think it would change to more flirtatious/intimate names once he's comfortable with it
Prince/ess. Babygirl (regardless of gender). Gorgeous. DOLL becomes a favourite and I'll take no criticism on that.
And when he feels like teasing, he'd probably go with using Trouble
(A little hypocritical of him, don't you think?)
I think as time goes on, he'd probably also collect some very specific nicknames that develop organically
Probably some that started as inside jokes
And I think he'd especially like that he's the only one who gets to use that name (no other guy will ever get to call you what he does)
If he's feeling extra romantic, he'll use something a little more old-fashioned or something from a book or movie that he's always wanted to use
Love. Darling. Angel. Sunshine.
10/10 for creativity and overall cuteness (+ hot voice and accent)
Tim Drake:
I wholly believe that the first time he uses a cute, couple-y nickname is an accident
He'd be focusing on something else (idk a case or college stuff or Wayne things)
And it would just slip out
Takes him a minute to realise
He might even only realise he did it when he's finished doing whatever he's doing.
And then just...
Just that ^^^ for like 10 minutes
He isn't sure if he should ignore it or maybe apologise
But when he realises it's okay?
Oh man, the flood gates have opened
He would just LOVE being able to use nicknames now
Babe yeah of course. Most of the time that's his go-to
And I think he'd also use Bub when he's feeling more affectionate
But I also think he'd use your actual name a lot too??
He'd definitely be another to settle on like one very specific and unique nickname that came from a joke, or even just a cute thing that he thought relates
And I think he'd like Bug too
So I'm thinking 8/10. Doesn't use pet-names all the time but is definitely very cute about it
Damian Wayne:
Beloved is the standard - yes of course
We all love Beloved. It's so cute and very Damian
But may I offer...
My Love. My Dear. My Light
Always his something <3
He might even use the occasional "normal" one
Like Darling or Prince/ss
Probably experimented with a few others
Pretty. Beautiful. Flower. Anything to boost your ego a little
Because you should feel good around him, y'know?
And I think that when he wants to be a little more subtle or private -- possibly pre-relationship when he doesn't want to come across as too bold
Asking the Batboys to get you period stuff (my headcanons)
A/N: I needed to write a quick something to punch through the writer's block and I love the Bats but for some reason I don't really have much posted about them?? Crazy. Enjoy!
Also yeah I'm obviously on my period. Don't fight me. (I'll cry)
Dick Grayson:
Honestly probably one of the best guys to ask for this favour
Man knows what he's doing. Just tell him what you need and he's got EXACTLY what you asked for
He's got experience with this stuff. He's never been too shy to ask the women in his life about these things
The swag tm is pretty hot ngl (yeah I said swag. Only bc Dick would)
And he bought some snacks to make you feel better
Very much walks down the isle of sanitary products with sooo much confidence like "look at me, being a good boyfriend. I'm sooo husband material"
(he's not wrong)
Not an ounce of embarrassment from this man. Just pure confidence
10/10 will do it again
Jason Todd:
Jason is also a good choice. No embarrassment, no fuss, no eye-rolls
He knows his job and he's doing it
Fast and efficient so you're not waiting on him too long
Remembers what you asked for, doesn't need to write it down, and remembers it for next time too
Stocks up in advance so you don't HAVE to ask again
(he knows what it's like to be stuck on the shitter without toilet roll so he doesn't even want to imagine how much worse it is for girls every month)
Gets chocolate and ice cream too, and anything else he thinks you'll like
He might overthink it a little if there are too many options though
Probably just grabs whatever looks equal parts good and cheap
Old habits - once a poor kid, always a poor kid mindset
Definitely does a quick search online for anything else he needs
11/10 he wants to help so much <3
Tim Drake:
oh boy
Tim does NOT know what he's doing
You tell him what you want, he'll remember it
He'll write it down so he doesn't forget
But he has no idea what those words mean put next to each other
"Wings? Wings? WTF does that mean?!"
And yeah, he's a little flushed walking down that isle
Not really out of embarrassment, but more with the sense that he's walking into forbidden territory
Like the lady restocking the shelves is gonna kick him out for being there (she's looking at him like this is the fifth idiot panicking in that isle today) he is)
He has to look up everything online
Studies every product like an investigation or sum
He's kind of intimidated by the tampons
And he has no fucking clue what a "goddess cup" is
He definitely made the mistake of looking that up too (traumatised)
Look, eventually he makes it out with everything you asked for
Gets about halfway home before he realises that he forgot your favourite ice cream
Has to go back for it
But he also buys extra snacks to make up for how long it took
All in all it was a very... educational experience
But obviously he'll do it again next time with a little less panic
7/10 tries so hard but bby needs to chill
Damian Wayne:
Unbothered
... On the outside
Damian is fairly educated on this stuff. He knows the human body like he knows a blade
Getting what you need is no qualm. Embarrassment doesn't even cross his mind
That would be for someone far more immature than him
He probably hadn't considered what you needed before you told him
He figured there would be, like, a handful of options at the store
Cut to him being absolutely unprepared when he was facing the enormity of the sanitary products isle
This is the kind of stuff he's only glanced at in public
Poor guy is a little overwhelmed
Buy he refuses to let you know that
God forbid you think he can't do this for you
He probably calls a trusted woman in his contacts
Or Alfred, depending on the mood
He either buys exactly what you wanted or several options
No in between
And every comfort food he could think of. He noticed what you like at this time of the month
Sets reminders in his calendar for every month after
9/10 takes this mission very seriously
(you read this far? Did you like it?)
Hey do you want to see my Masterlist while you're here?
A/N: Chapter Eleven of our Addams Family/Harry Potter crossover! Leave a like when you reach the end :)
Masterlist Series Masterlist Important Introduction Your First Year Hogwarts Letter
Chapter Eleven ~ The Match
(Y/N) awoke the next day feeling exhausted. She’d slept through the whole night, the eventful séance drained her well enough, but her sleep was light and restless; she’d woken up at least four times before morning, and the sleep barely seemed to rid the low-energy ache from her body. Surely this wasn’t normal, she’d thought, Mother never seems so tired after a séance, in fact, she’s usually in a better mood after the Communication than before.
(Y/N) spent most of the morning in her room, putting away any of her Divine equipment she’d missed and lighting various herbs around the room to dispel whatever it was in the room that made her feel so… watched. Her roommates had left for breakfast already when she’d woken up for the final time, and now she had nothing but the cats to fill the silence of the dorm. She still thought the silence a little strange; her entire life she’d had one bedroom, with large windows that gave her a haunted view of the ruins of the Abbey, and the almost constant sound of birds and waves, and the occasional car horn or rowdy drunk beyond the borders of their home; but now the deep green water of the Black Lake disrupted the sunrays as they found their way into her room, painting the walls in shimmery ever-moving green light, and filtering out all noises from beyond save but the odd fish swimming by. Boring old ‘safe’ fish too, not even a single blood-thirsty piranha. Not that she was complaining, but it was just different.
