Sirius/Marlene and Dorcas/Remus: A jealous Sirius speculating at all the ways that Marlene and Remus would be perfect together as he watches them talk—while they, in turn, are discussing Remus’ adoration of Dorcas. For anon.


"They look happy," Sirius said distastefully, his eyes boring into the backs of two of his best friends’ heads, "Look."

Dorcas followed his gaze and had to restrain herself from chuckling. Which was proving very difficult. “Yeah, I guess.”

"They’d be great together, don’t you think?" he added. "They’re both young, attractive — don’t you dare tell them I told you that. McKinnon’s into sports and Remus… isn’t. Balance each other out well, right?" The words he said posed as a question to her but Dorcas knew it was his observational statement. 

"If you say so," she offered. She could see what he was saying; they would be alright together but she had known Marlene long enough to know the girl wouldn’t even think of it. However, she found it incredibly amusing of how he sounded, the way he was watching them so closely without realising. "You know, Black, you almost sound jealous."

"Jealous?" he scoffed and his head snapped sideways to look at her, adamantly turning away from the two people he was watching closely. "Sirius Black doesn’t do jealous."

"Mhm," Dorcas replied with an unconvinced look on her face. She rolled her eyes and stood up straight before spinning herself to walk away, calling over her shoulder. "I’ll leave you to your brooding now."

[[MORE]]

***

"I see you staring at her," Marlene nudged the other boy’s shoulder whilst speaking in a sing-song voice. 

"Staring at who?" Remus tried to say blankly, but Marlene wasn’t having any of that.

"See you staring at Doe, dumbass," she said and grinned. "I know you like her."

There was a moment of hesitation - with Remus wondering if he could get away denying it - before deciding against it. Instead, he sat in silence before glancing back over his shoulder and seeing Dorcas talking to Sirius. He looked just as she had said something to Sirius before walking away, her heels audible even from where they were.

"She doesn’t take any shit, does she?" Marlene said, following his gaze and watching his expression.

Remus didn’t say anything still and shrugged. He turned back around to face the window again, knowing Marlene would talk next.

"You should ask her out," she continued, nodding at him. "She’d like that."

"Maybe," Remus replied, "Maybe, if you talk to Sirius." She scowled at him.
Sirius/Marlene and Dorcas/Remus: A jealous Sirius speculating at all the ways that Marlene and Remus would be perfect together as he watches them talk—while they, in turn, are discussing Remus’ adoration of Dorcas. For anon.

"They look happy," Sirius said distastefully, his eyes boring into the backs of two of his best friends’ heads, "Look."

Dorcas followed his gaze and had to restrain herself from chuckling. Which was proving very difficult. “Yeah, I guess.”

"They’d be great together, don’t you think?" he added. "They’re both young, attractive — don’t you dare tell them I told you that. McKinnon’s into sports and Remus… isn’t. Balance each other out well, right?" The words he said posed as a question to her but Dorcas knew it was his observational statement.

"If you say so," she offered. She could see what he was saying; they would be alright together but she had known Marlene long enough to know the girl wouldn’t even think of it. However, she found it incredibly amusing of how he sounded, the way he was watching them so closely without realising. "You know, Black, you almost sound jealous."

"Jealous?" he scoffed and his head snapped sideways to look at her, adamantly turning away from the two people he was watching closely. "Sirius Black doesn’t do jealous."

"Mhm," Dorcas replied with an unconvinced look on her face. She rolled her eyes and stood up straight before spinning herself to walk away, calling over her shoulder. "I’ll leave you to your brooding now."

Read More


Hinny: Seventh year pregnancy, for anon.

“I’m sorry.” Ginny sobs into her hands in front of him. The sun is setting on the horizon behind the Borrow in the distance. She hadn’t told anyone but him. Too afraid.
Harry takes her hands from his face, holding them both in his left hand while wiping his tears with the other. “It’ll be okay, Gin.”
“It won’t.” Ginny says, walking away from the shed with sudden defensiveness.
Harry follows her, quickly. She’s fast, but the adrenaline of the news makes him faster. “But it will.”
“This is all too fast. Why did I ever think that telling you would make anything better?”
“Things are getting better.” He wasn’t lying. Hogwarts was rebuilt, they were safe again, and time was very slowly beginning to heal the pain of loss.
“They aren’t Harry. I’m not a little girl anymore. You don’t have to lie to me.”
“When did I say that you were a little girl?”
“I see things. I watch Mum cry at night. I see George maybe fake a laugh sometimes. It’s not getting any better.” She kicks some leaves in his direction. “Now, I’m just adding to the problems.”
“Don’t say that, Gin. They want you to be happy. They want us to be happy. This baby will make all of happy.”
“How do you know?”
“Because, I’ve already asked your father for permission to marry you. We were bound to have children eventually. Why not now?”

