parchment and ink

What Each House Collects

Slytherin: Paper cuts and old parchment with ink stains. Love letters that were never sent. Cardboard shoe boxes of bottlecaps. Old family jewelry, coins from other countries, and coats with elbow patches. Broken shards of handmade pottery. Clippings of newspaper headlines and leaves that were pressed in place of flowers.

Ravenclaw: Sheet music and books with dog-eared pages. Silver spoons. Broken watches. Candles and old typewriters with sticky keys. Glass jars full of colorful pebbles, the silver chains of necklaces, and old train tickets. Journals brimming with empty pages. Feathers and empty inkwells.

Hufflepuff: Patterned socks and dusty buttons. Flowers pressed between book pages. Photographs stuffed in envelopes. String and the gold parts of candy wrappers. Chipped mugs, skipping stones, and family recipes. Bark from the tree in front of a childhood home. Maps and wire-rimmed eyeglasses.

Gryffindor: Old Quidditch brooms and fraying quilts. Broken wands. Shoes with holes at the toes. Brass bells and memories of laughter. Scars, empty bottles, and cozy sweaters. Unused tea bags. Mirrors that fit in the palm of a hand and seashells that sound like the ocean.


            She had made her g’s the same way he did: he searched through the letter for every one of them, and each felt like a friendly little wave glimpsed from behind a veil. The letter was an incredible treasure, proof that Lily Potter had lived, really lived, that her warm hand had once moved across this parchment, tracing ink into these letters, these words, words about him, Harry, her son.

(click to enlarge)

Taehyung and Jimin found Jungkook in the Hogwarts library, nearly falling asleep on his books from the quiet lull in the atmosphere.

“We’ve got something for you,” said Taehyung, his voice trembling with barely-contained excitement, magicking a large, worn out book out of nowhere and laying it on the plush couch. Jungkook thumbed through its pages, only to find them filled with instructions for potion-making in a script he couldn’t read. Suspecting one of Taehyung’s and Jimin’s usual pranks, he stared at them blankly. 

Jimin answered Jungkook’s questioning gaze. “It’s not just any old book, Jungkook. This holds the secret of our success. We’re bequeathing it to you.“

He gave the near-crumbling pages a light tap with his wand and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.

And at once, blue sparks shot out from Jimin’s wand and seemingly seeped into the parchment like ink. Nothing happened for a brief moment, but as Jungkook stared on suspiciously, he noticed the thin ink lines spreading from the tip of the enchanted quill laying innocently next to the book, staining the parchment a deep scarlet.

He leaned closer and realised they were spelling out words; Words, that proclaimed:

Originally posted by ladymisteria

BTS x Hogwarts [10/]

                                          Text partly adapted from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

                                        Reposts of any kind are disallowed.

We’re Not Friends

Overview: That’s why friends should sleep in other beds. And friends shouldn’t kiss me like you do. (Sirius Black x Reader)

Word Count: About 2,500.

Warning(s): Mentions of nightmares (not in depth, though), cuddling, and shirtless Sirius.

Author’s Note: In which both the reader and Sirius have nightmares only the fire can soothe. Based on Ed Sheeran’s, “Friends.” Listen below. :)

You weren’t friends.

Not exactly, at least. You smiled at him when you passed by in the halls, he chatted you up during Charms lessons, you even asked him for help on an essay. Despite Sirius’ notorious reputation, you were civilized around each other. You would go as far as to consider yourselves acquaintances.

But you weren’t friends.

There was no way you could be friends with someone who broke your friend’s heart with no sign of remorse. Sirius was cocky and arrogant–someone who walked around as if he expected others to bow down before him. He was entitled. He was trouble. He was fire and you were determined not to get burned.

But at night was when his facade fell apart.

Keep reading

Liberty Pt.1

Originally posted by kingsebastian

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

AU: Pirates of the Caribbean Universe

Characters:  Bucky Barnes, Natalia Romanoff, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker

Warnings for this fic: Angst, eventual smut in future chapters (slow burn), running away, profanity, violence.

Word count for this chapter: 1,759 (IM SORRY)

Captain James ‘Bucky’ Barnes was a peculiar man, how he sailed the seas for most of his 27 years. He was born at sea, he would most likely die at sea. All pirates, including those in the farthest corners of the maps, had heard of the infamous Captain. You? You were the governor’s daughter, secretly hoping to be taken out to seas and to be set free.


Why are you looking at me like that, dear?” Your father asked, his face bearing confusion.

Oh, do excuse me father, I was.. day dreaming… may I be excused from the dinner table?” Your father gave you a curt nod as you exited the dining hall. Your father was a Governor, therefore you lived in a luxury house, big enough to fit a whole crew of men, you could wonder the premises for hours, but growing up doing just that deemed you bored, trapped even.

