Howlers; H.p.

howlers; h.p.

pairing: harry james potter x fem!reader

synopse: everytime harry fucks anything up and gets in trouble, there is a bet: which howler will he be receiving?

warnings: everything’s fine au, howlers, james and sirius being an iconic duo, just fluff

word count: 1.4k

a/n: this idea is from a pin i saw (can’t link it here), so credits to its owner! hope you enjoy it :)

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Harry James Potter's life was no easy task, but in the best way possible.

Voldemort had been defeated on the fateful 31st October of 1981, within the dark sky of halloween night. No one knew exactly what happened; just that he went to the Potter's to kill the youngest of them, and the curse, apparently, backfired. There was also a rumor about a stag and a black dog, but we will not get into detail. All that mattered was that Voldemort was gone. For good.

Most of his followers went to Azkaban, including Peter Pettigrew, for his betrayal and hidden devoted passion to the dark side. There were some rebellions in the following years, but nothing too big, as their leader had fallen. And because there were such good aurors taking care of everything.

So, having James Potter as his father, Sirius Black as his godfather, and Remus Lupin as his, basically, second father and godfather, growing up was eventful, to say the least.

Don't get him wrong; he absolutely loved them with all of his might. He just wished that they made it easier for him sometimes. Like now, for example.

It was a typical wednesday morning. Everyone was in the Great Hall, as breakfast time was still going and there would be no classes for another half an hour.

You were currently almost completely in your boyfriend's lap, eating your cereals and talking happily to Ginny and Hermoine.

Harry, however, was not very happy; in fact, he was dreading every minute of this breakfast.

He had his arms wrapped around your waist, and his head was buried in your shoulder, eyes closed. He was trying his best to ignore his friends' teasing, the glances from people around and, mainly, the big windows.

Why? Because Hedwig would enter the Hall any minute now. Why was he dreading it? Howlers, of course.

He had pranked Snape along with the Weasley twins the previous day. It was pretty good, if you asked Harry. All of the cauldrons had exploded, and confetti was thrown at Snape, as it was his birthday. They just had to do it. One week of detention and McGonagalls lectures were more than worth it. But there was a little detail that Harry always seemed to forget; the howler he would get the day after.

There were just three options:

1, James and Sirius congratulating him and wishing they were there;

2, Lily wanting to beat his arse;

Or 3, everything mixed together and the complete chaos.

So, here he was; trying to hide in you, hoping you would save him. "Harry, love, I swear to Merlin, I loved your prank-"

"Hey!--" Fred and George yelled from somewhere.

"- but what were you expecting? They do this all the time. You better be hoping that my mom won't be in that howler, then it would be embarrassing," you grinned at him. In all honesty, you usually were involved in the mess (growing up with Harry would do that to you) and your mom was a troublemaker along with the Marauders in their years- the only voice of sense being Lily (even though we all know that Lily secretly loved it all). So, this didn't really faze you; it was actually amusing.

You weren't part of this prank because Harry wanted it to be a surprise. And one hell of a surprise it was.

You too got a week worth of detention because you couldn't stop laughing. Ron and Dean got 3 days. The rest of the students got all one night just because.

"Why can't they just be normal people?" Harry's muffled voice asked.

You rolled your eyes, still smiling. "We are talking about our families here, Harry. Nothing less should be expected."

A few moments passed. Everyone was talking with their friends, and the High Table was still full with all of the professor's and staff. The noise in the Great Hall was full of life, and it was strangely comforting.

Suddenly all the chatter died down, and everyone was looking at the windows. Harry immediately seated upright and snapped his head to the windows direction.

The motion almost made you fall, and that made Harry wrap his arms tighter around you, and pull your body flushed against his well-built chest.

A snowy owl majestically flew around the room with two letters in its beak. One of them was bright red.

Harry loudly groaned which got several chuckles from around. He could swear that Hedwig did this every time for attention. Sirius probably bribed her to do it; fly in the most attention-bringer moment. Fucking Padfoot.

The letters fell into your lap, as you were still on Harry. You cackled loudly as you picked the howler up and wiggled it right in front of Harry's face.

Harry pouted and took the letter, sighing. Looking around, he saw every single pair of eyes on them, the silence defining.

Harry closed his eyes tightly in exasperation, taking one last deep breath, and opened the howler.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER, WHAT THE HELL--" Lily's voice bellowed.

"I AM SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU, SON!--"

"James Fleamont,"

"MOONY MOONY MOONY, DID YA HEARD ABOUT THE PRANK?!"

"SIRIUS, NO! WHERE DID YOU CAME FROM, OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

"PADS, THE PRANK ON SNIVELLUS, BRILLIANT! He learned it from me--"

"Actually, if he learned it from someone it was from me. Remember that time, Remus and Sirius were--" your mother's voice echoed through the letter.

"NO! Out of here!" Remus' voice yelled in the background.

"And he got what? One week worth of detention? AMAZING!" Sirius laughed.

