Weasley Twins: George and Fred II finding a photo album of the twins, for anon
“Hey, Dad, we’re meant to research our family history for Muggle Studies, can I have a look at some photo albums?” George looked up from the new telescope he was tinkering with putting it away in a drawer to smile at the almost carbon-copy of his younger self hanging off of the doorframe.
He stood, pushing the door in his desk shut. “Sure, there should be some in the attic, I’ll help you look.” The pair walked up the stairs to the top of the house, Fred nearly falling through the gaps of the stairs as they did so, much to George’s amusement.
When they finally found the right box, after George had been given rash from one of the earlier archetypes of Weasley’s Snackboxes, they sat down on an old chest and began flipping through them.
George’s heart contracted painfully as he opened the album he held to the first page, recognising it with a pang and half wanting to throw it far away from him.
“Is that you and Fred the first?” The way his son titled his twin made George smile sadly, knowing how much he would’ve liked it. “You really were identical weren’t you?”
George nodded, turning the page to a photo of Christmas in their first year. “Yeah, we caused havoc that way, most of our relatives couldn’t tell us apart. Even mum got us confused.”
George continued to turn the pages, pausing for a second on one of him and Fred flying around in matching uniforms, clearly celebrating a Quidditch victory.
“Do you miss him?” He had all but forgotten that Fred was sitting there, and when George turned to him he was struck all over again with how much he looked like his namesake.
“Every day.” George replied quietly, and the pair lapsed into silence as George collected himself. He stood, carefully shutting the photo album. “Get everything you needed?” He asked, and Fred nodded, beginning the descent with a few albums tucked under his arm. As for George, he shrunk the photo album he was carrying so that it fit into his pocket, blaming the dust when Angelina asked him what had made his eyes so red.
Dramione: for anon.
"Fuck," Hermione breathed, frantically scrambling to grab the student record books she had spilled in the middle of the corridor. "Fuck, fuck, fu—”
A slow tongue clucking made Hermione stop herself. “I didn’t think Head Girls were supposed to swear, Granger. In fact, just last week I had one down my throat about 'setting good examples' and all that bullocks.”
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment, then opened them again and cleared her throat, rising to her feet as she grabbed the last of the spilled books. She turned towards Draco with a proudly raised chin. “Draco.” She scanned him briefly, adjusting the books in her arms. “I didn’t know you were there.”
He rolled his eyes and uncrossed his arms so he could cross to her and move to scoop half the books out of her hands. “You’re going to drop them again,” he muttered.
Hermione jerked away. “I can handle carrying some—”
"Well, clearly you can’t, actually, Granger,” he broke in coldly. “Hand them over. I can take them to the Head’s office just as well as you can.” He withdrew one hand to tap at his badge.
She scoffed, brushing past him. “Right, so I’m supposed to let you do the carrying just because you’re the Head Boy? Girls can—”
"Oh, don’t make this a political thing,” he groaned, stalking after her and once more trying to remove the books from her grip. “I would let you carry them if you were competent at carrying things, Granger, but as you’ve just proven you aren’t—”
"I am too.”
"—you need to hand them over." He pried her fingers off of the books and yanked them away from her, flashing a self-satisfied smile before continuing down the corridor ahead of her. "There. Now was that so hard?"
Hermione huffed, jogging to catch up with him. “Don’t talk down to me, Malfoy.”
He smirked. “Then don’t be on the floor next time I find you, Granger.”
Remadora: Tonks asking about Remus’ past relationships.
"So." Remus cleared his throat and stirred his coffee, studying Tonks’ down-turned expression with darting eyes, as if the next conversation segue would be found in the crinkle of her forehead.
Tonks smiled, adding another spoonful of sugar to her own drink, and glanced up at Remus. “This wasn’t supposed to be awkward. We’ve been together almost a month, Remus.”
"But we haven’t been on an actual date," he countered quickly. "This is our first— real date. It’s supposed to be special, Dora.”
She raised an eyebrow and propped an elbow on the table, leaning forward and propping her chin in her hand. “And what do you know about ‘real' dates, Rem?”