After sitting on her bed for ten minutes, staring at the wooden floor she’d sat at the night before, (Y/N) finally decided what to do now. On her desk by the nearest window, Jinx sat atop the little basket that held her papers, lazily chewing on the end of a pencil. She picked him up and sat him on her bed nicely, taking the pencil from between his paws. “Oh stop that, Jinx, you can’t eat the pencils.” She scolded as she put it in a junk draw, then she fumbled about for a moment before returning with what looked like a rib bone from a small animal. “Here you go,” she smiled and rubbed his head as the little black cat started to gnaw on the end.
With her desk now clear of distractions, (Y/N) pulled open the middle draw in front of her seat and took out the large black journal her father had gifted her. She’d written in it as much as possible, almost every night since she’d gotten it, the white ink standing out beautifully on the black pages. Uncapping her ink and setting down her quill, (Y/N) ran her hand over the bulbous leather over the reptilian yellow eye, waiting for it to recognise her and open up its secure talons, she then began flipping through the book until she reached the next blank pages, always a full blank page between entries.
She began to write the events of Hallowe’en night in excruciating detail, everything from the letter her family had sent all the way to the séance. Not a thing was missed out, anything that may or may not have been of even the slightest importance. Surely these weren’t the effects of her sudden lack of coffee. But most importantly, of course, she made the voice very clear, and his words that hadn’t ceased to repeat in her head over and over and over. Addams… I’ve been waiting… Find…
Whoever it was had made it pretty clear that they’d been expecting an opportunity to visit. They knew her name, her presence; shown her images that came back to her in her sleep – she took some charcoal and paper and sketched to the best of her abilities exactly what she saw, but none of the pictures looked quite right; dozens of crumpled up papers littered her floor with every attempt but she hadn’t the skill to transfer what came to mind onto paper. Eventually she gave up and selected the best few to fold into the pages of her diary, at least they were better than nothing, better than forgetting. And once she’d put it all onto the pages of her entry, she read it and re-read it just to be sure she really did have it all down. Still, one question kept coming back to her above all others: find what?
The loud slamming open of the door startled her half-out of her seat as she scrambled to close and put away her book back in its cloth-lined draw. “Heyy, yer up!” Saoirse greeted in a loud voice, soon followed by Millicent and Bridget.
“Yes, I am.” (Y/N) replied blandly, truly feeling the tiredness behind her eyes now that she was done working them over papers for an hour. The other girls eyed her cautiously, acutely aware of her dry, monotonous tone, but she simply hadn’t the energy to force pleasantness into her voice today.
Saoirse didn’t notice, or if she did she certainly didn’t react at all. She came over with an almost finished lollipop in her mouth and sat on (Y/N)’s ink black bedsheets, laughing in amusement at the bone in Jinx’ mouth. “What’s all this then?” She indicated to the balled up papers on the floor.
(Y/N) let out a sigh and gathered them all in her arms with great effort. “Nothing.” She said, then crossed the room to throw them into the seemingly ever-going fire, watching the flames rise up and eat them into ash.
“Um… are you alright?” Millicent asked meekly from her bed, holding a novel in her hands to place in her bag.
“Yeah, you look rubbish.” Saoirse said without a care as she re-tied her laces.
Bridget guffawed at the blunt statement, clearly startled and trying to cover for it. “No- I mean… what she means is” she began, not noticing (Y/N)’s brow twitch ever so slightly downward at the words “you just look a little...er… tired.”
(Y/N) pursed her lips and let Bridget sit in her own awkwardness for a beat or two. “I am tired.” She admitted in the same bland voice, her roommate was clearly put on edge by her inability to read anything from it.
There was a long pause of silence before Saoirse yet again came to break it. “Oh, I’ve got another lolly here if ya want it. It’s raspberry.” (Y/N) appreciated the gesture but simply shook her head and sat back in her desk chair, taking to staring out of the window in thought. Saoirse, unbothered by the lack of response, just shrugged and opened the new sweet, replacing the old one and offering it to the cat who surprisingly took it willingly.
Over a week later and (Y/N) still had gotten nowhere with the mystery of the séance. When she received another letter from home, she’d considered telling her family all about it, but there was something in her gut that told her not to. She couldn’t understand it, she’d rarely ever kept a secret from them, especially not a big one like this, but she just couldn’t bring herself to write about it all again. And then, when they asked about her Communication with her grandparents, she’d had to admit that she didn’t receive anything from either of them – not at all a lie, but certainly not the whole truth.
Find. Find. Find. Always echoing in her head but still she didn’t know what it meant – find what? What was she supposed to find?
The problem now was that she didn’t know where to start.
Almost every afternoon that week, (Y/N) had spent the time preceding dinner exploring Hogwarts’ extensive library, scouring every shelf for an answer – anything that could give her some direction. Each section of the enormous hall was dedicated to its own subject, several rows of bookcases filled to the brim with hundreds of books on each side. There were probably millions of books just within her view, and a million more deeper into the room, all stacked on polished oak cases towering high up to the arched stone ceiling.
The divination section was towards the back, dozens of shelves on countless sub-topics; there was no way she would ever be able to read them all, as much as she was tempted to try, even if she had decades to live at Hogwarts. She’d scanned through almost a full shelf of books so far; abacomancy, acultomancy, adromancy, aeromancy – she had no idea just how many methods of divination there were just beginning with A, some had several authors writing on the same subject, arachnomancy alone had fourteen different books all by different people in different decades. Though she did make a note of a couple to sneak out for Wednesday to borrow over the winter holidays. The entire bookcase it seemed was full of A’s, and her goal was to get through a letter a week, if she could.
Not every book, of course, but maybe she could manage to scan a little bit of each subject.
She was currently making her way through Aruspicina: Study of Entrails by Vultura Drip, taking notes on anything that could possibly be of use in the muggle notebook she brought with her, pencil writing as fast as it could.
Soairse had decided to keep her company, along with her new friend – Rahim, a shy Ravenclaw boy in their year – she knew from DADA. He was a timid boy, small and lanky; polite, too. (Y/N) had half expected him to run when he saw the gruesome topics she was studying, but though his eyes were wide and voice quiet he’d surprised her when he stayed. Soairse seemed to have good taste.
Right now, Rahim was helping Soairse with her essay on the Verdimillius spell, in return for her detailed notes on their last charms lesson. “So the circular motion will create a green light to…?” He quizzed after she’d finished writing on the first use of the spell.
