defence against the dark arts professors

Sassy McGonagall

Like Harry, Minerva McGonagall seems to have hit her stride in Order of the Phoenix.


“Why didn’t you send us a letter by owl? I believe you have an owl?” Professor McGonagall said coldly to Harry. 

Harry gaped at her. Now she said it, that seemed the obvious thing to have done. 

“I – I didn’t think –” 

“That,” said Professor McGonagall, “is obvious.”


“Really, Severus,” said Professor McGonagall sharply. “I see no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch. This cat wasn’t hit over the head with a broomstick.”


“You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don’t let you off homework today. I assure you that if you do die, you need not hand it in.”


Professor McGonagall poked a large spoon into the nearest tureen. “Tripe, Sybil?”


“But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous.”

“That explains a great deal,” said Professor McGonagall tartly.


“Didn’t you listen to Dolores Umbridge’s speech at the start of term feast, Potter?”

“Yeah,” said Harry.

“Yeah… she said… progress will be prohibited or… well, it meant that… that the Ministry of Magic is trying to interfere at Hogwarts.”

“Well, I’m glad you listen to Hermione Granger at any rate,” she said, pointing him out of her office.


“I was just wondering, Professor, whether you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec–”

“Obviously I received it, or I would have asked you what you are going in my classroom,” said Professor McGonagall.


“I wonder,” said Professor McGonagall in cold fury, turning on Professor Umbridge, “how you expect to gain an idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? You see, I do not generally permit people to talk when I am talking.”


“Very well,” [Umbridge] said, “you will receive the results of your inspection in ten days’ time.”

“I can hardly wait,” said Professor McGonagall, in a coldly indifferent voice,


“I should have made my meaning plainer,” said Professor McGonagall, turning at last to look Umbridge directly in the eyes. “He has achieved high marks in all Defence Against the Dark Arts tests set by a competent teacher.”


“Well, usually when a person shakes their head,” said McGonagall coldly, “they mean “‘no’”. So unless Miss Edgecombe is using a form of sign-language as yet unknown to humans –”


“Dear, dear,” said Professor McGonagall sardonically, as one of the dragons soared around her classroom, emitting loud bangs and exhaling flame. “Miss Brown, would you mind running along to the Headmistress and informing her that we have an escape firework in our classroom?”


"Take Charms,” said Professor McGonagall, “and I shall drop Augusta a line reminding her that just because she failed her Charms O.W.L., the subject is not necessarily worthless.”


“Our headmaster is taking a short break,“ said Professor McGonagall, pointing at the Snape-shaped hole in the window.

I Must Not Tell Lies

Request from anonymous: Prompts “You hide it in jokes and sarcasm, but I can see how broken you are” and “Who did this to you?”

Thank you anon! I decided to base this around Umbridge’s year (Order of the Phoenix) and the reader was Cedric’s best friend and is dating Draco, and Umbridge says that Cedric’s death was just an accident and says bad things about him so they stand up for him and get punished.

**** NOTE!! The lesson is not based on the actual lesson, therefore it is not word for word!!! :)****

Originally posted by rupelover

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I’ll Help You (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

She’s not eating. Why isn’t she eating?

It’s breakfast in the Great Hall and Draco is sipping his usual cup of tea while he surveys the Gryffindor table. His eyes are locked on [Y/N] [L/N] as he half listens to Pansy nattering on about the latest fashion trends in France or whatnot. He arches an eyebrow when he finally sees you reaching for your spoon but frowns when you make no move to put any food in your mouth.

It’s been going on like this for a while now, you coming down to the feasts only to sit quietly by your friends as you stare off into space. It also frustrates him that he seems to be the only one who has noticed your odd behavior.

“Pansy.” He says suddenly, interrupting her rather animated rant on leather skirts. “Does she look thinner to you?”

Pansy scrunches up her nose in confusion. “Does who look thinner?” 

“Her.” Draco gestures in your direction with a piece of toast.

Pansy raises her finely plucked eyebrows at him skeptically but obliges him and regards you thoughtfully. “That’s [L/N], right? She does look a little bit on the light side.” She observed. She then swivels in her seat to look at Draco. “Why has that suddenly piqued your interest?” She asks slyly, a smirk slowly making itself home on her face.

“No reason.” Draco says quickly, making a show of devouring his last piece of toast. “You’d better eat up, class starts soon and I have no intention of waiting for you.”  He tells her, eager to change the subject. Thankfully, Pansy decided not to pursue it instead choosing to continue he earlier rant. When he was sure that her attention was fully diverted, his focus sidled back to you. He really didn’t like this weird clenching feeling in his chest and he resolved to keep a close watch on you for the rest of the day.

The day passed and everything was relatively normal. True to his word, Draco’s attention never strayed from you and by the time lunch finally arrived, he was just about ready to tear his hair out.

Why hasn’t anybody noticed her condition?

You moved around sluggishly as if in a daze. Tiredness was written all over your face but no one so much as voiced their concerns. 

“Eat for fucks sake. Eat.” He murmured under his breath. You frowned suddenly as if hearing his thoughts and for a split second, your eyes were locked onto his. The eye contact didn’t last, however, seeing as Draco quickly looked away praying to both things holy and unholy that no one had noticed how his skin had gone an unnatural shade of pink.

Dammit, I’m acting like a blushing maiden.

“Draco, you’re staring.” Pansy commented nonchalantly as she examined her reflection in the back of a spoon.

Draco glared at her halfheartedly. “Of course I’m not, shut up Pansy.”

Pansy merely stuck her tongue out at him in response, then her expression turned weirdly sympathetic. “If it makes you feel better, I have noticed that [L/N] has been acting a little oddly lately. She looked particularly unsteady on her way out of Potions, but then again, it could have been just the ghastly fumes omitting from that place.”

Draco perked up immediately. “Exactly, there’s definitely something going on with her! We just need to figure out w-” He stopped short at the look Pansy was now giving him. “What?”

Pansy just shook her head slowly while turning back to her reflection. “Has it occurred to you that you might be getting a little obsessive, darling?”

Draco spluttered indignantly.”I just think she’s acting a little off! That’s not obsessive, it’s healthy curiosity!” He retorted. “Besides, she’s a Gryffindor. Why would I be obsessive over a Gryffindor?”

Pansy stared off dreamily into space. “It’d be just like that muggle story.” She sighed. “Romeo and Juliet.”

“… Pansy.” He ground out through gritted teeth. “They both die you utter bint.”

“So? I happen to love tragic love stories.”

Draco groaned and didn’t even bother trying to look dignified when he let his head hit the table.


Draco’s worry was starting to wane as nothing out of the ordinary happened to you. Sure, he was still concerned but he figured maybe you had just caught a nasty sickness somewhere.

The incident occurred in the last class which happened to be Defence Against the Dark Arts (of course it was). Everything was going fine until the last half hour of the lesson, when the professor decided to test the students on the new spells they had been taught by organising a short dueling session.

To his chagrin, you got paired up with Theodore Nott, and Draco ended up with Looney Lovegood.

“No need to go easy on me, okay Draco? I can take care of myself.” Luna informed him in her usual dreamy like voice.

Draco caught his sneer in the last moment and instead gave the girl a strained nod before looking back at you. You were starting to look pale again, and are your hands shaking? These are not good signs.

“She doesn’t look good, does she?” Luna’s voice, laced with concern drifted into his ears. He turned to look at her in surprise.

“You noticed? Why haven’t you said anything to her? To her friends?” He snapped harshly.

Luna didn’t so much as flinch. “Why haven’t you said anything?”  She countered.

Draco stared at her in disbelief. “Are you crazy? They’d hex me on the spot if I so much as got within seven paces of them!”

Luna tilted her head slightly to the side as she regarded him. “You’re right. I forgot that they didn’t like you much.” She said finally.

“They hate me, Looney.”

“Hate is a strong word.”

“Yes, that is why I used it funnily enough.”

Saving himself from the conversation, Draco turned away from the Lovegood girl and strode over to stand next to Theodore so that he and Luna could duel side by side to you.

You eyed him curiously up and down but didn’t say anything choosing to send a wicked smirk to Theodore. “Have you ever dueled before, Nott? I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

Theodore looked taken aback at the jab, but took it in stride. “I would worry more about yourself, princess.” He teased, his tone bordering on flirtatious.

Draco was not okay with that.

Thankfully you seemed to take that as an insult because you expression cooled rapidly. “We’ll see.” You said quietly and without warning, you cast.

Locomotor Mortis.

The Leg-Locker Curse hit Theodore square on the shoulder and he went down less than gracefully. His arms were still free though and he threw his own spell at you.


You didn’t miss a beat. “Protego.” You pointed your wand at a desk. “Oppugno.” It began mercilessly hammering Theodore on the head.

Said person had completely forgotten his wand in favour of using his arms to shield himself from the attacking object, while his legs were still pathetically glued together.

It was very clear who won that round.

“Go [Y/N]!” Luna cheered, clapping enthusiastically.

You gave her a tired smile in return, and that’s when Draco noticed your sudden pallor.

“How did react so quickly? Teach me your techniques!” Lovegood buzzed excitedly, not noticing how you were now swaying slightly.