"Minnie's getting soft, honestly--"

"Harry, please behave; I love you- James you get back here right this second or I swear to Godric."

"Lily-flower, darling, hey--!" James yelped after a big metallic bang!.

"Goodbye, Harry, " Remus chuckled.

"Don't forget to write to us! And you too Y/N!" your mother excitedly said.

"PADFOOT NO--!"

And the howler ended.

For ten solid seconds, no one said anything.

And then, the chaos started.

Yells and money was being passed around. At this point, it was regular free entertainment for everyone. Harry wanted to at least pretend that he was embarrassed, but really, he couldn't.

You yelled out a 'yes!' before jumping from Harry’s lap and running to the High Table.

Once you reached it, you slammed your two hands right in front of Dumbledoor and McGonagall. "Well, professor, it seems like you have a small debt to pay, isn't it?" you smirked.

Dumbledoor sighed. "Very well. Ms. Y/L/N," he gave you a small bag full of galleons. "Minerva," he gave McGonagall another one.

"Yes, Albus, Ms. Y/L/N is quite right, I reckon. And I believe you also owe me something, no?" Minerva raised her eyebrows with a small proudful smile.

You high-fived McGonagall, who rolled her eyes, and put your galleons in a hidden pocket of your robe. "Nice doing business with you. Headmaster, Minnie," you started to walk run back to her table.

When you got there, everything was still the same. Yells, laughs, bickering, the usual. You took place in your boyfriend's lap again, this time facing him and grinned as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Hello there, my love!"

Harry bit his lip, trying to contain his amusement. "How much did you get this time?"

You eyed him suspiciously. However, you quickly gave in when Harry raised an eyebrow. "...20 galleons," you answered proudly.

Harry grinned. "Why do they keep betting with you?"

"Maybe they still haven't memorised the sore taste of loss?" you sighed dramatically.

"Merlin, I love you so much," Harry laughed and brought your face closer.

"Of course you do, doesn't everybody?" you teased.

Harry deadpanned.

"I'm kidding! I'm kidding, I've been spending way too much time with Padfoot, haven't I?" you tried again. No response from Harry. You then beamed. "I love you."

Harry brushed your lips together, a soft smile adorning his face. And when you were sure he would kiss you, he suddenly smirked. "Doesn't everybody?"

"Harry James Potter!"

Yes, his life really was not easy, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

I LOVE THIS SM <333

Dog Days (TASM!Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: You might have been ever so slightly perturbed about Peter seeing you in your underwear if he wasn’t sporting a large cut along his jawline; one that looked achingly fresh.

“Did you shave with a machete this morning?” You asked, stepping out of the doorway and making room for him to enter.

“A scythe, actually,” Peter deadpanned.

Words: 2.4k

A/N: Andrew Garfield!Spiderman; friends to lovers; heated make-out; cursing; minor injury; mutual pining; possible part 1 of 2? characters are in college & of age.

It was hot. That sticky kind of hot that clung to you and made you feel like tearing your skin off. That makes the sweat pool at the nape of your neck until it slides in a cold streak down the curve of your spine. The New York air was shimmering, alive with exhaust fumes and the output of overworked air conditioning units of every apartment on your block—except for yours. The dumbass thing had broken overnight and when you woke up at five a.m., damp and uncomfortable, you’d called your best friend knowing he’d make a quick fix of it.

But you’d gotten his voicemail, unsurprising given that he’d never been a morning person. Since you’d met him three years ago at freshman orientation, Peter Parker had perfectly offset you in every way. Where he could stay in bed until noon, you were decidedly not a night owl, often cosy in your pyjamas by ten p.m. Peter had a sharp wit and loved to tease, and though his wit brought out a sharp tongue you’d never known you had, you were infinitely shyer than he was. He was perpetually late to everything from the Christmas dinner you’d invited him to at your parents’ home to your final exam for Organic Chemistry—which he’d passed with flying colours—whereas you were punctual to a fault. And perhaps most significantly, you’d never known heartbreak in your life, never had the opportunity because you’d never given anyone your heart to begin with. Peter’s heart, you knew, had endured the worst kind of break. Though he only spoke of her sometimes, you knew his high school girlfriend had died tragically and each year you went with him to visit her resting place, holding his hand and running your thumb over his knuckles as gently as you could. The depths of that pain, written on his face and in his body language whenever he spoke of Gwen, made you steel yourself against love, afraid to give yourself to anyone in case you left them broken and alone.

There was a flaw in your plan to avoid love forever though, and that was Peter himself. As much as you’d tried to swallow them, shut them up in the deepest pits of your soul, bury them where they’d never see the light of day, your feelings for him had only grown in the last three years. At first it was a little thrill each time his eyes met yours, a tingle on your skin when his fingers grazed your own while you shared a carton of fries at a Yankees game. That had grown, exploded really, into a brilliant whirl of colours every time you heard his voice—a sort of love-induced synesthesia that turned Peter’s laughter yellow and his whispers soft purple and his calling your name the deepest, richest scarlet.