Hinny: Seventh year pregnancy, for anon.

“I’m sorry.” Ginny sobs into her hands in front of him. The sun is setting on the horizon behind the Borrow in the distance. She hadn’t told anyone but him. Too afraid.

Harry takes her hands from his face, holding them both in his left hand while wiping his tears with the other. “It’ll be okay, Gin.”

“It won’t.” Ginny says, walking away from the shed with sudden defensiveness.

Harry follows her, quickly. She’s fast, but the adrenaline of the news makes him faster. “But it will.”

“This is all too fast. Why did I ever think that telling you would make anything better?”

“Things are getting better.” He wasn’t lying. Hogwarts was rebuilt, they were safe again, and time was very slowly beginning to heal the pain of loss.

“They aren’t Harry. I’m not a little girl anymore. You don’t have to lie to me.”

“When did I say that you were a little girl?”

“I see things. I watch Mum cry at night. I see George maybe fake a laugh sometimes. It’s not getting any better.” She kicks some leaves in his direction. “Now, I’m just adding to the problems.”

“Don’t say that, Gin. They want you to be happy. They want us to be happy. This baby will make all of happy.”

“How do you know?”

“Because, I’ve already asked your father for permission to marry you. We were bound to have children eventually. Why not now?”


Dramione: For anon.


If you tell me I was in love with her a year ago, I would have cursed you and/or tell you to fuck off.

But a year does a lot, especially when you begin to know her - really know her - in the span of ten months. 

I noticed but never liked the way her bushy hair would stick to her face when she got flushed. Or the way loose strands would hang out when she pulled her hair back. Or splotchy patches of pink that splattered her cheeks when she got upset or excited. The way her eyebrows scrunched over her eyes as she thought, the way a small smile danced on her lips as she read, the way her teeth chewed on the end of her quill before she scribbled something down. The way she would interrupt a conversation just to correct something someone said, the way she double-checks she has everything before going out, the way her eyes rolled constantly. The way she would always be on time because she has a habit of checking her watch every other minute, the way she hummed under her breath whilst she listened to the stupid radio she had on in the kitchen, the way she would tap her foot with impatience all the time. I noticed but never liked.

Did I know when I began to pay so much attention to her? I didn’t. I didn’t notice my eyes would drift to her when we were in the same room, and I didn’t notice that I ended up picking habits she had done crossly when we bickered. I knew she was infuriating, and I knew everything she said either pissed me off or got to me. That was just how it worked. 

I ignored it for so long because it wasn’t my place, I knew. She was out of boundaries — it was all so clear and she was untouchable. Even when I didn’t like her back at Hogwarts, and even when the war had long been over, and even when I stopped caring about blood prejudice. 

So when I saw her again, after nearly a year of being close enough to deem friends, I smiled because she didn’t know. I smiled because what I did best was hiding my feelings. I smiled because things changed and I had moved along with it.

One day she will know I fell in love with her. Maybe when I’m braver.
Dramione: For anon.

If you tell me I was in love with her a year ago, I would have cursed you and/or tell you to fuck off.

But a year does a lot, especially when you begin to know her - really know her - in the span of ten months.

I noticed but never liked the way her bushy hair would stick to her face when she got flushed. Or the way loose strands would hang out when she pulled her hair back. Or splotchy patches of pink that splattered her cheeks when she got upset or excited. The way her eyebrows scrunched over her eyes as she thought, the way a small smile danced on her lips as she read, the way her teeth chewed on the end of her quill before she scribbled something down. The way she would interrupt a conversation just to correct something someone said, the way she double-checks she has everything before going out, the way her eyes rolled constantly. The way she would always be on time because she has a habit of checking her watch every other minute, the way she hummed under her breath whilst she listened to the stupid radio she had on in the kitchen, the way she would tap her foot with impatience all the time. I noticed but never liked.

Did I know when I began to pay so much attention to her? I didn’t. I didn’t notice my eyes would drift to her when we were in the same room, and I didn’t notice that I ended up picking habits she had done crossly when we bickered. I knew she was infuriating, and I knew everything she said either pissed me off or got to me. That was just how it worked.

I ignored it for so long because it wasn’t my place, I knew. She was out of boundaries — it was all so clear and she was untouchable. Even when I didn’t like her back at Hogwarts, and even when the war had long been over, and even when I stopped caring about blood prejudice.