Living in Port Royal gave you barely any benefits, indeed, there were beautiful landscapes to be painted, warm sand beaches to be walked upon, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted to explore further than the village fences, the harbor docks, into the sea that waved at you, tempting you to come closer, closer. You would give anything to be set free of the corsets and the courtship, to be free to roam the ocean as you please, discovering new places and the thrill of being a…nevermind.

You had heard stories of countless pirates, Captain Tony Stark of the Mighty Veronica, a large ship painted crimson and gold, with white sails and cannons filled with such powerful gunpowder one hit from a three barrel could split another vessel in half. From Captain Rogers, an ex-commodore, to Captain Romanoff with co-Captain Barton, better known as the Hawkeye of the seas due to his skills as a perfect shot with a pistol, you had heard extraordinary things from the men that survived on.

As a little girl, you were brought up by the maids in the household as your mother had died during childbirth. You barely left the god-forsaken island, it was very rare to go on even a short voyage with your father and his men, ’having a woman on board is bad luck.’ and only to return empty handed and deprived of proper contact with the outside world.

You were sheltered and innocent, men of the guard pined after for you since you grew a bust and shed your baby fat, you understood the means of their stares after you asked your chambermaid, Marie, what it meant to be a ‘tight little virgin’ as the men would whisper amongst themselves as you walked by. You knew very well what a kiss was, in fact, you had had a kiss indeed, your dear childhood friend Peter Parker had bestowed a secret kiss upon you on your 16th birthday, underneath the main dock, though there was no 'spark’ on your end, therefore you had to tell him that his feelings were unrequited, he never stopped being your friend, though.

You came to know Peter after you had saved his life, he had been thrown overboard from the ship he had been sailing on, alongside his father, had been blown up from the below deck gunpowder barrels.

“Father, look, a boy!” You had gasped, your father had rushed to your side and bellowed man overboard, a team of men upon the vessel had reeled him in and left him under your charge.

He was handsome, to say the least, as your hand brushed his forehead, he grabbed your wrist-

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I’m watching over you.” You spoke in a hushed tone.

The boy had coughed out a spluttered 'Peter Parker’ before falling unconscious once more.


Bucky Barnes was many things, wealthy, handsome, 'built like god himself’ as some women would say as he swaggered past them in the night, also a skilled thief nonetheless. But he was a shell of a man, plagued by the things he witnessed whilst sailing the doldrums of the ocean. As he moored his ship by the docks of Port Royal he briefly tipped the manager and his assistant a shilling each to keep their mouths shut about him and his men, and that his name was Captain William Pintel, he had ordered his crew to change the sails to white before they got anywhere near the border of the island the sails to white so they could conceal their identities.

He had come to trade, to drink, and maybe get a little bit of action for the night before being on his way to Haiti. He was a wanted man, he had liberated slaves when he was not supposed to, and that resulted in him becoming branded a pirate. The brand grew on him, and he became exactly what he was called, he had grown tired of trying to be the perfect man of the sea and broke the code instead, he sought trouble wherever he went and that was his way of living.

Though Port Royal was not a large area, it was densely populated and it was guarded heavily, with men walking around the village with their guns and bayonets. Bucky had his head hung low as he made his way through the crowds with one of his men, Sam, a man of colour whom Bucky had freed alongside the rest of the slaves.

He needed a sword.


You looked out of your window to see a dark ship rolling towards Port Royal, you could see the white sails calling to you at your bedroom window. The temptation to leave everything behind was screaming at you, beckoning you to go, liberty was practically screaming your name, bobbing up and down, you needed a disguise, you couldn’t board that bloody ship wearing a dress like this, it would blow your cover.

An idea.

You had hastily run to your kitchen and fetched a satchel and filled it with essentials. you escaped out of your household in seconds towards the blacksmiths, where Peter should be. As you neared the large wooden doors of the building, you peaked through the gap and saw nothing, heard nothing, even. So you pushed open the door, he wasn’t there, you checked in the back room where he stayed; nothing, you rummaged through a small crate and found a pair of trousers and a shirt, you slipped off your dress and underclothes and shoved them under the bed, freeing your hair from its pins and letting it fall loosely on your shoulders and changed into the borrowed clothing..

You left the room feeling a little lighter, but a weight fell onto your shoulders as you realized you needed to tell Peter where you were going, being your best friend, he deserved to know, he didn’t deserve to worry. You grabbed a piece of parchment and a bottle of ink and a quill.