Saoirse thought for a moment, pulling the feathers of her quill apart. “Um… reveal… oh I know this…” she struggled, looking to the ceiling as if the answer was written up there, perhaps it was, because her thoughts soon came to her. “Oh! It reveals objects hidden by Dark Magic!” She beamed, dipping her quill in the ink well as he praised her and overlooked her writing.
Skimming over the last chapter on aruspicina, (Y/N) gave a huff of both exasperation and relief as she finally closed the heavy cover and placed the book on the pile of read books. The dread of never completing her personal task on top of her quickly piling homeworks was beginning to get to her, and she wanted nothing more than to pretend this whole thing had never happened, but she knew that would get her nowhere. She simply wouldn’t give up so soon.
“Hey, (Y/N).” Saoirse said in a voice just a touch too loud for a library, successfully gaining her roommate’s attention. “Are we going to the game tomorrow?” She asked with a nod of her head in Rahim’s direction, indicating that this was their new topic of conversation. For a second, (Y/N) pondered how Saoirse had known she’d faded out of focus.
“Game?” (Y/N) asked tiredly, pulling another large book in front of her, Auramancy and the Third Eye by Hugh Oculus.
“Gryffindor versus Slytherin,” Rahim explained, still shy as he let his black hair fall in front of his eyes slightly, subconsciously hiding his face, “It’s the first Quidditch match of the year… pretty much everyone’s going.”
She considered this for a moment, fully tearing her eyes away from the page of her eleventh book of the day (she probably couldn’t recall half of what she’d hurriedly read over in the last few hours, thank Hades for the spiral notebook her mother sent). “Well, I wasn’t planning on it, but if you want to go--”
“Oh good!” Saoirse interrupted, assuming (incorrectly) that the answer was a yes. “It’s gonna be so much fun – Bridget said we’re all painting our nails tonight, she’s got loads’a colours but we’ll probably all do greens, right?” She continued in her excitement, and (Y/N) really wanted to protest, to say that she actually intended to stay in the library, but strangely enough she just didn’t want to disappoint her only true ally in the country. “I’ve never seen a Quidditch match before, have you? I heard it’s pretty dangerous, Bridget told me there was a game in – I dunno, fifteen-somethin’ – where a Seeker – the little guy looking for the gold ball – got his head knocked clean off by a Bludger! So if it’s anythin’ like that you’ll definitely enjoy it. Maybe if you catch the head it’s good luck!”
Well, perhaps the break would so her some good.
There was something about Professor Quirrell that gave (Y/N) an uneasy feeling. Perhaps it was the awkward hunch of his shoulders, or the unignorable stutters of every other word he spoke – but there was definitely something that wasn’t quite right.
“Yes, very g-good, Miss-s Granger.” The man praised by his desk, holding his wand tight as he made small gestures about and adjusted his purple turban. “W-w-will p-power is v-vit-t-t-tal in an-n-ny sp-spellwork, if y-y-y-you d-d-don’t will it to-to work, then-n it w-won’t-t.”
The stutter may have been the first thing to tip her off, (Y/N) decided; she’d known plenty of people with various speech impediments, some were psychological and some were not, and though they were all slightly different for everyone, Quirrell’s stutter just seemed off. It was too… exaggerated. Too dramatic, even. But perhaps she was wrong, he’d certainly earned the trust and sympathy of most of Hogwarts.
From her seat at the back of the room, (Y/N) could see very little, but the shadows gave her a certain comfort, like a cold blanket prickling her skin. Perhaps it was just Quirrell’s presence that gave it its unsettling aura, or perhaps it was one of the dangerous artefacts displayed on the wall by his desk, but she didn’t like it at all.
She might have thought it was all in her head and never thought of it again, but for the first few weeks of school (Y/N) knew that Harry Potter had sat in the front row, and then after a series of headaches and squirming uncomfortably each time the professor walked by, she couldn’t help but notice that Harry had moved to the back of the room in the other corner, where he sat now rubbing his forehead. It was all very strange, but she couldn’t help but be intrigued.
No one else seemed to be bothered, though, and she still wasn’t sure why she felt so strange around the professor; after all, he was a Hogwarts professor, he had to have been hired for a reason. Maybe she was just overthinking things – her terrible sleep, late nights, and constant obsession with her Message From Beyond had her brain all fried and scrambled. And despite all that was going on, she really was looking forward to the Quidditch game the next day. (Y/N) had never seen a Quidditch game before, the generations of separation between the wizarding world and her family meant that none of the Addams clan had been so lucky, but from the sounds of things it all seemed rather exciting. And she knew she could use the mental break.
“N-no, no hom-mework-k-k t-today,” she heard Quirrell say from his board, “j-just r-review this ch-ch-chapter.” Was it really just her, or was his stutter getting worse?
The class was dismissed and everyone filtered out of the room, all eager to get on with their day now that classes were over. The whole school was buzzing with excitement for the match, cheering and bantering in the hallways; it was actually a little annoying, especially when being very young and small and trying to get through unscathed. Unfortunately for her, many students seemed to be heading to the library, probably to get the quickly piling homework out of the way before the weekend began.
A lot of the desks of the library were occupied, groups of friends studying together and whispering and murmuring quietly. Not quietly enough for her liking, but there was nothing (Y/N) could truly complain about.
(Y/N) continued her regular path deeper into the library, footsteps quiet as a cat’s. She was almost done with the shelf she was working through, but she still had a long way to go. So far she had gathered nothing of much use for her investigation, only interesting facts and notes, though she had made a whole list of books to inquire about borrowing for the holidays.
“Are you sure there’s not another copy?” A familiar voice came from the other side of her path, (Y/N) looked over the study desks and spotted the intrusion.
“Yes, I’m sure. You already asked Pince and I’ve checked the shelf over twice now.” A girl said, crossing her arms at Harry. “You don’t need to read the rest, you know what you’re doing.”
Not paying attention to where she was walking, (Y/N) carried on past and almost slipped on something. She stopped to get her balance for a moment before she looked down. There under the sole of her shiny black Mary-Jane was a wand. Picking it up, she scanned the surrounding area before huffing in displeasure; she knew exactly who it belonged to.
(Y/N) turned with the wand in hand, tensing her jaw and thinking over what to say. She approached the desk at her usual pace, clearing her throat lightly. It made them jump, all three halting their conversation and staring at her with wide eyes. She sometimes forgets how much people let their guard down around here. “I think this fell out of your bag.” She stated to Ron, glancing at the tatty, open satchel that lay on the floor by his chair.
“Oh…” he said as he took it from her hand, eyeing her with suspicion, “thanks.”