Heat rose to his cheeks and he shrugged lifting his mug to his lips and taking a careful sip. He spoke once it was back in its saucer. “I’ve been on three dates.”
Tonks’ eyebrows shot up. “Three?”
He nodded. “Three.”
She grinned. “Do tell.”
Remus sighed, leaning back in his seat and raising a hand to rest between his head and the high-backed wooden seat. “First date was with a girl from Ravenclaw in fifth year. James wanted someone to double with him and Evangeline Tallet, and no one said yes to Peter ,and Sirius didn’t do dates.” He smiled fondly, then shook his head a little and continued. “Absolute disaster. I got tipsy and grabbed her arse on the walk back to the castle. Held quite the grudge, which, as I recall, was the reason I sported orange hair for a week.”
On cue, Tonks crinkled her nose and a ripple shot through her hair, streaking it bright orange.
Remus grinned appreciatively. "Right. Would’ve helped to have you around then. Make me feel like less of an idiot." Tonks smiled and the saturation drained out of her hair again, returning to a dark brown. "Anyway. Second date. That was seventh year. Sirius took it upon himself to get rid of my virginity." He rolled his eyes. "Got me and a Hufflepuff drunk, stuck us alone in the Gryffindor common room, and lit some phony ‘passion’ candles he found at a shady shop in Hogsmeade."
"What was her name?" Tonks prompted.
"Catherine." Remus sighed. "It was awkward and I was awful. We never talked again, and every time she saw me, she’d blush and get heavily involved in whatever conversation she was having."
Tonks grinned, and after a comfortable, reminiscent silence, she quizzed, “The third?”
"Seventh year." He beamed. "Over Christmas. I took a muggle girl to a movie." His finger traced the grooves on the wooden table absently. "She wore a bow in her hair."
Tonks smirked, settling back in her seat. “I’ve never been to a movie.”
Remus raised an eyebrow. “Never?” he echoed. She shook her head, smiling dryly, and he grinned. “Well. I know what we’re doing next.”
She cocked her head. “Sure you’re not going to take advantage of me, Lupin? I’ve heard muggle girls have to be careful at cinemas.”
He grinned, lifting his mug again and winking over the brim. “No promises, Nymphadora. After all, I’ve been with a lot of women.”
Sirius, James, and Remus save Lily from Bellatrix, for anon.
Lily’s hand paused halfway to a book on the nearest shelf. She didn’t recognize the voice, or the French perfume probably cost an absurd amount of galleons for something that smelled like dead roses. But she recognized the tone; appraising, with a hint of disgust.
The woman behind her was a pureblood.
Lily’s hand slowly fell, then dropped into her robes’ pocket. She only turned when her fingers were wrapped securely around her wand.
She registered the cheekbones first— high, prominent, making the face angular and sallow. She was a Black. The woman’s hair was twisted into an inelegant knot at the nape of her neck, and her lips were twisted into something between a sneer and a smirk. She was too cold to be the cousin Sirius spoke fondly of, Andromeda, and from the way she held herself, Lily couldn’t imagine she was the sister married to Lucius Malfoy.
Which left Bellatrix.
Fruna: Luna depressed after a break-up, for anon.
The grass didn’t sing anymore.
When she walked through the field from her house to the river with Fred, fingers interlaced, it sang and the sun splintered the blue of the sky into fragments that shone and made everything look like a carefully pieced together mosaic that glinted in time with the grass’ melody.
But when she walked to the river alone, the grass stayed silent, and the sun ducked behind clouds, and the sky was blue. So blue it was boring.
When she sat with Fred at the edge of the river and their feet kicked idly in the water, sometimes stagnant and sometimes rushing over rocks, there was a sort of stillness in the air that settled Luna’s shoulders. Their conversations always softened there, and even when he splashed her and they laughed, it was quiet. Everything was quiet. Their breaths were soft and their hands fisted the grass and there was a sort of peace that was unattainable anywhere else, even ten feet away.
Alone, Luna heard everything at once.
