Charlie/Tonks: set in OOtP, for nymphadorablack

“C’mon, Dora,”
Tonks turned around, glaring. “I told you not to call me that, Charles.” Charlie winced.
“You sound like my mother.” Tonks shrugged, and they fell into step. “So, you don’t want to tell me why you’re pissed?” Images of a brunette girl with full lips, a loud laugh, and a slim waist encased in his hands. 
She shook her head, and Charlie sighed. They continued to walk in silence back to the school until Charlie stopped where they usually did, hopping up onto the wall surrounding the greenhouses and patting the stone next to him. Tonks rolled her eyes, but hoisted herself up, flopping onto her stomach before Charlie grabbed hold of her and pulled.
Tonks froze with his hands on her ribs, close enough that she could see the brown flecks in his blue eyes. She pulled away first, glad that she could hide the blush.
Charlie tugged on a strand of her hair. “Your hair’s gone red,” he stated quietly.
“Blonde wasn’t doing it for me,” Tonks deflected. “And shouldn’t we be patrolling instead of fucking around out here?”
Charlie exhaled slowly, breath warming the side of her face, but she refused to turn and look at him. “Sure, yeah, although I’m sure Snape and Flitwick have it covered.”

Tonks nodded, but she slid down from the wall all the same, hair lengthening until it swayed halfway down her back in a dark purple, and Charlie watched her walk towards the castle before he, too, jumped down, jogging after her.

Charlie/Tonks: set in OOtP, for nymphadorablack

“C’mon, Dora,”

Tonks turned around, glaring. “I told you not to call me that, Charles.” Charlie winced.

“You sound like my mother.” Tonks shrugged, and they fell into step. “So, you don’t want to tell me why you’re pissed?” Images of a brunette girl with full lips, a loud laugh, and a slim waist encased in his hands.

She shook her head, and Charlie sighed. They continued to walk in silence back to the school until Charlie stopped where they usually did, hopping up onto the wall surrounding the greenhouses and patting the stone next to him. Tonks rolled her eyes, but hoisted herself up, flopping onto her stomach before Charlie grabbed hold of her and pulled.

Tonks froze with his hands on her ribs, close enough that she could see the brown flecks in his blue eyes. She pulled away first, glad that she could hide the blush.

Charlie tugged on a strand of her hair. “Your hair’s gone red,” he stated quietly.

“Blonde wasn’t doing it for me,” Tonks deflected. “And shouldn’t we be patrolling instead of fucking around out here?”

Charlie exhaled slowly, breath warming the side of her face, but she refused to turn and look at him. “Sure, yeah, although I’m sure Snape and Flitwick have it covered.”

Tonks nodded, but she slid down from the wall all the same, hair lengthening until it swayed halfway down her back in a dark purple, and Charlie watched her walk towards the castle before he, too, jumped down, jogging after her.


Scorose: Proposal, for forgetmenotbutterfly.

Scorpius was not brave; he was confident, secure in himself, but he was not brave. He was fine with that- he was a Slytherin like the rest of his family, not a Gryffindor, and that was okay with him. He’d thought that his self-assurance alone would be enough to go through with his plan for the day, but so far, it looked like bravery was something he genuinely did need. The ring box was burning a hole in his pocket, and he kept reaching inside to flip it around and toy with it, but never actually took it out.
The sun was going down overhead now, streaking the sky with pastel oranges and pinks. Scorpius glanced over at Rose as they walked down the hill they had picnicked on after spending a day paddling in the stream- her idea of a perfect date (Scorpius’ involved more relaxation and fine dining). Time was running out. He was determined to propose to her on this day, the two year anniversary of when she had asked him out.
Eventually, Scorpius saw no other option. Romance be damned, he thrust out a hand to stop Rose in her tracks and then spun around to drop to one knee in front of her. Already, her eyes were beginning to widen in surprise as he took out the ring box and flipped it open.
The ring was an emerald rather than a diamond, glittering where it was set into the silver band. In was an heirloom, passed down through his family and slipped discreetly into his hand with a wink from his mother when he’d overhead him discussing proposing to Rose.
"Marry me." He said, and his voice came off as almost pleading rather than the cool confidence he usually exuded. But he was desperate- he adored Rose. He needed her in his life.
"How romantic." She said dryly, despite the fact she was smiling ear to ear.
"I was going to do it earlier." Scorpius insisted, and she simply laughed, beckoning him into a hug. She took the ring from him herself, sliding it onto her finger.
"Of course I will."

