. . . . . .

They say to kill your darlings, though I prefer to write them bloody. This is a multi-character account of posted, collected stories and interactions. Greet at your own risk.

[writtenbywings]

The Multiverse is Our Oyster

They say to kill your darlings, though I prefer to write them bloody. 

This is a multi-character blog where various stories take the stage. Interactions are welcome, as are requests for stories and roleplaying - the multiverse is your oyster.

Attached to my blog is a list of characters available for interaction. 

Come and say hi. . . fairly new to all of this and could use a little guidance. 

[writtenbywings]

Battle Scars

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy

Summary: Returning to Hogwarts as a professor, Hermione bitterly encounters Draco Malfoy as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, throwing everything into chaos.

Hatred and lust slowly begins to burn between them, though only as they recall their final, secret year at Hogwarts.

Chapter word count: 2.8k

AO3 Link: Click Here

Fanfiction Link: Click Here

Type: Lemony, lemon, lemon---ade. Smutty lemonade. 

CHAPTER SEVEN

Year 7 Flashback

Excuses are what we need to get through life. Tiny little pockets of gold that free us from the tormenting thoughts that keep us up at night. I wouldn't know where I'd be without excuses, without the ability to rectify my decisions, my actions, with lying reason.

And I had lied all week, keeping my experience with Draco Malfoy in Slytherin Tower a secret, even to my two truest friends. Perhaps because it felt good to keep something just for myself, or maybe because they would look at me with a different set of eyes if they knew I had allowed him in… penetrating my protective bubble.

Draco had redeemed himself to somewhat of a degree in Harry's eyes, especially after he had fought with us, opposed to against us, when we battled Voldemort. Though Ron was unshaken. His brother had been killed. His family had been torn apart. And blood was harder to wash off of a conscience than a few bad memories.

Harry would have understood with less hatred.

Ron would have just hated, and hated… and hated some more.

Alas, Ginny could tell something was different. She noticed me flushing in the face whenever a seventh year came passed, dressed in emerald robes. Though I hadn't said much, other than that I felt a little sick and shaky, and maybe the nerves of my unfinished homework was weighing too close to home.

As Thursday came around, six days after our secret meeting, I saw Malfoy standing in the courtyard, talking to Isobel Wretching. She was a pretty girl with blonde hair and fluttery, doe-eyes. A student who would have been better suited for Hufflepuff, opposed to Slytherin. Though it was her fathers affiliation with the dark arts that caused the sorting hat to take an unexpected turn, and one that saw a brief relationship with Draco, in question.

I saw him smirk, the bruising on his face now alleviated entirely. He wore his shirt sleeves down during the day, not wanting to show off that Death Eater mark. Though Isobel was reaching over, playing with his hand.

The image I'd been keeping of him in my head burned to nothing, and I walked past with a vigor that rustled a small wind, alerting him as I went.

Really, what was I expecting? I didn't want us to be friends outside of our arrangement, though I didn't expected to be toyed with. I was Hermione Granger, not some common room slut. If his… areas… were touching other… areas… I didn't want them near mine!

I thought of myself as a virgin, if not for the few times with Ronald.

Though I doubt they could be considered as sex, as they included no passion, no romance, no touching of the explicit kind. It was just a romp on his bed after quidditch practice, and then another time at The Burrow, when I'd been wearing a little dress and we'd let the mood take us. But still, I'd never… orgasmed. He did. But I had just rocked about on the bed for the best part of ten minutes.

If I ever had experienced a climax in life – not involving the happiness I got from a new book – it would have been in private, with one of those vibrating wands from Va-Va-Broom. And I'd never expect Draco Malfoy to be able to deliver anything other than selfishness, so what was I expecting? A bit of loyalty… from the man who nearly killed Dumbledore?

My thoughts continued to hiss like a hot kettle, and continued well into even the night.

Friday morning came, and Draco didn't so much as glance my way in The Great Hall. I shamefully tried to steal a glance, one that would confirm I hadn't made up everything in my head, though as Isobel Wretching flaunted herself over his lap, feeding him a grape from the bouquet on the table, I stood and marched across the room.

I'd been played. A fool.

It was the one day I performed poorly in Potions class, and messed up an entire batch of Sickleweed Milk. A little elixir meant to cure Fizzlebumps. The cauldron exploded and one of the Ravenclaw girls had to go to the hospital wing, riddled with pimples.

I'd been given another free pass, and sent to Hagrid's for the afternoon, to help tend to a few of the magical creatures kept near his hut. I said nothing, letting him prattle on about his dealings in Scotland, and picked the feathers of a pheasant to feed to three untamed creatures. The professors were essentially letting me off every bad mistake I came to make, and for what… because I helped save the school? Or because they knew I was traumatized?

I was beginning to feel like a victim, and not the girl who could cast without a wand.

"I'm going to bed early." I told Hagrid, just as the sky began to darken. He bid me farewell, and watched as I climbed the steps to the castle, not even bothering to have dinner in the Great Hall. In my dormitory, I had a few leftover boxes of chicken pastries, quickly heating one with a spell that cooked it well, tucking into it between a soapy shower and getting my bag ready for the weekend.

I was meant to be visiting mum and dad in London, after the ministry reversed my memory spell on them. It would take a few more sessions to regain their full memory of me, though they were getting better with every visit.

Dad remembered my birthday a few weeks ago, and mum had managed to cook my favorite dinner. Small steps, though big with this kind of magic.

I paced the length of my room, searching for my dress robes, when I remembered I had left my witch's hat and cape in the common room, by the fireplace.

Lord have mercy.

I glanced at the clock and saw it was just after seven o'clock, and that most of the students would be having dessert by now. The girl's dormitory was empty, and I would have a chance to sneak and grab it, after my shower.

Still, I wanted to be careful.

I exchanged that fluffy, white towel for my pleated skirt and white button up shirt, not bothering with tights or a bralette. Though I did take a minute to slip into my knickers.

I crept downstairs, snatched up the bundle of black fabric strewn over the armchair, and ran back up within the matter of sixty seconds.

Clearly, it wasn't enough time.

As I bolted the door, wanting to change before the girls had chance to return, I saw the window ajar– the light breeze rustling the papers on Ikera's writing desk. Her owl fluttered in its cage, and made the wet ends of my hair brush icily against my breasts. I ran over and went to clasp it shut, though as I did, I saw a figure lounging on one of the beds.

It was Draco.

"What the hell are you doing in here? These are forbidden quarters to a Slytherin, let alone a boy!" I yelled, reaching for that towel to cover my chest. I was suddenly aware of how hard my nipples were.

Draco had an arm tucked casually behind his head, dressed in a white shirt similar to mine, the buttons loosely fastened. His emerald tie amiss.

"I knew you would back out of our arrangement, and I wanted to come remind you of what we agreed on." He said, playing with a smirk the way he had played with me last Friday.

"You're right." I spat. "I wasn't going to meet you, after I'd seen it was nothing but a cruel joke to you. I couldn't be bothered with your games."

At this, he sat up, bridging toward the edge of Ashley Wellings bed. Her teddy bear looking skeptical beside his hand as it tightened into the mattress.

"This isn't a game to me, Hermione."

Again, the use of my name felt like a slap, and I'd almost prefer him to use the insult. Mudblood. At least I could expect it.

"Friday night. I'm your distraction. We keep to the plan as follows."

"I don't want you to be my anything if you're going to be sleeping around. I don't know what diseases you'll be collecting."

He almost grinned, almost– if it wasn't for the seriousness he read in my glare.

"I'm not shagging Isobel Wretching. I'm not shagging anyone."

My breathing stilled, and I didn't know whether to believe him. What good would he have in lying? I would find out eventually… women always found out. Though with the way he now stood from the bed, sauntering over, narrowing the space between us, I allowed myself to believe him. If not to keep him right here, standing in front of me, but because I did, truly – honestly, really – feel distracted for the first time.

"The door is locked." I managed to say, just a whisper.

It was my way of saying I agreed, I consented.

His eyes didn't leave mine, but he nodded very slowly.

"My hair is too wet… to go to the tower." I followed on, as his eyes dragged down my tendrils of wet curls, my chest as it was still disguised beneath that towel.

"And… although me and Ron have partaken in things in the past, I really don't—"

"Drop the towel." He said, cutting me off.

I swallowed loudly, unable to move my gaze from his very serious, blue one. My fingers unlocked from their hold, and the towel fell as a bundle of white to the floor, revealing my crinkled white skirt, and the alert pinch of my pink nipples, visible now as the damp from my hair made the material transparent. He reached down and unclasped the first few buttons, my breasts – that had gotten so much more fuller in the past year – falling out, making me gasp as a wind tousled through the open window.

He had climbed the wisteria on the outskirts of the building, all to come up and here and see me. He wasn't playing any games. Not when his pride was so obviously dropped.

The Malfoy name coincided with pride.

He circled back to Ashley Wellings bed, and sat himself back on its edge, crooking a finger and beckoning me forward. A bright and immediate blush rose to my cheeks as I sauntered forward, my breasts bouncing as I did.

He held up a hand and I stopped.

No better than a dog.

An owl.

"Are you wearing anything under that skirt?"

"Yes."

"Good."

In a sudden twist of movement, he clambered his hands around my back and pulled me into his lap, causing me to gasp. I resisted the urge to squeal– I was not that girl. Though I could only swallow the saliva as it pooled in my mouth, watching as he laid himself onto the mattress, staring at me and my perky, upright breasts, in my school uniform.

With two, great hands he planted them on my rear and pushed me with such force, I slid up his body and stopped with my wet, slick underwear rubbing along his face. I jerked forward as his nose rubbed into my clit, and grabbed the bannister of the bed, lifting myself from his face with apology.

Though no, this is what he wanted.

"Sit back down." He ordered, in a voice that was as wilful as magic.

I felt obliged, if not under a spell, to do as he commanded.

With a tear, I felt his hands pull the cotton of my panties free, throwing the shredded material to a discarded corner of the room. Then, he perched me willingly onto his mouth, and with the most pained cry I'd ever released, I shivered dramatically as he began licking my folds.

The pleasure shocked me so much, I lifted up again, though Draco wasn't having any of that. He forced me back down with his hands, now holding my waist and hips like a seatbelt, making my tits thrust upwards as I bucked and grinded, unable to stand it.

"Oh my god… oh my god… Oh, god… Oh my… Oh." I whispered feverishly, biting my fingers, then grabbing the bed, then grabbing at his white wisps of hair between my thighs, then back again to my mouth to chew. I felt it deep within my stomach as tension built, his tongue slithering from my pussy hole, up my clit, and back again. Wagging like a dog's tail, flicking that bundle of nerves that hadn't been teased by anything other than my small hand, or that vibrating wand.

Though this wasn't a wand… this wasn't skin… this was wet, slithering skill. This was an ice cream in the boiling heat, a puddle on dry pavement– a forbidden lust, making it only tastier. The noise he released made me wonder if he could breathe, as I'd gotten so slick so quickly, it must now be soaking his face, his nose, his jaw. Though I didn't care– selfishly, all I could see, feel, hear and breathe was the aching, unconventional desire to cum.

I needed it so much, I began sliding my cunt against his face, grinding against his nose as if it were a bump in the road– feeling the breeze as it came from the window and ruffled the end of my skirt, exposing my rear. As if he knew, he let go of my waist entirely, and planted his hands like two dinner plates against my ass, squeezing and slapping, knowing I wouldn't leave now even if I had the capability.

I'd never leave.

I never wanted this feeling to leave.

And then, suddenly, there was pain.

Pain that cut through the pain, but somehow, only intensified it. Brought it to a new level that brought tears to my eyes, causing me to open them and stare ahead, shocked.

His thumb had made its way into that sacred little hole between my ass cheeks, degrading what I thought I knew myself to be. I wasn't as pure and white as the others had made me out to be, I wouldn't be the wife to endure one sex position in bed for the rest of my life.

I was a creature who enjoyed every morsel of humiliation when it came from the hands of my enemy. I was a mudblood. I was whatever he wanted to be, so long as he didn't stop.