Draco did notice however and he tensed.

You ran a hand through your hair as you gave Luna a strained smile. “T-there’s not much to teach, really. You’ve just got to mov-”


Draco was by your side in a heartbeat. He tapped your cheek lightly but you didn’t stir. 

“Someone get the professor!” He yelled, ignoring the strange looks he was getting from his classmates.

“What’s happening, what have we got? Oh my.” The professor copied Draco’s position and kneeled down beside you. He took your wrist gently and paused for a moment listening to your pulse. Draco hadn’t realised he was stroking your hair but he didn’t stop, imagining that if you were awake, you would have found it comforting.

“Everyone, give Miss [L/N] some space please!” The professor declared. “We need to get her to the Hospital Wing.”

“I’ll do it.” Draco offered immediately. That finally got some reaction.

“Why you, Malfoy?” Weasley spat. “What gives you the right, huh?”

Draco glared at him hatefully. “Maybe because I actually noticed that she’s been feeling off. Unlike you, since you were too busy stuffing your fat face with whatever snacks you can get your filthy hands on!”

“You take that back, Ferret Face!” Weasley drew his wand, his face having gone a very unflattering shade of red that clashed horribly with his hair.

Draco drew his own wand in retaliation and was about ready to throw a hex at the twat but Potter stepped forward.

“Stop it! Stop it both of you! This isn’t going to help [Y/N] and Malfoy’s right, Ron. We weren’t exactly paying attention…” Potter stared shamefully at his feet leaving Draco slightly unnerved that The Boy Who Lived had actually stuck up for him.

“Enough, all of you.” The professor intervened. “I’ll be taking Miss [L/N] to the Hospital Wing. Class dismissed.”

“Professor, may I come with you?” Draco asked hastily, schooling his face into a hopeful expression causing Weasley to snort. Draco paid him no mind and continued to silently beg the professor. “Please sir, we don’t have any more classes anyway…” He pressed.

“All right.” The professor relented. “Come now, we’ve dawdled long enough.”

* * * * * * * * *

Draco never left your side. Not when you were lowered onto the bed. Not when Madame Pomfrey began casting spells on you. Not when she force fed you a potion (he had helped). Especially not when he had been told to leave.

The nurse had given in to his stubbornness and he had been allowed to stay for as long as he wished, on the pretense that he had no classes so that it wouldn’t be a problem.

His hands had somehow gravitated back to your hair and he was still stroking it when you awoke.

“Malfoy?” You inquired a little croakily.

“Y-yes?” He replied a little unsure of himself now that you were actually awake. 

You and him weren’t really friends and he figured it was weird for you to be seeing only him right after gaining consciousness.

You sat up slowly and he didn’t stop you, mostly because he was afraid of what your reaction would be if he did. You took in your surroundings with a slight frown marring your features before turning back to look at him.

“What the hell am I doing here?”

“You fainted.” He said firmly, not able to think of any other way to explain it.

“Ah.” You said, stumped.

“Ah.” Draco echoed.

You gave him a weird look. “Why are you here?”

Thrown off guard by your forwardness, Draco frantically searched the recesses of his brain for a good answer. “Madame Pomfrey made me keep watch.” He lied.

You raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t throw a fit? I’m impressed.” You mused. “I’m awake so you can go now.” You told him but he didn’t move.

“You fainted because you haven’t been sleeping and eating properly, according to Madame Pomfrey.” Draco said in a rush.

A flash of discomfort crossed your face. “Sooo?” 

Draco stared at you incredulously. “So, why?!” He questioned.

You folded your arms across your chest and avoided his gaze, fixing your eyes on a bedpost instead. “That is completely none of your business, Malfoy. Why on earth do you care?”

Draco stood his ground. “Why?” He repeated.

“Go away.”

“Tell me.”


“That’s my question.”

“Sod off, Malfoy.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”


“Tell. Me.”



“Oh for Godric’s sake. Fine!”

Draco smirked in triumph while you looked like you’d very much like to punch him. He waited patiently while you gathered your wits about you and let out a breath of frustration.

“It’s nothing drastic….” You began quietly.

Draco nodded slightly to indicate he was listening.

“You know my family, right? Well, they’ve always stuck to the oldest traditions and I recently got a letter from them saying that they had arranged a marriage for me and a boy from the Rincewood family.”

Something sharp twisted in Draco’s gut at that and his throat dried up. “They’re quite prestigious.” He managed.

“I declined.” You said flatly.

There was a pause.

“You… declined.” Draco repeated slowly.

You nodded. “They didn’t take it well and one thing led to another. So they may or may not have disowned me now.” You finished in one breath.

Draco sat back in shock. “They really disowned you?”

“Yup.” You confirmed. “The not eating and sleeping was unintentional on my part. It was just the stress building up.”

You sounded quite detached about it all, resigned even. Your eyes had a glossy sheen to them and it seemed to him that you were trying very hard not to cry.

For some reason, he got a really strong urge to comfort you and before he knew it, his hand had already moved to place itself tentatively on your arm and when you didn’t shake him off, he found your hand and gripped it reassuringly. A voice in the back of his head told him that this was very unlike him but he silenced it.

“They’ll come around eventually.” He said as supportively as he could.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes but your fingers curled around his a little tighter. “You obviously don’t know my parents, Malfoy.”

Draco took a chance and used his free hand to thread his fingers back into your hair again. He couldn’t quite hold back his smile when you relaxed into his touch almost immediately.

“You’re right, I don’t know your parents.” He agreed. “But parents are parents. They can be fuck ups- I mean look at my parents- but at the end of the day, they’ll always love you… in their own twisted way.”

You fell silent for a moment but when you spoke again you sounded hopeful. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” He said, shifting uncomfortably. This comforting business really wasn’t his fort but then the smile you gave him afterwards ruled out any other thought. Damn that was bright.

“Besides,” He continued. “If it doesn’t work out, you could always come stay at the Manor for a while. There’s an empty room next to mine you could- wait- wha- why are you laughing?”

You shrugged helplessly, letting go of his hand to cover your mouth with it. Draco tried very, very hard not to frown but figured he didn’t quite manage it.

“I didn’t really believe Parkinson when she told me you had a crush on me, but now you’re actually asking me to move in with you and I just- “ You dissolved into another fit.

Draco scowled, his face heating up rapidly. “Pansy is a fucking traitor.” He muttered darkly.

You sobered up after a bit and looked at him gratefully. “Thank you, I really appreciate it but this is kind of my problem. I should be the one dealing with it.”

Draco arched an eyebrow and stared pointedly at the hospital bed you were currently on. “And how is that working for you?”

A beat.

“Not good.” You admitted.

Draco sighed and left his chair to sit on the bed next you. “Look, “ He said. “It’s quite clear that it’s out of the bag that I might… fancy you a little bit and you had to find out from Pansy making it downright humiliating on my part. The least you could do is let me help you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You really are a Slytherin, aren’t you?”

“I wonder why the Sorting Hat decided to put me there?” 

“Cut the sarcasm, dollop head.”

“That’s not even a word.”

“Sure it is.”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine then. Describe dollop head.” [A/N: This is a Merlin reference because I like it and I want to.]

“In two words?”

“If you can.”

“Draco Malfoy.”

“…  Ah. Ha. Ha. Do we have a deal or not?”

Your eyes glinted in mischief. “Only if you can tell me where this phrase is from.”

Draco blinked in confusion. “What phrase?”

You cleared your throat dramatically then fixed him with a mock glare. “My father will hear about this!!”

“… “

“… “

“Do you want to die??”

* * *

its-animalcrazy-love  asked:

For the fanfic trope. A Hogwarts au please and thank you

Ok so before we start the fic, I gotta tell you guys a story. So hogwarts aus are always A PAIN because you usually have to sort the characters into houses, and people get really opinionated about it haha. Like most people will be chill, but then there will be that one guy who’s like “yeah so hunk is such a slytherin”, to which I’ll be like “meet me in the pit you limp dick!”
So anyway, I asked my boyfriend how he would sort the Voltron kids as I was pretty stumped. And he just goes: “Shiro, Lance and hunk are in gryffindor. Pidge is ravenclaw.”
“Hunk is gryffindor?”
“Yeah! I’d say hunk is pretty heroic.”
“And what about Keith?”
“…. I totally forgot he was a character.”
*cue me howling with laughter*
“Alright Keith is hufflepuff because I forgot about him and no one cares about hufflepuff”

So in honour of my dumbass boyfriend, have some gryffindor shiro, hunk and lance, with ravenclaw pidge and Allura, and hufflepuff keith.

Lance, hunk and Keith are fifth year’s at hogwarts and have settled well into their lives at hogwarts. Hunk and Lance became fast friends when they were assigned as roommates in their first year. Their relationship… well specifically lance’s relationship, with Keith had been much rockier. Lance had tried out for the quidditch team and failed, he had been pretty bereft until hunk had explained that first years never made the team. But Keith became the youngest seeker in hufflepuff history. From then on lance decided that Keith needed to be DESTROYED.