I’m sorry but by the time you read this I will be gone, I’m boarding a ship at the dock and never returning, I plan to find a new life, to branch out and roam the world to no end. I hate to leave you behind, I love you very much- the ship is black with white sails, it has a red star on the side also, if you ever need to find me, look for it.

All my love,


P.s. Please, don’t tell my father.

You could heard the door begin to open and you legged it to the back door, you didn’t know who it was but you prayed to the gods it wasn’t Peter, it was too soon, and it was easy for him to spot you in a crowd, he would catch you instantly, so you ran.


Bucky sauntered into the deserted blacksmiths, he peaked around to see if anyone was in there, but it was silent, he could smell the burnt out coal and could tell it had been deserted for hours, though, he came across a freshly written letter and noticed that his ship was mentioned in said letter. He was aware he was a wanted man, what if this was a trap? What if the company knew he was here? Breadcrumbs, you had accidentally left the first, so he took the affects he needed and ran towards his ship.

A girl upon my ship, this should be interesting… Bucky thought to himself.

As he arrived to the dock he could see the red faced manager run to him, “Captain Pintel!! A girl… has boarded… your ship… Sir!!” He huffed, Bucky pushed him aside and climbed onto his vessel, making sure he was as silent as a mouse.

He looked everywhere, and there was no sign of a girl. None of his crew saw a tresspasser, and begin to move the ship out of the dock on captain’s orders.


You tried to still your breathing as you saw the handsome man search upon his ship for the intruder, you were hiding behind a rum barrell as he neared. You could hear his footsteps come to a halt, thinking he had given up, then you felt yourself being yanked up by the collar of your shirt, being pushed again the wall of the ship. His large hand came up and his fingers wrapped around your throat as the other rested against the sword handle on his belt all you could do was stand there.

He was strong, you dared not to move an inch incase he added pressure to the hand on your throat. You mapped his features; dark hair, full lips, tantalizing blue eyes, you realied who this man was, it was Captain James Barnes, the most wanted man on the map, you knew this because you heard stories around the village, from men and women alike.

Well, well, well, what pretty little thing do we have here?” He smirked, bringing a finger to tease one of your locks, “what’s your name, doll?

Y/N Y/L/N, s-sir.” You spluttered, you brought your hands up to try and pry his one off your throat.

Uh-oh.. the Governor’s daughter, hm? Tsk tsk, oh darling, you’re in for a- you shouldn’t dig your nails into my skin, sweetheart, I saw your little letter in the blacksmiths and I won’t hesitate to take you back sweetheart, or maybe… dump you in the middle of the ocean?” He inhaled and tightened his grip around your throat, and narrowed the proximity between both your faces.

Please- Sir I’ll do anything, please just let me come with you.” You hoped he wouldn’t turn out too bad, if he let you stay, but if he didn’t…

Well, miss Y/L/N, welcome aboard the St. Brooklyn…


A/N SOOOO that was the first chapter i hope you like it if people want me to continue im gonna need hella motivation!



@remussloopin asked: lily evans or narcissa black?

He read the letter again, but could not take in any more meaning than he had done the first time and was reduced to staring at the handwriting itself. She had made her g’s the same way he did : he searched through the letter for every one of them, and each felt like a friendly little wave glimpsed from behind a veil. The letter was an incredible treasure, proof that Lily Potter had lived, really lived, that her warm hand had once moved across this parchment, tracing ink into these letters, these words, words about him, Harry, her son.

Grapefruit Shampoo

My first fanfic on this account, what a milestone. (and it’s Drarry of course.)

Draco has always loved potions class. He loved the exact science and the amount of attention one needs to make a potion perfect. For others potions was a drag, even the Slytherins, who were known for their excellence in the subject. But for Draco it was calming, it was a distraction, especially after the war. He didn’t know what had gotten into him when he had decided to return to Hogwarts to finish his education.

We’ll get you a private tutor! His mother had offered, but he thought it best to go back to that blasted school. How bad could it be? He thought to himself as he walked into the great hall on that first night.

It was bad.

Astronomically bad.

Keep reading


Pureblood friend: runs out of ink "gaah don’t you  just hate it when you’re in the middle of your essay and your ink runs out!“

Pureblood friend: "yes! it annoys the shit out of me! especially when you accidentally knock it over and spill everything!”

Muggleborn friend: clicks pen “oh yeah….thats gotta be frustrating for sure.”


Draco knew it.

He first knew it when Potter was sitting with him during Potions in their eighth year. He could smell him, he could see the way his hands shook whenever he would work on a potions lab.

Seeing Harry Potter in all of his magical glory was really what helped Draco realize it.

“Draco,” Potter grinned one morning as soon as Draco sat next to him in Potions, “goodmorning.”