Scorose: Proposal, for forgetmenotbutterfly.

Scorpius was not brave; he was confident, secure in himself, but he was not brave. He was fine with that- he was a Slytherin like the rest of his family, not a Gryffindor, and that was okay with him. He’d thought that his self-assurance alone would be enough to go through with his plan for the day, but so far, it looked like bravery was something he genuinely did need. The ring box was burning a hole in his pocket, and he kept reaching inside to flip it around and toy with it, but never actually took it out.

The sun was going down overhead now, streaking the sky with pastel oranges and pinks. Scorpius glanced over at Rose as they walked down the hill they had picnicked on after spending a day paddling in the stream- her idea of a perfect date (Scorpius’ involved more relaxation and fine dining). Time was running out. He was determined to propose to her on this day, the two year anniversary of when she had asked him out.

Eventually, Scorpius saw no other option. Romance be damned, he thrust out a hand to stop Rose in her tracks and then spun around to drop to one knee in front of her. Already, her eyes were beginning to widen in surprise as he took out the ring box and flipped it open.

The ring was an emerald rather than a diamond, glittering where it was set into the silver band. In was an heirloom, passed down through his family and slipped discreetly into his hand with a wink from his mother when he’d overhead him discussing proposing to Rose.

"Marry me." He said, and his voice came off as almost pleading rather than the cool confidence he usually exuded. But he was desperate- he adored Rose. He needed her in his life.

"How romantic." She said dryly, despite the fact she was smiling ear to ear.

"I was going to do it earlier." Scorpius insisted, and she simply laughed, beckoning him into a hug. She took the ring from him herself, sliding it onto her finger.

"Of course I will."


Perciver: Percy catches Oliver with Marcus Flint, for anagnorisismagenta.

Percy leaned- more like collapsed, really- heavily against the wall, his eyes wide and his hand over his mouth. It only took a few moments for Oliver to stagger out of the Prefects bathroom, hastily doing his belt back up. His hoodie was still pushed up, and his hands moved to tug it down next.
"I know," He said, his voice rushed and breathless. "I know, we shouldn’t have done that there, I’m sorry, please don’t…"
If he said anything more than that, Percy didn’t really hear it. Walking in on his crush seemingly about to have sex with Marcus Flint had been the last thing he’d expected to happen when Oliver was made Quidditch captain and got access to the same bathrooms Percy did.
It made a sick sort of sense, he supposed. All the tension that must have been created by not only being on rival Quidditch teams, but rival captains in rival houses had to come out somehow, and really, what better way than this? 
A half-hysterical laugh bubbled past the hand clamped over Percy’s mouth, and Oliver stopped in his pleading speech to give him a worried look.
"I just," He began, and his voice came out far higher and squeakier than he really would have preferred. "I really can’t believe that you’re dating him." It was a rather abrupt, harsh way to end all his private little fantasies of gathering his courage and asking Oliver out, going on secret little dates to Hogsmeade and cuddling in the corners of the library, good luck kisses before games.
"We’re not." Oliver insisted, perhaps a little too quickly. "We just- fuck, sometimes, I suppose."
Percy flushed. He liked the sound of vulgar words on Oliver’s lips, even if it went against all his good-little-boy, Prefect instincts. Most things about his attraction to Oliver did.
At least, he reasoned, he knew Oliver did like boys now. And he really wasn’t dating Marcus.

"I won’t report you." He promised, and smiled behind his hand as Oliver breathed a sigh of relief.

Perciver: Percy catches Oliver with Marcus Flint, for anagnorisismagenta.

Percy leaned- more like collapsed, really- heavily against the wall, his eyes wide and his hand over his mouth. It only took a few moments for Oliver to stagger out of the Prefects bathroom, hastily doing his belt back up. His hoodie was still pushed up, and his hands moved to tug it down next.

"I know," He said, his voice rushed and breathless. "I know, we shouldn’t have done that there, I’m sorry, please don’t…"

If he said anything more than that, Percy didn’t really hear it. Walking in on his crush seemingly about to have sex with Marcus Flint had been the last thing he’d expected to happen when Oliver was made Quidditch captain and got access to the same bathrooms Percy did.

It made a sick sort of sense, he supposed. All the tension that must have been created by not only being on rival Quidditch teams, but rival captains in rival houses had to come out somehow, and really, what better way than this?

A half-hysterical laugh bubbled past the hand clamped over Percy’s mouth, and Oliver stopped in his pleading speech to give him a worried look.