So when I saw her again, after nearly a year of being close enough to deem friends, I smiled because she didn’t know. I smiled because what I did best was hiding my feelings. I smiled because things changed and I had moved along with it.

One day she will know I fell in love with her. Maybe when I’m braver.


Remus/Lily: during fifth year, for anon

During the end of fifth year, in the weeks at the end of the year where you’re still going to class but not learning, you date a girl. You date a girl with red hair, whose shoulders burn red when she’s out in the sun for too long, and is almost as tall as you are. You date a girl named Lily, a name that is thrown around enough in your dormitory that she’s become more of a concept than an actual person.
But then you get to know her for who she really is.
You learn that she loves chocolate ice cream but only when it has raspberry sauce on, and that she got the scar in her eyebrow from falling off a slide when she was six. She tells you, when you’re sat in the common room near the window trying to catch a breeze, that she wants to teach when she graduates but doesn’t have the patience for it, and proves her point by daydreaming while you try to tell her about your plans for the summer. You figure out that her sister resents her when you ask her about her family and she stutters and skirts around the subject, and in return you tell her that your dad feels guilty that you were bitten. You think you know everything about her, that you could answer anything.
Your relationship is filled hazy conversations about nothing next to the lake, and the texture of grass against your skin. Just looking at her made it hard for you to breathe, and you spent so much time with her that you only ever saw your friends—your best friends, the first proper friends you ever had, your comrades in mischief—in class and in the half hour before you fall asleep, but it didn’t matter because you had Lily, whole and complete in full technicolor.
But then you realise (both of you do) that there’s nothing there; you’ve not even so much as kissed, that you’re good friends at most. You stop holding your breath when she walks into the room and you start to notice how her eyes trail after James and the way he fills the room; you know that you can never hold a candle to what she feels for him. It’s when you figure out you’re okay with that that you break it off.

You laughed about how ridiculous you both were, and, yeah, you are better off as friends.

Remus/Lily: during fifth year, for anon

During the end of fifth year, in the weeks at the end of the year where you’re still going to class but not learning, you date a girl. You date a girl with red hair, whose shoulders burn red when she’s out in the sun for too long, and is almost as tall as you are. You date a girl named Lily, a name that is thrown around enough in your dormitory that she’s become more of a concept than an actual person.

But then you get to know her for who she really is.

You learn that she loves chocolate ice cream but only when it has raspberry sauce on, and that she got the scar in her eyebrow from falling off a slide when she was six. She tells you, when you’re sat in the common room near the window trying to catch a breeze, that she wants to teach when she graduates but doesn’t have the patience for it, and proves her point by daydreaming while you try to tell her about your plans for the summer. You figure out that her sister resents her when you ask her about her family and she stutters and skirts around the subject, and in return you tell her that your dad feels guilty that you were bitten. You think you know everything about her, that you could answer anything.

Your relationship is filled hazy conversations about nothing next to the lake, and the texture of grass against your skin. Just looking at her made it hard for you to breathe, and you spent so much time with her that you only ever saw your friends—your best friends, the first proper friends you ever had, your comrades in mischief—in class and in the half hour before you fall asleep, but it didn’t matter because you had Lily, whole and complete in full technicolor.

But then you realise (both of you do) that there’s nothing there; you’ve not even so much as kissed, that you’re good friends at most. You stop holding your breath when she walks into the room and you start to notice how her eyes trail after James and the way he fills the room; you know that you can never hold a candle to what she feels for him. It’s when you figure out you’re okay with that that you break it off.

You laughed about how ridiculous you both were, and, yeah, you are better off as friends.


Teddy/Dominique: For anon.


"No, no, conjuration is limited by the Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration." Teddy sighed at the younger girl, his eyes rolling teasingly.

Dominique frowned and her fingers reached up to run her temples. “I can’t get this, Teddy. It’s too hard and I won’t remember it all. You know Transfiguration isn’t my best subject.”

"If I can get an E on it for my NEWTs, you can pass your OWLs," Teddy rolled his eyes. "I only left last year — if you listen, I can actually teach it to you."

She grumbled as she scratched out why she just wrote in her essay and rewrote it.

"I don’t see why Vic couldn’t just teach it to you," he added and he grabbed her quill to scratch out another sentence. 

"I told you," she replied tightly, "Vic’s busy. I didn’t want to tell her I was failing Transfiguration, anyway, so I asked Louis and he said to ask you, since you did so well in your exams." There was a slight edge in her words of resentment but Teddy ignored it.

"I didn’t do that well. Honestly, your family exaggerates too much," he said fondly. 