A week after it happened, she dipped her hand into the river and watched the water part around it, threading through her fingers, pulsing against her palm, refusing to be disrupted by her attempt for stillness, rushing on faster and faster and faster. Hurrying.
Luna removed her hand from the river and wiped it on the grass, pressing blades into one another, flattening them.
She stared at the indentation she had made in the field for a long time before carefully lying down on her back, closing her eyes, and crying. Silently.
Seriously anything: for dumbledorestoenail.
"He didn’t mean it, Evans."
Lily swiped at the matchbook with trembling hands for a third time, trying and failing to light the match between her fingers.
Sirius sighed and closed the three feet between them, footsteps compressing the snow beneath him, and took the match and matchbook from her. “Let me,” he muttered. She sniffed and he shook his head once. “Why’re you doing it the muggle way?” Lily remained silent, so he just shook his head again, lifting the successfully lighted match to the cigarette dangling between the redhead’s teeth. “This stuff will kill you, you know.”
Lily took a long drag before removing the fag from her mouth and blowing smoke away from Sirius’ face. “Says the bloke who turned me onto them.”
Sirius snorted, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and assessing Lily for a long moment before speaking again. “He didn’t mean it, Lils. Honestly. He just— with you and Fenwick—”
"Ben and I ended things last year,” Lily snapped, eyes ticking to Sirius. “God, he had no reason to get like that, Sirius. None. The shit he said—”
"I know what he said." Sirius rolled his eyes. "I know what he bloody said, Lily, and it was stupid and he wasn’t thinking and he didn’t mean it, alright?”
"I suppose he’ll get cross that I’m acting like this when ‘I should’ve known he wasn’t serious’," Lily mused coldly. Sirius grunted and she shook her head, looking away, taking a long drag on her cigarette, and repeating under her breath, "God.”
Sirius studied her posture— tensed shoulders, hunched back, squinting eyes, pursed lips— and decided to try a different tact. “You should’ve seen Remus lecture him. Christ. Prong’s’ll never call a bird a tart again.”
"Good," Lily said, a bit too quickly, then her shoulders deflated a little and she placed her cigarette back in her mouth. Sirius, taken aback by her ferocity, stayed silent, certain she would continue. He was right. She removed the fag once more and said, "It was sick, what he was doing, Sirius. Trying to get me to think he was the only 'real' boyfriend I could get?” Her voice was thin, strained, and Sirius cut in, clapping a hand on her shoulder.
"Lily, he didn’t mean to come off that way," he said quietly. "I mean— he did at the time, but once you stormed away, he felt rubbish. Honestly. He was just going a bit mental at seeing you and Fenwick together. He’s been wanting this for three years, you can’t blame him for worrying that it’ll all fall apart first chance it gets."
"I can blame him for acting like an absolute gi—”
"Yeah, you can," Sirius agreed, bobbing his head and dropping his hand from her shoulder. "But maybe just… just talk to him first, at least, if you’re thinking of making any… serious changes. Because he feels awful, Evans. Really."
Lily took another long drag on her cigarette, closing her eyes as she exhaled ringlets of smoke that were half from the nicotine and half from the cold air, and whispered, “I know.”
Hinny: Ginny after Harry gets hurt on a mission, for anon.
"He’s not alright." Ginny tightened her grip on her teacup and tapped an impatient finger against it. She gave a terse shake of her head, eyes fixed on the wall opposite her instead of Hermione. "Don’t right now. Don’t."
Hermione lifted an eyebrow. “Ginny,” she said sharply, “look at me.” Ginny ignored her. Hermione’s hand jumped to the younger woman’s wrist, voice softening. “The Healer said he’d be conscious in an hour. He’s going to be fine.”
“Going to be,” Ginny echoed bitingly, rolling her eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, right. Just spoon feed me more empty promises that my husband’s going to be alright after taking two jinxes the Healers don’t even recognize—”
"Look at me." Hermione cut through Ginny’s hissed rantings, turning towards her all the way on the small couch in the waiting room. "Ginny. You have got to calm down. If the Healers say he’s going to be alright, you need to trust them.”