She nodded curtly, not liking the way he always seemed to look at her, then faced Harry. “Good luck tomorrow.” (Y/N) said, polite but uncaring, seeing him about to reply, but she was too tired to make polite and unnecessary conversation at the moment. So instead, she simply walked away back to where she was going, turning the hurt into anger. It was them who didn’t want her acquaintance, after all. She’d made plenty of efforts to be nice, and if they didn’t want to reciprocate then that was just fine. She’d said it before: friends were overrated, and she’d meant it for a reason.
Finally stood before the first towering bookcase on Divination, (Y/N) put last night’s books back where they belonged and snatched up an arm-full of new ones to place on the nearest desk. She put all remaining thoughts aside and decided she had better concentrate; she had a lot to do if she wanted to be done on time.
The Slytherin common room was truly an architectural masterpiece, with its detailed stone carvings and shiny marble pillars, and it was such a shame that (Y/N) had spent so little time in there. It was already the beginning of November and she’d only sat in there once or twice quite briefly; she didn’t let it show, but she never liked the way people would stare at her. The last time she’d taken a seat, she found it impossible to ignore the looks and unsubtle whispers, talking about her clothes and her books and her name; she felt like a zoo animal in an enclosure, like a viper behind a glass window, wishing it could sink its fangs into them while they pointed and gossiped.
But this evening felt different. While some people still gave her looks or made comments to their friends, most were too busy enjoying the pre-match excitement, patting the Slytherin team on their backs and boosting their egos. And she wasn’t sat on her own this time, the girls and some of their friends were sat on the plush green carpet with her, all with cushions under them for a little extra comfort, talking and chatting like friends do. She didn’t feel like she had to fend for herself this time, watching from the side. So perhaps acquaintances, perhaps friends, weren’t all that useless. Perhaps.
There was a spread of various finger-foods that they’d all gathered from the Great Hall during dinner; chips, fruit, sausages, crackers, cheeses, quiche, treacle tarts, anything that anyone thought to grab. The group were sat behind the leather sofa in the shadow of the fire, eight of them making a circle around the food and bottles of nail polish and things so no one would topple over them. Someone had pulled the rug over from another corner of the room, and they were all grateful for it, as warm as the fire was, the stone floor was always freezing.
“Which do you want on your toes?” Millicent asked from (Y/N)’s left, her back to the fire as she held up Bridget’s neatly organised box of varnish.
(Y/N) didn’t really want her toenails painted, but she’d promised herself to make the most of the experience – Saoirse had said it was very important bonding, and (Y/N) supposed it was logical to form bonds with the girls she shared a room with. So, reluctantly, she agreed. “I’ll have the black.” She answered as she tried a treacle tart; too sweet for her liking, but sickly enough to grow on her.
“But we’re all doing greens and silvers!” Bridget protested from across the circle as she painted a coat of emerald on Charlie Salve’s right hand.
Rolling her eyes, (Y/N) repressed a groan as she leaned against the back of the sofa, taking off her slippers and sitting still as Millicent began to apply the shiny black. “Fine,” she sighed with a turn of her page of Studies in Avimancy by Amanda Plume, “I’ll have green on my fingers.”
Saoirse snickered under her breath, making the girls look her way with curiosity. “Green fingers, green thumbs.” She giggled with a shrug, earning a few confused laughs. The way this girl’s brain worked, they may never understand.
“Hey,” they heard from the sofa, gaining the group’s attention; one of the fifth year boys that occupied the settee was leaning over the back and pointing at the spread, “can I have one of those?” He asked, grinning at Saoirse as she picked up a quiche and handed it up to him, thanking her as he went back. Food truly could bring people together.
And perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if (Y/N) accepted their invitation to sit down in the common room with them every so often.
The Quidditch match started early, a light mist was still hovering over the dewy green grass of the pitch when everyone was gathered for breakfast, faces painted and all ready. Millicent and Bridget had explained that some games could go on for days, or even weeks, because the game wouldn’t be stopped until the Snitch was caught.
It was a cold morning, as all Scottish Novembers were, and a lovely chill settled in (Y/N)’s bones. She and her roommates were looking for seats on the tall viewing stands, the whole thing covered in green and silver banners, and people were waving flags and signs all over the place to show their support. The crowd was just a sea of greens, even Bridget had painted half of her face, and continued to grumble when (Y/N) had refused to do the same (but she did bring some spare face paint, just in case she changed her mind). She may have refused the face paint and bright green jumpers, but (Y/N) relented enough to wear her Slytherin scarf – it was, after all, a very nice scarf and a very cold day.
There was enough room at the end of the centre row of the stand, right next to a group holding a green banner with silver letters: ‘SLYTHERIN FOR THE WIN!”, it read, with a charmed hissing snake for the ‘S’.
The girls sat down and (Y/N) waited to get the end seat, holding her new camera up to test its lens; she had promised to send some photos to her family, and she was especially excited to do so because it was one they had bought from Diagon Alley, and Quidditch was the perfect chance to get good shots for the moving pictures. She adjusted the lens to get the perfect angle of the pitch, marvelling at how high they were and the sheer enormity of the pitch. Then just after the first click of the button, an unfortunate face blocked her view of the goal hoops.
“Malfoy,” she cursed, bringing her camera down to her lap, “you ruined my picture!” She complained loudly enough so he could hear her. Looking into the camera to find his horrid little face walking in front of her view, the background blurring behind him.
The blond boy laughed at her, squinting his eyes at her annoyed face. “You should be thanking me,” he had the audacity to say, snapping his fingers at the people in front of them to move up for him and his friends, “now you have a picture people will actually want to look at.” He smirked, the green and silver flags on his cheeks moving with the action. Unfortunately, he proceeded to sit down on the bench in front of her, grabbing the binoculars from Goyle’s hands.
(Y/N) scoffed, resisting the urge to kick him in the back of his head – it would be so easy, and definitely worth it. “Who on Earth would pay to see your ugly mug? Your mother doesn’t count, y’know.” She retaliated, taking pride in the anger on his face when her friends started to giggle; Millicent and Bridget might have had the sense to hide it, but Saoirse laughed loudly, head thrown back and arm on her belly.
“I’ll have you know there’s plenty of people who would,” he snapped, cringing slightly at his foolish answer, knowing he’d already lost with it.
(Y/N) crossed her arms. “You’re right, I’m sure there’s plenty of scientists who’d jump at the chance to study you.”
Mouth curling into a sneer, Malfoy was about to flounder for a clever response when the crowds broke out into tremendous cheering, all standing to watch. They all turned to face to pitch and saw that the teams were walking onto the field, brooms in hand. It was almost impossible to hear anything, so Malfoy sent one last pitiful attempt at a glare and faced the front, holding his binoculars up.