"I just," He began, and his voice came out far higher and squeakier than he really would have preferred. "I really can’t believe that you’re dating him." It was a rather abrupt, harsh way to end all his private little fantasies of gathering his courage and asking Oliver out, going on secret little dates to Hogsmeade and cuddling in the corners of the library, good luck kisses before games.

"We’re not." Oliver insisted, perhaps a little too quickly. "We just- fuck, sometimes, I suppose."

Percy flushed. He liked the sound of vulgar words on Oliver’s lips, even if it went against all his good-little-boy, Prefect instincts. Most things about his attraction to Oliver did.

At least, he reasoned, he knew Oliver did like boys now. And he really wasn’t dating Marcus.

"I won’t report you." He promised, and smiled behind his hand as Oliver breathed a sigh of relief.


Hinny: post-war. Ginny and Harry have been broken up for three years later. She gets drunk and confesses she still loves him. For anon

He hadn’t expected to be over at Ron’s so late, really—it just sort of happened, as it usually does. He’s in the armchair, and Ron is on one end of the couch. Hermione sits on the other side, reading with her legs stretched out so her feet rest in Ron’s lap. 
It’s very easy for the three of them to lose track of time when they’re in this situation. So when Harry looks to the clock and sees it’s past midnight, he blinks in surprise. “I didn’t realize it was so late—” he starts.
Ron waves a hand. “As if we haven’t had our share of late nights.”
Harry smiles; he can hardly argue with that. He stands. “Regardless, I’m dead tired, so I think—”
They’re interrupted by the sound of the front door flying open. Ron and Hermione exchange glances.
"Who—" Hermione asks.
She’s cut off by a voice so slurred it’s a wonder the individual behind it is even standing upright. 
"—bloody Potter, fucking Potter—”
Ron’s eyes widen. Hermione raises a hand to her face. “Oh, no,” she breathes. 
Harry furrows his brow, knowing he knows that voice but unable to fully place—
And then Ginny walks into the room, leaning against the wall in what could be called an attempt to stay upright.
[[MORE]]
"Gin," Hermione says, going immediately to her. "How much have you had to drink?" 
"Merlin, are you my mum? I just wanted to go out, all right?"
"Ginny," Ron hisses. "You know Harry’s here, right?"
Ginny’s head snaps up, eyes landing on Harry. “Fuck,” she mutters. “He’s not s’posed to be—”
At that point, Hermione ushers Ginny from the room.
"I’ll head out," Harry mutters, looking away from Ginny’s eyes. Three years later, and it still hurts.
Ron makes no move to stop him. “Sorry about this, mate,” he says quietly. “I know things are still…”
Harry shrugs. “It’s fine. See you later, Ron.”
Now, though, he has to walk through the kitchen to get to the front door. Ginny is at the breakfast nook, barely staying upright. Hermione moves in the kitchen; Harry assumes she’s making tea. 
He’s about to slip out unnoticed, but even drunk Ginny’s eyes are too sharp. “Harry,” she says, and it’s the clearest she’s sounded all night. “M’sorry.”
He lingers in the doorway. “Sorry for what, Gin?”
"You know what, you dolt," she mutters. "For being a sot and leaving you for the Harpies."
He looks over his shoulder, wondering if she realizes what she’s just said. “Are you telling me you regret it?”
Cloudy as her eyes are, he can’t tell if there are tears gathering at the corners of her eyes or not. “How could I not? I still love you. I never stopped.”
Something squeezes around Harry’s heart, as if something is tugging it down in an attempt to keep it from leaping too high—it can’t afford to fall, not again. 
It’d break for good.
He doesn’t tell her that he feels the same—not yet. It has to wait, until he knows for sure, until he knows she’s sure, because right now anything she says can be pulled back.
So he doesn’t say anything, just turns and keeps walking towards the door. 
Tomorrow, he promises himself, he’ll come back in the morning and they’ll have a real conversation. He just hopes it’s the one he’s been waiting on for the better part of three years.

Hinny: post-war. Ginny and Harry have been broken up for three years later. She gets drunk and confesses she still loves him. For anon

He hadn’t expected to be over at Ron’s so late, really—it just sort of happened, as it usually does. He’s in the armchair, and Ron is on one end of the couch. Hermione sits on the other side, reading with her legs stretched out so her feet rest in Ron’s lap. 

It’s very easy for the three of them to lose track of time when they’re in this situation. So when Harry looks to the clock and sees it’s past midnight, he blinks in surprise. “I didn’t realize it was so late—” he starts.