I found myself backing my rear into his hand, hissing as his thumb twisted, corrupting what was left of Little Miss Granger.

The downstairs door clicked to the common room, and I could hear the girls giggling from dinner. Talking, though not quite coming up yet.

Please, I would kill them if they so much as came near this door. I needed to finish. I needed to climax. I needed to release the tension building so quickly, so fast.

"I'm close." I whimpered, which didn't change his rhythm.

I didn't want him to. His tongue was moving so perfectly already. It didn't need to accelerate or so down.

One of his hands slipped from my pert buttocks, though not the one penetrating my hole, and it pushed the skirt down from his face, revealing his blue eyes. I couldn't look at him! No, I couldn't… I couldn't come to terms with the fact it was Draco Malfoy about to get me so far, and it was Draco Malfoy with his tongue buried deep into my cunt.

I threw my head back, feeling that hand now on my breast, pulling my nipple so hard I thought it might pinch off. He devoured me like a machine, with a bit of him– other than his cock– everywhere. And he watched with the lowest, predatory growl, as I overcame the hurdle and came.

I reached forward and grabbed Ashley's teddy bear, stuffing it into my mouth and biting down hard, knowing whatever scream left my mouth would alert everyone downstairs. My stomach clenched in as I shook and trembled, tightening my asshole around his thumb, releasing my juices in hot, sweaty relief.

I couldn't remember saying his name, though the long, whiny, drawn out word 'fuck' came as a mewl, softer than any kitten. Like a doll, I collapsed senselessly to his side, quivering only slightly.

I could see his cock was rock hard within his trousers, and his face was a shiny mess.

The scent of my arousal was everywhere.

I could hardly breathe.

"Unforgivable." He said, swallowing what I could only imagine was more of me.

"Hmm?" I barely mumbled, still panting.

"The word we're using whenever we need this. No questions asked."

"Unforgivable." I said, a little drunk on ecstasy.

"Good girl." 

[writtenbywings]

Battle Scars

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy

Summary: Returning to Hogwarts as a professor, Hermione bitterly encounters Draco Malfoy as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, throwing everything into chaos.

Hatred and lust slowly begins to burn between them, though only as they recall their final, secret year at Hogwarts.

Chapter word count: 2.5k

Link: Battle Scars

Please note this story is also on AO3 under Battle Scars - it’s a few chapters behind on posting, but will be updated soon! 

Type: Lemony, lemon, lemon---ade. Smutty lemonade. 

CHAPTER SIX

My first lesson had been a disaster, and my second ended with a fifth year in the hospital wing.

Really, was the Defense Against the Dark Arts role cursed? Or was I?

Word had spread throughout the school that I was incapable, and my fears were only confirmed when Professor Mcgonagall pulled me into her office after a 'particular explosion.'

"Miss Granger," she began, slightly organizing the quills on her desk, "it's been brought to our attention that the students aren't entirely fond of you."

"I got that." I replied, the smoke still coming from my hair. One of the Slytherin boys had planted a 'frizzy bomb' in my soup, and the whole thing had set me ablaze and green– a poision-like tinge taking the air, and all of my pride with it.

I had the unfortunate task of giving detention, which was a brutal two hours of dusting and potion bottle polishing. And for that, the feared Hermione became 'annoying Miss Granger.'

Things only got worse after homework was assigned, and my assignments took a gargantuan amount of focus in comparison to the other tutors. Adding, subtracting, dueling, flaming and dragon compelling.

Porth Watermaine – the head boy – was the first to hand in, receiving top marks and the misfortunate title of the teacher's pet.

He would be my favorite, for sure.

Professor Mcgonagall looked sympathetically toward me now, and twirled her wand to clear the last of the smoke off my hair. "Have you spoken to Mr Potter?"

"Mr Potter?" I asked, furrowing my brows.

"Your friends, Miss Granger. Have you spoken to them?"

I thought for a moment, and then shook my head.

Ron had been busy with his new girlfriend in Sri Lanka, and Harry was renovating his house in London, a child on the way with Ginny. Even Luna had plans.

"I think it would be best if you had some social time, away from the school. It's our first term back, after all. And you're… losing your grip, so to speak."

"Professor, I'm–"

"Please, Miss Granger. I've been doing this a lot longer than you and I advise you to trust me."

I fought with everything in me not to frown, though found my brow pulling even at the mere thought of losing 'my cool' first term. Really, where was my head?

I cursed to think that Draco Malfoy had something to do with my distraction.

"Thank you, Professor." I nodded, and mustered all my dignity to walk out of her office with my head held high. The evening rolling into slow nothingness, bringing only bad dreams and restless sleep.

I was thankful when the birds began to sing, and I was a cup and a half of tea through my morning when an owl arrived– pecking impatiently at the glass window above my desk. Yawning groggily, I clipped the parchment from its mouth and offered a knut, before waving goodbye.

I didn't recognise the owl, nor the handwriting, though unpeeling the crimson wax from the single slip, I soon recognised the jumbled wording.

Neville Longbottom.

Now Head of Hufflepuff.

He was asking me for an afternoon drink down in Hogsmeade, and a catch up to rehash the past year. I couldn't think of anything better on a Saturday.

I graded my way through homework until mid-day, and arranged a new seating plan for the Ravenclaw girls that had a gossipy tendency, all but assigning the cream of the crop with the bottom of the food chain.

After all, where would beauty be without a little brain sometimes?

As two o'clock rolled around, I freed my curls from a messy-bun and exchanged my wizarding robes for an ivory dress that held a small bow at the cleavage. Matching accordingly with a pearl handbag and chunky sandals. Summery, and a little but too muggle-like for the streets of Hogsmeade, though sweet enough.

Neville had been waiting near the window when I arrived, choosing the best seat in the house for The Three Broomsticks– as a bustle of old timers had come to water their liver, and older students were playing 'enchanted darts' in the corner.

"Maybe we should have gone to the Leaky Cauldron." Neville said meekly, hugging me with one hand and letting the other dangle awkwardly at his side. We made pleasantries and gushed over one another, and I all but shook my head.

"This is perfect!"

Neville asked about new posting and expressed he really wanted the Gryffindor post. Though as I apologized and explained it had been forced upon me, he was all laughs and shrugs, glad to have at least one familiar face in the castle.

"It's weird, isn't it?" He said, ordering a Hugglesnuck wine and two blackfang shots. "That we're sitting beside all of these people in the staffroom and they used to tell us off for being out of bed too late."

My head was swimming at the flush of alcohol, and I all but laughed in my wine. "I haven't had the nerve to call Professor Mcgonagall, Minerva, to her face yet… though I'm slowly warming to the idea."

Neville chuckled. "I hate to think of what life might be like if Snape was still around. I don't think I could have go on any staff retreats with his moody backside."

I laughed so hard that my stomach hurt. "And the students! They hate me."

"They do not."

"They do! I'm hated to the point that even the know-it-alls are shying away from me… I don't know what to do."

Neville passed over one of the inky looking shots, and in one, I knocked it back.

"They'll warm up to you. Intimidation isn't the same as hate."

I frowned. "You think they're intimidated?"

Neville snorted. "Of course! You defeated Voldemort. Your name is printed in some of the history books they're studying with. It must be a lot."

Now, I really felt bad.

"I didn't think of it that way."

Neville forced another glass of wine into my hand. "Hermione, it's the highest form of flattery. Drink! Forget about it."

I listened, and I drank.

And I drank some more– and a little bit after that. All the while unknowing that I had an admirer at the bar, who was minding a glass of scotch and a loose smirk.

"Who are you looking at?" Neville whispered, his fingers fumbling over some filter paper and funny looking tobacco. It smelt strongly of sugarcane and peppermint, sticking to his hands as he rolled a very fat looking cigarette.

"Someone at the bar." I replied, resting my chin on my hand. I looked down and let all of my curls fall, disguising my drunk blush from sight. Neville peered across and looked back with a cocked brow.

"Curt Shayne."

"Who?"

"He treats magical animals down in Bristol. A friend of Ron's brother… oh damn, what's his name?"

"Charlie?"

"Yeh. I met him once at a party."

Funny, I thought. I didn't know this man's face, nor his affiliation with Charlie Weasley.

"He's still looking." Neville said, to which I hissed.

"Stop. I don't want to know."

Neville laughed and I covered my face with my hand, feeling the room spin in slow, dull circles.

"I'm going to smoke this… are you coming?"

"No." I wrinkled my nose in distaste. "You have fun with your herby mixture."

"Suit yourself." Neville stood. "Grab us another drink from the bar."

I nodded, watching him worm his way outside, dreading the thought of a sober ride back to Hogwarts.

The notion pushed me from my chair, snatching my pearl purse and heading to the bar.

The one eyed bartender grunted, and I ordered in a small voice, trying to keep my eyes away from Curt Shayne three stools down.

He had other ideas, it seemed.

"Miss Granger." This stranger said, cocking an elbow onto the bar. "I like the sound of that."

I turned my head as if I was none-the-wiser, finding a head of dark-crimson hair and soft brown eyes. He was tattooed and amusing to look at, in a dirty way, and in a way that made you want to squeeze your legs together.

The bartender set two glasses of Scorchfield wine in front of me, and Curt tossed a few gold coins to the register– already paid for, already done.

"I… thank you." I said, "You are?"

"You know who I am." He laughed, nodding his head to the corner. "You were hardly quiet in the corner."

My skin felt like it would burn bright and shrivel into nothing, and all I could do was laugh in response.

"Ah, you caught me."

"Matter o' fact, you caught me… looking."

I tucked a curl behind my ear and feigned a disinterested look. "Did I? I thought you were lost."

Curt chuckled.

"Very cute."

Very cute, I thought to myself. He felt as dangerous as Malfoy.

"Can I interest you in a drink alone?"

"You mean away from my chaperone?"

"The one who has just disappeared and left you all alone, yes."

I chewed the inside of my cheek and tried not to smile too hard, liking his flirtation a little too much.

Someone sat a little too close next to me, and I jerked in response, feeling a hard shoulder press roughly into my back. I spilled a little of my wine and apologized to my new friend, all the while nursing my dignity.

"I'm sorry," I laughed, "I think I've had a little too much."

Curt didn't care, clearly enjoying being closer.

I thought nothing of my aggressive neighbor, until a familiar cologne flooded my senses– and it took everything within me to not look sharply right, and confront the man I knew to be Draco Malfoy.

"Are you okay?" Curt asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I swallowed thickly, trying to regain my cool. "I'm okay."

The shoulder in my back dropped a little, and I turned slightly to see a short-cut of white hair, and the shadow of a lanky height. The bar was big enough that he could have gone anywhere… and if he hated me, why was he persisting to shove into me so much?

The whole ordeal was making my head spin.

"Maybe some other time." I said to Curt. "As I said, my head is swimming."

He shrugged, all cool.

I liked him.

"Send me an owl if you wanna link up sometime."

I smiled softly. "I will… it was nice meeting you."

"You as well, Hermione."

I watched, a little frostbitten from his cool exterior, as he sauntered out of the Three Broomsticks– knowing I could have gone with him and had a little fun, or better yet, drank myself silly.

Though Mr Malfoy, who was now doing his best to inflict bodily harm, was digging like a thorn in my side.

"Can you move over?" I snapped, swirling around to direct the full brunt of my anger.

Malfoy looked none the wiser, though was two glasses into a whiskey bottle– a flaming dragon encrusted on the breast. He was wearing a black button shirt, the collar a little loose and his exterior more calmer. Though for me, he was anything but.

He swirled that cloudy, unsatisfied eye in my direction, and his other blue one followed it. A little bit of the old Draco in there, and too much of the new.

"He wanted to have sex with you." He muttered, his voice harsher than his words.

I felt my heart thump, and a swirl of rage threatened to spill out of me. "What has that got to do with you?"

Malfoy shrugged, pouring himself another whiskey glass. "It doesn't."

"Right. It doesn't. So, can you move?"

"No."

"Why?"