"Yeah, whatever," she sighed and pointed to her work again. "Merlin, can’t we just take a break now? Relax my brain?" 

"Why, what do you have in mind?" He smiled, his eyes glinting, and Dominique grinned in response. He leaned down to kiss her, her lips meeting his hastily. Her work was left forgotten for a while.
Teddy/Dominique: For anon.

"No, no, conjuration is limited by the Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration." Teddy sighed at the younger girl, his eyes rolling teasingly.

Dominique frowned and her fingers reached up to run her temples. “I can’t get this, Teddy. It’s too hard and I won’t remember it all. You know Transfiguration isn’t my best subject.”

"If I can get an E on it for my NEWTs, you can pass your OWLs," Teddy rolled his eyes. "I only left last year — if you listen, I can actually teach it to you."

She grumbled as she scratched out why she just wrote in her essay and rewrote it.

"I don’t see why Vic couldn’t just teach it to you," he added and he grabbed her quill to scratch out another sentence.

"I told you," she replied tightly, "Vic’s busy. I didn’t want to tell her I was failing Transfiguration, anyway, so I asked Louis and he said to ask you, since you did so well in your exams." There was a slight edge in her words of resentment but Teddy ignored it.

"I didn’t do that well. Honestly, your family exaggerates too much," he said fondly.

"Yeah, whatever," she sighed and pointed to her work again. "Merlin, can’t we just take a break now? Relax my brain?"

"Why, what do you have in mind?" He smiled, his eyes glinting, and Dominique grinned in response. He leaned down to kiss her, her lips meeting his hastily. Her work was left forgotten for a while.


Hinny: Post-war. Ron and Hermione trying their best to help Ginny recover after Harry’s death. For anon.
Warning: mentions of death.


It wasn’t supposed to happen. 

She knew of the risks but that wasn’t supposed to happen. They were meant to win the war and Harry Potter was meant to be right here, celebrating with them. Not buried six feet under. They had all fought so they could all get the future they wanted and he had always been in her future, she had never doubted for a second. She really did believe he would - they all would - come out of the war alive. Harry was meant to be with them, the both of them finally able to be happy and finally able to date like normal people, simply because the complications were gone. Instead, she had Ron and Hermione, who constantly visited her together to make sure she didn’t do anything drastic.

It was two months after the war and they knew she still wasn’t handling it well. 

"Why?" Ginny’s low voice cut off Hermione’s half-heartened attempt of normal conversation and the other two turned to look at her. "Why?"

Ron looked pained as he spoke, but his voice came out gruff, “Why what?”

"Why Harry?" The dejected note in her voice caused Hermione to cover her mouth, her face crumbling. The brunette had been trying for the few months to keep herself together - for her, Ginny knew.

"I don’t know, Gin," Ron said, his voice laced with steel. He was keeping it in for her too, Ginny realised. The blank look on his face, his hard voice; it was all for her. Out of the corner of his clear blue eyes - now so strained and haunted - , she could see a tear threatening to fall but she knew it wouldn’t, not when Ron would refuse to as not to set her off either.

"I loved him," Ginny said without thinking. Of course, she had been thinking about it since the war. She had been thinking about it non-stop. But she had never concluded in a final answer and, now, saying it aloud, she realised how true it was, and how much it hurt.

"Me too," Hermione whispered, tears still rushing down her face as she sniffed. 

"No. I mean, I love him. Like, love him more than friends. I love him so, so much." Ginny stood up abruptly. She didn’t want to replay the memories of Harry’s wand clattering out of his hand, the same time as Voldemort’s, and she didn’t want to replay the memories of Harry’s lifeless body falling to the floor. She didn’t want to. But she couldn’t get them out of her head so she opened her mouth, threw her red hair back, and screamed. Hermione sobbed harder and Ron’s face twitched, too close to letting his guard down, and they both just let her scream and scream and scream. 

Ginny Weasley screamed for over an hour, her voice mingling with choked up sobs and her face stained with dried-up tears that refuse to stop coming. Her hands clenched over her ears like a toddler, her face screwed up in pain. Once her voice was too hoarse to make a sound anymore, she crawled back on to her sofa, her legs tucking up to shield her. She couldn’t get him out of her head and she doubted she ever would but her headache was much too much for any memories to be replaying. For now.

"Ginny?" Ron’s tentative voice said, his guard down to finally let her see how damaged he was without his best friend too, to see his little sister so cut up over it. Ginny didn’t raise her head, covering her arms around herself as well, and there was a long, ringing silence for the rest of the day. She didn’t say anything, Ron didn’t say anything, Hermione didn’t say anything. They just sat in silence and their company wasn’t him, but it was something.
Hinny: Post-war. Ron and Hermione trying their best to help Ginny recover after Harry’s death. For anon.