But their relationship has since mellowed. Lance became a chaser in his second year under Shiro’s recommendation, and has proved himself to be a valuable member of the team, scoring goals from impossible distances. Hunk is the worlds most savage beater. It’s not unusual to find him at the hospital wing with some fresh brownies for another poor quidditch player that has broken an arm to his hits.

Keith and lance’s rivalry becomes much more joking and teasing, with both of them always volunteering to duel against each other in defence against the dark arts. Professor Alfor has stopped pairing them together. Which is good cuz Keith usually wins. But it’s ok, because Lance is Coran’s favourite student, and he may have sicked a hippogriff on Keith in one of the care of magical creatures classes.

Keith starts sneaking into the gryffindor dorm at night, and Shiro turns a blind eye when he sees him sneaking out in the morning. Keith, hunk and lance stay up late, eating sweets, telling ghost stories, and since Keith is muggle born, he tells them all about their technology and traditions. Keith gets an iPod for Xmas and it BLOWS LANCES MIND. Keith let’s Lance listen to it when they share a bed. Hunk has hit puberty pretty well already, and is too broad now to share with either of them. There’s still the usual “augh! Get your cold feet off of me!”, “did you take a nap in the lake? You real of rotten seaweed”, “better than smelling like sweat and hair grease!” before they pop in the iPod earbuds and drift off to sleep. If hunk catches them frequently spooning he doesn’t say anything.

They have potions with haggar, and both Keith and lance groan. Lance is…. ok at potions, but haggar is such a bitter old crone. He’d much prefer to have someone like Thane as his teacher. Keith is fucking atrocious. He lacks the patience and finesse. Both of them owe all their passing grades to hunk. Hunk is a natural. He’s able to look at potion recipes and mutter “that’s awful advice” under his breath as he goes off book and makes something that impresses even haggar.

They’re making love potions this day. Specifically amortentia, which they’re told will smell like smell like something amazing when it’s finished, but it’s specific to each potion. Hunk finishes his first and reports it smells like fresh baked bread, hot sugar, and nutmeg. Lance is frowning at his cauldron.

“What’s up?” Hunk asks.
“I think I fucked it up. Mine swells like musk and sweat.” He wrinkles his nose. Hunk laughs and goes through all the steps with him, and Lance confirms that he’s done everything. Hunk shrugs.
“Maybe that’s what you’re into? Sweat and musk” he laughs.
“Sweat, musk and soap. Like that real basic kind Kei…” Lance face scrunches like he’s eaten a lemon. He no longer talks about what his potion smells like.

Keith has been perfectly silent on the other side of the table, as his cauldron wafts out the smell of salt, crashing waves, and green tea facial masks.



Sherlock Holmes, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts.
Irene Adler, the Lady of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Adler.

Adlock Colours: Ravenclaw (Blue & Bronze) and Slytherin (Green & Silver)
Don’t worry. I haven’t stopped writing “A Scandal in Hogwarts.” (AO3|FFN)

Professor [R.L.]

Character: Remus Lupin
Word Count: 1138
Requested?: Yes/No
Summary: Y/n has a crush on her Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who has to decide whether or not to act on his own feelings towards her…
Disclaimer: Gif isn’t mine, credit to whoever made it

+ + + + +

The N.E.W.T.s were just around the corner, and the pressure was at an all-time high to do the best you could. Each and every one of your teachers had piled on the homework, forcing you to have to stay up late and/or wake up early to complete it before class.

You were stressed, there was no doubt about it, but you couldn’t help it. Here, sat alone in the library after hours, you were studying Defence Against the Dark Arts for the exam in literally two days.

If the wrong person caught you here, there would be no doubt you’d get detention. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about that right now - all you needed was to get all the information from the textbook into your head by Friday.

In the silence of the room, you were sure you’d hear the door opening and closing, or the footsteps of anyone walking inside. However, you didn’t even realise someone was beside your table until they spoke out.

“Miss L/n, are you okay?”

Your head snapped up quickly, your heart jolting at the sudden shock. When your eyes landed on your DADA professor, your felt your heart beating faster, “Professor Lupin! I’m sorry, I-I know I’m not supposed to be here right now. I’m just studying for the exam on Friday.”

The young professor nodded, taking a seat beside you, “You shouldn’t be working yourself so hard you know. You’re a bright student, you’ll do well in all your N.E.W.T.s.”

Student. Of course you were just a student to him, even if you wanted so much more. Ever since the young professor had joined the school, you couldn’t help but form a crush on him, and over the months you’d been in his class, that crush had only grown.

He knew. He knew from the first day that you had a crush on him, although you had no idea he did. He also had been harbouring feelings for you too, however pushed them away as it could never happen - a professor and a student? He’d be in huge trouble.

Shaking his head of these thoughts, Remus glanced over your shoulder, “What subject are you having the most trouble with?”

“Defence Against the Dark Arts,” you replied. But it was only because you were always distracted in that lesson.

“If you need extra help, I could give you private tutoring?” Remus heard the words come out of his mouth before he could stop them. He’d done so well throughout the year, keeping his distance from you. Why now?

You could feel a blush forming on your face, and you thanked the heavens that the library was quite dark, or you’d be even more embarrassed right now. “A-Are you sure? That would be amazing, thank you!”

Remus nodded, “Uh, my pleasure. Meet me at my office tomorrow at 5. Now, go and get some sleep, you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

You grabbed your textbooks and smiled thankfully at your professor. Hiding a yawn, you replied, “I will. Thank you again Professor Lupin.”

“Anytime, Miss L/n,” you heard him say just as you left the library.

Remus sat with his head in his hands. What had he done? He couldn’t get close to you now, after all this time of pulling away… could he?


You found yourself becoming more nervous as 5pm grew close. It was hard enough being in a classroom full of students with Professor Lupin all year without accidentally staring too long or admitting something out loud; being alone with him again would be even worse.

The wooden door opened as you knocked carefully, and you had to try and control your heartbeat as the professor once again came into view.

“Ah, Miss L/n. Come on in,” Remus said as he led you into the room. You sat down at the desk and brought out your textbook, placing it down in front of you. Remus sat on the opposite side of the table, and you had to force your cheeks not to turn red, knowing he’d notice right away. You hated the way just his mere presence affected you so much.

“What do you seem to be having trouble with?” Remus asked you. “A few different topics. Mainly the one about werewolves.”

How ironic, Remus thought as he nodded at you. “Then we’ll start with that.”

It was an hour and a half later when you finally got through everything you had been having trouble with previously.

“I think I understand more now, thank you professor,” you spoke as you closed your textbook.

“You don’t have to call me ‘professor’ anymore, Y/n,” Remus told you. The way he said your name sent shivers up your spine.

“After tomorrow, I’m no longer going to be your professor. Call me Remus,” he said with a small smile.

“Remus,” you had to try and clam your heartbeat down again, “Okay well then, thank you Remus, I’ll try to make you proud tomorrow.”

You stood up, starting to head to the door when you heard him call you back. “Y/n wait!”

“Hmm?” You turned back around to look back at the professor. He appeared conflicted as he hesitantly stepped towards you, and when he stopped in front of you, he was so close you could have sworn you could hear his heartbeat.

The close proximity made you blush for the umpteenth time in a couple of hours, but before you could say anything, Remus’ hands were holding your waist, and his lips were on yours

It was strange, kissing him, but you loved it all the same. Finally you had gotten the one thing you’d wanted since the moment you stepped into his classroom back in September. Him.

As he pulled away, he couldn’t bring himself to look into your eyes however his hand was still wrapped around yours, fingers intertwined

“Whatever grade you get, whether it’s a Dreadful or an Outstanding, you’ll still have made me proud, Y/n,” he whispered softly. Your gaze was focused on your hands, a smile playing at your lips.

You placed a kiss on his cheek as you slowly pulled your hand away from his. “I’ll see you after the exam,” you said biting your lip slightly.

Remus nods, and you began walking out of the room again. He sighed to himself, but there was a smile on his face.

When he took the teaching position, he never expected to have a student quite as beautiful, as extraordinary as you were. But even so, he was thankful that you had stepped foot into his life. Because now he wasn’t your professor any more, he wasn’t going to let you leave so easily.

He loved you, he realised, and he wasn’t ready to let you go just yet.


HP Meme ~ Favourite Parental Figures of Harry [¼]: Remus Lupin

“And Professor Lupin stepped over you, and walked toward the dementor, and pulled out his wand,” said Hermione, “and he said, ‘None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go.’ But the dementor didn’t move, so Lupin muttered something, and a silvery thing shot out of his wand at it, and it turned around and sort of glided away…”

You’re the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve ever had!

Sweater Weather || Remus Lupin x Reader

{summary: you were known to get cold very easily while spending your years studying at Hogwarts, and it seems as though someone else knows about your dislike for the cold as they leave you a sweater to help with keeping you warm one late evening.

but the question that constantly plagues your mind is this: just who left you this sweater?

little did you know, this incident would be the start of your story}

warnings: none

word count: 3,800+

**don’t repost/plagiarize this story**


Keep reading

Friends- Remus Lupin

Originally posted by maisiewillaim

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Characters: Remus Lupin

Warnings: N/A

Request: Wattpad Request- “I’m a lone wolf.”