He shrugged again, and now my anger was well and truly boiled– bubbling over the edges of my sanity.

Now, I was drunk enough that I didn't care about the repercussions.

"What is your problem with me?"

"I don't–"

"The glaring, the nasty comments, the barging into me. If I didn't know you to be the pathetic shell of a human being, I'd say you were infatuated with me too much."

He looked away sharply, and I felt him slide just a fraction further away– granting more space.

"You hate me, I get that." I spat. "Though have some decency, will you? You're embarrassing yourself."

I pushed from the bar and went for the bathroom, feeling rage, hatred and fury burn into the wooden floor as I stormed away– my skin burning up. I felt a presence behind me, though thought nothing of it– merged between a sea of drinkers and a few stragglers from the street that had wandered in for some conversation. My hand was on the bathroom stall door, and as I stormed inside, expecting it to swing closed– a shadow snuck in, and slammed the door behind them.

A swift click announced it was locked, and as I spun, I was faced with the pinnacle of Draco Malfoy's height– a blank, nothingness in his eyes.

"What are you–"

"Unforgivable." Malfoy said.

My brows furrowed, and it took me all of five seconds to understand what he was asking.

Unforgivable was our word. It was used when the world had gotten heavy, and we didn't want to talk about the weight on our shoulders.

It meant 'I don't want to hear anything coming from your mouth.'

It meant 'I'm in charge now.'

I parted my lips, though all that brushed past them was a shallow sigh.

He stepped forward, and the small space in the cubicle was unforgiving for one person, let alone two. My back pressed against the wooden wall, and I stared intently into his eyes– refusing to look away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my fear.

Though was I scared? Was he something to be frightened of?

He lifted a hand to touch the bow on my dress, sitting just between my breasts. I hitched a breath, though it didn't deter him– seeming to enjoy how sensitive I had grown to his presence… his influence.

Draco pulled it, and all the material unraveled, revealing my two very pert, upright breasts.

No bralette visible, but pokey, pink nipples and soft, supple flesh.

His eyes roamed the uncharted area, and flickered back to find my eyes welling with want.

Desire… fear?

I was scared of him, but I was also scared of never feeling as alive as I had been when I was with him.

"Spit." He ordered, a simple request from the mouth of the devil.

I paused for a moment, deciding my fate from one very crude action.

If I did this, I was submitting myself to the horrible, older version of him. The one who degraded me in the corridor and shamed me for my blood.

If I did this, I would be opening Pandora's box– damning myself.

Draco's eyes narrowed just a fraction, and his brows furrowed– a look that indicated impatience, and irritation to my rebellion.

My glossed lips puckered, and a slither of spit dripped down my chin and onto my bare breasts, making myself more appetizing for his gaze. The growl from his chest was feral, and one I hadn't heard from him before– not as a younger boy, nor the young man who made me weak in Slytherin tower.

His thumb caught the bead of spit on my nipple, and I all but trembled under the warmth of his skin– trying not to shake as he edged his digit all the way past my breast, up my throat and back to my mouth, invading my lips.

No man's land.

I froze as he pressed down, trapping my tongue and opening my mouth wider.

"Pant." He instructed, firmer now.

Without deliberation, I gasped a series of small, hot breaths.

His thumb tasted salty.

"Suck." He followed.

My lips coiled around his thumb and I suckled like a mewling kitten, tasting the age on his skin, the anger across his flesh. He shoved his finger further down my throat, and now I felt it tickling the back of my throat, making it all the more harder not to gag– not to recoil.

Though this was what he wanted… he wanted to exercise control. He wanted to see if I was still as willing as the school girl in the seventh year, when all that mattered was living and not dying.

Now I was older, smarter, wiser… and I was still obeying him with just as much vigor and conviction.

My head hit the wooden wall of the stall, and tears bloomed in my eyes, still locked onto his– still facing my past. He gagged me with his thumb and I felt the soft folds of my cunt grow slick, shaming me as I enjoyed his very domination. Embarrassed that I could still remember how large he felt inside of me, how ruined my pleated skirt had been after he came all over it. How this very thumb had been in my ass when I was studying, needing a kick of him, a scrape of him just to function.

I all but forced my head forward, wanting to take him deeper into my throat.

After an intense moment, with nothing but the clinking glasses of the bar, the merriment of singing, the happiness of a Saturday evening– Draco withdrew himself and stepped back entirely, leaving the small virtues in my mouth untainted.

For now.

He left without a word, taking one last glance at my bare breasts before vacating the stall and sealing it behind him. I was breathlessly, standing in the puddle of my own ruin, arousal soaking through my underwear– slippery, wet and needy.

His anger stemmed from lust.

His lust stemmed from rage.

I was going to be ruined when he was done unleashing his fury.

[maya-hawke]

TWILIGHT (2008) — Robert Pattinson’s audio commentary with Catherine Hardwicke and Kristen Stewart

[hollandershane]

GET TO KNOW ME MEME: 4/10 FEMALE CHARACTERS → NANCY WHEELER

I don’t think my parents ever loved each other. My mom was young. My dad was older, but he had a cushy job, money and he came from a good family. So they bought a nice house at the end of the cul-de-sac and started their nuclear family.

[linusbenjamin]

Male & Female Version of the Same Character 💪 Marvel Cinematic Universe (2008-)

[writtenbywings]

Battle Scars

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy

Summary: Returning to Hogwarts as a professor, Hermione bitterly encounters Draco Malfoy as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, throwing everything into chaos.

Hatred and lust slowly begins to burn between them, though only as they recall their final, secret year at Hogwarts.

Chapter word count: 2k

Link: Battle Scars

Type: Slow burn romance

A/N: Honestly, you’re going to want to read this one. Trust me... trust. But read the others first on my page. 

CHAPTER FIVE - Year 7 Flashback

The bell for eight o’clock chimed in the gryffindor common room– snapping my attention more than anyone else’s. First years’ looked sleepily to the friends and traipsed toward bed, whilst Ron and Harry glumly played chess in the corner. 

“Six times in a row. This isn’t fair!” Harry threw his arms up. Ron grinned smugly and took a handful of silver sickles, pocketing his winnings. 

“Rematch tomorrow?” He asked. 

“You wish.” Harry’s scar wrinkled as he frowned. “Coming up, ‘mione?” 

“Uh… no. I think I’m going to stay and study for a bit longer.” 

Harry smiled softly. “Knew you’d be back, eventually.” 

The laugh I gave in response sounded more nervous than truthful, though boys never read too much into those things. Instead, they waved half heartedly and disappeared up the staircase, moaning about the mock exams coming up, and how they should be putting in effort if they wanted to become Auras. 

I couldn’t agree more, though I was in no frame of mind to color-code their timetables now. 

No, not when I had something else festering in the shadows of my thoughts…

Draco Malfoy, to be precise. 

I had promised myself I wasn’t going to go– not wanting to buy into some dark-arts pyramid scheme that could (and most probably would) embarrass me in front of the entire school. 

No, I definitely wouldn’t be going.

Though as eight o’clock slowly ticked to half past, and half past reached nine, I felt myself grow impatient. 

Impatient enough that I thought a walk would ease my nerves. 

I gave Crookshanks a scruff behind the ears and stepped beyond the portrait of the Fat Lady, listening to her snore and sing in that not-so enchanted voice. The castle was dim now, with the exception of a few chattering ghosts, and I could almost hear my breath as I wandered in such silence – the castle echoing even the smallest of sounds.

Or the quietest of thoughts. 

I wish I had a better grip on my self control, though curiosity got the better of me – and now here my footsteps wandered, venturing up the enchanted stairs and toward Slytherin tower.

Really, what was I expecting? 

Why had I come? 

I hesitated only as the cold air whistled, and my curls tangled in its breeze– feeling the icy slap of reality in my face, and also the realization that it was way past nine, and he had probably left. 

I gradually rounded the corner and faced the loneliness of my prediction– now facing the question of ‘what?’

What had I expected by coming here? 

What was it that Draco Malfoy was going to cure, exactly? 

I looked over the faraway gardens and admired The Black lake and the frockling Giant Squid that ebbed beneath its surface. Merpeople were lounging on the rocks that stretched like shattered metal near the greenery, singing a fine-tuned song and bidding the Grindylows a happy twilight, for a lilac was now painting the sky. 

I admired them all, letting my arms dangle over the tower-balcony ledge, feeling the wind rustle my pleated skirt and the ribbons on my gray socks. Captivated entirely in Hogwarts– so much so, that I didn’t even hear the footsteps behind me until they were close. 

“You came after all.” 

I whirled in a circle, now pushing my back up against that balcony ledge. 

Draco Malfoy stood with a malicious glint in his eye, white shirt loose and flailing with the breeze, Slytherin tie hanging carelessly around his neck. He had grown lankily into his clothes this year, and now toppled above me in a height that shunned all fear from the sky– casting shadows as he casted worry. 

“I did.” I tried to say calmly, though it inevitably followed a hard swallow – an audible ‘glug’ that sounded loud enough.

“I must admit,” he said, now narrowing the space between us, “when you didn’t turn up five minutes early, I thought all was lost. After all, Hermione Granger is never late, now, is she?”

I remained quiet, trying to bide my time for my next witty comment, all the while he circled in on me – a hunter finding its prey. 

Really, why didn’t I tell Harry where I was going? 

Why hadn’t Ron insisted on a bedtime story? 

“But then I thought,” Malfoy said with a cunning sort of amusement, “she’s different now. She’ll play a game like a mouse would with a cat… trying to outsmart all previous knowledge of traps and hidden paths in the walls. So I waited, and waited, and now you’re here.” 

“Now I’m here.” I reiterated, inching my chin upwards to try and not look afraid. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long. I’d hate for you to have gotten your knitting needles out.” 

A smirk played his mouth better than I could ever play him, and it took all the air out of my lungs. 

“Why am I here, Malfoy?” I then asked. 

“You want help.” He replied. 

“I do?” 

He nodded slowly. “You very much do.” 

“And how are you going to help me?” 

There was an overturned stack of boxes against the wall, and he used it to sit on– one knee cocked a little higher, his elbow casually resting on it. “I’m going to distract you.” He stated, as if it was the easiest answer in the world. 

“Distract me?”

Okay, now this really was a stupid idea. 

“If I needed a distraction, Draco. I’d open a book, I’d go sit outside, I’d fry my hand off! I wouldn’t need your help doing that.” 

“Then why haven’t you?” 

“What?” I demanded. 

“Why haven’t you, Hermione.” He said, now standing. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you focused during class, outside, or caring enough to even see a threat coming.”

“That’s not true!” I yelled, now breaking the silent war between us. 

Though it was… 

Heaven save me, it was all true. 

“You need to control all that hate you have. You need a better way to manage your unraveling.” 

“And this is where you come in.” I say, a fact rather than a question, trying to hide my wobbling lower lip. 

“Yes.” He replied, blunt and raw. A splash of vodka for my open cut. 

“How?” I asked, but a whisper, but a word. 

All the cockiness melted away, and something else returned – something shadowed, and equally enticing. Perhaps as enticing as a dark mark, or the carving of ‘mudblood’ on the arm of an innocent girl. 

“You’re going to use me.”

I waited for a further explanation, as right now my head was fireworks, explosions and half-eaten people dragging their lifeless corpses across the floor – stress, it really was a rollercoaster, wasn’t it? 

Thankfully, he continued. 

“Like a fighter would use an open ring to vent out his pain, and a singer would vent her frustrations on an open stage - you’re going to do the same. All of that anger, rage, sadness… you’re going to use me to get rid of it.”

“You’re crazy.” I breathed. “I can’t hit you every day to feel better.” 

“No,” He wagered, trying his absolute hardest not to give into a smirk, “you’re going to bridge that fine line between hate and lust, and let me distract you from the trauma.” 

My mind eventually caught up with his words, and now I was flattened entirely to the balcony railing – my rear all but hanging above the greenery. Draco placed one hand on the marble beside my hip, and the other on my lower back – keeping me from a plunging death. 