Ron waves a hand. “As if we haven’t had our share of late nights.”

Harry smiles; he can hardly argue with that. He stands. “Regardless, I’m dead tired, so I think—”

They’re interrupted by the sound of the front door flying open. Ron and Hermione exchange glances.

"Who—" Hermione asks.

She’s cut off by a voice so slurred it’s a wonder the individual behind it is even standing upright. 

"—bloody Potter, fucking Potter—”

Ron’s eyes widen. Hermione raises a hand to her face. “Oh, no,” she breathes. 

Harry furrows his brow, knowing he knows that voice but unable to fully place—

And then Ginny walks into the room, leaning against the wall in what could be called an attempt to stay upright.

Read More


Hinny: Harry’s clumsy proposal at the Burrow, for anon.

He’d been hanging onto this ring for the better part of two months now—trying to find the proper moment. At first he’d thought to propose after the Harpies won, but unfortunately since their Seeker succumbed to injury the team had been struggling to keep up with the rest of the league.
So that nixed that.
The next thing he thought of was taking her to Hogsmeade, a throwback to the Hogwarts’ days; Ginny beat him to it, though, calling an impromptu girls’ day with Hermione at the Three Broomsticks.
He was thoroughly stumped; he couldn’t leave it to dinner and a walk through the park. This proposal had to mean something, after all they’d been through. He owed her that much and more. 
They’re at the Burrow one afternoon, Harry at the table with his legs stretched out under the table so his feet rest in Ginny’s lap, who’s sitting across from him. Hermione and Ron sit to his right, and Charlie to Ginny’s left. They’re talking about his recent travels in the Netherlands, and Harry finds himself hopelessly distracted by the way the afternoon light hits Ginny’s hair.
So distracted, he doesn’t realize Ron is calling his name until he elbows him in the ribs.
“Ow!” Harry exclaims, jumping.
"You weren’t answering!" Ron says, nonplussed. "My mum was asking you about dinner next week."
Harry looks up to see Molly standing in the doorway, waiting expectantly. He tries not to go too red. “What about dinner?”
Molly smiles fondly, if tiredly. “I was just asking if you and Ginny would be joining us for dinner on Saturday night? Charlie will still be here, after all. And George is bringing Angelina. And Bill and Fleur will be just getting back from France, so I thought it would be nice to get the whole family together.”
Harry blinks. He looks across at Ginny, who shrugs and smiles. “Doesn’t make a difference to me.”
The whole family, Harry thinks to himself. Suddenly, he grins—that’s it. “Of course we’ll be here—wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
[[MORE]]
One week later, sitting next to Ginny with the ring box in his pocket, his brilliant idea seems noticeably less brilliant. Asking her in front of her entire family—what was he thinking?! He was going to end up tripping over his words, or saying something stupid, and George would try to poke fun, and Molly would chastise George and—
This was a bad idea.
But the imprint of the box on his leg, somehow, is enough to push him forward. While everyone is winding down, the forks and knives going still and conversation dropping in volume, he knows it’s time. He pushes his chair back suddenly and stands, keeping Ginny’s hand in his. 
"Harry?" she asks, looking up at him. "Everything all right?"
He looks at her brown eyes for a long, long moment, finding his resolve there. “Ginevra Molly Weasley,” he begins, his other hand in his pocket, curling and uncurling around the box as he speaks. “I wasn’t sure at first how to do this, because I feel as though there’s only a few right ways to go about it.”
"Harry—"
"But then I realized that—" he casts his eyes around the table, to where her entire family is watching with wide eyes. Some of them are starting to catch on. "I realized that there’s no better place to do this then in front of the people who you love most."
"Harry, you’re not—"
"I am," he says. He moves to get down on one knee—
And completely fails to realize he did not account for space between chairs—his own goes tumbling back with a clatter. He winces; Ginny hides a snort behind her hand. George mutters a “well done, mate,” to which there’s scattered chuckles. 
Harry looks up at Ginny sheepishly, but he’s made it too far to back out now. He pulls the box out and snaps it open. “Will you marry me, Ginny?”
She sighs. “I suppose I could overlook the grudge you have for  my family’s furniture.” But then she smiles. “Yes, you dolt, I’ll marry you.” She grabs him by the collar and yanks him into a kiss. The amount of force behind it, combined with his inability to gain his balance, almost sends them careening backwards, but somehow they stay upright.
They always do.

Hinny: Harry’s clumsy proposal at the Burrow, for anon.