(Y/N) and her friends stood on their bench to get a better view over the crowd, watching as Madame Hooch lectured the teams. It was quite brilliant just how many people had gathered, waving banners and screaming. Oh, how (Y/N) had missed the sounds of screams (she really must remember to practice her knife throwing before she returns home).
The teams mounted their brooms and with the sound of a whistle the Quaffle was tossed into the air. “And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor -” the commentator announced over a microphone from the staff stands “-and what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive too--”
“JORDAN!” He was interrupted in the background of the speaker by an angered Professor McGonagall, apologising to her immediately for his inappropriate comment.
The Chasers were flying to and fro at marvellous speeds, Gryffindor doing quite a bit better than Slytherin so far; their Chasers, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, working together like they shared one mind. They were level with the tall stands, ducking and weaving around the other team and dodging Bludgers with skills (Y/N) had never seen before. Spinnet stole the Quaffle from Slytherin’s Captain, speeding towards their goal, before she was knocked back by a Bludger sent by one of the Beaters, though she wasn’t sure who. The Commentator winced over the mic. (Y/N) was amazed she hadn’t been knocked off of her broom, being hit by a solid ball of iron going about thirty miles per hour… were witches harder to kill than muggles?
Gryffindor scored the first goal, thanks to one of the twin Beaters slamming a Bludger into Adrian Pucey. It looked rather fun, swatting them down like flies. (Y/N) had never seen a sport so violent, and everyone was loving it. She got the best photo of Pucey as the ball slammed into his gut, winding him as he nearly lost his balance and fell to his death. The Seekers were floating high above the chaos, looking around for a glint of gold that was nowhere in sight while their teammates racked up the points. A Bludger was shot up there once, almost knocking Harry Potter off, but a Gryffindor Beater had seen it coming and flew up to shoot it back down, stopping for a second to chat, it seemed. Harry looked very small all the way up there, already being the smallest and youngest of any of the teams, a little red dot above the crowds. But he hadn’t been injured yet, so that was something.
The game had been going for over an hour then, when the Commentator distracted Pucey on his way with the Quaffle. “-is that the Snitch?” He’d said, sending excited murmurs through the stands as everyone tried to spot it. Pucey dropped the Quaffle as a flicker of gold shot passed his ear. He’d surely be paying for that later.
The Seekers dived after the Snitch, weaving through the Chasers who’d all stopped to watch, eager to see how Harry would do for his first game. Slytherin’s Higgs had the experience and had won many games over the years, but Harry was small and light, and he soon got ahead of his opponent. (Y/N) raised her camera, following them as they sped forward, her camera clicked and Marcus Flint blocked Harry’s path, sending crowds shouting in anger. Slytherin cheered as Harry was knocked off course, rooting for Higgs to catch up, but the Snitch was out of sight.
Hooch flew up on her broom, scolding Slytherin’s Captain for the foul, and giving Gryffindor a free shot. (Y/N) pursed her lips into a frown – honestly, you’d think if he was going to cheat he would have the sense to do it when the entire school wasn’t watching. “Why the face, Addams?” Malfoy called from in front of her, making her frown deepen; could she not enjoy one day off without him ruining her mood? “Can’t you see? Didn’t your parents send you any binoculars, or do they not sell them to Squibbs?” He taunted, waving his shiny silver binoculars in his hand.
His words lit a fire in (Y/N)’s eyes and she heard a gasp from Saoirse to her left. That obnoxious little brat had no idea just who he was messing with. “I can see perfectly fine without them. I wouldn’t want to risk sitting there looking like a withered old lady at the opera.” She said, watching him grimace and tighten his grip with reddening cheeks. She interrupted his next comment. “I suggest you choose your next words very carefully, Malfoy.” She leant down so he could hear her properly, sending a truly furious glare right through him, making it clear just how pissed she was. “Or I promise you, I’ll make you regret it.” Her voice was low and serious, looking down on him like a bug she wanted to squish beneath her shoe and wipe on the curb. It was a promise she intended to keep.
Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly, seeming to realise just how badly he’d screwed up. All of the nasty rumours about her were no doubt coming to mind, and the fear that flashed across his face was almost satisfaction enough. He stood back from her and scoffed to his friends, obviously acting unbothered in front of them. “Whatever.” He huffed, but turned back and said nothing more, just pushing his binoculars into Goyle’s arms.
The game had resumed and Gryffindor’s Spinnet scored the free goal with no problems. As delightful as the game was, (Y/N) found the Commentator to be one of the most entertaining parts of the game, especially now as he struggled to contain his bias, earning multiple scolds from McGonagall. “Alright, alright. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I’m sure-”
Saoirse offered some hot chips to (Y/N), where she had been hiding them she couldn’t be sure, and continued to wave her flag in her other hand. “Quidditch is class! I’m so glad we came!” She yelled with a beaming grin.
(Y/N) nodded, blowing some hair that had fallen loose from her French-braid out of her eyes. “Surprisingly, I think I’ll have to agree.” She answered, accepting a chip and looking back to the match. She snapped a photo of one of the Beaters batting a Bludger then turned back to Saoirse. “I’m gonna try to get some photos from lower down,” she said, then unwrapped her scarf from over her shoulder to let it hang down at either side of her camera which she hanged from her neck.
Pushing her way through the stands, she soon came to the exit and descended down the stairs, looking for the perfect angle to snap a photo from lower down. Just as she adjusted her lens to take another shot of the Seekers, she saw Harry lurch forward suddenly on his broom. The camera clicked, capturing the odd movement and Harry’s shock as he gripped his Nimbus tighter. The Slytherins just above her were cheering as the team scored another goal, not seeming to notice the newest Seeker flying all over the place. (Y/N) frowned and raised her camera again, peering through to see Harry’s panic stricken face as his broom tried to buck him off like a wild bull. It certainly wasn’t normal.
How had no one noticed? Surely brooms didn’t regularly behave like untamed beasts. (Y/N) felt her heart jump in concern as Harry nearly lost his grip; sure, they weren’t on any terms at the moment, he’d rejected her friendship without even a word about it the minute she was sorted into Slytherin, and it absolutely was not her fault – but that didn’t mean she wanted him falling to his death any time soon. It wasn’t like when she pushed Wednesday out of the belfry window, Harry was much higher up and he’d get much more than a concussion and broken leg from this height. But what could she do?
(Y/N) used her camera to scan the crowds, trying to see if anyone had noticed. The teachers hadn’t seemed to notice, all watching the Chasers and Beaters and talking excitedly. Her camera clicked accidentally before she pulled away, then she looked towards the Gryffindor stands. Right at the front was Ron and the girl from the library holding a hand-painted ‘Potter for President’ banner with a red lion on it, looking around frantically. So at least someone noticed.