Warning: mentions of death.

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

She knew of the risks but that wasn’t supposed to happen. They were meant to win the war and Harry Potter was meant to be right here, celebrating with them. Not buried six feet under. They had all fought so they could all get the future they wanted and he had always been in her future, she had never doubted for a second. She really did believe he would - they all would - come out of the war alive. Harry was meant to be with them, the both of them finally able to be happy and finally able to date like normal people, simply because the complications were gone. Instead, she had Ron and Hermione, who constantly visited her together to make sure she didn’t do anything drastic.

It was two months after the war and they knew she still wasn’t handling it well.

"Why?" Ginny’s low voice cut off Hermione’s half-heartened attempt of normal conversation and the other two turned to look at her. "Why?"

Ron looked pained as he spoke, but his voice came out gruff, “Why what?”

"Why Harry?" The dejected note in her voice caused Hermione to cover her mouth, her face crumbling. The brunette had been trying for the few months to keep herself together - for her, Ginny knew.

"I don’t know, Gin," Ron said, his voice laced with steel. He was keeping it in for her too, Ginny realised. The blank look on his face, his hard voice; it was all for her. Out of the corner of his clear blue eyes - now so strained and haunted - , she could see a tear threatening to fall but she knew it wouldn’t, not when Ron would refuse to as not to set her off either.

"I loved him," Ginny said without thinking. Of course, she had been thinking about it since the war. She had been thinking about it non-stop. But she had never concluded in a final answer and, now, saying it aloud, she realised how true it was, and how much it hurt.

"Me too," Hermione whispered, tears still rushing down her face as she sniffed.

"No. I mean, I love him. Like, love him more than friends. I love him so, so much." Ginny stood up abruptly. She didn’t want to replay the memories of Harry’s wand clattering out of his hand, the same time as Voldemort’s, and she didn’t want to replay the memories of Harry’s lifeless body falling to the floor. She didn’t want to. But she couldn’t get them out of her head so she opened her mouth, threw her red hair back, and screamed. Hermione sobbed harder and Ron’s face twitched, too close to letting his guard down, and they both just let her scream and scream and scream.

Ginny Weasley screamed for over an hour, her voice mingling with choked up sobs and her face stained with dried-up tears that refuse to stop coming. Her hands clenched over her ears like a toddler, her face screwed up in pain. Once her voice was too hoarse to make a sound anymore, she crawled back on to her sofa, her legs tucking up to shield her. She couldn’t get him out of her head and she doubted she ever would but her headache was much too much for any memories to be replaying. For now.

"Ginny?" Ron’s tentative voice said, his guard down to finally let her see how damaged he was without his best friend too, to see his little sister so cut up over it. Ginny didn’t raise her head, covering her arms around herself as well, and there was a long, ringing silence for the rest of the day. She didn’t say anything, Ron didn’t say anything, Hermione didn’t say anything. They just sat in silence and their company wasn’t him, but it was something.


Remadora and Teddy: Tonks and Remus live, and they give Teddy the ‘werewolf’ talk. For anon.


"Remember when we told you about werewolves?" Tonks said gently to the little boy, who’s face was moulded into momentary confusion but he nodded nonetheless. "About how not all are dangerous? Some are very dangerous, but not all of them, yes?" She waited for him to nod again. "Well, sweetie, we need to tell you something."

Teddy looked at his mother, then his father. Remus was shifting uneasily, a pained expression on his face that Teddy could not understand. It seemed that the both of his parents were waiting for him to reply for continuing. Finally, he nodded. “I thought this was about me going to Hogwarts soon.”

"Well, it is. Sort of." Tonks smiled. "You know how you’re a Metamorphmagus? Like me, right? Sometimes people can be more than one thing. Like, hypothetically, a werewolf and a Metamorphmagus." Bomb dropped, and Tonks hoped he would catch on quickly, to avoid awkward questions.

"Why would I be a werewolf, too? Hypothetically?"

Tonks sighed, “Listen, Teddy, you know how your dad sometimes has to go away? A couple of nights every month?” Teddy nodded again. He can’t say he’d never been curious but his mother had always told him that she would let him know when the time was right. Which happened to be now. “During the time it was near a full moon?”