He’d been hanging onto this ring for the better part of two months now—trying to find the proper moment. At first he’d thought to propose after the Harpies won, but unfortunately since their Seeker succumbed to injury the team had been struggling to keep up with the rest of the league.

So that nixed that.

The next thing he thought of was taking her to Hogsmeade, a throwback to the Hogwarts’ days; Ginny beat him to it, though, calling an impromptu girls’ day with Hermione at the Three Broomsticks.

He was thoroughly stumped; he couldn’t leave it to dinner and a walk through the park. This proposal had to mean something, after all they’d been through. He owed her that much and more. 

They’re at the Burrow one afternoon, Harry at the table with his legs stretched out under the table so his feet rest in Ginny’s lap, who’s sitting across from him. Hermione and Ron sit to his right, and Charlie to Ginny’s left. They’re talking about his recent travels in the Netherlands, and Harry finds himself hopelessly distracted by the way the afternoon light hits Ginny’s hair.

So distracted, he doesn’t realize Ron is calling his name until he elbows him in the ribs.

Ow!” Harry exclaims, jumping.

"You weren’t answering!" Ron says, nonplussed. "My mum was asking you about dinner next week."

Harry looks up to see Molly standing in the doorway, waiting expectantly. He tries not to go too red. “What about dinner?”

Molly smiles fondly, if tiredly. “I was just asking if you and Ginny would be joining us for dinner on Saturday night? Charlie will still be here, after all. And George is bringing Angelina. And Bill and Fleur will be just getting back from France, so I thought it would be nice to get the whole family together.”

Harry blinks. He looks across at Ginny, who shrugs and smiles. “Doesn’t make a difference to me.”

The whole family, Harry thinks to himself. Suddenly, he grins—that’s it. “Of course we’ll be here—wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Read More


James/Remus: for anon.

James still isn’t sure he could ever put his finger on how exactly they ended up here. There was a pretty clear trail at first, but then there’s a point where it drops off, where it fades away into nothing. And then it reappears a distance away, and that brings them right to where they are now.
The beginning had just been the two of them lying in Remus’ bed, the night following that of the full moon. James noticed Moony was prone to nightmares around this time—understandable. James had roused Remus from one such nightmare a few months ago, dodging Remus’ wildly-thrown fist, his own hand closing around Remus’ wrist. It had taken another moment for Remus to see who was hovering over him. After that, wordlessly, James had crawled in beside his rigid friend and thrown an arm around his shoulders.
"Go back to sleep, Moony, I’ll be right here."
Remus looked at him, brows furrowed, and opened his mouth to protest, but James would hear none of it.
"Just trust me for once and go with it, all right?"
To James’ surprise, he does—he closes his eyes, and his breathing evens out to something resembling regularity. He hadn’t expected it to be quite that easy; without intending to, James falls asleep shortly after.
And so the routine began. Sometimes the nightmares would stretch through two, three nights after the full moon. Every time, James would roll out of his bed and cross the room to wake Remus. And every time, Remus slid over to make room for James, and he falls asleep—peacefully—within minutes afterward.
Neither of them say anything about how much closer they get with each month—how their feet start to link together at the ankles, the way Remus turns so his back is to James’ chest, and James’ breath ghosting across the nape of Remus’ neck.
And they certainly don’t mention the way James meshes their fingers together.

James/Remus: for anon.

James still isn’t sure he could ever put his finger on how exactly they ended up here. There was a pretty clear trail at first, but then there’s a point where it drops off, where it fades away into nothing. And then it reappears a distance away, and that brings them right to where they are now.

The beginning had just been the two of them lying in Remus’ bed, the night following that of the full moon. James noticed Moony was prone to nightmares around this time—understandable. James had roused Remus from one such nightmare a few months ago, dodging Remus’ wildly-thrown fist, his own hand closing around Remus’ wrist. It had taken another moment for Remus to see who was hovering over him. After that, wordlessly, James had crawled in beside his rigid friend and thrown an arm around his shoulders.

"Go back to sleep, Moony, I’ll be right here."

Remus looked at him, brows furrowed, and opened his mouth to protest, but James would hear none of it.

"Just trust me for once and go with it, all right?"

To James’ surprise, he does—he closes his eyes, and his breathing evens out to something resembling regularity. He hadn’t expected it to be quite that easy; without intending to, James falls asleep shortly after.