Just then she heard the whole crowds gasping, and (Y/N) rushed to point her camera back at Harry, only to see him spinning around on his broom uncontrollably, and hanging on for life when it gave another sharp jerk. Everyone was shouting and gasping at the sight, wondering what the hell was going on; (Y/N) looked back to the staff stands to see what they were doing about it, surely they’d call off the game, or get a net or something. No, they’d just stood up and began talking and gawking and doing nothing of any real use. Great.
Harry’s teammates tried to help him, but as soon as they got close the broom moved away and started to try to throw him off again. Then (Y/N) looked back to the Gryffindor stands, hoping for any indication that someone was going to help, and she noticed that the bushy-haired girl had disappeared from the stands. Curious, (Y/N) used her camera to try to spot the girl, soon seeing her making her way down the stairs in a rush. And for whatever reason, morbid curiosity perhaps, (Y/N) rushed to follow.
She was heading towards the teachers’ stands, and (Y/N) wrapped her black coat tighter around her and ran to catch up. The Gryffindor girl was just beneath the benches when she’d finally caught up, panting as quietly as she could. “What are you doing?” (Y/N) asked, startling the girl.
She turned to (Y/N) in panic and fear, looking like she’d just been caught doing something terrible. (Y/N) liked that. “I-I- what are you doing?” She asked in a hurry, obviously wishing (Y/N) would go.
“Well no one was doing anything to help, then I saw you run over here and decided to come.” (Y/N) explained, hearing the crowd gasp again. Both girls turned to peek between the gaps of the teachers’ feet, seeing Harry being carried higher and the twins circling beneath him. “Whatever you’re planning to do down here, you’d better do it fast.” She said, coming closer to the Gryffindor and meeting her panicked stare, trying her best to give a look that said ‘you can trust me’.
The girl gritted her teeth in frustration and seemed to think as quickly as possible, glancing at (Y/N)’s Slytherin scarf before relenting as the crowd shrieked again. “It’s Snape.” She explained, making (Y/N) frown in confusion. “He’s interfering with Harry’s broom using Dark Magic. We saw him chanting and not breaking eye-contact.” She rushed out, pointing up at the black cape and trousers by her head. She was right, Snape was doing exactly that. “We need to break his concentration!” She said, voice strained with panic.
Things were getting far more interesting with every week, it seemed. “Okay.” (Y/N) nodded, rummaging in her pocket for a second before producing a pack of matches with a grin. “This should do it.” She said, taking five matches and lighting them quickly, running the growing flames along Snape’s cloak. The girl looked at her in shock at the fire grew, crossing her fingers. But the girls were let down when the flames quickly went out on the bottom of the damp fabric. (Y/N) tried again and again, but it was no use, she couldn’t get it to light for more than a few seconds. “It’s not working!” She groaned, just about to light a match and put it in the box with the others to set under his trousers when the Gryffindor told her to stop.
“Wait, let me, I know what to do.” She said, stepping forward and pulling her wand from her pocket. She did a funny little gesture and whispered clearly. “Incendio.”
It took barely even a second for the flames to magically climb up Snape’s cloak, unbothered by the damp spots. “I warmed it up for you,” (Y/N) muttered, sending the girl a smirk. Some seconds later, Snape let out a yell and stumbled back, knocking people over and he tried to stomp out the fire. Snickering, (Y/N) decided to run before they got caught. “Come on!” She said and rushed the girl back down the steps.
They stopped at the bottom just in time to see Harry safely in control of his broom. He’d swooped down low and they saw him tumble onto the pitch on all fours, looking like he was going to be sick. He coughed and hacked into his hand, and then waved his arm in the air, revealing the Snitch. The crowd cheered as the Commentator announced Gryffindor’s win, abnners and flags flying everywhere. “I was right.” The girl said proudly, sending a glare up to the teachers’ stands.
(Y/N) tried not to laugh, nudging the girl in the arm. “And a good thing, too. Otherwise you just committed first degree arson on a teacher for nothing.” She said, watching the girl’s eyes widen in horror. (Y/N) shook her head and held out her hand. “I’m (Y/N) Addams, by the way.”
The Gryffindor hesitated for a second, then clutched the offered hand in her own. “Hermione Granger.”
(Y/N) let herself succumb to a devilish grin. “Hermione, we’re going to be very good friends.”
A/N: I had writers block for literally ages and then a whole lot to do at work and school (and I had to start looking for a second part-time job). But it’s here now, next part to come soon…ish…
Don’t you dare forget to leave a like at the end 😭
Masterlist Series Masterlist Introduction Your First Year Letter
Chapter Seventeen ~ The Invitation
McGonagall was surely surprised to find a vulture waiting on her office’s window ledge, no doubt staring vacantly at her until she accepted the note clasped in his beak, but it seemed a logical way to pass on the message. After all, time was of the essence – and Addamses weren’t ones to send petite carrier pigeons or white doves, were they?
Dear Professor McGonagall,
Yuletide Greetings! We hope you are well. Would you please inform young Mr. Potter and the Weasley children that they are invited to spend the day at the Hog’s Head Inn in Hogsmeade by the family of (Y/N) Addams? We hope it isn’t any trouble for you. It would be marvellous if you could send them through the fireplace!
Sincerely,
Gomez Addams and family
Whatever the Deputy’s reaction, (Y/N) would never know and frankly couldn’t care less; she was far too busy lecturing her family on their expected behaviour.
“Grandmama, please put the Cursing Skull away – you won’t need it.” She almost begged, reaching for the skull in question despite her grandmother’s insistence that it stay.
“How dare you – I always bring Franklin with me! How would you know I won’t need him?” Grandmama argued as she held the bone high above her head, just out of the girl’s reach.
(Y/N) might have argued further had it not been for the sound of scraping metal coming from behind. She spun around, quickly forgetting about the Cursing Skull in favour of a different problem. “Pugsley, put that axe away!”
“Why?” The boy frowned, his grip on the long handle tightening as he continued to sharpen the blade. “I’m not done yet. I wanted to play with the blowtorch, but Wednesday got it first.”
There was barely a moment for her to question him before her little sister entered the lounge, black goggles over her eyes and long rubber gloves up to her elbows. She lit the blowtorch and held a defensive stance. “I’m ready.” She announced monotonously.
“No. No. No. No. No! Absolutely not!” (Y/N) sternly growled at her, marching over to confiscate the weapon.
Peeling back her goggles onto her head, Wednesday looked up at her sister with distaste. “If you’re going to invite people” she spat “here, then I must at least be properly equipped to deal with them.”
“Don’t you dare.” (Y/N) said, making her point as seriously as she could. “These are normal...ish people. If you start chasing them with blowtorches and axes and Cursing Skulls they’ll run for the hills and tell McGonagall and Dumbledore and whoever else to keep us as far away as possible! I’m not letting you scare them off with these!”