This confused Draco to no end. First off, since when were they on a first-name-basis? Secondly, he couldn’t understand how it could possibly be a goodmorning for him, considering he had to sit next to Potter and listen to his nonsense for an hour.

The portrait of his godfather explained the potion they would be brewing today, Pepper-Up Potion. Draco quickly sent Potter off to retrieve the ingredients from the cupboard at the back of the room, while he prepared the cauldron and the tools they would be using.

It was common knowledge that Harry Potter was not an excelling student in Potions, but Draco couldn’t understand why it took him five minutes to fetch the ingredients. He impatiently strolled to the cupboard to see what was holding him up.

As soon as he entered the cramped cupboard, he ran into the back of the one-and-only Harry Potter. He was having a hushed conversation with Theodore Nott. Once his presence was known, the talking ceased, and Potter grinned at him.

“Why, Draco,” he began, “fancy seeing you here.”

“Yes, fancy seeing me in my own class,” Draco rolled his eyes, “I came here to fetch the ingredients that you obviously couldn’t.”

He began to collect what he needed, only to notice that Nott had left. He required the “eyelashes of Hippogriff” which was on the highest shelf. Draco wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he wasn’t particularly tall. He strained his one hand up, only to feel the pressure of hands lifting him up.

This was not a position Draco Malfoy wanted to be in, at the time, but he took the opportunity and grabbed the jar anyway.

Once he was on his feet again, he nodded at Potter who had rosy-tint to his cheeks, but was smiling nonetheless. Leaving the cupboard, he tried not to look baffled even as everyone (including Dumbledore who “coincidentally” entered Snape’s portrait at the time) looked at the duo as if expecting something.

As they arrived at their seats, Draco watched as Harry began chopping up a basil leaf. He saw his hair sticking to his face from the heat of the cauldron, and his glasses fogging up. Oh, Merlin. Draco knew it then.


Once he knew, he figured that the whole school was most likely in on the secret. Except for, newly-appointed, Headmaster McGonagall, actually. He figured this when he was inside of her office (which still smelled like Dumbledore, for the record).

“No, Mr. Malfoy. I will not change your rooming arrangements. We must enforce house-unity, and what better way to get through to the younger wizards than to place the eighth years in mixed-house dorms?”

Draco though of several different methods, perhaps even eliminating houses all together. He knew to keep his mouth closed, though, because the look in the woman’s eyes showed that she would not be convinced otherwise.

The wrinkles surrounding her eyes also showed that she was way past her expiration date, and he constantly wondered how she managed to avoid death. If I was death, Draco thought, I wouldn’t mess with Minerva McGonagall, either.

“I understand that, Headmaster, but Weasley constantly sneaks into the room in the middle of the night, no doubt from Granger’s room.” They ignored the chuckle Dumbledore let out from his portrait above them.

“I don’t see how a room-change will prevent that from happening.” She sighed these words out.

“It doesn’t matter to me if it stops, I just don’t want to deal with it.”

“Mr. Malfoy, I can’t ju-”

“No, no, I think the boy is right,” Dumbledore spoke gruffly from his portrait. You could hear the smile in his voice, “Perhaps, we should switch Mr. Weasley with Mr. Potter?”

Draco Malfoy couldn’t deny that he liked where this was going. What he didn’t understand was how Dumbledore caught on to his feelings for the messy-haired boy so quickly. Draco made a decision to hide his feelings better, because if old men in portraits could figure them out, he was sure Potter could.

“Now, why would we do that, Dumbledore?”

Minerva McGonagall was practically competing with Harry Potter to win the title of ‘Most Oblivious Person in Hogwarts’.

The sound of Dumbledore sighing was heard in the room, and Draco couldn’t help but agree with the man.

“Well, I’ll be going now. Perhaps I could get a few hours of sleep before Weasley comes into our room, only to leave again with Granger.” Draco spoke as he rose from his seat to leave the room.

With McGonagall’s complete lack of knowledge towards Draco Malfoy’s feelings for Potter, he assumed that maybe the school didn’t know. Maybe it was only Dumbledore. That thought alone made him feel a bit at ease.


Until the next day.

He was strolling down to the Great Hall that morning, only to be yanked into a corridor. Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger looked at him expectantly, as though he was the one that pulled them into a corridor.

“What?” He questioned impatiently. If their little chat was going to happen at this rate, he would miss the fried tomatoes.

“We think that you should stop acting oblivious, and just be with Harry.” Granger rushed out as Pansy nodded alongside her.

“I’m the oblivious one?” Draco said incredulously.

“Oh, you have to forgive Harry,” Granger waved his comment off with a flick of her hand, “he doesn’t get things sometimes.”