Teddy’s mouth opened whilst his brain worked rapidly. He closed his mouth, but opened it again to say something. What could he say? No, I didn’t realise my dad would vanish near the full moon for the last ten years of my life? No, I’m not upset you didn’t tell me? “So — so, dad’s like — you know — a werewolf?” He raised his gaze to Remus. The older man refused to meet his eye, looking rather shame-faced.

"Right," Tonks said encouragingly. Her hand reached to clasp her husband’s. "You see—"

"Does that mean I’ll be a werewolf? Does that mean I am a werewolf?” There was a tremor in Teddy’s voice, the fear they could hear betraying him. 

"We don’t know. Probably not," added his mother.

"Most likely not," Remus agreed, speaking for the first time. Teddy’s eyes searched his face, searched for telltale hints, but only was faced back with weariness. "You haven’t shown signs of it before now, so you should be safe. But we just — we just wanted to let you know. In case."

Teddy nodded, again. Sensing the talk was done, he got up slowly and went through the back door, out into the garden. He pushed bushes out of the way, still walking further, until he found his favourite spot. He had discovered a lake there a few years ago and, whenever he needed time by himself or to think, he returned there. Like now.
Remadora and Teddy: Tonks and Remus live, and they give Teddy the ‘werewolf’ talk. For anon.

"Remember when we told you about werewolves?" Tonks said gently to the little boy, who’s face was moulded into momentary confusion but he nodded nonetheless. "About how not all are dangerous? Some are very dangerous, but not all of them, yes?" She waited for him to nod again. "Well, sweetie, we need to tell you something."

Teddy looked at his mother, then his father. Remus was shifting uneasily, a pained expression on his face that Teddy could not understand. It seemed that the both of his parents were waiting for him to reply for continuing. Finally, he nodded. “I thought this was about me going to Hogwarts soon.”

"Well, it is. Sort of." Tonks smiled. "You know how you’re a Metamorphmagus? Like me, right? Sometimes people can be more than one thing. Like, hypothetically, a werewolf and a Metamorphmagus." Bomb dropped, and Tonks hoped he would catch on quickly, to avoid awkward questions.

"Why would I be a werewolf, too? Hypothetically?"

Tonks sighed, “Listen, Teddy, you know how your dad sometimes has to go away? A couple of nights every month?” Teddy nodded again. He can’t say he’d never been curious but his mother had always told him that she would let him know when the time was right. Which happened to be now. “During the time it was near a full moon?”

Teddy’s mouth opened whilst his brain worked rapidly. He closed his mouth, but opened it again to say something. What could he say? No, I didn’t realise my dad would vanish near the full moon for the last ten years of my life? No, I’m not upset you didn’t tell me? “So — so, dad’s like — you know — a werewolf?” He raised his gaze to Remus. The older man refused to meet his eye, looking rather shame-faced.

"Right," Tonks said encouragingly. Her hand reached to clasp her husband’s. "You see—"

"Does that mean I’ll be a werewolf? Does that mean I am a werewolf?” There was a tremor in Teddy’s voice, the fear they could hear betraying him.

"We don’t know. Probably not," added his mother.

"Most likely not," Remus agreed, speaking for the first time. Teddy’s eyes searched his face, searched for telltale hints, but only was faced back with weariness. "You haven’t shown signs of it before now, so you should be safe. But we just — we just wanted to let you know. In case."

Teddy nodded, again. Sensing the talk was done, he got up slowly and went through the back door, out into the garden. He pushed bushes out of the way, still walking further, until he found his favourite spot. He had discovered a lake there a few years ago and, whenever he needed time by himself or to think, he returned there. Like now.


Teddy/Dominique: Teddy is in love with Dominique. For anon.


Teddy didn’t have the best luck with love. Or relationships, in general. Being such a carefree yet kind person, he maybe should have had girls flocking around him but he much preferred them as friends. 

Victoire Weasley was his childhood crush, there was no denying that. He had been completely smitten with her; with her long, blonde locks, her eyes as blue as her mother’s, and her beings arguably one of the best looking girls at Hogwarts during the time. Her being the oldest of the Weasley clan, Teddy had once taken it upon himself to help her look after all of her cousins. When he had dated her in his seventh year, it should have been perfect written on paper. And it was, for a while. But things went downhill; they argued non-stop and he had broken it off right before his graduation.

He had met Dominique Weasley before, of course. They had been childhood friends too. They had played together as children, Dominique trailing after her sister. But he never thought about her in that way, not until he had graduated from Hogwarts. He didn’t know when or how it crept up on him, really. They had been dating for a few months before it had hit him. 

"Dom?" he had whispered suddenly, sitting up in bed. "Dom, are you awake?"