Word Count: 695

Author: Charlotte

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Some headcanons or a story about how Lily ISN'T Snape's happy memory when he casts a patronus.

Great prompt, thank you.

This grew, and grew, and grew - not least because I started thinking about Snape’s assertion to Harry that a patronus wasn’t necessarily the best way to deal with dementors…  I hope you enjoy it.

Apologies for language.  There’s quite a bit of effing and jeffing.  Snape is a stressed young man…and well, Tobias is Tobias.

“I can’t fucking do this anymore!”

Dumbledore eyed the pacing man curiously.  “Can’t do what, exactly, Severus?”

“This!” he yelled, flinging his arms out.  “This! Meeting like this in fuck knows where, with fuck knows who watching-”

“You believe we are being watched?”

“EVERYONE IS BEING WATCHED!” Snape’s black eyes blazed with fury.  “Every fucking one of us is at his beck and call,” he said, angrily dragging up his sleeve and brandishing his reddened Dark Mark in Dumbledore’s face. “At his fucking mercy.”

Dumbledore inclined his head.  “But surely you knew this when you accepted his sign into your skin?” he enquired, mildly.

Snape rolled down his sleeve and glowered.  

“Didn’t you?”

“…yes,” Snape finally admitted, his nostrils flared.  “But back then I didn’t think I was going to rat him out to Albus fucking Dumbledore, did I?!”

“Are you telling me that you’ve had second thoughts?”

“Of course not!” he snapped. Seeing Dumbledore’s unimpressed expression, Snape took a deep breath, and composed himself.  “…I just don’t think it’s wise that we correspond like this.” Snape stared intently at Dumbledore, daring him to argue.  “Sending an owl to my workplace with a location and time?  You surely can’t think this is safe?”

“…probably not.”

“And I’m no fucking use to you dead, am I?”

Dumbledore tried to hide his smile.  “No. No, you most certainly aren’t.” He thought for a long moment and then he nodded.  “Very well, Severus.  I believe you are familiar with Manchester?”

Snape gave a short nod.

“I shall meet you by the entrance to Oxford Road Station, next Friday, at noon.  If you cannot attend, please send me a howler about excessive Divination homework, and we shall postpone until a week next Tuesday.”

“And what if you receive an actual howler about excessive Div-”

Dumbledore peered at Snape over his glasses.  “Really, Severus?”

Snape gave another short nod, taking Dumbledore’s point.  “Just don’t open your post at breakfast,” he grumbled.  “I’m not sure I can disguise my voice suffici-”

“All howlers are delivered to my office,” Dumbledore interrupted.  “It doesn’t do for the students to see the Headmaster being publicly rebuked by disgruntled parents.”  He checked his pocket watch.  “Remind me, Severus, who was your sixth year Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher? We go through so many.”

“Professor Crickswain,” Snape replied, quickly.  “She was good.”

“And I would be right in thinking that you covered dementors during that year?”


“I suggest you re-read your old textbook before next Friday.”

Snape gave a short, insincere laugh.  “Handing me over to Crouch, are you?”

Dumbledore returned his insincere smile.  “Not unless you give me reason.”

Snape hated side-along Apparation.  He hated not knowing where he was going; hated being at the mercy of someone else’s magic.  He stumbled as he and Dumbledore landed, and he immediately crouched down, trying not to throw up.

“A little too rough for you?”

Snape straightened, embarrassed and shook his head.  “I skipped breakfast, that’s all.”  He glanced around.  “Where are we?”

“Off the coast,” Dumbledore said, simply.  

Snape caught sight of the building in the distance and froze.  “Off the coast?  Off the fucking coast?”  His voice raised an octave.  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I assume you did the reading,” Dumbledore said, striding forward.

“I’m not going in there!” Snape yelled.

“You’re not,” Dumbledore replied.  “But one of the guards is coming out.”

“Is this a test?” Snape looked frantic as he saw the dark figure floating from the prison.  “I’m on your side!  I’ve told you everything, I swear!”

“I want you,” Dumbledore said, his wand firmly in his hand as he watched the dementor approach, “to utilise the techniques taught to you by Professor Crickswain.”

“Because I’m going to need them when I’m thrown in there?” Snape said, pointing his wand at the Azkaban building.

“Focus, Severus.”

The dementor swarmed over, and Snape took a deep breath as the dementor latched on to his face.  

Dumbledore watched in amazement as the dementor fumbled, and then attempted to drain Snape’s happy memories from him – but each time, it came away with nothing.  Snape was stood, stock still, his face blank, his eyes deadened. The dementor swirled around, and then swooped again – but still, it failed.

Agitated, it turned its attentions to Dumbledore, but before it could descend, Dumbledore pointed his wand and loudly cast, “EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

Snape jolted out of his self-imposed trance as he saw a brilliant white phoenix shoot from the end of Dumbledore’s wand and successfully repel the dementor.  “A Patronus?”

The dementor retreated, and Dumbledore swiped his wand through the air, causing the Patronus to cease. He shrugged at his robes.  “Yes.  And what spell were you using, Severus?

“It’s a subsidiary of Occlumency.  It blocks access to your mind, so the dementors cannot feed on your thoughts.”

“You block your entire mind?”

“I put a wall around happy memories, and I push negative thoughts towards the front,” he said, quietly.

“You impersonate the effect that the dementor causes,” Dumbledore said, softly.  “Only, you do not allow the dementor access to feed on your happy thoughts.  Either your wall is exceptionally strong, or….”

Snape sniffed loudly.

Sensing his discomfort, Dumbledore swiftly changed the subject.  “I was rather hoping you’d use a Patronus.”

Snape barked a laugh. “I’ve heard about Raczidian, thanks.”

“And you place yourself on the same scale as Raczidian, do you?”

“…we both know that I have not been a good man.”

“I wish for you to try.”

Snape paled.  “I do not wish to be devoured by maggots.”

“Tell me,” Dumbledore said, “did Professor Crickswain set the work of Professor Catullus-”

“Spangle,” Snape finished, nodding his head.  “Yes.”

“And what do you recall of Professor Spangle’s work?”

Snape screwed up his eyes tightly, as if he was imagining the words forming on parchment.  “The Patronus is the awakened secret self that lies dormant until needed,” he recited.

Dumbledore smiled kindly. “A pertinent passage for you to quote.” He passed his wand between one hand and the other.  “A Patronus is the physical manifestation of happiness-”

Snape huffed.

“-and a true and confident belief in the righteousness of one’s actions can be enough to carry through a successful casting of the spell.”  Dumbledore looked intently at Snape.  “You do believe in your present actions, do you not?”

“Yes.”  Snape stared back fiercely.  “I’ve risked everything for this.  For you.  For her.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Then, I do not think you have anything to fear.  I take it you remember the appropriate spell?”

Snape nodded.  

“Then I shall recall the dementor.”  

“And if I fail?”

“I shall intervene.”

Snape gripped his wand tightly as the dementor floated over, and he fought the urge to fling up his well practised wall.  He drew in a breath as the dementor latched on, and he was almost overwhelmed as negative thoughts swarmed his brain.

It was so different to his experiences with his wall, where he was in total control of which thought lay where.  Now, every bad experience was flashing before his eyes, replaying in vivid technicolour; Sirius Black, his father, James Potter, his mother, the blasted werewolf, the OWL exam, Lily, Lily, Lily…

He shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts and in the corner of his eye, he could see Dumbledore’s anxious expression, his wand pointing towards him.  He knew he had to focus and he forced the usually hidden memory to the fore:

He lay on the grass, his feet bare, his oversized coat bundled up and placed beneath both their heads.  “But it’s ok - you can swap money at the special bank,” he said, knowledgeably. “It’s run by goblins.”

“Tell me about school.  Do we do normal subjects?

“Normal subjects?”

“Like History, and Maths, and Science?”

He grinned.  “Sort of, but magical versions.  So we do History of Magic, and Arithmancy, and Potions, which is sort of like Chemistry.”

“You know so much,” Lily said.  “Which do you think will be best?”

“Potions,” he said, confidently.  “When Da’s out, Mam sometimes puts a cauldron on.  She lets me slice and stir sometimes.”

Lily snapped upright.  “Really?  Can I come and see?”

“You want to come to my house?” he said, flushing, and twisting his hands awkwardly.


“I’ll ask,” he said, quietly.  His heart hammered a little faster in his small chest as Lily slid her hand into his.

“You’re the best, Sev.”  She smiled at him, and then suddenly, the scene spun.  The playground was replaced by castle walls, and her face shifted, and her features matured.  Her grin was replaced by a look of revulsion.  “You’ve chosen your way, I’ve chosen mine.”

“No – listen – I didn’t mean-”

A blast of brilliant light caused him to recoil, and when he came to, he realised that Dumbledore had stepped in.

“Do you not remember the lesson?” he asked, gently, passing Snape some chocolate.

“Yes,” Snape said, shakily. “A single happy memory.”

“Then I must advise you,” Dumbledore said, seriously, “that your memory was not nearly happy enough.”