And so the routine began. Sometimes the nightmares would stretch through two, three nights after the full moon. Every time, James would roll out of his bed and cross the room to wake Remus. And every time, Remus slid over to make room for James, and he falls asleep—peacefully—within minutes afterward.

Neither of them say anything about how much closer they get with each month—how their feet start to link together at the ankles, the way Remus turns so his back is to James’ chest, and James’ breath ghosting across the nape of Remus’ neck.

And they certainly don’t mention the way James meshes their fingers together.


James II/Alice II: First kiss, for anon.

She’s in the middle of reading when someone yanks her practically into his lap. Startled, but neither unsurprised nor upset, she says: “You could have just asked.” She shifts so that she leans into James’ chest, and he wraps his arms around her middle as she does. The touch sends a thrill up her spine—a thrill she ignores.
"Mm, that’s not quite as fun," James says, his breath rolling over her ear. She bites her lip, refusing to move her eyes from her book. The moment she does, she’s lost entirely, and she isn’t going to give James Sirius Potter the satisfaction of knowing he can so easily distract her. No, she’s going to maintain some sense of nonchalance—
Except then his fingers start ghosting over the patch of skin exposed between her shirt and her trousers. Now she really can’t ignore him. “You could at least take me out first,” she whispers. She turns the page of her book to keep appearances. 
This wouldn’t be the first time James has touched her in a way indicating his desires—his touches had changed from platonic to demonstrating clear interest. What had been a single hand clap on the shoulder is now a full arm around both her shoulders, the hair mussing turned into tucking stray hair behind her ear.
And yet, no offer to take her out on the next Hogsmeade weekend. 
She continues her former line of conversation, moving away from him so she can turn and meet his eyes, which are focused. “I know your dad can’t have forgotten to explain to you how to woo—”
And then James’ lips close over hers. She’s surprised, of course, but it’s only a moment before she’s pushing back, pressing James back into the arm of the sofa. Finally, needing to breathe, she pulls away. “Well, that’s one way to get my attention.”
James smirks. “So—next weekend. Hogsmeade. Meet me down here at 2:00?”
She pauses, eyes narrowed. She should probably say no, cite that she doesn’t want to be around someone that’ll kiss her without warning.
But, well, she’s never considered herself a liar, so she shrugs and says: “I suppose I can find time.”
He rolls his eyes. “See you, Longbottom.”

It’s not until he’s up the stairs that she lets herself smile. She reaches her hand up to brush over her lips. Their first kiss—hopefully one of many.

James II/Alice II: First kiss, for anon.

She’s in the middle of reading when someone yanks her practically into his lap. Startled, but neither unsurprised nor upset, she says: “You could have just asked.” She shifts so that she leans into James’ chest, and he wraps his arms around her middle as she does. The touch sends a thrill up her spine—a thrill she ignores.

"Mm, that’s not quite as fun," James says, his breath rolling over her ear. She bites her lip, refusing to move her eyes from her book. The moment she does, she’s lost entirely, and she isn’t going to give James Sirius Potter the satisfaction of knowing he can so easily distract her. No, she’s going to maintain some sense of nonchalance—

Except then his fingers start ghosting over the patch of skin exposed between her shirt and her trousers. Now she really can’t ignore him. “You could at least take me out first,” she whispers. She turns the page of her book to keep appearances. 

This wouldn’t be the first time James has touched her in a way indicating his desires—his touches had changed from platonic to demonstrating clear interest. What had been a single hand clap on the shoulder is now a full arm around both her shoulders, the hair mussing turned into tucking stray hair behind her ear.

And yet, no offer to take her out on the next Hogsmeade weekend. 

She continues her former line of conversation, moving away from him so she can turn and meet his eyes, which are focused. “I know your dad can’t have forgotten to explain to you how to woo—”

And then James’ lips close over hers. She’s surprised, of course, but it’s only a moment before she’s pushing back, pressing James back into the arm of the sofa. Finally, needing to breathe, she pulls away. “Well, that’s one way to get my attention.”

James smirks. “So—next weekend. Hogsmeade. Meet me down here at 2:00?”

She pauses, eyes narrowed. She should probably say no, cite that she doesn’t want to be around someone that’ll kiss her without warning.

But, well, she’s never considered herself a liar, so she shrugs and says: “I suppose I can find time.”

He rolls his eyes. “See you, Longbottom.”

It’s not until he’s up the stairs that she lets herself smile. She reaches her hand up to brush over her lips. Their first kiss—hopefully one of many.


Dorcas/Sirius: a pairing I don’t write often, for anon.