Ginny’s jaw twitched and her eyes finally jumped to Hermione’s face. “And what if he’s not?” she whispered. “What if he’s not alright, Hermione? Even worse, what if he is? What if he’s perfectly fine, so he just— just jumps back in, keeps going on these stupid missions that could kill him— I mean, is that what he wants? Is that what he’s setting himself up for? Christ, Hermione, did he plan on dying young? Is this him trying to—” Ginny cut herself off, stared at Hermione for a long moment, then looked away, shaking her head silently.
Hermione studied Ginny’s closed off expression before removing her hand from Ginny’s wrist. “He’s going to be alright,” she repeated quietly.
Ginny brought her teacup to her lips and took a long sip.
Sometime today we hit 2,000 followers!! This is a big achievement for us, so thanks everyone :)
Drarry: “No matter what happens, remember that I’ll always love you.”
It had never been uncommon for Harry and Draco to meet in dark and secret places to be with each other- their relationship had always been hidden from everyone else. What was unusual was for Harry to feel threatened by it.
That was how he felt now, his pulse loud in his ears and his wand gripped tight in his hand as he faced down Draco. His face contorted with pain and blond hair white in the moonlight, he was shockingly beautiful, but Harry couldn’t afford to think about that now.
"Why are you here?" He hissed, trying to stay quiet enough that he wouldn’t wake Ron and Hermione where they slept nearby.
"I needed to see you." Draco’s hands were up, and he didn’t seem to dare come closer to Harry.
"We’re meant to be hidden." The dark haired boy said- they had ended what they had a long time ago. They were on opposing sides.
"You’re not doing a very good job of it. Wouldn’t you rather it was me, than someone who’ll hurt you?"
"How do I know you won’t?" Harry demanded. "You’re a Death Eater."
Harry hadn’t even seen Draco reach for his wand- he’d been too focused on his eyes- but the jinx had been whispered and his wand flew from his hand. Before he had a chance to react, to do anything, Draco had strode towards him and roughly took Harry’s face between his hands, drawing him into a kiss so hard and desperate that Harry could barely breathe.
"Shut up." Draco snapped, despite the fact that Harry had already been very effectively silenced. "I wouldn’t hurt you- I couldn’t. No matter what happens, remember that I’ll always love you, and that means I can’t hurt you."
Harry stared at him for a moment, and then kissed him back just as hard, drawing blood from Draco’s pale pink lips.
"Go." He said, gripping his old lover’s hands tight in his own. "Before they wake up, or you’ll be in danger too. Please." He didn’t return the declaration of love, but it was implicit in his words, in his tears as Draco disapparated.
Jily: Their first kiss in the rain, for anon.
Any other person might have hoped for better weather for their first date with a new boy, but for Lily, the heavy rain as she and James made their way back to the school from Hogsmeade was fitting. She’d been joking all day, both with her friends and her date himself, that today was the death of every one of her morals and principles, killed stone dead by James Potter’s infuriatingly attractive smirk. The rain was fitting, then, since the date itself was practically a funeral.
So she’d said. She’d actually had a remarkably good time with James, and was planning to ask him out again once they got back to the castle. The rain did seem almost romantic, though, and it had set a pleasant tone for their relationship- not once had James tried to offer her his coat, or shield her from the rain. He seemed to implicitly understand that Lily did not need to his charity or his chivalry, and she’d be fine without it.
They stopped outside the great, open doors to the castle, huddling in a corner to let people pass as they talked.
"You look like a drowned rat." Lily observed with a smirk. James’ normally messy hair was plastered flat to his head, the lenses of his glasses flecked with rain.
"You’re one to talk." James snorted, and Lily laughed in agreement. She could see the soaked strands of her hair out of the corner of her eye, turned almost black with deep streaks of ruby by the rain.
It was in the middle of her laugh that James kissed her. It was a gentle thing, where he took her chin softly between his fingers and brought their lips together, not at all the kind of passionate embrace Lily associated with romance and rainstorms. But it was pleasant, and even though his lips were cold, she kissed him back.