“I’ll have you know, I am completely fine with pining after Potter. Leave me alone.” These were words that Draco never thought he would ever say in his life. His father was writhing in his grave.

Draco now figured that, yeah, the whole school was probably aware of his problem. You would think that maybe someone would actually help him solve it, but he continued to talk to Parkinson and Granger about how this was all his fault for not taking action and winning Harry over.

The thing is, Draco isn’t a man of action.


So people knew, that is, except for Potter (and maybe McGonagall, as she tended to watch them closely nowadays, as though they would break out into a fight at any moment). Which was quite a nuisance really, because now here he was in the library. The Boy Who Lived was his only companion, completing a Transfiguration Essay, and he was burning with want.

Over the past few weeks, Potter had weaseled (no pun intended) into Draco’s everyday life. They played chess, went to Hogsmeade, and ate together. Draco was in no position to complain, but everyday he found that he craved Potter more and more.

The library was silent, except for the quiet sound of Dumbledore trying to make his breathing inconspicuous. All he smelled was musty, magical books and the boy next to him. He seriously wondered how a boy capable of defeating the most powerful dark wizard in the world could be so absolutely oblivious.

Now, for the record, Draco Malfoy was not an observant person, himself. He had only realized his true feelings for the Golden Boy a few weeks ago. Whereas, the majority of the school population had figured it out during their sixth year (according to Seamus Finnigan who explained that he and Nott have a bet going on how long it will take for Draco to cave into Harry. The bet has been running for over two years.). Draco didn’t understand how he could have gone for so long without thinking about Potter that way.

Harry Potter, however, was a different level of obliviousness than Draco had ever had the displeasure of encountering in his life. It was a wonder that the boy realized there was a nose-less man after him in the first place.

“What are you reading?” Potter turned to him and pushed his glasses up.

Draco simply turned his book to show Potter the cover.

“You know, you don’t have to stay with me while I finish my essay.” Potter smiled at him.

“Well, I can’t leave you alone, now can I?” Draco rolled his eyes.

“You could.”

“Don’t be daft.”

Potter casually toyed with a piece of Draco’s hair, and even though his face was set in a frown, it secretly drove him mad.

He and Potter continued to share light conversation. They covered news concerning Quidditch, their N.E.W.T.s, and the other eighth years. Draco found talking with Potter was quite easy. Their conversations drove late into the night, and Draco was still not fulfilled. Eventually, Harry decided he ought to complete his essay, and Draco finish his book.

Draco had yet to figure out what got him in this dilemma. He had half-a-mind to pin it on McGonagall and her attempts at enforcing “house unity” between the eighth years. If he had stayed with his fellow Slytherins in their chambers, he would have never noticed the way Potter’s hair flopped into his eyes. He would’ve been too busy restoring the Malfoy name to care about Potter’s matured voice. He definitely wouldn’t have noticed the way the boy’s eyes gleamed with determination as tried to complete a potion. He would’ve never realized what he’d known all along. Damn it, Minerva.

As Draco pondered over the absurdity of his situation, a light snoring from his side shook him out of his thoughts. Potter had fallen asleep on his parchment and the ink on his quill was beginning to drip. He looked so vulnerable and delicate lying there. The light pink of his cheeks, accompanied by the gentle rise-and-fall of his lungs shook something inside of Draco.

Draco thought quick about what one of Potter’s friends would do. Making a natural decision, he gently shook Potter’s sleeping form.

“Potter,” his shaking only resulted in Potter crinkling his nose and then recommencing his snoring, “wake up.”

Draco sighed and felt a bit bad for trying to awaken the boy. He had been working so hard recently. It was no surprise he was exhausted. So, Draco carefully scooped the boy up in his arms. Throughout the past year, Draco had grown slightly taller than Potter, whilst keeping his lanky form. He silently enchanted their equipment to follow them as he begun to walk to the Eighth Year Common Room. There weren’t a large amount of returners, and they couldn’t simply sleep with the underclassmen. McGonagall decided to place them all in the same quarters. This was also another attempt to promote the idea of house-unity to the younger wizards.

Draco tried to walk without running into any bumps. He narrowly avoided any disruptions that may wake Potter from his slumber. He would occasionally check to see if their possessed possessions were still trailing behind him.

Upon reaching the portrait of Sir William Arthur that hid their common room, Draco quickly mumbled the password. He tried to act as though he didn’t see the knowing look the man gave him as he entered.

Potter’s room assignment had been with Blaise Zabini, some Hufflepuff boy, and Neville Longbottom. Draco was sure they were asleep, but had no problem waking them up.

He knocked at their dormitory door, until a very frazzled-looking Blaise Zabini opened the door.

“I believe this belongs in your room.” Draco said gesturing to the boy in his arms.