They spend a lot of time speculating. It’s probably not healthy, to torture themselves with these what-if scenarios, of lives where they didn’t join the Order, where they never left their purebood mania-crazed families. The ideas linger with them, like shadows following their every step (turns out they never could get away—not really), sometimes even into their sleep. But, then, they serve as reminders, as warnings; sometimes they need that. And there’s no one else they can turn to, so they rely on each other.
So it’s on nights like tonight, where neither of them have an assignment, and they’re free to just apparate to whatever deserted field Dorcas picked this time, away from London and away from the Order and Death Eaters and whatever else. No pretenses, just the two of them.
They lie in silence for several long minutes, staring up at the stars. “Sirius?”
Her voice is tentative. Normally she’d balk at being so open, letting her thoughts come through in her voice but here—here, they’re safe.
"Yeah?" he asks.
She turns to meet his eyes, which are dark with concern that makes her shift in discomfort. It’s not often he lets his own defenses down, which makes it all the more powerful when he does.
"Do you ever wonder…"
No. She can’t bring herself to say it aloud. She trails off, shaking her head.
"Dorcas?"
She wishes she hadn’t opened her mouth. But then she takes a deep breath, and her resolve returns (funny, how charging into curses and death and chaos seems so easy and this so difficult).
"Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we were sorted into Slytherin?"
His hand suddenly wraps around hers. She looks down in mild surprise to where their fingers intertwine.
"Yes." 
Her gaze returns to his face. His eyes are cast up to the sky, as though the clouds hold some sort of answer, something to tell him that will help him make sense of their situation. He sighs and meets her eyes.
"Almost every day, it seems like."
He rolls around so he’s on his side, facing her. His free hand brushes her hair from her face; she stays very still. When he tugs her closer, she wordlessly curls into his side.

They don’t speak again, after that, letting the sky fill the empty space their words left.

Dorcas/Sirius: a pairing I don’t write often, for anon.

They spend a lot of time speculating. It’s probably not healthy, to torture themselves with these what-if scenarios, of lives where they didn’t join the Order, where they never left their purebood mania-crazed families. The ideas linger with them, like shadows following their every step (turns out they never could get away—not really), sometimes even into their sleep. But, then, they serve as reminders, as warnings; sometimes they need that. And there’s no one else they can turn to, so they rely on each other.

So it’s on nights like tonight, where neither of them have an assignment, and they’re free to just apparate to whatever deserted field Dorcas picked this time, away from London and away from the Order and Death Eaters and whatever else. No pretenses, just the two of them.

They lie in silence for several long minutes, staring up at the stars. “Sirius?”

Her voice is tentative. Normally she’d balk at being so open, letting her thoughts come through in her voice but here—here, they’re safe.

"Yeah?" he asks.

She turns to meet his eyes, which are dark with concern that makes her shift in discomfort. It’s not often he lets his own defenses down, which makes it all the more powerful when he does.

"Do you ever wonder…"

No. She can’t bring herself to say it aloud. She trails off, shaking her head.

"Dorcas?"

She wishes she hadn’t opened her mouth. But then she takes a deep breath, and her resolve returns (funny, how charging into curses and death and chaos seems so easy and this so difficult).

"Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we were sorted into Slytherin?"

His hand suddenly wraps around hers. She looks down in mild surprise to where their fingers intertwine.

"Yes." 

Her gaze returns to his face. His eyes are cast up to the sky, as though the clouds hold some sort of answer, something to tell him that will help him make sense of their situation. He sighs and meets her eyes.

"Almost every day, it seems like."

He rolls around so he’s on his side, facing her. His free hand brushes her hair from her face; she stays very still. When he tugs her closer, she wordlessly curls into his side.

They don’t speak again, after that, letting the sky fill the empty space their words left.


Fremione: Fred finds Hermione after Ron has made her upset at the Yule Ball, for quspeaks

Ron’s words rang in her head as she fled the Great Hall, wondering how he could be so jealous when he didn’t care enough to consider her until the last minute.
She collapsed onto a bench, hidden from view from the castle, fervently glad that she’d decided against make up.
“You alright there, Granger?” She looked up to see Fred standing in front of her, hands in his pockets and a concerned frown on his face. 
Hermione blinked away the tears in her eyes, smiling shakily. “Yeah, fine, just…” she trailed off, not wanting to talk to Fred about his brother.
“Ron can be very dense, a lot of the time. It’s cause I got all the smart genes.” Fred sat next to her, offering her a compact mirror. Hermione eyed him suspiciously before taking it, startled when a voice chirruped ‘you look gorgeous, dear’. 
Hermione shut it with a click, turning it over in her palm. “Where’d you get this?” she asked.
“Uh, me and George actually invented them. They start getting nasty after a week or so, though, so you might want to leave it after then.” He rubbed the back of his neck, grinning. “Look, do you want to go back in, come and dance with me for a bit. Ron’ll cool off, but you shouldn’t have to leave.”
Hermione shook her head. “You don’t have to hang out with your younger brother’s friends, Fred. Besides, isn’t Angelina wondering where you’ve gone?”