He hurtled down the empty corridor as fast as his short legs could carry him, the four Gryffindors in hot pursuit.  He dived through a doorway, and was astonished to discover that he’d entered the Trophy Room.  He spotted Lucius Malfoy in the corner peering through one of the glass cabinets, but before he could speak, Snape held a finger to his lips, and sprinted into the adjoining Armoury.

He weaved between the suits of armour, and nestled behind one furthest from the door, just making it into his hiding spot before James, Sirius, Remus and Peter burst through behind him.

“He’s got to be in here!”

“I thought I saw someone in the Trophy Room.”

“Snivellus wasn’t in the Trophy Room, Remus,” James argued, hotly. “We all saw him pile through the door.”

“Yes, come out, come out, Snivvy,” Sirius taunted, his wand drawn.

Snape’s foot shifted against a suit of armour, and the four boys whirled around at the noise.  

“Expelliarm-” Sirius started to shout, but then was wide-eyed as he couldn’t finish his casting.

James frowned, and tried to take over.  “Petrific-” He turned back to Sirius, and clawed at his mouth.

“Run!” shouted Peter, grabbing Remus’ arm and hurtling towards the door – but blocking the doorway was the taller, broader, and very much older, Lucius Malfoy, with his prefect badge gleaming on his robes.

“Well well well,” Lucius drawled.  “Four young Gryffindors roaming the corridors after curfew.  What do you have to say for yourselves? Black?”

Sirius shook his head, miserably.


James glowered, his cheeks burning red.

“Back to your common room,” Lucius said, decisively.  “All four of you.  Now!”  Remus opened his mouth to argue, but Lucius sneered.  “And do not think of taking a detour.  I shall be visiting Gryffindor Tower in five minutes for a discussion with Professor McGonagall.  Could you imagine her reaction if it was discovered that you were absent?”

The four boys miserably traipsed out of the Armoury.

Once they’d left, Lucius turned back to the suits of armour. “Impressive, Severus.  We are not usually taught nonverbal casting until at least fifth year, and only then if you have a competent Dark Arts teacher.” He hoisted the young boy from behind the suit of armour by his skinny arm.  “I did not recognise the spell you used at all.”

“It’s a sticking spell,” Snape said, breaking free of Malfoy’s grip, and brushing his robes down.  “They can’t cast nonverbally, so if I stick their tongues to the roof of their mouths, it stops them from using any spells against me at all.”  He looked up, shyly.  “And I cast it nonverbally so they can’t use it back.”

“My, you are a clever little thing, aren’t you?” Malfoy smiled, widely.  “Sit with me in the common room tonight.  I would like to discuss your inventive spells a little more.”

Snape smiled to himself as he followed the prefect out of the Armoury, out of the Trophy Room and down the corridor, a feeling of elation growing in his chest at the older boy’s words.  

But then, the memory shifted, and this time, he found himself cornered.  Four sneering teenagers had him pressed against the cold corridor wall, their wands pointed at his face.  “It’s a pity Malfoy left,” Sirius jeered.  “He always was your knight in shining armour, wasn’t he?”

“Riding in on his stead to save you, like the worthless princess you are,” James laughed, stabbing his wand under Snape’s chin.  

“But now you’re alone,” Sirius smiled, and he pointed his wand at Snape’s face, and then a spurt of bright light filled his vision…

“Not even close to happy enough,” Dumbledore said, passing him another piece of chocolate.  

Snape closed his eyes. “I don’t exactly have a wealth of memories to choose from.”

“You must have something, Severus,” Dumbledore said.  “Rest for five minutes, and think carefully.”

It was impossible.  Everything was tainted.  

His happiest memories contained Lily, but the dementor seemed to be aware of this.  It seemed to be revelling in his darker memories, gleefully drawing them to the surface and forcing Snape to re-live every second of his ex-best friend’s hatred, destroying the happy moments he was trying to focus on.

He watched, helplessly, as she turned her back in the corridor, scowled at him across the Great Hall, and ignored him in Potions. He grimaced as he saw her throwing her arms around James Potter as they were announced Head Boy and Girl to rapturous applause, and then that stupid slur screamed around his brain, over and over and over and over and over and over and over…

“I can’t,” Snape groaned.

“You can, and you will.”

He closed his eyes, and put Lily from his mind.

The first Quidditch match he saw Slytherin win.  When Slytherin won the house cup in 1975.  That time Regulus Black grabbed the snitch just as it was flying into James Potter’s outstretched hand…and Sirius broke his own broomstick out of frustration.

“Are you focusing on memories you personally experienced, or memories where you were a bystander?”

“Does it matter?”

“You should focus on your own successes.”

When he earned his first house points.  When he brewed his first perfect batch of Draught of Living Death. His first ‘O’ in Defence Against the Dark Arts.  The handwritten note from Slughorn, tucked into his NEWT results, which told him that despite stern competition, he’d scored the highest in the year in Potions.

He opened his eyes, and saw Dumbledore standing over him.  His expression was stern.  “The memories you are using are not powerful enough, Severus.”

“…I don’t have anything else.”

“You must.  Think harder.”

Snape pulled himself upright, and stood before the older man.  “What do you use?”

Dumbledore gave a small smile.  “You will not find inspiration for your own happiest memory merely by peering at mine.”

“I just want a hint. A clue.  An idea of the sort of thing I am looking for.”

“What have you used already?”

“School stuff,” Snape muttered.  

“Were you especially happy at school?”

There was a long pause. “I wasn’t especially happy at home either,” Snape grumbled.

“In such circumstances, it is common for witches and wizards to feel particularly elated when they received their Hogwarts letter.”

Snape shrugged.  “But I always knew I was going to Hogwarts.”

Dumbledore looked thoughtful.  “And what about other groups that you may have gained admission to?”  

Snape looked horrified.

“Severus, the memory only has to evoke feelings of happiness.  There will be no judgement,” Dumbledore continued, his voice low.  “Did he make you feel happy, Severus?  When you laid your forearm bare before him, and invited him to brand you?  To own you?”

Snape stared at Dumbledore, dumbstruck.  His mouth opened and closed, but he didn’t make a sound.

“It didn’t feel good to be accepted by those you so admired?”

“…you want me to use the moment I was marked as the basis for my happiest memory?”

“Is it your happiest memory?”


Dumbledore smiled.  “Then, by all means, use something else.”

He watched anxiously as the dementor descended, and he screwed up his eyes.

He traced the printed words with his tiny fingertip, and held the large wand in his small hand.  He could feel the magic emanating from the wood; it didn’t feel quite right – as if it desperately wanted to play, but knew the boy holding it wasn’t its rightful master.

He flicked the wand, experimentally, surprised at how springy the light wood was – and then, with his tongue stuck into his cheek, he traced the words again. He could do this.

“Lum-ohs,” he said, seriously, but the wand didn’t respond. He paused, and peered at it, and then back at the book.  “Lum-ohs!” he repeated.

He frowned, and traced his fingers back over the words.  “Lum like lump,” he whispered.  “Os like logos.  Lum-ohs.  Lum-ohs!”

It didn’t work, so he placed the wand back down and flicked through one of the other books – and then he saw it, and his lips sounded the word out under his breath.  “Chaos. ChaOS.  Os like chaos, not os like logos.  Lum like lump, os like chaos.  Lum-os.  Lum-os!”

He picked the wand back up and swished it excitedly.  “Lum-os!”  

But still, the wand did not light.  Sensing he was close to his goal, Snape grabbed another book and flicked through it furiously.  “The moon cycles are called lunar…”  He trailed off.  “Not lu like lump,” he realised.  “Lu like lunar.  Looonar. Looomos!”

He grabbed the wand and pointed it upwards.  “LOOOMOS!”

The tip of the wand lit, and Snape excitedly jumped to his feet. He swished the wand, casting the light around the dark attic, and then he crouched down and referred back to the page. “To ex-tin-gui-sh,” he read, slowly, “your wand, the in-can-tat-ion is Nox.”  He grinned; that would be easy.  “Nox!”

And all fell dark.

He swished again.  “Looomos! Nox!  Looomos!  Nox! Looomos!  Nox!”  He spun around the attic, casting into dark corners, and then rapidly dousing the light. “Looomos!  Nox!  Looomos! Nox!  Looomos!”

But then his vision swirled, and the light grew stronger, and no matter how much he shouted, “Nox!” the room wouldn’t darken again.  “Nox, nox, nox, nox, nox!” he yelled, louder and louder, not caring if his parents would hear and discover his forbidden antics.

And then he realised that he was flat on the ground, sweat streaming down his face, still screaming the incantation.  Dumbledore was holding the dementor off above him.


“But it still wasn’t good enough.”  Snape groaned and covered his face with his hands, still brandishing his wand.

“Far closer.  You almost sent out a non-corporeal form.  What precisely were you thinking of?”

Snape eyed Dumbledore curiously, as he accepted a piece of chocolate from him.  “The first time I cast a spell.  When I was little.  I took my mother’s wand.”

Dumbledore nodded.  “A good choice.  Success is a powerful emotion.”


“…as we discussed, being accepted is perhaps even more potent.”