“I don’t… like you, like that.” I whispered, though even saying the words aloud, did I mean them? 

Draco stood before me now, not as the sullen, cruel boy who made Harry, Ron and I’s life hell, but as a  man. Or better yet, as six-foot something of wide muscle, phantom white hair and haunted features. Of everything I hadn’t noticed until this moment, and everything after it. 

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He said, now inching close enough to share the same air. 

I inhaled the hot breath from his mouth, and expelled a lungul that he received in response – a gentle share of one another’s space, as intimate as it was strange. 

Strange, as I now felt my body answer to his words, despite my head not entirely caught up with the concept. 

Tell me to stop, he had said. 

Though now I realized I didn’t want to.

Now all I could think about was— 

A clatter of noise came from the bottom of Slytherin tower, and I shoved him in retaliation – sending him back a few steps, just enough that I could swipe my wand from my knee-sock. A few hushed voices carried from the flight of stairs, and my heart began to hammer. 

Though he was there, behind me again – just as he had been that day in the dining hall when a forbidden curse tainted the skin of my lips.

“Breathe.” He whispered, and my body rejected the thought. 

Someone was coming… who was coming? 

Danger.

Malice.

Evil.

His much larger hand went down my arm and around my hand– gripping all of my fingers and wand to keep the shivering muscles steady. 

“Breathe.” He said again, lowering my arm for me. 

I listened intuitively and inhaled a shaky breath, feeling all the light igniting inside of me as the muscle of his body brushed to my back, and ruffled up my pleated skirt. A little too high – the breeze tickling the backs of my legs, my thighs, my rear. 

“What do you feel?” He asked. 

“Frightened.” I replied. 

“Why?” 

“I’m not safe.” I admitted, not realizing the truth in my words until saying them now. “I’m never safe.” 

The voices from Slytherin tower dispersed, though I had relaxed long before acknowledging their exit. It had been him to keep my heart steady, my nerves balanced. I didn’t shun him away, but turned slightly, feeling his lips brush the shell of my ear. 

“You and I are going to enter a little agreement.” He stated.

I listened carefully. 

“We’re going to meet here every Friday at nine o’clock, with the pretense that you’re going to work through your issues. Hate me, spit at me in the corridor, I don’t care - though up here, we’re civil and you listen to what I say - understand?” 

“I…” 

“Understand?” 

Think, Hermione. Think. 

What is your head telling you? 

What is your stomach screaming at you?” 

“I understand.” 

“Good.” 

We stood there for a moment, and his breathing sounded a little deeper – a little huskier. I thought he was going to speak, though nothing came. Nothing but the sound of my own voice, as I begged to ask what had been gnawing at my insides– 

“Why are you helping me? Why do you care?” 

He went as still as the night, though his body still responded behind mine. 

“I don’t know.” Draco whispered after some time, and his honesty was good enough. 

He was unsure, as I was unsure. 

I turned my cheek fully, and stared up at him from over my shoulder – batting my lashes unintentionally, though feeling their weight with this much emotion in my eyes. 

I could feel the warmth penetrate through his icy stare, and the cage of his arms tightened around me. 

“I will never kiss you.” He said. “Don’t expect it from me. It’s my only rule.” 

“I didn’t even think about it.” 

He smirked, and the intensity between us was shattered– freeing me enough to walk away from his body, and pull down my pleated skirt. Slytherin tower only whispering about what it had seen, and what it would continue to see every Friday for the foreseeable year. 

[cinematv]

I AM GROOT, SEASON ONE.

[linusbenjamin]

we have said goodbye to each other before, so it stands to reason… …we will say hello again.

[writtenbywings]

From Forks to Wildetown

Pairing: Bella Swan x Edward Cullent

Summary: When the carnival pitches up in Forks, Isabella Swan thinks nothing of it. Though when Irish entertainer Edward Cullen interupts her small-town life, Isabella is swept on a mad journey to the bright lights of Wildetown, and all the passion it has to offer.

Chapter word count: 2k

Link: From Forks to Wildetown

Type: Slow, angsty romance with enough heat to keep warm. Sexual Content. AU. 

[writtenbywings]

Battle Scars

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy

Summary: Returning to Hogwarts as a professor, Hermione bitterly encounters Draco Malfoy as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, throwing everything into chaos.

Hatred and lust slowly begins to burn between them, though only as they recall their final, secret year at Hogwarts.

Chapter word count: 2k

Link: Battle Scars

Type: Slow burn romance

CHAPTER FOUR

There was little I knew about love, though when it came to a new hardback, I was just about curling my toes and batting my lashes.

One of the perks of being accepted academically into Hogwarts was the riverine of literature that came with the title and salary. A luxury for me, and my parchment-savvy fingers– turning over the first crisp page and smelling the deep, musky smell from the spine.

Ah… dust, dark ink and a million old words.

I couldn't understand the new students, and their interest in funny spells and unicorn-hair wands.

Even as an older witch, all I wanted to do was lull in the library with a steaming cup of tea and crookshanks. God bless his furry soul.

I was most displeased when I found it was out of commission, given the new 'malicious potions' section, and its twenty-four hour surveillance. Until they employed a ghost or ghoul stupid enough to watch the library walls, it was a red-zone for any wandering eye.

Including my own.

I thought about this bitterly with my morning coffee, organizing through junk the previous professor had left behind, and the scattered mess of his office quarters. Now, formally mine.

I had etched the gold-plaque Professor Strider off the door, and replaced it kindly with Professor Granger - looped and cursive, with all the welcome of a true writer.

Inside, the walls were a drab and curdled cream– yellowed from age and dusty without the comfort of a feather to bat away the moths. The corners were stacked with unfinished registers, newspapers headlining old troubles (Sirius Black screaming on the front page of a few) and pictures of relatives from Professor Flitwick's previous teaching days. Things of importance, I stored inside a box and took to an old cupboard up in the south west of the castle– beside Hufflepuff's common room and a spiral staircase that led to a high tower. Whilst rubbish I disposed of, and carried all the way to Hagrid's hut where he used it as kindling for the foreseeable winter. Resourceful as ever.

On my way back to my new office, I grabbed a can of 'lush-lush-lavender paint' from the Artist's Quarter on the first floor– famous for the portraits around Hogwarts, and the lively personalities that continue to live through paint stroke and brush flick. Most of these creations were done by Elves, no wonder, and I tried not to pass a brochure on 'S.P.E.W' as I balanced my supplies.

One thing at a time, Hermione. I reminded myself in Ron's voice, now a daily mantra.

Twelve o'clock rolled into early afternoon, and the first coat of lilac was drying quickly with the aid of a few open windows– dust sheets covering the dark wood desk and its marrying old chair.

With the use of a glue gun and a little magic, I managed to decorate everything to the dusky color theme - the upholstered fabrics spreading like a dreamy sky, running from the lounging sofa in the corner, to the shelves where all of my essential hardbacks housed. A crystal lamp filled the room with pinkish light, and the ceiling was enchanted to glitter with stars and the northern lights - aurora borealis.

All in all… it felt as comforting as a cup of tea.

I had dinner with the students in the dining hall, opposed to the teacher's lounge – not feeling adult enough to discuss politics with Hagrid and Minerva just yet – and used this time to get to know a few big personalities in Gryffindor.

The head boy, who had a knack for brushing people up the wrong way with his wit and study ethic, was called Porth Watermaine. A handsome young prodigy who spent most of his time trying to impress the head girl– Valerie Mayson. Ginger haired and fair skinned, she reminded me most of Ginny.

Though that might have been like comparing a bush fire to the devil's inferno.

I chewed through a thick cutlet of gammon and smothered my potatoes in gravy, trying to get a sense of where the outcast group lay – a parallel to my trio, and the friendship that still kept me sane after all of these years. Though sadly, there appeared to be nothing of the kind– not even a specky boy or a ginger accomplice.

Alas, I'd keep an eye out.

I stayed for dessert and handed out itineraries for the foreseeable year, homework days color-coded and mock exams highlighted. The girls enjoyed this, though the boys frowned, asking instead where my 'boyfriend with the scar was.'

"You know," a feisty little lad asked, short enough to reach my knees, "the kid who killed

that evil, bald guy."

Ah, Voldemort… if only you could see the youth of today tremble in fear of you now.

On my way back through the castle, I bid goodnight to a few new faces, and inwardly applauded myself for an eventful day– feeling organized enough to deal with any issue that came my way.

As Draco Malfoy reared a corner, barging into my shoulder and almost taking me down– I cursed myself for being too positive. I hit the wall, staring with dumbfounded eyes as he continued walking, heading straight for the Slytherin common room, his black robes whipping like leather at his heels.

That cloudy eye reflecting all of the nothingness inside of him.

"Watch where you're going!" I exclaimed, not so much as pricking his attention. A few first years shuffled awkwardly around me - as if I had a bubble of thorns keeping them at bay. I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and dispersed, feeling all the happiness drain out. The metaphorical sewer of our memories flowing down the dirt pipes.

Really, what did I ever see in him?

And better yet, what had I done to warrant such anger and malice?

I climbed a staircase and found it gravitating to another, leading me astray from the trail back to my quarters.

"No." I mumbled, as if the steps themselves could understand my pain. I tried not to let my lower lip wobble, all the frustration wanted to find a way out. Unfortunately, I cried when I was angry, and now the tears were welling in my eyes, making everything glassy and blurry.

"Oh dear," One of the portraits tutted, "whoever has got you in such a state, Hermione Granger."

I ducked my head and climbed to the very top of the staircase, almost plunging off into nothing before a corridor clicked into place. With one hurrying step, I disappeared out of sight and ventured down the dark shadows of an unlit hallway, trying to rid my mind of blue eyes and white hair.

I wasn't attempting to make my footsteps quiet, and as I reared the corner to the Slytherin common room, I wanted to scream out in horror.

Really, what good had these enchanted steps ever done? I cursed, recalling the time Harry had been late to class as he was redirected to Professor Sprout's private quarters. It was as if they had some secret intentions to make life miserable!

The impending sound of footsteps came to disarm what was left of my pride, and scouring to see where a quick exit could be, I dove toward a locked door, whipping out my wand.

"Alohomora!" I whispered fiercely, hearing a satisfying click. Before the steps could reach me, I was inside and the door was clicked swiftly shut behind me– all that separated me from misery now.

Even if it wasn't Draco, would it do me any good for a Slytherin student to tell him I was lurking around the corridor? How desperate would I seem… how strange?

Voices came now, surly and loud.

"Though sir, she deserved it!"

"Do you not hear me? I said no, and in the world where I hold the power to your expulsion, that word is final."

My blood ran cold.

Malfoy.

"The boys and I already despise her after what she did, I thought you would understand that."

The footsteps stopped, and now they lingered outside the door.

"Tell me, what has she done to you?"

"She fought for Harry Potter. She fought against Voldemort."

The door slammed, and I fought everything inside of me not to squeal as it cried against its hinges, held only by a lock and my body weight. Draco had pinned the boy against the wood, it seemed.

I could hear the venom in his low voice as he spoke.

"You do not get to talk about a war you weren't involved in, just because your family lineage agrees so. Blood was spilt, decisions were made, and Voldemort died. The fact you speak his name so freely without a flinch proves you have no valid opinion on the subject."

"Sir, I'm sorry, I–"

"Enough. You remove the hex from Miss Granger's office and go to bed before I report this. Do you understand?" He growled through his teeth.

The student, whoever he was, scampered off in a series of pants that told me he was frightened.

As frightened of Draco as we had been of Snape.

What was it about the head of Slytherin inciting fear?

Still, I felt conflicted. Angry for his adamant dislike for me, after everything we had been through, though soft at the thought of him fighting my corner from the shadows.

Another thump hit the door, though this time, it sounded like he was leaning against it– deflated.

I pressed my bare hand to the wood and almost felt the electricity of his presence behind it, closing my eyes.

Malfoy sighed, a long and exasperated sigh.

"I'm going to end up dead before this year is finished." He whispered to himself, as private as a lone thought. I opened my mouth as if his secrecy deserved an answer, though before I could rethink my words, he sauntered off, and the door felt unknowingly cold.