"Yeah," she murmured back, straightening her back to level with him, "What’s wrong?"

And he had looked at her — her hair that could never be determined whether it was blonde or a gentle red, her eyes that were the same brown as her father’s, her smile that was taken after her part-Veela mother. And he suddenly knew.

"Nothing," he said quickly, haste to reassure her worried tone. "Nothing. Just… Look, I know this might be early, might be rushed, but I just… I just, you know, love you."

There was a pause, broken by Dominique’s face splitting into a smile, almost grin-like. “I- I love you, Teddy.”

Yes, he had been dreading telling her that, and the answer fully relieved him of his worry, so he leant in to kiss her and they stayed like that for a while.
Teddy/Dominique: Teddy is in love with Dominique. For anon.

Teddy didn’t have the best luck with love. Or relationships, in general. Being such a carefree yet kind person, he maybe should have had girls flocking around him but he much preferred them as friends.

Victoire Weasley was his childhood crush, there was no denying that. He had been completely smitten with her; with her long, blonde locks, her eyes as blue as her mother’s, and her beings arguably one of the best looking girls at Hogwarts during the time. Her being the oldest of the Weasley clan, Teddy had once taken it upon himself to help her look after all of her cousins. When he had dated her in his seventh year, it should have been perfect written on paper. And it was, for a while. But things went downhill; they argued non-stop and he had broken it off right before his graduation.

He had met Dominique Weasley before, of course. They had been childhood friends too. They had played together as children, Dominique trailing after her sister. But he never thought about her in that way, not until he had graduated from Hogwarts. He didn’t know when or how it crept up on him, really. They had been dating for a few months before it had hit him.

"Dom?" he had whispered suddenly, sitting up in bed. "Dom, are you awake?"

"Yeah," she murmured back, straightening her back to level with him, "What’s wrong?"

And he had looked at her — her hair that could never be determined whether it was blonde or a gentle red, her eyes that were the same brown as her father’s, her smile that was taken after her part-Veela mother. And he suddenly knew.

"Nothing," he said quickly, haste to reassure her worried tone. "Nothing. Just… Look, I know this might be early, might be rushed, but I just… I just, you know, love you."

There was a pause, broken by Dominique’s face splitting into a smile, almost grin-like. “I- I love you, Teddy.”

Yes, he had been dreading telling her that, and the answer fully relieved him of his worry, so he leant in to kiss her and they stayed like that for a while.


Wolfstar: Based on Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson.

There was a storm brewing in the world, and a war on the horizon. Beyond the old lace curtains drawn across the windows, the glass was flecked with raindrops. The sky was grey with clouds, thunder rumbling somewhere far away.
Inside, that didn’t matter.
Inside was a tiny bedroom in an equally tiny flat, bed sheets with a sinfully low thread count messed up and thrown around, the pillows falling out of their crimson cases. It was the closed curtains and the closed door, creating an isolated little island that was all there own. It was the warmth from their bodies and the vague scent of sweat, overshadowed by the smell of baking and tea.
"I should get up." Remus murmured, his voice slightly muffled where his face was half-hidden against Sirius’ bare chest. 
"No, you shouldn’t." Sirius insisted, running his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. There was a tray at his elbow, plates of mostly eaten pancakes balanced precariously beside a teapot and two mismatched cups. It was going to fall off at some point soon, but he couldn’t bring himself to care very much. He was determined to keep Remus exactly where he was- in bed, with him, away from work. They’d spent too much time apart lately.
"I have to go to work, Sirius."
"Moony," Sirius whined playfully, squeezing him tightly and kissing the top of his head. "Come on. I made you pancakes. One day off won’t hurt. Just stay with me." He cupped Remus’ face in his hands, tilting his head up so he could meet his eyes; they were still tired, less sharp than usual to match the vague, sleepy smile on his face. It made his scars seem radically less severe. 
"I really shouldn’t."
"You really should." He protested. "You wake up too early every morning to go to work, I’m making you take a breather."
"I’m still awake early."
"That’s not the point."
There was a storm brewing, but it couldn’t touch them in here.

Wolfstar: Based on Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson.

There was a storm brewing in the world, and a war on the horizon. Beyond the old lace curtains drawn across the windows, the glass was flecked with raindrops. The sky was grey with clouds, thunder rumbling somewhere far away.

Inside, that didn’t matter.

Inside was a tiny bedroom in an equally tiny flat, bed sheets with a sinfully low thread count messed up and thrown around, the pillows falling out of their crimson cases. It was the closed curtains and the closed door, creating an isolated little island that was all there own. It was the warmth from their bodies and the vague scent of sweat, overshadowed by the smell of baking and tea.