Zabini rolled his eyes and moved to let Draco enter the room. It smelled like pine and there was only one untouched bed in the corner. He carefully set Potter on the bed, perhaps standing to look at him a bit too long.


He was met with a grunt from Zabini as the door shut behind him. Draco found his way back to his room with the Weasel, Finnigan, and Nott. There wasn’t even a shift in the room when he entered. Draco laid in his bed and thought about what mode of action he should take.

However, Draco wasn’t a man of action.

He knew this, and he doubted he ever would be. He fell asleep that night already accepting his Potterless future.


The next morning, he went down to the Great Hall only to notice Potter. He only ever thought of Potter these days. Today was the day that the ceiling had begun to snow and everyone was planning their plans for the break. Potter, however, sat and ate his fried tomatoes glumly. Draco didn’t understand why though, it was no secret that the boy would typically accompany the Weasel to his Weasel home.

He decided to take a seat next to the gloomy boy.

“It’s a wonder you were given the name "the Golden Boy,” Draco began, catching his attention, “what with your depressed persona.”

He watched as Potter laughed, and ignored how good it made him feel to bring joy to the boy next to him. Damn it, Potter.

“I wouldn’t be so "depressed” if you would have told me.“ Potter now sat with his chin is his hands facing Draco. Draco resisted the urge to straighten his glasses which were slightly crooked.

Once the words left Potter’s mouth, Draco didn’t know what he should do. He didn’t know how to respond to this situation. He looked at his nearby eighth years, and saw Neville Longbottom giving him a nervous thumbs-up. Pansy tried to hide her grin as she drank her pumpkin juice. Damn it.

"I didn’t think you wanted that,” Draco tried to speak as clearly as he could, given the heart-shattering circumstances.

“I think I know what I want better than you do,” the boy gave Draco a grin as his words sunk in.

“It’s not my fault you were completely oblivious to my advances.” Draco let a smile through. He ignored the way that the corner of Hermione’s mouth quirked up at his words.

Advances? Draco, you won’t even touch my skin! Last night was the closest we’ve ever been, and I was asleep.” Potter threw his hands up and grinned.

“Well, I’m gentleman, and I have yet to even properly court you.” his eyes twinkled as he said this, and Potter’s cheeks were rosy with life.

Potter bit his lip before he spoke. Draco tried not to let his eyes focus on the action, or the way that Dumbledore inconspicuously wandered into the portrait behind them.

“You’re going to court me?”

Draco was suddenly a man of action.

Damn, Gryffindors.


“I don’t think your dad will be too happy with this news.” Potter chuckled and danced his hand closer to Draco.

“Well, he’s not the one doing the courting.” Draco gingerly played with the boy’s fingers.

“I should hope not.”

This was the second time Draco knew it. He knew he was in love. Potter did, too.

So did Dumbledore.


There is a bookwyrm in the library.

Note the spelling. Not a bookworm. A bookwyrm.

No one is entirely sure when it snuck into the Elsewhere University Library, but one thing has become entirely certain: it is never, ever leaving.

And why should it leave, with a veritable unlimited floor plan filled to the bell tower with delicious, fragrant tomes to claim and hoard and sample.

An ink-black serpentine wyrm that originally was not much bigger than a rabbit, it used to scamper here and there in the library looking for open tomes to slurp the words out of (it is a terribly messy eater, much to the librarians’ chagrin). The words it eats etch themselves somewhere onto its dark hide, though it has consumed so many letters in so many languages that it is difficult now to see where new bits of prose are added.

Students have been warned repeatedly over the years not to feed the bookwyrm. But there are always those who do not heed the warnings of the librarians. It used to be a funny pastime for students that had become stuck in one section or another of the library’s labyrinthine stacks to feed scraps of paper with vulgar words to the then tiny bookwyrm and then try to find where the offending epithets manifested. The bookwyrm was not terribly picky about the words it ate back then, because it was always hungry. Whether they were in good taste or bad, it didn’t matter; its appetite was insatiable.

And this kind of recklessness is why it grew so large in such a, relatively, short amount of time. It sprang up to the size of a cat one semester, then a large dog a year later, and then eventually… well, to the point where it’s a very good thing that the library has a mostly Other architecture, because it surely would have burst the building by now. And the bigger it grew, the more territorial it became. The more it hoarded tomes in certain sections (it really seemed to savor Anne McCaffrey’s works, but would never be found anywhere near Hemingway, for example). The more aggressive it became to students and librarians alike who needed the books also.

Hoping to avoid another calamity like the last wyrm that took up residence on the campus, the librarians decided to make good use of their new pet. With a copious amount of parchment and ink, they lured the bookwyrm down down down deep into the seldom used catacombs of The Library and set it to work. They knew that once it was presented with its new collection that it would never stray far from it again. And there it stays.