Draco had said those words in my presence once before… though in a much different setting.

At a much different time.

I slumped against the wall and buried my face in my hands.

What was happening?

____________________________

"Hermione, put the book down."

"You don't want to do this."

"Think of the children!"

I burst out in a series of laughs as Ron sat on his knees, holding his palms to the sky as if he were praying to a higher power. Harry held his stomach as he chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

We were in the library, and trying to launch myself out of this funk, I had decided to do a bit of light reading. Ron had placed a bet on how long it would take me to read an actual page, and now he was almost out fifteen silver sickles.

Harry's pockets were jingling already.

"I can't believe you two have put my misery on a payroll." I snickered, leaning against one of the bookshelves. Ron scampered to his knees and crept over, trying to lightly pry the book from under my arm.

"We need entertainment after you know what. You're the best opportunity."

"He's right." Harry agreed.

I willingly let go of the book, and Ron lifted it over his head victoriously.

Harry's head fell back with a groan.

"Don't pay him yet. We still have tomorrow." I giggled, trailing out of sight. I shook my head in amusement as I heard them bicker amongst themselves, wandering to the back of the library where Crimes in Herbology sat. The lamps were dim here, and the tables were vacant– a known kissing spot for anyone old enough to know about it, with initial engravings marking the wooden book shelves. A little heart tracing each one.

Thankfully today, all was quiet– quiet enough that I flinched as I collided with a body, scattering the three books I had picked up to the ground.

"Sorry," I gasped, instinctually squatting to the ground to collect them. The body didn't drop down to help, though as I fumbled those three editions back into my arms, I came face to face with a pair of knees, and then a midriff, shoulders and jaw as I stood.

Malfoy.

"Oh, please." I sighed. "Are you following me here now as well?"

"Maybe I am." He smiled a crooked, amused smile.

The bruising had eased him from his face, though there was still a yellowish-green beneath his eyes.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

He canted his head to the side from the exasperation in my voice, and his eyes lit with a game-like leisure.

"I can't talk to you in public now?"

"You call the kissing-corner in the library a public place for conversation?"

"I call it a good place to make a negotiation."

"A negotiation?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

He found my irritation amusing, and approached it like an invitation.

"I want to tutor you." He proposed.

I almost fell over in hysterics, though something in his voice told me he was serious.

"I don't need a piggy-back for my exams, thanks." I scowled, and placed back my books. I would get them from Professor Mcgonagall's private stock. This wasn't worth the effort.

I turned, though found myself rooted in place as Malfoy stepped to the side, brushing his body comfortably in front– close enough to feel the heat in his breath, the icy-bite from his blue eyes.

"I know you have all of the world figured out, though I mean this sincerely. You need a friend who has dealt with the after-effects of trauma, and not Harry Potter who has been the center of attention for seven years or Ron Weasley who has a million siblings to dry his tears at night. You're alone, you're an outcast, and I'm offering to tutor you in controlling your emotions."

This time, I did laugh– a hard snort that could be confused with disgust. Though in actuality, it was bother. I was bothered by how ridiculously true that was.

"I have my friends." I retorted.

"And I have mine." He said, his voice even lower. "Though that doesn't mean they stop me from killing a first year' with the cruciatus curse."

The words were like a knife to my chest, and I looked at him with the purest form of regret my mudblood heart could muster. Regret from almost doing the unthinkable… regret from almost hurting someone.

"Why?" I asked, as quiet as it was sinful to admit what I'd done.

"I'm going to end up dead before this year is finished, anyway." He remarked. "I might as well help someone before my time is up."

I watched in disbelief as he stepped away, creating a divide between us. He reached a finger forward and nudged my chin upwards– as if to stay positive, and as if to remind me he wasn't the bad guy. That after all we'd been through… he was as much blood, bone and magic as anyone here.

And he too, held regrets.

"Slytherin Tower. Tomorrow. Nine o'clock. Come alone."

He left me standing next to Wayward Herbology and Killer Weeds, volume one through five– and for the first time, I felt myself warm to him.

[writtenbywings]

Life After Forever

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Elena Gilbert

Summary: [A continuation following the finale] "After our long and happy life together..." — including small snippets of everything in between. Damon and Elena live after forever.

Chapter word count: 1.5k words

Link: Life After Forever

Type: Fluffy Romance

CH.1 - THE HONEYMOON

It had been a few weeks after the wedding, and under the blistering reign of the sun, Elena was writing on the page of a new journal— something she had been gifted in the reception.

"—though after the boat ride into Venice," the page read, gliding off the end of one and beginning upon the lip of another, "we spent little to no time in unpacking, rushing down to see the sunset before our night truly began. We drank wine. Correction. I drank wine and Damon plied me with bottles I'd never heard of before. We made love under the stars… and then we fell asleep on the terrace, weeks away from moving onto the next destination, and a month into our extensive honeymoon. Half a year of travelling together before I was to begin school, and before he began his business… We're in a utopia of bliss."

Elena swept her pen across the finishing lip of the page, her silver ring glistening under the cloudless sky—its diamond hot and heavy on her finger. She had to admit, even if it wasn't aloud, that this has been the happiest she had ever been… before Stefan, even before the death of her parents.

It felt shameful to even whisper, up there in the quiet, unheard part of her brain. Though here, on the balcony leading over the many buildings in Italy—her past so far gone it could barely see her—she felt a burst of warmth in her heart that had been dead for so long.

There was a rattle on the door, and the chain came loose, Damon entering their small apartment with a twinge of unhappiness on his face. Elena placed her pen in the crease of the diary, raising to stand.

"What's wrong?" She asked, the ends of her hair—now growing at an alarming rate, as long as it had been in the beginning—blowing in the light breeze.

"My back hurts." He shook his head, as if the notion itself bothered him. There were many things Damon didn't enjoy about being human, and the slightest ache or twinge of age, or of weakness, would irritate him.

Elena came in from outside, her bare feet hot against the tiles, her hands extended to him. His eyes softened as they saw her, though the displeasure was still pulling on his lips that so often were amused.

"Let me see." She insisted, and touched him by the shoulder.

Damon hissed, and yanked his upper body away. She stared in alarm.

He stalked off into the bathroom and yanked his shirt over his head, revealing a spread of red, burnt skin. His back practically a warning sign of 'what not to do when visiting a foreign country'. It made her heart ache to see his ignorance, his dumbfounded expression as she told him.

"What do you mean burnt?"

"You need to apply sunscreen whilst we're in these places. You're human now. Your skin is going to shrivel like a raisin."

He blinked, his face a shade of pink and brown she'd never seen him have before, his eyes even more bluer than they ever had been.

(Hail the blue!)

"I didn't know human skin was so… sensitive. I thought it took a lot more than a few hours in the sun."

"Your skin isn't used to it. Here, come lay down."

"No. It's too painful."

"On your stomach. I have some cream in my bag."

He eyed her in the mirrored reflection of the bathroom. "Will that work?"

"It will make the skin not so… raw. We'll have to get some Greek yogurt at the market."

"What?" He exclaimed.

"Relax." Elena whispered with the hint of a smile, taking him by the arm and leading him to the bed. He took off his shorts and splayed out, the muscles in his arms bulging and back (despite being crisp red) toned under the glow of the sun. He hadn't combed his hair in months and there was a boyishness about him that made her stomach ache, yearning for him in ways that didn't exist before.

Elena pushed the hair off of her shoulders and squirted some cream into her hands, drifting to the bed where he laid with every intention of knocking himself out if it got worse.

She kneeled, sitting lightly upon the backs of his thighs, taking the first spread at his back. He gritted his teeth, though released no sound, his pain threshold having gained some strength points over the years. Having your neck snapped, being starved, and burned alive in hell was only the tip of the iceberg. Though he had to give it to these humans. Being sensitive to every woe of the world was sure a bitch.

Elena grazed her hands over his back, and then blew some cold air onto the tender flesh, trying not to grin as he released a groan of satisfaction. She stopped, and bent down to press her soft lips onto his shoulder blades, parting her mouth to exude more breath as she travelled down his spine.

"Stop that," he said, with honest aggravation, "or I'm going to need to lay on my back for something else."

Elena flushed red and lifted from the bed, collecting her purse from the terrace.

"I'm going to head over grocery store to get you some yogurt. I'll be back in a bit."

"No. Stay. I'll be fine."

"We're both human now, remember? No damsel in distress, no protecting one over the other. I can take care of myself. Rest up."

He turned his head to watch her, idling the way she slipped those jewelled sandals onto her feet and collected the keys from the bowl beside the door. He loved her. God. He loved her.

She turned back to flash him a smile, and then disappeared down the hall.

...........

"You're getting what?"

"Yogurt."

"What will that do?"

"Has no one heard of this? Greek yogurt takes the sting out of sunburn."

"You're insane."

Elena grinned, placing a pot into her shopping cart, pushing it all the way to the sweet aisle.

"Where are you now?"

"I'm in Puerto Rico, fulfilling another long-lost wish of Enzo's. He wanted to take me here after Paris."

Elena half-smiled, only imagining what the unbearable pain must feel like to lose someone like that. Like Damon. She couldn't imagine doing this trip alone.

"He had expensive taste. How many cocktails have you had?"

"Um… this is my seventh." Bonnie laughed, and it sounded good. Elena could imagine her on the beach, one of those ridiculous floppy hats keeping the sun out of her eyes, a collection of glasses beside her lounger and the ocean just in reach. It fuelled her heart knowing they got to live through their lives together. It was the way it was meant to be.

"Give him my best, will you." Bonnie then said after some time. "And tell him I'll see him in a month, when you two travel over to the Caribbean… that will give him some heat in his food."

Elena laughed, and promised she'd send the message over, her hand currently barging in a thousand cookies a minute into her shopping cart. They hung up with smiles on their faces, and Elena went over to the counter to pay… seeing something sitting just beside the till. She picked that up too and paid for it, without thinking.

Not for now… just for the future, she reminded herself.

Elena left a moment later and returned to the hotel to find Damon asleep, his hand (still sporting the wedding ring) extended over her pillow, the sun setting, his cologne on their sheets.

She decided not to wake him up, and crept over to the bed where she lifted his arm, placing it around her shoulders. She watched him, and his fluffy eyebrows that always seemed to be aimed downwards, and his lips that were pulled, and his face that was so unbearably handsome. She leant forward and kissed him, just lightly, and whispered with every ounce of emotion in her voice, "I love you."

He snored in reply, though pulled her closer out of sleeping instinct.

The pregnancy test remained in her bag.

[writtenbywings]

Battle Scars

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy

Summary: Returning to Hogwarts as a professor, Hermione bitterly encounters Draco Malfoy as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, throwing everything into chaos.

Hatred and lust slowly begins to burn between them, though only as they recall their final, secret year at Hogwarts.

Chapter word count: 1.5k

Link: Battle Scars

SEXUAL THEMES AHEAD

Type: Slow burn romance

CHAPTER THREE

"Located on the offshore island of Moku o Lo'e– a Hawiian patch called The Mokulua Islands– three dragon eggs were found, all belonging to a woman named Dae-Ner-Eees. Can you guess what her legacy entailed?" Professor (Cuthbert) Binns asked, his phantom twinkling with the sunshine that streamed through the grand window.

A small girl in the front stuck her hand up, though gave the wrong answer.

A second tried, though to no avail.

Professor Cuthbert looked to the back, specifically to where I had been lumped together with a few Hufflepuff girls and a Ravenclaw boy.

I stared impassively through him, focusing on the trees that blew with the warm breeze outside.

"I… err… okay," He cleared his throat, "moving on."

Confidence wasn't an issue when it came to answering questions. I had read the text three times over, and knew the legacy of Dae-Ner-Eees seamlessly– or the lack thereof, as she was murdered tragically by her lover. Though I simply wasn't interested any longer in academia, nor what Hogwarts had to offer.

What was the point?

Why were we playing happy families when people were buried? When friends were laid to rest?