“No.  No.  I can’t use when I was marked,” Snape said, quietly.  “I might have been happy at the time…but not now…”

Dumbledore settled himself on the grass.  “Then rest, and think,” he said, indicating that Severus should sit next to him.  “Success and acceptance, Severus.  Success and acceptance.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Tobias slat his newspaper across the room.  “Just fuck off outside, will yer!”

“I ain’t done owt!” Severus yelled back, banging the fridge door loudly.

“Last three minutes of the fuckin’ match, and you come down ‘ere and send the radio funny with yer fuckin’ doo dah wotsit!”

“Toby,” Eileen admonished, sharply.  “Leave the lad alone.  He can’t help it.”

“You don’t do it with your fuckin’ magic powers!  Three fuckin’ minutes,” he complained, retrieving his paper from the floor, and scooping it back together.  “That’s all I wanted.”  

“Dunno what yer mitherin’ at,” Severus retorted, sulkily. “Won, dint they?”

“How’m I sposed to fuckin’ know, soft lad!  Fuckin’ radio’s knackered, thanks to you!”

“Severus, go back upstairs,” Eileen said, firmly.  “Tobias, you well know that the radio will be fine.”

“Yeah, when he’s fucked off it will be!”  Toby glared at his son, brandishing the now rolled up newspaper.  “Go on wi’ yer!  Fuck off!”

Severus looked up from his homework at the sharp knock on the door. “What d’yer want?” he called.

Tobias pushed the door of his son’s room open.  “Speak t’yer.”

Severus capped his ink, and put his parchment on the floor. He moved over on the unmade bed, silently indicating that his father could sit next to him.

“S’alright,” Tobias said, leaning against the doorframe.  “Yer mother says yer can’t help it.  That fuzzy stuff.”  He peered at his son.  “Yer never used to do that.  Just since yer been at that fancy school.”

“It’s one of the lessons,” Severus said, an impish grin creeping up his face.  “How to piss yer Muggle da off.”

“Yer a cheeky fucker.”  Tobias swung the door back and forth with his foot.  “Grow out of it?”

“S’pect so.”

“School goin’ good?”


“Behavin’ yersel?”



Severus nodded, and reached for his parchment.  “That it?”

“D’yer like it?”

Severus put the parchment back down.  “Better than round ‘ere.  Still school though, innerit?”

“Aye.”  Tobias gave a short smile.  “Not much fun, eh lad?”

There was a moment of silence, and Severus thought his father was about to leave, but then, he spoke again.  “D’yer all wear them funny dresses?”

“Robes, Da.”

“Yer mam don’t wear ‘em.”

“Not round you.  She’s got ‘em though.  In the attic. I seen ‘em.”

“Bit girly on a lad.  What’re them girls down the street gonna think if they see yer like that?”

“Not as bad as yer fuckin’ shorts,” Severus retorted.

Tobias looked down at his shorts.  “Georgie Best’s, these were!”

“Best before 1971.”

“Cheeky shite,” Tobias said, reaching forward to clip his son lightly around the ear.  “Bet yer don’t even know who he is.”

“I’m a wizard, not an ignoramus.”

Tobias paused.  “D’yer ‘ave wizard footy, then?”

Severus shook his head.  “There’s a game.  On broomsticks.  But it’s nothin’ like.”

“Yer prefer yer wizard stuff?”

“Mostly,” Severus said, quietly.  A brief flash of hurt covered Tobias’ features, but he quickly masked it.

“Right.  Let yer get back to it,” Tobias said, pulling the door shut.  A moment later, it swung back open, and Severus looked up, startled. “We’re playin’ on Saturday afternoon. In the cup.”


“Can yer try ‘an get ‘andle on yer witchy thing?  …don’t want to miss owt.”

“It’s a shame,” Tobias said, running a piece of bread around his plate, mopping up the juices.  “He used to like ‘is footy.”

“He isn’t going to dare come downstairs at all today after how you behaved on Tuesday night,” Eileen snapped, taking his plate from him and pushing it into the washing up bowl.  

“I apologised!”

Eileen gave him a hard stare.  “Did you actually say you were sorry?”

“More or less.”

Eileen huffed, and put the salt and vinegar back into the cupboard. “More or less.  He’s only here for a couple more weeks.”

Tobias looked uncomfortable.  “Can’t yer stop that witchy thing he does?  Then he could listen to the match.”

“It’s emotional,” she explained, wiping down the table.  “If he’s hungry.  If he’s tired.  If he’s upset.  If he’s worried.  If the team scores.  If they don’t.  If his father’s going to pitch a fit and scream at him for daring to exist.”

Tobias glared.

Eileen shrugged.  “He’ll grow out of it.”

“But not by kick off,” Tobias muttered.  He grabbed his keys, and his loose change.  “I’m going down the club.”

“That’s it,” Tobias announced the next morning, putting the phone down.  “Murphy’s lad can’t play, so we’re short.  Gonna ‘ave to call off.”  He peered at Severus, who was rummaging in a cupboard.  “Unless…?”


“Leave the lad be, Toby,” Eileen said, not looking up from her ironing.

“Yer used to be good.”

“Used to be.”  Severus opened the fridge door and stared into it.  “I ain’t played in years.”

“Get yer ‘ead out of the fuckin’ fridge.  Ain’t nowt in there for yer.”

“Yer tellin’ me,” Severus said, letting the door shut.  “I’m starvin’.”

“Can’t be,” Tobias huffed.  “Yer ‘ad breakfast half an hour ago.”

“Starvin’,” Severus reiterated.  “I eat way more at school.”

“Fine.  Play, and I’ll buy yer some chips.”


“What?” Tobias turned to his wife.  “I’m just offerin’.”

“It’s called bribery,” she said, sliding a neatly pressed shirt onto a hanger.  She stared at her son.  “Play if you want, but don’t let him guilt you into it.”

“What if we lose?”

“Don’t matter.”

“Still get chips?” Severus asked.

“Still get chips.”

“What if I play shit?”  His eyes narrowed.  “Still get chips?”

Tobias gave a half smile.  “Yer yer mother’s son, aintcha?  Yeah, yer still get yer chips.”

He wasn’t lying.  He hadn’t played football in years – not since he left the Muggle school and got on the train to Hogwarts.  His dad hadn’t been lying either.  He wasn’t half bad.  If he’d really put his mind to it, maybe he could’ve excelled at it – but then, he’d always known he was a wizard; he wasn’t interested in excelling at anything Muggle, because he knew he was going to drop it like a stone as soon as he reached eleven.

He stood on the rec, and juggled a ball between his feet, feeling awkward in his dad’s old shorts and baggy t-shirt.  He lost concentration as the team came past him, and the ball flicked a little far away.  He quickly cast a nonverbal Accio, and he almost laughed out loud when the ball curled back to his feet.  He’d never thought of using magic whilst playing before; he certainly didn’t have the power or the skill when he was ten.

But what made him laugh inside was the fact that he did it so naturally.  He really was a wizard.  No wand.  No verbal incantation.  He’d just reacted.  Severus kept on juggling the ball, a grin across his face.

“Yer playin’ keepy up?”  An older teenager, nineteen or so, crossed the field.  Severus vaguely recognised him.  Robbie’s lad.  


“How many?”

“Wasn’t countin’.”

“What’s the point if yer ain’t countin’?”

“Not played for ages,” Severus said, letting the ball drop.

“Ah, I remember yer.  Toby’s lad, innerit?  Yer be right.”

“Bloody hell.”  The captain of the opposing team moved through the bar to shake Tobias’ hand.  “This is yer lad, right?”


“Where’ve yer bin hidin’ ‘im?  United’s youth team?”  The captain shook his head.  “Yer’d be top of the league if he played every week.”

Tobias’ chest almost burst with pride as he clapped Severus on the back.  “Not bad is he, eh?  For a scrawny ‘un.”

“Bugger me, he could give old Georgie a run for ‘is money.” The captain took a long drink.  “Yer wanna get him signed up.  See a few scouts.”

“Nah,” Tobias said, smiling ruefully.  He ruffled Severus’ hair, as the lad sipped his ale.  “He’s all brains, y’see.  Takes after ‘is mother.  Goes some posh school up in Scotland.  Won a scholarship.”

“Some kids got it all, eh?” the captain said, raising his glass. “Well, good luck to yer lad.  And Toby, yer should be proper proud.”

“I am right that.  I am that.” The captain moved away, and Tobias turned to Severus.  “I ain’t like yer mam, lad.  Ain’t that much good wi’ words.  But I am right proud, even when I’m shoutin’ and carryin’ on.”  He drained his pint.  “Now, let’s get gone, and get them chips I promised yer.”


Dumbledore smiled as the creature danced out of the end of Snape’s wand, forcing the dementor backwards until it fled to Azkaban.  “Fantastic,” he said, clapping the younger man on the shoulders.  “I knew you could do it.”

Snape sat back on the ground, panting heavily.  The last few hours had taken its toll.

“Now watch this!” Dumbledore cast his Patronus, and the phoenix flew before Severus.  It paused, and then opened its mouth:  “Meet me in Diagon Alley at 7.30pm.”

“Merlin’s beard,” Snape breathed.  He laughed loudly, relief flooding him as he realised what the afternoon had been about. “That’s amazing.”