“You’re not just my brother’s friend, Hermione. And we’ll hang out in a group, Angelina won’t miss me.” He stood, offering her his hand, and Hermione gave in, the callouses on his fingers surprisingly reassuring against the softness of her palm. 

Fremione: Fred finds Hermione after Ron has made her upset at the Yule Ball, for quspeaks

Ron’s words rang in her head as she fled the Great Hall, wondering how he could be so jealous when he didn’t care enough to consider her until the last minute.

She collapsed onto a bench, hidden from view from the castle, fervently glad that she’d decided against make up.

“You alright there, Granger?” She looked up to see Fred standing in front of her, hands in his pockets and a concerned frown on his face.

Hermione blinked away the tears in her eyes, smiling shakily. “Yeah, fine, just…” she trailed off, not wanting to talk to Fred about his brother.

“Ron can be very dense, a lot of the time. It’s cause I got all the smart genes.” Fred sat next to her, offering her a compact mirror. Hermione eyed him suspiciously before taking it, startled when a voice chirruped ‘you look gorgeous, dear’.

Hermione shut it with a click, turning it over in her palm. “Where’d you get this?” she asked.

“Uh, me and George actually invented them. They start getting nasty after a week or so, though, so you might want to leave it after then.” He rubbed the back of his neck, grinning. “Look, do you want to go back in, come and dance with me for a bit. Ron’ll cool off, but you shouldn’t have to leave.”

Hermione shook her head. “You don’t have to hang out with your younger brother’s friends, Fred. Besides, isn’t Angelina wondering where you’ve gone?”

“You’re not just my brother’s friend, Hermione. And we’ll hang out in a group, Angelina won’t miss me.” He stood, offering her his hand, and Hermione gave in, the callouses on his fingers surprisingly reassuring against the softness of her palm. 


Tonks/Ginny: Smut, for anon.

Everything about Tonks was surprisingly soft, from her silky lips where they were pressed against Ginny to the violet hair her fingers were tangled in. Somehow she had expected her to be all angles and bones, with the way she usually looked when Ginny was caught staring out of the corner of her eye, but that wasn’t what happened. Her skin was smooth and soft except where it was scarred from being an Auror, and even with the tight muscles in her stomach Ginny felt like she could have hugged her forever.
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Their lips were pressed together hungrily, panting and biting as they clutched and grabbed at each other. Ginny’s fingers were still wound tightly in Tonks’ hair, unwilling to move, but Tonks had so such issue. Her hand had trailed down Ginny’s body, reveling in the feeling of her skin until her practiced fingers found her clit. That was where she rubbed and teased now, leaving Ginny bucking her hips insistently and moaning into Tonk’s mouth.
"You can touch me too, you know." She said in a murmur, pulling her head back to kiss and bite along the redhead’s jaw and neck. Ginny just nodded, seemingly in a daze, and Tonks hid her smirk by sucking a dark purple bruise onto the younger girl’s neck. She was, for once, content with not being touched herself for now. She was more than content just lying on top of Ginny, watching her face twist and lips part in pleasure she she writhed underneath her. She almost didn’t want to go back to kissing her, not when it meant she might have to look away and miss even a moment of this. Her eyes were closed, head thrown back to show off a pale throat already marked with bruises from Tonks’ teeth (a thrill of heat went through her stomach) and her hair in disarray on the pillow behind her.
Merlin, Tonks had wanted this. She didn’t know why she’d waited so long.

Tonks/Ginny: Smut, for anon.

Everything about Tonks was surprisingly soft, from her silky lips where they were pressed against Ginny to the violet hair her fingers were tangled in. Somehow she had expected her to be all angles and bones, with the way she usually looked when Ginny was caught staring out of the corner of her eye, but that wasn’t what happened. Her skin was smooth and soft except where it was scarred from being an Auror, and even with the tight muscles in her stomach Ginny felt like she could have hugged her forever.

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