"I should get up." Remus murmured, his voice slightly muffled where his face was half-hidden against Sirius’ bare chest. 

"No, you shouldn’t." Sirius insisted, running his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. There was a tray at his elbow, plates of mostly eaten pancakes balanced precariously beside a teapot and two mismatched cups. It was going to fall off at some point soon, but he couldn’t bring himself to care very much. He was determined to keep Remus exactly where he was- in bed, with him, away from work. They’d spent too much time apart lately.

"I have to go to work, Sirius."

"Moony," Sirius whined playfully, squeezing him tightly and kissing the top of his head. "Come on. I made you pancakes. One day off won’t hurt. Just stay with me." He cupped Remus’ face in his hands, tilting his head up so he could meet his eyes; they were still tired, less sharp than usual to match the vague, sleepy smile on his face. It made his scars seem radically less severe. 

"I really shouldn’t."

"You really should." He protested. "You wake up too early every morning to go to work, I’m making you take a breather."

"I’m still awake early."

"That’s not the point."

There was a storm brewing, but it couldn’t touch them in here.


Perciver: Oliver proposes, for anon.

The ring felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket. The tiny little box, wrapped in red velvet, so small it could fit neatly in the palm of his hand and he could still close his fingers around it, was one of the heaviest things he’d ever carried around with him. It wasn’t even a particularly special ring. His mother had offered him the one his grandmother had left when she died, but it was old and glittered with diamonds- too flashy, he knew, for anything his boyfriend would like. The ring that Oliver had bought was simpler, more subdued. He knew that Percy would like it.
The problem was actually giving it to him. Whenever he thought about doing so, his throat ran dry and sweat started to bead on the back of his neck. He’d taken spectacular dives on a broom, plummeted through the air without a second thought to his own safety, but the prospect of asking his long-term boyfriend to marry him was utterly terrifying. They’d gone out to stereotypical ‘nice’ restaurants every other night for the past two weeks; each time, Oliver had intended to propose, and each time, he’d fallen short and lost his courage. At this point, a quiet night at home with a book, listening to the sound of Percy’s quill scratching away as he took care of some extra work, was almost preferable to going out again.
Oliver’s gaze flickered up from the book he’d bee reading to watch Percy, then. He looked incredibly focused, almost bent in half as he leaned over his parchment and wrote, red hair falling into his eyes. He looked beautiful. When he was passionate about something like he was his work, he always did.
"Percy," Oliver called over without thinking. His hand slid out of his pocket, holding the ring box. Percy looked up, responding to his voice, and Oliver heard himself as if from very far away as he snapped the box open. "Do you want to marry me?"
Percy’s eyes went wide, and he flushed almost as red as his hair, before stuttering out,
"W-well- I mean- yes, Oliver. Yes, I suppose I do."

Perciver: Oliver proposes, for anon.

The ring felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket. The tiny little box, wrapped in red velvet, so small it could fit neatly in the palm of his hand and he could still close his fingers around it, was one of the heaviest things he’d ever carried around with him. It wasn’t even a particularly special ring. His mother had offered him the one his grandmother had left when she died, but it was old and glittered with diamonds- too flashy, he knew, for anything his boyfriend would like. The ring that Oliver had bought was simpler, more subdued. He knew that Percy would like it.

The problem was actually giving it to him. Whenever he thought about doing so, his throat ran dry and sweat started to bead on the back of his neck. He’d taken spectacular dives on a broom, plummeted through the air without a second thought to his own safety, but the prospect of asking his long-term boyfriend to marry him was utterly terrifying. They’d gone out to stereotypical ‘nice’ restaurants every other night for the past two weeks; each time, Oliver had intended to propose, and each time, he’d fallen short and lost his courage. At this point, a quiet night at home with a book, listening to the sound of Percy’s quill scratching away as he took care of some extra work, was almost preferable to going out again.

Oliver’s gaze flickered up from the book he’d bee reading to watch Percy, then. He looked incredibly focused, almost bent in half as he leaned over his parchment and wrote, red hair falling into his eyes. He looked beautiful. When he was passionate about something like he was his work, he always did.

"Percy," Oliver called over without thinking. His hand slid out of his pocket, holding the ring box. Percy looked up, responding to his voice, and Oliver heard himself as if from very far away as he snapped the box open. "Do you want to marry me?"

Percy’s eyes went wide, and he flushed almost as red as his hair, before stuttering out,

"W-well- I mean- yes, Oliver. Yes, I suppose I do."

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