Wednesday scoffed. “So I can’t have my blowtorch but Thing gets to have the throwing daggers?”
“What?” She spun around to look where she last saw the disembodied hand and found him on the table lining up eight freshly polished blades. “Thing, put those away right now!” (Y/N) demanded, until she felt the tug of the blowtorch in her hand. “Wednesday, you’re not having it!” She yelled as she turned back around and gripped the weapon with both hands. The two sisters struggled to win the object, pulling and pushing and kicking at each other.
“Give it back!” Wednesday shrieked as her sister stomped on her foot, pulling it harder and turning.
(Y/N) used the opportunity to get the girl in a headlock, still struggling to get control of the blowtorch but succeeding in overpowering her. Though, she didn’t expect Wednesday to manage to bite her arm.
The girls scrapped and fought with increasing violence (as sisters do), with the usual amount of scratching and screaming, until their parents’ voices brought them to attention. “That’s quite enough playing, girls. Our guests will be arriving soon.” Their father said, kissing his wife’s hand before letting go to beckon them forward, silently demanding the toy they were fighting over.
“Straighten up,” their mother encouraged, “I hope you’ll all be on your best behaviour. That goes for you too, Mama.” She side-eyed the elder playfully, watching the woman throw herself back onto the armchair after finally leaving Franklin above the mantle. “There’ll be no need to curse the children.”
Grandmama grumbled various phrases no-doubt along the lines of ‘a little curse never did much harm’, or something or other.
"Now," Morticia went on, holding her hands delicately at her solar plexus, "I want you all to make our guests feel welcome. Adorn your most solemn smiles and unblinking stares."
"Yes, Mother." The children submitted, much to (Y/N)'s relief.
According to McGonagall's swift reply, she would be escorting the Gryffindors to the Inn via Floo at precisely ten o'clock. It was no surprise, then, that as the cuckoo on the mantle finished cawing its tenth screech for the hour, the fireplace beneath it filled with vibrant green smoke. When the powder had barely cleared, forward stepped a tall young man with red hair and a white collared shirt beneath his knitted jumper. He dusted himself off quickly and turned to face the group. "Good morning," he greeted, clearing his throat a polite amount, "you're the Addamses, I presume?"
(Y/N)'s parents stepped forth together, eager to introduce themselves. "Right you are!" Her father grinned, speaking in his usual alarmingly bold voice. "Gomez Addams, at your service. And my lovely wife, Morticia." They shook hands, and - despite his obvious discomfort - the boy never once forgot his manners. "What's your name, my boy?"
"Percy Weasley, sir." He answered proudly, holding his posture straight as if he were wearing a suit and not frumpy knit-wear. "Prefect of Gryffindor House. Professor McGonagall sent me through first to make sure everything runs smoothly - first impressions, and all."
It looked as if Morticia was about to reply, if it weren't for the next puff of smoke billowing through the hearth. There was a thump and an exclamation, and out tumbled a disorientated Harry Potter. The prefect quickly helped him to his feet (both ignoring the old woman cackling from the armchair) and helped to dust him off. "Sorry," Harry felt obligated to say, as he adjusted his glasses to better see the audience of his embarrassing display. He looked down to his jumper in disappointment, doing his best to beat away the Floo powder from the fibres.
"Don't worry about it, Harry." Percy said kindly. "It takes a couple of tries to Floo properly for the first time. And it'll come off," he reassured, noticing his dismay at the dirtied garment he'd been gifted just the day before.
Before Harry could say much about it, Gomez took a large step forward and grasped his hand for a hearty shake. "Gomez Addams, nice to meet you!" He bellowed, still shaking the small boy's hand with his usual energy.
Stuttering in shock for a moment, Harry's mouth opened and closed a few times before he could form a reply. "I-I'm Harry, sir. Harry Potter." He managed, looking past the man's side to spot the rest of his hosts, and noting a frustrated-looking (Y/N) pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Of course you are," the man laughed, then soon turned as the fireplace filled with another puff of green that revealed another small red-head.
Ron looked generally displeased to be there, which was a green-light as far as any of the Addamses were concerned. He patted off his clothes and stood himself next to his friend, acutely aware of his older brother's gaze (it was clear that he'd had somewhat of a talking to about his expected manners). "Alright?" he greeted casually, earning a kick in the leg from Percy. "Ow- um- I mean-" he cleared his throat, "hello, I'm... Ron."
The hand he was about to tuck into his pocket was grasped by the enthusiastic man before him. Gomez eagerly introduced himself once more, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that it was an interaction he never grew tired of.
Two more clouds of green, one just after the other, revealed the last of the expected Weasleys. Fred and George wasted no time in taking in their surroundings, and - though they still seemed about as nervous as the rest - (Y/N) could credit that their curiosity far outweighed their nerves. They shook hands with her father and introduced themselves, soon doing their best to match his excitement.
From the final puff of smoke came Professor McGonagall, all business and queenly manners, as usual. "Good morning, Mr. Addams, and to your family." She smiled, shaking their hands. "I must say, it's very kind of you to invite the Weasleys and Mr. Potter to spend the day with you. Wouldn't you agree, children?" She gave a pointed look to the boys, eliciting a series of nods and agreements.
"It's a pleasure, Deputy Headmistress." Morticia answered, smiling her most sweetly solemn smile at them. "But of course, this was (Y/N)'s invitation."
All eyes drifted to her at the mention, stood just to the side of the couple. (Y/N) adjusted her posture at the attention, and nodded along. "Yes, thank you for coming."
Being startled is no excuse for forgetting your manners; her mother would have been extremely disappointed in her, otherwise.
"I must say, it was a bit... unexpected, to be invited here." Percy admitted, hoping that it didn't come across as rude at all.
"How nice of you," Morticia expressed, thoroughly pleased with his compliment.
Checking the time on the obnoxious clock on the mantle, the professor addressed the two families (and Harry) together. "Well, I'm afraid I can't stay long. I have a meeting with Headmaster Dumbledore and the teaching staff soon, and I mustn't be late. I shall be back at two to collect you all." And with a final farewell, the woman gracefully stepped into the hearth and disappeared.
The twins chuckled. "By 'meeting', what she actually means is 'firewhiskey, trivia, and gossip." Said one.
"We heard them whispering about it earlier," the other explained.
The children all seemed so stiff and awkward that (Y/N) was starting to wonder (not for the first time) if inviting them hadn't been a mistake. "Well now," her mother interrupted the silence, knowing just when to step forward, "why don't you all make yourselves uncomfortable? Lurch, would you fetch some of those games from the luggage?"