When Harry still woke up screaming?

Professor Cuthbert had charmed a few pop-quiz papers to our desks, and I glared with hollow eyes at the blank page in front of me, resisting the urge to walk out. To be compliant, I signed my name and looked emptily toward the front, trying to sift through my demons when one managed to manifest in real time.

Toward the left, Draco Malfoy's eyes were glued passively in my direction, observing every breath, blink and movement I made. Instinctively, I glared back, screwing my face into disgust at the simple thought of his attention.

Alas, he didn't look away.

I slumped my cheek into my hand and began dawdling answers, trying to ignore the piercing blue stare that was visible from the corner of my eye.

I realized my behavior was a little out of the ordinary, though it didn't need an audience.

I finished up the paper within ten minutes and charmed it over to Professor Cuthbert, giving a small wave to announce my leaving. He didn't say much, nodding without argument, seeming a little lost in thought himself. Without a word, and wand at my side, I waltzed out of the classroom and roamed down the deserted corridors– knowing Ron and Harry wouldn't be out just yet.

No, they had the substitute teacher for Potions, and not a lot was left to the imagination with her displayed chest and keen smile.

I'd asked to skip it altogether, knowing the perverted stares of my friends would end up irritating me more than any mock exam could.

The gardens were beautiful today, pruned by none other than Pomona Sprout and her endless supply of wild seeds. I admired their pretty flowers and crunched on a red apple, sitting on the window-sill that overlooked her cabbage patches and Hagrid's new flock of pumpkins.

Hogwarts had done its best to rebuild after the war, though there were still scorched patches where the death-eaters had come, and debris where chunks of the castle had crumbled to nothing.

Another sweet bite of apple skin and my mind was galavanting over the past month, and how Ron hadn't so much as given me a hug. He wasn't the most affectionate of men – something I actually enjoyed – though it was clear we were destined to be friends. The damage between us far too grave to heal.

I'm lost in daydreams about battle scars and pumpkin pie when a shadow disrupts my silence.

It's him again, though this time, he's not being shy about his unwavering stare.

"What do you want?" I scoffed, his presence a clear irritation to my day.

Draco nestled his shoulder against the wall, a handful of books in one hand and nothing in the other; his thumb absentmindedly playing with a signet ring of emerald green.

"What happened to you?" He asked, too curious to be polite.

Manners had never been his strong suit.

"That's rude." I objected, feeling the urge to leave. I wouldn't though – not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeming hurt.

"The incessantly knowledgeable Hermione Granger isn't here anymore. She's… troubled, anguished. Different."

I'm trying to disguise my glare, though its coming across piping hot. "And I suppose you think it's your duty to start a conversation with someone equally as damaged as you?"

I expect him to retreat from the sting in my words, though he smirks; his mouth all lopsided and smug.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" I ask, a little more exasperated this time.

"I'm concerned."

"You're concerned?"

"Yes. It's a mortal emotion that surfaces intense stress."

"I know what the definition of concern is. What I'm trying to say is, we're not friends."

"I'm aware."

My eyes narrowed, and I felt all the heat of the sun against my face – turning my skin all irritated and red. Or maybe that was the frustration coming out.

"I'm not in the mood for games."

"Who said I was playing a game?" Draco angled his head to the side, getting a better view of what he was so intensely staring at – me or my problems, I wasn't sure.

"Has your guilty conscience finally caught up with you after all these years?" I asked.

"Something like that." He replied to my surprise, with no hint of humor behind his words.

We remained in a loop of silence, both watching each other in a confused light – like two predators who had wandered into a lamb's den, expecting bloodshed though finding familiarity in fangs, scars and history.

There was… an understanding. Though I wouldn't so easily fall captive to his menacing ways.

The twelve o'clock bell tolled from Gryffindor tower, and students flocked from their sessions with an appetite for lunch. Myself included.

I tossed the half-eaten carcass of my apple into the flower den, and a swarm of 'fang fletchers' chomped hungrily down on the fruit, getting their fill.

"This has been nice," I readjusted the bag strap over my shoulder, "though I'm going. I'll see you."

As I turned to leave, Draco's hand snared around my wrist, keeping us close.

"You're losing it." He said below his breath. "The others won't see it because they're too wrapped up in their own drama, and you've always been the independent one who doesn't need a shoulder to cry on or a helping hand. Though you're a thread away from cutting all ties to who you used to be."

His words burnt like a midnight sun, and I tried to yank myself free– though his hold wouldn't loosen.

"And how would you know?" I said spitefully through my teeth.

Draco twisted his grip and exposed the written scar on my forearm– 'mudblood' seared into my flesh forever, thanks to Bellatrix and her gift of the Cruciatus Curse.

I looked down at it with haunted eyes, though also toward the death-eater tattoo that possessed most of his milky skin. Another form of abuse… another manipulation from Voldemort's uprising.

I freed my arm away, scared and silent– forced to face the underbelly of my nightmares, of the pain that had ensued so many months prior – a torment that would stay as long as I drew clean breath.

"Let's not forget who gave me that scar." I snapped, feeling the sob build in my chest. "You will always be an enemy to me."

I left him standing in the dark shadows of the corridor, racing past the great hall and to my chambers.

-------------

"Miss Granger, is everything alright?"

"Hm?"

"You didn't touch any of your dinner."

Professor Mcgonagall had invited me into her private quarters– a desk, a quill and some scattered paperwork all that separated us from the elephant in the room.

"I've had a long journey." I excused myself, forcing a gentle smile.

"Of course, of course." She nodded, though clearly had a little more on her mind. "How is home life?"

I was taken aback, though obliged her all the same. "It's okay."

"And Mr Potter? Mr Weasley?"

"Causing havoc in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Minerva smiled, clearly pleased that the trauma hadn't stricken them of their mischievous ways.

"I'm sorry I didn't inform you about Mr Malfoy's position, it was very last minute."

My smile went stiff, though it didn't fall. "That's quite alright."

"I know you and Mr Malfoy have a… difficult past," Minerva adjusted in her leather chair, "though I was hoping you could use this time to patch up a few old wounds."

I couldn't help myself– my face reading as clearly as my thoughts spewed.

"Close your mouth Miss Granger, I beg."

I didn't even realize it had popped open, though I pinched my lips together all the same. "I haven't seen Mr Malfoy in a very long time, and I must admit… I was 'surprised', should we say, at his aversion to me."

Minerva straightened. "Ah."

"Yes."

"Well, may I propose you both work together? Slytherin and Gyffindor will be joining classes this year for Charms and Defense Against The Dark Arts."

My stomach knotted.

Joy.

"Really, Miss Granger. You need to work on your facial reactions if you're to work with children."

"Sorry, Professor."

"Very well."

I returned to my bed chambers a little after midnight, and found my case neatly packed on the bed.

The room was sizable, with burgundy interior and gold trim– the view from the window granting access to the back of the castle, and a peak of the grounds.

As homely as I remembered it all to be.

I cranked open the glass-paned doors and opened up the room to the breeze of the balcony, letting in the sweet smoke of the fresh forest and the fizzing smell of practical magic. Lilac dressing the sky and the moon winking from above.

I thought about him intimately for the first time in forever– not allowing myself to truly remember what we were, and how he made me feel, until this very moment.

Why did he hate me so much?

Why was I no longer the thing that made him weak?

I unclipped my hair from the long braid it fought in and my curls sprung freely to my waist– a little damp from the rain, though still as chaotic. My lilac robes shortly followed, landing as a sodden heap on the floor– needing to be washed at some point, though not now. No, now I wanted time alone to myself– a moment to breathe, to mull over the day… to speculate my newfound hatred for Draco Malfoy.

I felt thirteen again.

I approached the balcony in my silk undergarments and breathed in the night air, resting my elbows on the stone wall and letting my hands lull lazily over the edge– my curls dangling just as freely.

"Hermione," I could almost hear him say now, his tone having always been aggressive, always cruel. He had a meanness to him that could make the hardest heart recoil. Though in the comfort of a quiet chamber, that darkness softened into light– and his growled words became panted, weak ones.

"Hermione," his voice now moaned in my head.

"Put your hands behind your back like a good girl."

A flutter shot through my stomach and I opened my eyes, staring breathlessly into nothingness.

I needed to be careful. I couldn't let myself fall back into the toxic trap that we once found ourselves in.

That I, Hermione Granger, became submissive to.

I stepped away from the wall and happened to look down as I did– catching the edge of a jacket as it snapped around a corner. Disappearing into the goodnight.

It was him, I knew it.

He had been watching me.

Don't fight me, he had once said.

We're meant to be together.

[writtenbywings]

Life After Forever

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Elena Gilbert

Summary: [A continuation following the finale] "After our long and happy life together..." — including small snippets of everything in between. Damon and Elena live after forever.

Chapter word count: 1.5k words

Link: Life After Forever

Type: Fluffy Romance

CH.1 - THE WEDDING

"Morning, sunshine."

"It's an omen to see the bride before her wedding day."

"You've been dating an omen for the past decade, might I remind. One little peek won't hurt."

Elena sat, a silk robe of white ribboned around her waist, her hair pinned in great curls against her head.

She looked lovely, Damon thought, as his eyes drank in the sheer sight of her. Riveted, as he had always been by the gentleness in her skin, the warm innocence in her eyes. They caught him, studying in the most beautiful way. How could he not see her after these three days apart?

"It hasn't been that long, you know." She said, and stood from the silver rimmed chair. It was the same one she had gotten ready in eight years ago, preparing for the Miss Mystic Falls pageant. Her stomach was in an equal chaos of knots. Though this time, they were welcomed instead of dreaded.

"It's been long enough." Damon said, taking a step towards her. "And after five months of waking up beside you, I'm not liking the sudden change. You're lucky I've agreed to part with you for this long."

Elena narrowed the wedge of space between them, and dangled her arms over his shoulders, crossing her pinkie fingers around the back of his neck. She noticed that there was a darkness nestled unpeacefully beneath his eyes, and a peakiness about his skin. He looked tired, and she knew all too well the feeling.

Damon, even after all of this time, was adapting to the upkeep of human life.

"You don't have to worry any longer." Elena whispered, lightly hovering her lips over his. "In a few short hours we'll be husband and wife… and nothing will keep us apart."

He sighed against his greatest weakness—her—and took her mouth selfishly against his own, using its sweetness for his own selfish need and desire, the taste of her a drug he had never been able to forget; even after all of this time.

A disturbing cough came from behind, and as if knowing, Damon pried his mouth off the honey that was his bride, his bluer than blue eyes piercing irritatingly ahead. They reflected off of Elena and swerved to the icy blonde of Caroline Forbes; her brow cocked in question.

"I was just leaving." He said, and Elena watched with brief embarrassment the muscle in his jaw bounce. He turned back to kiss her forehead, and then left, keeping her hand in his until gravity yanked them apart.

"Two more hours he had to wait." Caroline tutted, locking the door behind him. She was wearing a lovely gold number—a silk that danced off of her hips and waist—shimmering as she went. Elena couldn't help but smile, returning to that chair where then, she began to brush a rouge upon her cheeks.

"Bonnie is bringing your something old, and I, am gifting you your something blue."

Caroline fetched from her purse a little black box, and for a moment, Elena had to wonder if it was the necklace Stefan had given her… all those years ago. She had told those close to her that she didn't want it, that it was his and touching it would disrupt the peace she had laid with him. Though still, a brief part of her wondered as she took into her hands that little velveteen box, pinching the lid with hesitation.

Upon a bed of silk, there was a blue gemstone, a carved 'D' within the centre. It was a necklace, one that gave off those familiar fumes of vervain and lavender. Elena frowned, and faced Caroline's look of apprehension.

"Well… do you like it?"

She did, though she didn't quite understand it.

"Here, let me put it on."

Caroline came behind Elena, taking that rope of silver and lacing it around her throat with a pinch and twist, that heart of lapis resting between her collarbones. It truly did look beautiful.

"It was Damon's ring… though Bonnie enchanted it to protect from compulsion instead of daylight. We both had it melted down into something new… something that was him instead of Stefan. What do you think?"