It was a constant conundrum that the librarians faced in the early days, when the Fair Folk and students were beginning to… mingle. A place filled with a vast amount of knowledge like The Library is always bound to have certain… archives that are better perused by no one. Ancient texts. Tomes of ages, dated further back than it is currently recorded that written word existed. The language of the birds, poetry of the stars, and truths that would shatter the mind. Words that needed to be preserved but not necessarily studied. Not by the Good Neighbors, and certainly not by incoming freshmen. Absolutely not by school administrators.

A tiny bit of such knowledge is dangerous. A little more is a disaster. Lots of that knowledge, though, would present a crisis of cataclysmic proportions. These are the books, bound in iron and chains, locked with enchantment and dusted with bottled oblivion, that the wyrm keeps. Guards. Claims. Hoards.

Not all words fade with time. Some grow sharp teeth and attack from the dark instead.

So if you are lost in the library and find yourself in a place that is blacker than spilled ink, smells of iron and sulfur, and sounds like an ancient bellows, turn around and leave out the way you came.

Yesterday, if possible (which, in The Library, of course, it always, always is).

Coffee, parchment and ink

 He knew that smell. It was kind of familiar, it was something sweet, something that made him comfortable and warm inside.

“Are you okay, Harry?” Hermione asked him.

“Yeah” He said without looking up from his cauldron.

When the class ended and they exited the potions classroom, Ron and Hermione we’re babbling about they potion they just brewed, talking in hushed whispers that Harry could still hear.

“What did it smell like to you?” Ron asked him.

“Rain” He lied. Well, half lied. He did smell rain in the potion, but the greater smell was the other one, the one he couldn’t tell to what belonged.

The 8th year common room was warm when they entered. The fireplace was lit and some of the 8th years were already seated on the floor and chairs.

After the war things were hard, really hard. Hogwarts was different and it would never be the same, everyone knew it and everyone was starting to accept it.

Without a word, they sat on the floor, near the fireplace, and looked at the others. There weren’t many 8th years, not everyone had decided to come back.

Seamus was the first one to talk. It was routine, it was something that happened every night, something that was safe and connected them, something that made them see each other’s point of view.

Since the year had started, they sat together every night and shared stories, told things that happened to them before or during the war. Whether they were Ravenclaws, Slyhterins, Hufflepuffs or Gryffindors, they started understanding each other like they never did before.

While Blaise was telling his own story, Harry started smelling that sweet scent again and a warm feeling settled in his stomach. He looked around trying to understand why he had only felt the smell in that moment, after three stories had already been told, but the only difference in their positions on the floor were that Susan moved closer to the fireplace and Malfoy had gotten up and went to the bathroom, and Harry couldn’t tell where the sweet scent was coming from.

The next time Harry smelled the scent was on the Quidditch pitch at a friendly game between the 8th years. He was looking for the snitch when, all of a sudden, mixed with the smell of the air and the rain, he felt it in his nostrils, heart and on the pit of his stomach. He stopped his broom in the air and looked around but the person closer to him was Malfoy, also on his broom, looking for the snitch.

When the little golden ball appeared, both boys looked at each other, smirked with the shine of familiar challenge in their eyes, and dived in, with their right arms stretched in front of them, ready to catch the snitch.

It was when Malfoy was right next to him that it him. With a surprised gasp, he stopped mid fly and Malfoy took advantage of that to catch the snitch.

And Harry finally understood. Malfoy had just passed him by on the common room when he smelled the scent and he was right next to him just moments ago, and Harry could only see one explanation, now he just had to be sure it was really Malfoy and find out why he had smelled him between rainy Quidditch pitches and cakes in his Amortentia potion.

“You seem down today, Harry. What happened?” Hermione woke Harry from his daydream.

“Do you know anyone that smells like coffee, parchment and ink?” He blurted out before he could stop himself.

“I don’t know, Harry… It’s not like I go around smelling people.” Ron said through a mouth full of food.

“Why do you ask?” Hermione looked at him suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you smelled that in your Amortentia!” 

“I didn’t!” He denied too quickly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, knowing he was lying, but didn’t drag the conversation, changing it to their homework.

Unconsciously, Harry looked at the Slytherin table, his gaze falling on the blond boy who looked up, feeling someone looking at him, and Harry couldn’t help thinking that he would like to stare at the other boy’s eyes from much closer.

Harry shook his head, like he was trying to get rid of the thoughts he didn’t want to be having and started eating again.

When Harry finished eating he told his friends he was going to the library to study a little before he went to bed. They looked at him weirdly, as if they didn’t believe in what he was saying, but Harry wasn’t lying, really.