“Do not shy away from light magic, Severus,” Dumbledore said, quietly.  “It is your Dark Lord’s greatest failing.  He fears it.”  He placed his hand beneath Snape’s chin.  “This exercise today has proven what I already suspected.”

Snape took a sharp intake of a breath.

“You can walk the line.”

“The line?”

“Between Dark and Light.” His eyes twinkled.  “Perhaps between magic and Muggle?”

Snape bristled.  “…did you…”

“With me, Severus,” Dumbledore said, extending his arm – and then he Disapparated with a muffled pop.


I was going through my old drawings and for some reason I wanted to test my skills again on Harry Potter’s Snape. So here is the new painting and the comparison with the old piece from over four years ago.

Moreover I wanted to practice different shadow and light tones.

Quidditch - Oliver Wood

Pairing: Oliver Wood x Reader

Characters: Oliver Wood, Harry Potter, Minerva McGonagall, Quirinus Quirrell

Warnings: N/A

Request: N/A

Word Count: 793

Author: Hannah

Keep reading

Dear Journal,

Today our defence against the dark arts professor wanted us to practise our Patronus’ for the N.E.W.Ts. We worked a little bit on it last year but mine barely appeared. I know that it is a wolf but I only saw it a few seconds. When I first saw my patronus, i was sad.. I didn’t want to be represented by this monster that I am. Anyway, I was trying to think of my happiest memory… The day I first told Sirius that I had feelings for him. Our first kiss. This time, I was partnered with Sirius. He always had his patronus the first try. His happiest memory was finding us, his true family. Like I said, he had it the first try even today. A silerish blue dog looking exactly like Padfoot came out of his wand

“Good job Mr.Black!” The professor said, walking to another team.

“It’s beautiful Pads..” i said, standing next to him.

“Come on, I’ll help you with yours.” He said.

He stood behind me and slipped his hands on my waist.

“Pads I can’t concentrate if you touch me like that..” i smiled.

“Oops.. Sorry.” He smirked.

I took a deep breath and said the spell out loud.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Nothing happened.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Still nothing.

I thought really hard about Sirius’ and I first kiss. How soft his lips were. How fast my heart was beating. How happy I was..

“Expecto Patronum!!” I yelled.

A bright blue and silver light appeared, blinding us. Ready to see my wolf patronus, I looked down, feeling disgusted. But I heard Sirius gasp next to me. I looked up and saw it. My new Patronus. It was Padfoot. The same Patronus as Sirius. I smiled to myslef and Sirius took me in his arms. The silverish dog ran in the air around us.

“You did it!” Sirius smiled.

“Pads does that mean..”

“Yes.. we have the same patronus! Your old one changed for mine.. I love you so much!” He said, hugging me again.

“ i love you too Pads..”

February 28th 1976

Father V

Read the start here

Read the story on Ao3 here

“Harry!” Ron knocked impatiently on the rough wooden surface of Harry’s door. A feeling of pride swelled up in his chest as he read the words Harry Potter, Defence Against The Dark Arts Professor on a shiny copper plate. His friend, his best friend in the whole wide world, had beaten Voldemort, his depression and on top of that he now had his dream job. Ron could not be more proud of him, and despite the Malfoy business he was grinning like a loon when the door swung open.

“He killed Sirius.”

“Uhm, what?” Ron’s cheery mood evaporated in a heartbeat. He only knew Harry had spoken because he recognized his voice. The room was nearly pitch black as the curtains were drawn shut. “Harry what are you talking about? Bellatrix killed Sirius over a decade ago.”

“But it was his idea. Draco- Malfoys, idea.” Once Ron’s eyes got used to the lack of light he could make out a trembling silhouette on the bed. Harry pushed a crumbled piece of parchment across the floor towards him with a contempt Ron hadn’t known was possible for such a simple movement.

There was only anger in his voice, the entire demeanour of his friend radiated fury. Ron inched towards him. “Harry mate, what are you talking about?”

“Read it. It’s disgusting. He is disgusting” Harry spat out. He refused to look at either the papers or Ron, who was now walking on eggshells around him. He knew anger like this. He had seen it often enough in the face of those who had just lost someone dear. They turned their grief into rage aimed at the world, the system, the auror in charge, in a desperate attempt to avoid the gaping emptiness their loss would bestow on them once they let it.

“What is this Harry?” He kneeled down to pick up the papers, discovering they’d been dampened by tears. Harry’s fury was a recent thing then. Currently his eyes were dry, with a fire blazing in them that was distinguishable even in the dark.

“It’s despicable, what that… that… traitor did. Let us all believe he learned his lesson while the skeletons were piling up in his closet. Sirius’ skeleton for merlin’s sake! Sirius!”

Ron had never been more grateful for Hermione teaching him fast reading techniques, and just before Harry lost it he scanned over the last line. “Harry-.”

“He murdered my godfather Ron! I trusted him! I bloody well kissed him this morning! And now this!” Harry jumped to his feet and started pacing up and down the dark room.

“Harry.” Ron attempted to butt in again, not phased by his confession about kissing Malfoy. Anyone in their right mind could have seen that one coming.

“It’s his handwriting Ron! And the date! He bloody well nearly failed his exams in fifth year because he was plotting his death! I-”

“Harry!” Ron was getting tired of being interrupted by Harry who was becoming more and more worked up with every word that left his lips. To get the attention of his best friend he pulled the curtains open and let in a massive amount of sunlight.

Harry flinched. His teaching robes were crumpled and his cheeks flushed bright red. He aimed his best furious glare at Ron. “Leave that! An leave me so I can fucking well murder him just like he murdered-”

“HARRY!” Ron’s voice boomed through the chamber and bounced off the ancient walls. Shocked by the authority in Ron’s tone Harry froze. Ron was not one to raise his voice if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. “Calm your fucking tits mate. Malfoy was in the infirmary the entire day on the seventeenth, remember? There’s no way he could have written this.”

“Hospitalized people can still write, Ronald.” Harry bit at him, slightly deflated but still angry. “He was sick, not dead. Not like Sirius.”

There was a crack in his voice as the last word came across his lips. Harry was shaking a little. Ron braced himself as he prepared to interrupt the next tirade of his friend.

“He wasn’t dead Harry.” He had dropped his authoritative attitude. Carefully Ron stepped closer. “But his hands were. For the past month I’ve been going over his case again, checking every alibi he had. He was in the hospital wing recovering from a severe muscle infection in his hands, caused by too many hours of cramped up exam writing. Hermione had it too during her N.E.W.T.’s in eight year.”

“He must have been faking it then as an excuse. He was perfectly alright the next day when he kept you and the others from the DA locked up in Umbridge’s office. He’s a bloody death-eater Ron, he won’t have any problems with a bit of memory modification.” The word death-eater tasted strange and bitter in Harry’s mouth. He hadn’t spoken out loud about the war in ages, and doing so now dragged old memories of grief and hate to the surface that hadn’t seen the light of day in years. He felt like he might drown in them.

Ex-death eater. And he didn’t fake it, I checked both Pomfrey’s archive and her memory of that day. It’s genuine.” Ron tried to put a reassuring arm on Harry’s shoulder but the man shrugged it off, still extremely worked up.

“Then why didn’t he say so! He knew I had this, Lucius clearly stated that under the evidence letter,” Harry nearly tore the ragged papers in half as he yanked them from Ron’s fingers, “but he couldn’t be arsed to get up here and tell me he didn’t write it?”

“He didn’t come up here because I arrested him this afternoon Harry. As a standard procedure for a high profile case, not because we think he did anything we didn’t know about before.” He rushed his words as he glanced at the letter clutched in Harry’s fists. He wanted to put his friend at ease as soon as possible, so he didn’t leave him any space to interrupt him and get even more worked up. “We didn’t receive that letter as evidence either, and if we had it would have been disregarded at once for being false. This is his father’s desperate last attempt to keep you from pledging for him again, with your word against his this case doesn’t stand a chance and he bloody well knows it.”

Gently Ron pried the letter from Harry’s hands. “I don’t believe the subdivision prison correspondence even exists.”

Harry’s eyes finally met his, and suddenly Ron understood the comparison between them and the eyes of a doe. Though they were green instead of brown they seemed to be bigger than usual, and the emotion laid bare in their reflection was enough to last a lifetime.

Shock. How could anyone be so extremely self-centered they were willing to imprison their own child to get what they wanted?

Guilt. It had taken only one letter from Draco’s abusive father to let Harry lose faith in him.

Relieve. Draco wasn’t the traitor Harry had believed him to be for the past horrible hours.

Determination. Even if it would be the last thing he’d ever do, Draco was getting out of prison within the next hour so that Harry could wrap him in a bone-crushing hug and snog him senseless.

But then another emotion took over all the others; fear. If Draco was locked up now, in what state would Harry find him? He had said himself he wouldn’t survive Azkaban again.

“You arrested him?” Ron nodded. He had clearly come a long way since his emotional range of a teaspoon state in fifth year.

“Then we have to get him out. Now.”

Draco cursed himself. He had no memory of ever writing the letter his father was talking about, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t written it. His mind was filled with gaps around that time, and though they were larger in number around his sixth and seventh year he had some during his fifth.