Elena had a small ooze of emotion, and her eyes welled, glistening in the mirror as she caressed it.

"A new necklace for a new life." She said, and Caroline laughed a tinkering, Christmas-bell laugh.

It truly was a new beginning.

____________________________

Damon slipped the silk of his tie through the noose of his shirt-collar, twisting, re-twisting, and grunting with irritation. It felt like it was choking him, and a talon-hand of suffocation was fastening around his neck.

Stefan should be here, he thought. A thought that perhaps ghosted through his mind a hundred times a day.

It had been five months since their last goodbye, and still, he dreamt of the flames that had licked up that cavern, engulfing Katherine and him in a finishing swallow. The roar of anger lodged in his throat, the haze of newly found humanity in his veins, the image of his brother's teary eyes as they board into Damon one last time. The last thing he saw.

Damon tossed aside the tie and went to lean against the fireplace, his forearm resting against that brick, the need for something strong drying out his mouth. Bourbon, he needed bourbon. But the recently discovered pain of a hangover wasn't worth it.

He found a bottle of champagne on ice, and popped the cork into the open flames, sipping from the rim. Just a little something to take the edge off, he thought to himself, unable to take his addiction of choice at this very moment; Elena.

"You okay in here?" A voice asked, and Damon glanced over his shoulder.

Alaric was in the doorway, the age having done a pain on his face, the weight of parenthood having done more to his hairline. Damon sighed, and turned back to the open fire.

"Just fine."

"So you're not openly drinking from a bottle on your wedding day?"

"He should be here, Ric."

Alaric sighed, and looked to his hands that were stuffed awkwardly in his pockets. "Yeah." He said, and swung forward a little. "Yeah, he should, Damon. But he isn't, and he wouldn't want you messing up this day for the sake of a little mourning."

Damon took another swig, and then set aside the bottle.

That was true, he inwardly agreed, though it didn't stop the gnawing guilt.

Ric strolled forward, and took the tie that had been draped over the armchair, moving Damon by the shoulder and centring him. "Today is your wedding day." He said, and looped the silk around his neck, adjusting its length and knotting the top. "That night in the tunnels, when Katherine was your priority, you thought this would never been a possibility. That it would only be a fantasy. You got the girl, Damon. And you'll see Stefan again, one day, one lifetime."

Damon lifted his chin, and forced one of those lopsided smiles everyone seemed to mistake for benignity. He nodded in appreciation, and shunned away the possibility that he would see Stefan again. He wouldn't give himself hope like that. Hope was a bitch, after all.

Though sitting on that armchair, the one Damon had previously flung his tie upon, was the brother he couldn't let himself believe lived after forever. Stefan sat, in his unseeable nothingness, and watched with a warmth in his green eyes—one that hadn't been there since they were children.

He thought, after all of the worry, he really was here, seeing what Damon deserved all along. And that, was the thing that brought him the most peace he'd had since death.

_____________________________________

The music began, and Bonnie's something old (a pair of Marie Gilbert's earrings) glimmered beautifully against the sun; nestled beneath the loops of Elena's chocolate curls. She took the first step, and got that same rush of warmth she had that day in the cemetery, the day her world had decided to flourish into something new… all by the presence of a crow and some fog.

Though today, the sun was brighter, and the rays were warm, and her smile was bigger than it had been before—the promise of forever sadness long gone. Happiness beginning now.

Jeremy clenched his arm around hers, and they walked in union down an aisle where white feathers were scattered in the centre. The exact ones Bonnie had used to showcase her magic for the first time.

Caroline's girls followed, and they tossed handfuls of red rose petals down the walk, giggling when reaching the end and scurrying into the laps of their mother and father.

Damon stood at the end, watching his fantasy finally catching up with him.

Elena left the arm of her brother—missing the sneaky flash of a middle finger to her beloved—and took his hand, watching the amusement only grow upon his face as he took in the twinkle of blue around her neck. His ring, he thought, and his chest only got heavier the more he waited. The more he endured the ceremony.

Let me have her, he thought, and recited the words blindly, fluently, uncaringly so.

Bonnie watched them, and Jeremy watched her, and there, was a first love that would never die. And in the distance, Niklaus zeroed in on the blonde to the right, whose heart was aching all too humanly for a vampire. Caroline yearned for Stefan, and tucked away a stray lock of hair to hide a tear, one little Lizzie and Josie frowned at.

The wedding came to a brief halt, just as the sun began setting in the sky—beautiful colours of orange and lazy pink and buttery yellow stretching across the apex. The 'I do's' were done, the guests had applauded, and Damon kissed Elena like it was the first time all over again.

The June wedding for a couple that was never expected.

[writtenbywings]

Life After Forever

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Elena Gilbert

Summary: [A continuation following the finale] "After our long and happy life together..." — including small snippets of everything in between. Damon and Elena live after forever.

Chapter word count: 700 words

Link: Life After Forever

Type: Fluffy Romance

INTRODUCTION

"As the world nearly came to an end, and a breath of fire blew over the town that once seemed so normal, so timid in its ignorance, she was reborn from the ashes and smoke that it left behind. Flames amiss, orange no longer a favored color, a blanket of grey was what she first saw when the world had decided to righten itself again. And then came the blue… Hail the blue!"

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

There is a point (a moment) in time where everything can change… where the balance of nature shifts, and normality undertakes a new definition. The world will roll from its underbelly, and bare its blazing white middle to the galaxy above, familiarity becoming a stranger and darkness being brought to light.

Elena thought, as she took that first step onto the mossy clearing, that everything, in fact, had changed. That the world she had once been so intimate with had become a stranger.

The trees had a new shape, the earth had a new smell, the smiles of her friends were different… were unexplainably dark in their joy. There were absences, there were uninvited guests, there were eyes she had never seen before and ones she had missed dreadfully.

Though most of all, the one thing that had perhaps hindered her more than anything—that had caused time to freeze and her breaths to falter—was him.

Was Damon.

Was the unexpected warmth in his hands as they gripped the back of her neck and lower back—forcing her into him with such desperation. They were hot with humanity, his cheeks lightly stubbled, his hair shaggier at the back and eyes watery with want. He smelt like sweat, and soap, and sadness… and he tasted like every day she had spent away from him. A pining pain that would never be satisfied.

Their lips moulded into one, and she clutched his newly human self to her with the fear that he'd disappear… just as he had on that highway when they said their last goodbye. After the kiss, the drop, the promise that he would live his life to the fullest, she had hugged him close and then like a flame being puffed out, he had vanished from her grasp, leaving her alone on that lonely road, standing in a dress moments before he had so selfishly wanted to remove.

The reminder, in the mix of fear, had brought a flush of red to her chest and cheeks, and she mewled into his open, hot mouth. His tongue was preparing itself to invade, and then the reminder that they weren't alone surged forward, and he brought himself back. Still holding her, still looking at her. Marvelling at the beauty that would for the next sixty years, be his.

They had forever, and even a little after that, Damon had to remind himself.

Elena lifted her hand and caressed his face, watching the way her thumb dipped onto his upper lip, and over his chin. Later, her touch said. Now, her eyes plead.

Caroline cleared her throat, and unfastened from her pocket a small snow globe, Mystic Falls' heart in the centre, surrounded by artificial snow and glitter. It sat on the breast of a broken tree trunk, and Damon broke away to follow. Still holding Elena's hand, he placed his ring beside a gift from Bonnie, and one from Alaric. The blue glimmered beneath the sunlight, and Damon's hand looked bear without it…

Elena, too, slipped something personal around the candles, around the shrine that wished Stefan peace where he was… the vervain necklace still looked as beautiful the day he had given it to her. It sat blindingly against the leaves, against the trees and world that had changed so much during her slumber. And together, they joined arm in arm, and stepped toward their future.

[writtenbywings]

Battle Scars

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy

Summary: Returning to Hogwarts as a professor, Hermione bitterly encounters Draco Malfoy as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, throwing everything into chaos.

Hatred and lust slowly begins to burn between them, though only as they recall their final, secret year at Hogwarts.

Chapter word count: 1.5k

Link: Battle Scars

Type: Slow burn romance

CHAPTER TWO

"Really, Hermione. I am sorry."

"It's okay, Hagrid."

"Do you want a towel? A hot bath?"

"No, no. I'll just join the ceremony."

"Like that?"

"Yes… like this."

I was anything but ethical, though this really took the cake.

By the time I had braced myself for a carriage ride to the castle, everyone had swarmed off in a hurry– something about a wayward centaur in the enchanted forest.

My luck, of course.

I ended up walking, suitcase in tow and wand poised for attack, ready for a four-legged ambush or something of the Malfoy kind. Nothing but rain ensued– starting as a trickle and progressing to a full on thunderstorm, chuntering like a mini-tsunami down the cobbled path leading to Hogwarts, and showering the flowers that were sat grumpily by the doors.

"You look filthy." One of them had grumbled as I passed, sticking out its weedy tongue and flaring its rooty nostrils. I fought against my better judgment and ran over it with my bag as I passed, acting as if I didn't hear its squeal.

Hagrid was pasty white by the time I reached the main foyer, wringing his hands around a napkin that mimicked the size of a table-cloth. Apparently, Mcgonagall had threatened to make stew from his most beloved pumpkin if I wasn't to be found. Murder by vegetable was saved by the look of the relief on his face.

"Are you sure?" He now prompted, dabbing my soaking curls with that bedsheet hanky. "You'll catch a cold, Hermione."

"I'll be fine, Hagrid. Just show me where I'm sitting."

My bags had been escorted off to new chambers, and I stood toward the back entrance of the hall, eyeing the foreign heads of my teacher peers – bowing and lifting as they tucked into this evening's feast.

I could see the four large tables that manned all students, ranging from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin– their mix of royal coloured flags hanging proudly above each individual banquet.

Minerva was poised in Dumbledore's old chair, whilst the entourage of new professors ate soundly around her, mixing in conversation that sung of the new year, and what was to come.

Hagrid pointed his great finger over my shoulder and aimed it at the seat beside Professor Stinghorn– a new lady, with a sharp face and black hair. She looked too callous to be the head of Ravenclaw, though her personal capability for house points was the least of my worries - as beside her sat Malfoy, and his piercing blue stare.

That one cloudy eye snapping between each individual pupil.

Immediately, I grew possessive of all the innocent minds surrounding.

"Thank you, Hagrid." I whispered with a stiff upper lip, taking my first step into the dining hall.

I was wearing the lilac robes that Ginny and Harry had given me for Christmas, though now under the stream of rainwater, they looked a bruised black– sloshing heavily against the floor as my heels clicked ominously toward the top table.

There was an eerieness about being back in the castle, joining a sea of wiser witches and wizards, and not the curious onlookers that sat in years one through seven. I'd remembered feeling safe under the guidance of the professors, knowing they would slice an end to whatever enemy came our way.

Now, I would be one of these wiser adults.

Now, I would be the balance between a teacher and a protector -a task I didn't expect to be so daunting until now.

"Apologies, Professor." I whispered to Minerva as I approached the table, trying to avoid the headlight gaze of the room. A nervousness crept in that I hadn't felt before, and I avoided all the faces of my new peers as she rose from her chair, prompting others to follow.

The room stood with an ovation of smiles, and brought their hands together as Mcgonagall introduced me as the new Professor of Charms.

I bowed my head in appreciation and tried to strife off the burgundy hot blush, thanking her silently.

"Miss Granger will be the new head of Gryffindor House!"

My stomach became incredibly heavy, and I felt all the nerves in my body go jittery, grateful only for the emerald table in the center of the room that went ballistic with joy.

My sea of students.

"Which concludes our teacher announcement! Professor Stinghorn will be representing Ravenclaw–"

More cheering.

"-Professor Longbottom will represent Hufflepuff!-"

Louder cheering.

My eyes snapped immediately to the bottom of the table where a shy, older man sat– handsome, and soft in the face. He caught my stare and smiled warmly.