The large... man... seemed to have gone unnoticed by their guests; or it could at least be presumed, because as he stepped forward from the shadow of the tree in the corner there were a few sharp inhales and steps taken aback. Lurch replied to his mistress with a low, throaty groan and a nod, and shuffled his way slowly out of the lounge room.
"Bloody hell... was that a zombie?" Ron asked, somewhat accidentally, as he stared after the strange creature.
(Y/N) - who stood closest - gave him an odd look. "Of course not. That's Lurch, he's our butler."
"Is he part giant, like Hagrid?" Was Harry's question. Shocked but not surprised would best suit his reactions as of late, and the Addamses were of no exception to this new philosophy.
"Hard to say..." she replied honestly with a shrug, "we're not entirely sure where he comes from, but I suppose it doesn't matter all that much."
The slightly taller one of the twins stepped forward with his arms crossed over his chest. "Blimey, who'd've thought we'd be invited over by people with a butler, eh George?"
"Who'd've thought we'd be invited over by anyone staying in The Hog's Head?" The other chimed.
"Be that as it may," Percy interrupted quickly, sending yet another warning glance to his brothers, "it was really very nice of you to invite us."
Gomez wrapped an arm around the eldest boy, beckoning them all to finally sit, as he gestured with a lit cigar. "Well it is the holidays, a time for celebration! And what better way to celebrate than with others?"
"I could name at least two dozen now, if you'd like." A small voice came from behind the group, easily startling them all. "For example: defenestration." Wednesday said, standing perfectly still without a blink.
"What's that?" Asked Harry.
"The act of throwing someone out of a window."
They all stared at the petite girl in various shades of disturbed, unsure of what to say or do next at the possible threat.
"Has anyone ever told you that you look like a statue?" George was bold enough to comment.
The girl stared at him expressionlessly, unblinking the entire time as she left a long pause to hang in the air. "Yes."
(Y/N) awkwardly cleared her throat. "Um, this is my little sister, Wednesday. She's just joking - that was a joke." She assured, not entirely honestly. No one seemed so sure if they should believe her, but she avoided it by leading them all to sit.
There was a surprising amount of space in the rented drawing room, with three sofas, two double couches, a sofa chair, a chaise lounge, and several chairs from a small games table. The curtains had been half-closed to let in just the right amount of light to cast shadows and let them peek out to see the cloudy sky. And soon after they all found a seat - and declined a cigar each from Mr. Addams - Lurch re-entered with several boxes in his arms. Chess, operation, hangman, trivia, and exploding snap. An excellent selection.
The first hour was spent getting comfortable and playing games. Exploding snap was a new game to the Addams family - Morticia had purchased it from Diagon Alley just recently - and George and Fred had been enthusiastic in explaining the rules to them. They had won several games, and it was later revealed that they had cheated for quite a few of them (which was well admired by the strange family playing against them). Ron has been unfortunate enough to have Wednesday as his chess opponent; it was a close game, and he had checked her king several times before her rook had him in a corner.
When the children eventually tired of bored games (and when Wednesday was about to lose) they made their way outside.
If the previous snowball fight had been aggressive, this one was downright brutal.
“Ow- my FACE!” (Y/N) exclaimed, glaring at her brother with an evil that startled poor Percy behind him.
“Justice!” The excitable boy shouted, waving his brandished weapons in the air and sprinting for his life as his eldest sister pursued him, all the while shouting out threats of death and bodily harm.
The twins cackled from somewhere behind her as they hid behind some bushes, throwing snowballs at anyone who came close enough. One of them hit Wednesday square in the chest - and if they thought it was bad enough when they last hit (Y/N), they had no idea how much worse this was. Wednesday didn’t always get back at people right away. She waited.
After (Y/N) had pushed Pugsley into a thorny bramble bush, she turned her attention to Ron. He stood with empty hands, an expression of fear on his face. “I-I was aiming for Harry! He moved!” He justified, sending his friend a look of betrayal. He barely managed to plead his case before snow was thrown across his cheek.
Shrieks of terror caught their attention, and the twins came running from their hiding spot, drenched from head to foot in icy water. Wednesday emerged from the shadows, an empty bucket in one hand and a rusty grappling hook in the other.
“I told you, no weapons!” (Y/N) cursed in exasperation, receiving nothing but a shrug from her devious sister. She stomped her foot frustratedly, only to realise too late that she was stood on an icy puddle and tumbled backward into the snow.
Laughter roared all around and the game continued. A hand was offered when she opened her eyes. “You alright?”
She huffed, warm breath fogging out with it. Harry offered a hand and a smile. "Yeah, if not mildly embarrassed." She took his hand, secretly very grateful for it as she began to scramble to stand on the slippery floor as gracefully as possible... which was, not at all graceful.
And if that weren't embarrassing enough, nature decided to betray them once again. Gravity and ice are a mischievous duo.
In a somewhat LooneyToon-ish display, (Y/N) got halfway onto her feet when Harry took a step back to support her and threw off his own balance. Arms flew out and feet slipped about before the two fell back in opposite directions, kicking each other in the legs on the way down.
A moment of shock passed, making way for laughter. Well, Harry laughed. A breathy chuckle escaped (Y/N), to her surprise, before she tried to school her smile away. Unfortunately, he'd already seen it. "Well, that makes two of us, I guess." He amused, brushing snow from his messy hair.
"I suppose." (Y/N) agreed, suddenly feeling awkwardness creep back in. She really hoped she wouldn't have to crawl off on her knees -- how horribly undignified.
"Thanks for inviting us." Harry smiled, seemingly given up on standing as he sat and fiddled with his sleeve, ignoring the cold seeping through his second-hand jeans. "I mean, I know I said it before. But it's been really nice, you know? And, I like your family."
Never before had someone said such a shocking thing to her. "Really?" She asked dubiously, wondering if he was joking or simply unwell.
"Really." The scrawny boy nodded. "They're cool."
"Even Wednesday?" (Y/N) raised a brow.
Harry laughed again -- he'd been doing that a lot lately. "Yeah, she's alright. Nicer than my cousin, at least."
She made a face of distaste, like he'd just told her he was sitting in yellow snow. "Pray they never meet." She said, though she was actually thinking about how bad his cousin could possibly be. Wednesday once pushed her off the cliffside by the Abbey back home for pointing out that her shoelace was untied. She'd almost drowned. It was one of her sister's fondest memories.
"Are you getting up, or what?" Ron marched up beside them, the corner of his mouth upturned in a smile. He helped them both stand, not even rolling his eyes or recoiling at (Y/N)'s touch. Perhaps he was warming up to her.
And so the three children went -- Weasley, Potter, and Addams -- following calls for soup and hot chocolate. The start of what was sure to be a very curious misadventure indeed.
Thanks for reading this chapter - don’t forget to leave a like on your way out!!