In the library, he went to the shelves with the potions books and searched for something that could make him understand why he had smelled Malfoy in the Amortentia potion he brewed in class.

Without finding anything that Slughorn hadn’t already said in class, Harry sighed and exited the library. In the 8th year common room, after he had gone to the bathroom, Harry said goodnight to the others and went to bed, diving into a night full of blond hair, grey eyes, coffee, parchment and ink.

“Potter” someone said behind him.

Harry didn’t have to look to know who was behind him; there was only one person that could say his name that way.


Without answering, Malfoy sat in front of Harry and put the book he has on his hands on top of the table.

“Where are your Gryffindors?” He asked without looking up.

“Went on a date. Didn’t you go to Hogsmade?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t need to be so sarcastic.”

“You think that was being sarcastic? That wasn’t anything, Scarhead.”

“When are you going to stop calling me that, ferret?”

“When I feel like it.” He shrugged.

“Thank you” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Look who is being sarcastic now.”

“Shut up” Harry couldn’t help but smile a little.

The situation was strange, Harry never thought that he and Malfoy would be having a decent conversation between books in the library, but here they were and Malfoy smelled like coffee and parchment and ink and, somehow, Harry knew that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else, if given the choice.


Expecto Patronum (Remus Lupin x Reader)

pairing: remus lupin x reader, smol bit of sirius black x reader

warnings: swearing? I think? I can’t remember. 

word count: 2697 words

When you and Remus decide to hold secret meetings to create a patronus, You discover that yours and Remus’ are the same, meaning that you are both soulmates. 

A/N: this is my first actual fic that i’ve posted on tumblr so I’m super sorry for spelling and grammar mistakes! Also, it is 1:30am and I am so tired™️ Enjoy and feel free to request!

Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, soaking her in golden light and making her sparkle. She looked positively beautiful bathing in the afternoon light that flooded the library, and Remus couldn’t stop staring at her.

Her brows were furrowed in concentration, her bottom lip tucked beneath her teeth as her warm hand moved across the parchment, inking words about whatever homework they had decided to do. She didn’t seem to realize how distracting she truly was, because she continued to pour over her homework, oblivious to the way she had captured Remus’s attention. How she had bewitched his soul and stolen his heart from his ribcage.

They had been friends for years, since their first year when they met on the Hogwarts Express. Their friendship had survived when they split into different groups, she befriending Lily Evans and becoming one of the most popular girls in school, and him becoming the fourth Marauder. Their friendship had strengthened at times when he thought it would wither, like the time she had discovered his secret. Instead of recoiling, though, she supported him and they endured together. He had vowed not to fall in love with her but love is a very complicated thing and one should never vow against it. 

She paused briefly, snapping Remus out of his reverie and the boy returned his eyes to his blank parchment. She looked at him, bemused, by his lack of work.

“Are you okay?” she asked, leaning over and pressing their shoulders together. Remus swallowed, dryly.

“Erm – yeah, I’m fine,” said Remus, “just – er – thinking,”

(Y/N) gave him a quizzical look, as though she were trying to decide whether to investigate further or to leave the matter entirely. Remus hoped for the latter. It must have shown on his face because she gave him a small smile.

“Okay. Hey, can I read to you what I’ve got so far?” Remus nodded and she cleared her throat.

The Patronus Charm is the most powerful and the most infamous defensive spell known to wizardkind, to master the spell is considered a triumphant achievement, as the spell is incredibly difficult and immensely complicated, and many witches and wizards fail to produce a corporeal Patronus.

To conjure a Patronus, one must channel all their concentration into a single, happy memory and use the incarnation ‘Expecto Patronum’ which, when translated from Latin, means ‘I await a guardian. ‘The stronger the memory, the more effective the Patronus will be.

The Patronus is the only known defense against Dementors-”

And now he was doing it again. The world around him was fading and all he could see was her, how beautiful she was, how melodic her voice was, how incredibly intelligent and funny and kind she is-

The Patronus takes the shape of a silvery animal with whom most witches and wizards who successfully conjure one share a deep affinity too. The form that it takes is unique to the wizard or witch who produces it as it reflects the individuals’ personality. It is possible for the patronus to change forms, but these cases are rare-”

And all he could think about was kissing her right in this very moment. A fluid movement of leaning forward and pressing their lips together. Closing his eyes and tasting how truly sweet she is. He needed to kiss her, if it’s the last thing he does-

As the Patronus is the embodiment of a persons life force, it is possible for one to produce a patronus that takes the same form of someone they love. This is extremely rare, and a wizard and witch must have a strong connection and immeasurable love for one another to be able to do so.

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