Neville… Neville…

How had I not noticed Neville in this room of strange faces?

I realized it was because of his new look– exchanging the sweater for a buttoned top, and his mop-haircut for a shaved one.

I was glad he was here, relief spreading through me like a summer's day.

"Miss Granger for Gryffindor!"

Happy cheering.

"And Mr Malfoy for Slytherin."

Draco's oddball stare narrowed as something of a smirk mused there, raising one hand to greet the students that didn't cheer or holler… but roared in solidarity.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise, though he was by far the most popular.

He glanced across the table and met my narrow glare, though didn't return it. He simply looked away, studying the room as Minerva began the sorting ceremony.

I clapped appropriately as each new year was sorted into one of the four houses, staring off in wonder at how only six years ago, sat in this very room, everything changed.

----------

"Give it back, Deaser!"

"You don't mind, do you, worm-boy?"

"I said give it back!"

"Aw, he's going to cry."

Three boys stood in the dining hall just after lunch was served. It was a warm day, and most of the school was outside playing Quidditch, so it made no difference to the Slytherin 6th years whether anyone would hear. A professor wasn't around for miles.

The little round Hufflepuff boy was trying desperately to get his ferret back, though was getting kicked in the stomach every time he tried. Once again, he lifted a hand to swipe his beloved pet back, and another knee went to his ribs.

I slammed down my book and tore across the room, having just about enough of their incessant bullying. My robes whipped like leather at my heels, and I had my hand around that furry little creature before another fist could be thrown.

"I suggest you step back." I said to the one called Deaser, a dark-haired Slytherin boy. His red-haired accomplice, who surprisingly looked a lot like Ron, quickly listened.

"What are you going to do?" Deaser spat, his nose wrinkled. "I've heard stories about you."

"And I've heard nothing about you, which makes me the more important one. Back off."

"What are you going to do? Send one of your dead friends after me?"

I wrinkled my nose in disgust and sat the ferret back to its owner– his sniffling behind my shoulder mumbled between 'thank you' and 'oh no.'

"Get. Back. Now."

"Make me, mudblood."

My wand was out before I had time to process, all the rushing venom of the war surfacing from the ocean of my memory. I had a spell on the tip of my tongue, as forbidden as a piece of poisoned fruit– inflicting pain more than anything else.

"Cru–"

A pair of arms snared around my shoulders and disarmed me, my wand clattering to the ground.

I didn't kick or wrangle away, knowing what was about to ensue.

Shock locked my body, froze my tongue, and numbed my brain.

"Leave." A voice growled against my head, and I obeyed willingly.

The Slytherin boys scampered off, and at first, I thought I had been disarmed by Hagrid - as no one put the fear in anyone but the giant himself. Though as those arms led me away, I felt the strong muscle of a much defter body against me - dragging us from the dining hall and into a quieter corridor.

I regained my cool and shook off the hands that bound me, turning around with an incredulous look - one that only blossomed into anger, and then confusion.

"Draco."

"Have you lost the only salvageable part of your brain?"

"I…"

"You almost just damaged that boy for life."

"What happened to your face?"

He straightened his shoulders and stretched to the pinnacle of his height– a tall pedestal to stand on, as the only Malfoy boy to shun the likes of Voldemort.

Though the shadows he cast didn't disguise the broken angle of his nose and the bruises beneath his eyes.

"Did you hear me, Granger?"

I opened my mouth to talk, though nothing came.

I'd almost hurt someone… I'd almost wounded a child.

The Unforgivable Curse.

Crucio.

What was happening to me?

The tips of his fingers tapped my cheek– not in a slack, but in a prompt to wake up.

"You listening to me?" He argued.

"Leave me alone." I shoved, causing Draco to stumble back a few steps. I fled the corridor and fled to my quarters, not wanting to look back. Not wanting to deal with what I was so close to doing.

"Hermoine!" I heard him call, perhaps the first time he'd ever called me by my actual name.

[writtenbywings]

The Widow’s Watchman

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Bucky Barnes

Summary: The Winter Soldier has a quest for revenge, and Melina Vostokoff is at the top of the list. In order to save her mothers' life, Natasha must go against Bucky.

Anger, malice and death are on the cards for this slow burn adventure, though love was never an expected guest.

Chapter word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Language

Link: The Widow’s Watchman

Type: Slow burn romance

CHAPTER THREE: HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

Baklava on Sunday was a treat, though the woman with dark hair often prepared it as a form of comfort. 

The Lady, that’s what I called her through the years of four and five, when I had been taken from my previous foster family and thrown into the system. The oil-rig like mechanism of the Black Widow program… sticky with sin, and as delicious to the average businessman and politician as a dessert served in a Moscow bakery. 

Though The Lady, she made the best Baklava. 

In the haze of my unconscious brain, I’m perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, licking the spatula that is messy with butter and pecan– savoring the reward I was getting for tackling down the mailman, as he had a gun and a disguise to get in the house. 

House number 3… my favorite, as the others had been burnt down or fled from in the middle of the night. 

It was the nicest, if you didn’t count the neighborhood.

Yelena agrees with me, though she is knee-high, fully functioning and under strict orders not to speak. 

This month is known as Hush - an ongoing stretch of homework from the federation that silences the mouths of children for at least thirty days. 

Yelena is to be punished if she speaks. 

The Lady is to inform the program if she even whimpers in the night from a bad dream. 

I look from my buttery spatula now and see Yelena from the floor, her eyes wide and desperate. 

She wants some, though Melina would never allow it. 

I put my finger– small and childlike– to my lips. 

Later, my little game assures her. 

Later, she will have two slices of Baklava in bed when we settle down for the night. 

I’m reprimanded the next day with a smack around the face, though it’s not delivered by Melina. 

No. The Lady never dirtied her hands. This came from Papa. 

He smacked again and I lulled to a semi-lucid state, seeing through the haze of blood and sweat the dark room I now resided in - surrounded by suited men, and their calloused, blooded hands. 

Away from the kitchen as a child and into the skin of the Black Widow herself.

I blinked slowly, trying to stay conscious enough to gather any information. 

These strangers all had holstered guns, though the walls were laden with knives. Russian, though not Hydra. 

There was no sigil on their clothing, and Hydra was far too patriarchal not to brandish that ugly picture whenever they could. 

No… these were different enemies. 

I’m smacked again, and this time my chin rocks to the side– now waking me fully.

“Reden.” One of the men demands. 

“Talk.” Another translates. 

He needn’t bother. I knew German fluently. 

The generic questions came to mind - Who are you? Where am I? What do you want? 

These were all obsolete, as men with big guns often didn’t want to talk about themselves. They wanted to know who you were - how you managed to get yourself into this situation. All important things that helped them get closer to whatever theoretical treasure chest was on the other side. 

“You killed Melina.” I snapped in German. 

The main man - a weasley looking thing with a fine watch - smiled a snakey smile. 

“Bring her up.” He ordered his foot soldiers. 

I was slumped in a chair, hands bound and face covered in blood – three new slices of information that became apparent as my shackled wrists were brought up over my head, attached to a meat-hook that slowly wound toward the ceiling. 

“There.” The boss said, clapping his hands together merrily. “That’s better.” 

My feet dangled above the ground, and I hung with a slow sway that brought me in drifting circles– trying to see the abandoned room through the crimson in my eyes. 

We were in a warehouse – one possibly from the street where I was last conscious.

No windows. 

One door. 

Four men. 

Three of them are foot soldiers - one boss. 

“We’re looking for something.” The boss claimed, unbuckling his watch and placing it on the table. 

“And what might that be?” I sighed, trying not to let the sarcasm leak from my voice. 

It was a poor attempt. 

He hit me with the back of his hand, and I winced, tasting blood through my teeth. 

“The Soldier.” 

Even with my ears ringing, I knew the word perfectly in German– too many nights in foreign hotels with The Avengers, and fans wanting pictures of Steve. 

What could they possibly want with Captain America? 

“I don’t know where he is,” I lied, trying to give my best attempt at a grieving daughter, “I just wanted to find my mother.” 

“Liar.” The boss said, and another punch came flying toward my jaw. 

This time, my head pulled back, and I watched the ceiling as they watched me. 

“We know you saw him tonight.” 

Tonight? I thought, though I didn't react. 

Unless they meant… 

“An informant of ours saw you with The Winter Soldier a mile away, along with the body of Melina Vostokoff.” 

My eyes slid down the pipes of the room, falling gradually at the man in front. “Bucky isn’t working with you?” I asked. 

“Working for us?” The man snorted in fluent German, his comrades laughing. “We’ve been trying to hunt him down for a decade.” 

The cracks in my theories were beginning to show - formulating an idea that was too ludicrous to understand. Did I stumble into the ultimate sting operation by following James?

Was he the enemy here, or were they? 

At that moment, another figure entered the room, and the soft click of heels accompanied the ringing in my ears. 

The overhead light swung at the right moment, and Melina Vostokoff stepped, unharmed, into its eye. 

“Hello, Natasha.” She said, wiping what appeared to be fake blood off of her neck. 

My mind swirled into pink-taffy nothingness. 

“You stumbled unfortunately into the middle of a very broad operation tonight… one that had been planned for months. For that, you deserve this–” 

One of the brawny men launched his fist into my stomach, and my knees jerked upright to stifle the agony of my clenching muscles. 

As usual, Melina never did the dirty work. 

“ –though as for trying to avenge me, I’m humbled.” 

“What is this?” I asked, trying to pant back my lost breath. 

“We’ve been trying to hunt down James Barnes whilst The Avengers have been off fighting civil wars.” She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes scornfully. “Last night, he slipped up and came out into the open, revealing himself for the first time.” 

A soft frown puckered between my brows, trying to swallow the blood that pooled in my mouth. 

The Winter Soldier makes no mistakes… 

He also doesn’t seek revenge in the open– this I knew from our first encounter, and all the boogey-man stories I heard over the years. 

What was his game? 

I was silenced by the red light that flickered through the skylight window – a window I hadn’t seen, as it was heavily boarded by old wooden panels, blocking the night out except for a small crack where a sniper rifle was wedged. 

Its lethal red laser flashed in my eyes, and for a moment, I thought my brain was about to be wall art. Though the light began to create small signs, ones I picked up to be morse code. 

-.. ..- -.-. -.-

Duck. 

I threw my head down, and a scream erupted through the building as one of the guards was assassinated, and another’s head burst like an egg shell– splattering the floor in skull yolk. 

“Get down!” Melina shrieked, the boss with the fancy watch sprinting for his gun. 

He fired twice at the roof, distracted by my secret savior– buying me some time.

Using the height of the meat hook, I swung my ankles up and freed the shackles from the metal edge– hitting the floor in that signature Black Widow pose that Yelena loved to snidely comment on. 

Melina threw out a punch, though this time I was ready, jerking and headbutting her in the nose– causing her to stagger back and cup her mouth. To make my anger known, I spat all the savored blood and saliva into her face, and kicked her in the stomach– sending her spiraling. 

Another shot was fired through the overhead window, and this time, the wooden boarding exploded– a long rope dropping and a figure sliding down it. 

Bucky. 

I threw my fists up and poised for attack, though he stood in a shadow of darkness – cocking his head to the side with a look that said ‘don’t fucking try it.’

I didn’t fucking try it. 

“Grab him!” Melina screamed, sending a fire of bullets our way. 

Bucky threw his arm around my waist and yanked on the ceiling rope, sending us in a quick blitz to the roof where Moscow stretched like a sea of lights ahead. 

We didn’t talk, racing over the tiles and leaping to where an escape ladder stretched, already positioned as if Bucky had planned this all along – maybe he had. 

The motorcycle wasn’t far, proving that I was right – the building had only been a walk or so away. 

Bucky climbed on and the motor roared to life, yanking my bloodied arms around his waist and kicking the break from the cobbled path – launching us back onto the road. 

The drive to the inner city but a race away. 

“Hold on.” He demanded, and my legs looped together around his hips, feeling the cool bite of the metal against my thighs. “You don’t want to kill me just yet.” 

I begged to differ.