At first he’d been convinced his father was framing him, but now…

Staring at the wall of his cell he started to doubt his own reasoning more and more. At some point he even started to regret the words he’d spoken to Ron. What if Harry figured out what they meant? What would happen if Harry believed in his innocence, only to find out that Draco really had betrayed him? Was he really as bad as people led him to believe?

For the first time Draco wished he could remember every part of the war. He wanted every lock to be broken, every dark corner to be lit. Every mistake to surface.

Lucius was his father, of course he wouldn’t want to lock up his own son without reason. He knew better. His father always knew better. Draco had done these things. Draco had pushed his inner monster away but it was still there. It clawed at him. Soon it would claw at other people. Hurt other people. Kill other people.

His father just wanted to protect them, protect Harry.


“Guard!” He called out. “Guard!” The broad shouldered man who’d arrested him earlier that day came to his cell.

“What do you want, ferret face?” He sneered, his voice filled with hatred. Justified hatred.

“I want to confess.”

Keep reading

All the little lines

Ok so: 1668 words 

Prompt: Ok so hear me out. A drarry fic idea I had. Everyone is in DADA and their learning about boggarts and everyone has had their turn except Draco, and he politely asks Lupin to not have to participate, and Lupin tells him there is nothing to worry about and makes him participate. But when the boggart pops out it turns into Harry telling Draco that he will never love him, and calls him all kinds of names, and Draco kinda breaks down and runs out of class. I would love to see this story!! Thanks XXX 

 This was really fun to write, ah the angst. 

 Warnings; MAJOR references to depression, self harm (cutting), self hate 

 And as usual hella gay 

 Sophie xx 

As soon as Draco heard the word ‘boggart,’ he knew something would go wrong. He didn’t have the most conventional fears after all, most people didn’t fear that their father would constantly ignore them, or that he would be carted off to Azkaban, yet they were still his fears, and fears should be private, not something the world would know, especially since he was sure that at least 8 people in that class wanted him dead. 

He was sure that at least 5 of them would use this moment in future, or in some vain attempt to stop his from doing whatever he wasn’t supposed to be doing that certain day. 

 Approaching professor lupin before class, Draco knocked on the defence against the dark arts office door, and when he heard an 'enter,’ from the other side, he quickly slipped through the wood and stone and shut it behind him. 

“Draco! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Lupin inquired, he hadn’t been expecting Draco to come to him with an inquiry, more like him to ask where on earth he had taken one creature or another to plague another student. 

 Draco let out a breath and began to fiddle with his hair which was no longer fixed in place due to how much he had been fiddling with it through the day. 

“Professor lupin, I-” Draco hesitated, before huffing quickly and continuing with his original plan. 

“Professor lupin, I’m not entirely comfortable with today’s lesson,” lupin looked up, surprised, “not that I don’t like your lessons professor, it’s just that, well, I’m not entirely comfortable with the fact that people will see what I fear most.”

Lupin gave him a empathetic look, almost as if he could completely understand what Draco meant. 

"Draco, sometimes we must face our greatest fears, and sometimes people will see, but that won’t make you any less brave for facing them. If they see, then what good will it do to them,” he finished, walking towards the boy. 

“Professor, it’s just that, I don’t exactly know what I fear most,” Draco confessed, with his head hung in what Remus could only describe as shame. 

“Draco, I’m sorry, but unless you have a note from your head of house, then I can do absolutely nothing,” Lupin confessed apologetically, he now mimicking the the position that Draco was in now. Draco inhaled sharply and nodded. 

“I, I understand,” he replied, before slowly standing up and moving towards the door. 

“Mr Malfoy,” Draco froze, keen to hear what lupin had to say. 

“If it gets too much, I will step in, i promise.” With that, Draco opened the door and left.


To say that he was dreading this lesson was an understatement. He had never felt such anticipation in his life, yet as lupin opened the door and ushered the students in, the small smile that he gave him was enough to dispel at least some of the butterflies. 

 The line seemed to be long, yet everyone seemed to get their fear out of the way quickly, with Longbottom going first and ridding professor Snape of his usually threatening composure, then, the line progressed on from there.

By the time it came to Malfoy’s turn, he felt as if he were about to throw up, yet the presence of Lupin just out of reach came as a welcome comfort to him. The mystery of what could possibly come to him was eating him alive. Could it be his father, disapproving as always? The dark mark which he knew he must inherit? The death of his mother? Lord Voldemort himself? 

He stepped towards the giant Jack in a Box which seemed to be swinging threateningly towards him, yet as it swung forwards for a first time, it did nothing, simply remaining as it was. The second time, it seemed to slow slightly, analysing him where he stood, and as it swung back a third time, it dissolved, shrinking down into a figure.

As it solidified, the first thing that Draco noticed was the bright green eyes, which were filled with scorn and distaste at the sight in front of him. His face was filled with disgust and mockery towards the malfoy which had been presented to him, and his arms were crossed and his legs were tense, almost as if he were getting ready to pounce at any moment.

“Dear merlin you look pathetic,” Harry spat, at least, it looked like Harry, but it couldn’t be, right?

“I mean really, asking your professor to save you from a little fear, how useless can you be?” Draco turned to look at lupin only to find him just as stunned as he was.

“I don’t even know why I’m bothering with a faggot ass snob like you,” Draco flinched as the class erupted into whispers, and felt his cheeks start to burn with anger and embarrassment, hanging his head. 

“How the hell do you think anyone could love you, you’re a disgusting excuse for a human being and you know it," 

Draco tried raising his wand to banish the fear, but he couldn’t, it had taken over him. It was gripping his throat making it hard to breath, and twisting his stomach, making him want to vomit, every word he said was a knife to the gut he couldn’t get rid of. 

"That’s right,” he hissed, “show your peers your arm, it is that one you slice, isn’t it?” Draco’s arm fell quickly, as did a wet sensation of his cheek, as a hot tear began to roll to meet his trembling lip.

“Cry why don’t you, it won’t change the fact that you can’t even love yourself, and if you can’t love you, then how the hell could i?" 

A dagger sliced through Draco’s heart, piercing the thick wall which he kept so impenetrably thick, as it protected him from things like this. He was vaguely aware of professor lupin standing in front of him to distract the boggart, yet the damage was already done, and as he shouted ridiculous, Draco sprinted from behind him into the empty corridor, ignoring someone who seemed to be shouting his name. 

It took Harry two hours until he finally found what he was looking for, searching in every boy’s bathroom in all of hogwarts in order to locate one person, yeah it didn’t seem like a good idea at the time either. He would have used a locating spell, but it was one that Seamus Finnigan had give him and Harry wasn’t in the mood to be blown up today. 

When he finally found Draco, it wasn’t even in a boy’s bathroom. Moaning myrtle had been passing through a corridor which Harry happened to be passing through at the time, and that itself seemed a bit strange, yet when she began to complain about being kicked out of her own bathroom by a boy no less, especially one whom seemed to blame Harry for the whole ordeal, well, she had to moan to someone. 

Harry found Draco leaning against the one of the sinks with a broken shard which he assumed came from the smashed mirror, which would also explain his bloody fist. His arm was bleeding as several small cuts across it leaked out small trickles of the red liquid, causing Harry to gasp out in horror.

Draco turned to meet his green eyes, the same green eyes which had taunted him just hours ago. He smirked coldly.

"Here to taunt me again?” His words were spat towards Harry with such a hatred that he had never seen Draco have for anyone. Sure he poked fun but never did his words hold so much venom until now.

“Draco, I would never,” Harry began, before he was cut off by a harsh laugh from Draco, who had begun to squeeze the shard of glass placed between his fingers and his palm, making him bleed only more.

“But you did. It was you, I saw,” he said, his voice hushing down to a whisper. 

Harry slowly moved towards Draco, avoiding to touch the small cuts on his arm in fear that it would hurt him. When he got to Draco’s hand, he lifted it by the wrist before turning it to examine the glass in his hands, then gently coaxing his fingers open and removing the object from between them.

Quickly, he threw the glass away before it could hurt Draco any further. Draco looked up to Harry, meeting his eyes, both of them reflecting an equal amount of fear for the other, Draco of what Harry might say, and Harry of what Draco might do.

Harry drew in a shaky breath and shook his head at the cuts on Draco’s wrist. He began to rip at the bottom of his white school shirt, making quick work of the seams, before finally getting a good chunk of material, before carefully wrapping it around the injured wrist.

“Listen Draco, I will never hurt you like that,” Harry nodded his head outside, still focusing on bandaging, "or like this,“ he nodded to the small scars which had littered Draco’s wrist. Draco smiled down at the boy making quick work of his small injuries.

"Promise Potter?”

“I promise you prat.” Draco gave out a short laugh before both of them fell back into a comfortable silence.

“So you love me and all that jazz?”

“Oh shut it Potter.”

dobby-the-free-elf-01  asked:

Professor, are there any teachers that you're more inclined to speak with then others?

“It’s interesting actually. Blaise Zabini came back out of all the Slytherin Students and is the new Defence against the Dark arts teacher which surprised me.”

“we talk all the time.”