You’d fallen desperately in love with your best friend and you were resolutely not going to do anything about it, thank you very much.

“Y/N!” There was a knock at the door of your cramped apartment that drew you out of your crossword puzzle—stuck, as you were, on 18-Down. “It’s Peter!”

You’d barely heard the knock over the sound of Eminem in your headphones, but there was no mistaking Peter’s voice. You were at the door, earbuds abandoned on the coffee table, pulling it open before you remembered that you’d traded in your baggy David Bowie tee and jean shorts for a barely-there camisole and blue panties of the lightest cotton. You might have been ever so slightly perturbed about Peter seeing you in your underwear if he wasn’t sporting a large cut along his jawline; one that looked achingly fresh.

“Did you shave with a machete this morning?” You asked, stepping out of the doorway and making room for him to enter.

“A scythe, actually,” Peter deadpanned. If only you’d known he was being entirely serious—his neck having had a near miss with some villain’s techno-reproduction of a classic medieval weapon only hours ago. “It’s hot as hell in here, Y/N. Are you trying to get me naked?”

Your cheeks flushed and you made quick work of rolling your eyes as dramatically as possible, trying to distract Peter from the change of colour in your face. He was an expert at changing the subject, so much so that you’d long since given up trying to get him to talk about anything he didn’t want to, such as why he was chronically late or where he’d disappeared to that night you had tickets for the Rangers playoff game, or how he managed to find time to workout with his ridiculous school schedule and familial duties because god damn, his arms—you stopped yourself from letting that thought full form, knowing it would send you down a rabbit hole.

“Don’t think I’m not keeping a tally of every time you dodge my questions,” you muttered, moving to the refrigerator and opening it briefly to let some cool air out on your heated chest. The emptiness of the shelves reminded you that you really needed to get groceries because ramen noodles, eggs, and the rapidly decaying bananas on the counter would not keep you alive forever. “And didn’t you get my voicemail?”

“No,” Peter shrugged, “I saw you left me one but thought I’d just swing by.” A small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, though you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what the joke was.

“Well, the AC is broken,” you informed him, straightened up and facing him where he stood in your living room, his tall and lean frame a familiar sight there alongside the stacks of textbooks and novels, the record player, and the pile of throw pillows you couldn’t stop collecting. For a long moment, Peter stared at you, his head tilted slightly to the side as if he was just now seeing you since coming in. You felt much more naked than you actually were under his stare and shifted your weight from one leg to the other, your hand coming to tug down at the hem of your camisole. Peter had seen you nearly nude before, but this felt—different. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the unfamiliar expression that flashed across his eyes. Either way, it had you squeezing your legs together as subtly as possible. If Peter noticed, he didn’t let on.

“That explains the outfit,” he grinned, tone light, though you noticed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed hard.

“It was hardly my first choice,” you shot back, “But anyways, now that you’re here do you think you could fix it?”

“This feels like the start of a por—”

“Don’t say it, Parker,” you cut him off with a warning glare, eyes wide. Peter only laughed, though stopped almost immediately, favouring his jaw. Already it looked like the gash was healing and you wondered where he’d gotten it from—it reminded you, oddly, of the ankle he’d “sprained” while showing you a skateboarding trick last summer. You would swear up and down, on every holy text that existed, that you’d seen his bone popping out of his skin. But the next day he’d been absolutely fine and you were certain that the limp he’d had for a week was half-faked.

“Y/N? Are you alive in there?” Peter’s amused voice drew you from your reverie and you nodded, running your fingers through your hair to get it out of your face.

“Alive and well,” you reported, “So you think you can fix it?”

***

As it turned out, Peter could fix the AC unit, but he’d need to pick up a part at the hardware store down the street. While he examined the ancient device mounted on your bedroom wall, you sat perched on your bed, silky pink blankets long since tossed to the floor, watching him with interest, noticing everything about the way his hands moved carefully over the shabby metal, the way his brow furrowed when he peeked inside the unit, and the way his eyes crinkled when he announced that it wouldn’t be an issue to repair.

For his part, Peter knew your eyes were on him—he wouldn’t go so far as to call it Spidey-sense, he just knew you and he’d had an inkling of the feelings you harboured for him for quite some time, though that part probably was Spidey-sense. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same way, because god knows he did, but he was terrified to let himself fall in love again; beyond hesitant to ever let anyone get hurt again because of him. But then there was the way you looked at him, your eyes sparkling with delight when he made a stupid joke. And the way you said his name, like it was a magic spell wrapping itself up inside him and making him forget everything other than your voice. Yes, he loved you—more deeply than he’d thought he’d ever love again—but he was afraid to be in love with you.

When he delivered the happy news that he’d be able to get cool air back into your apartment, he felt his heart swell at the look of relief on your face.

“You’re my hero, Pete,” you said earnestly, “Really and truly.”

You had no idea.

“Yeah,” he said lightly, “I’m the best.” He saw the pillow coming at him even before it fully left your hands and dodged it in a swift, graceful motion.

“That’s not very nice,” Peter grinned wolfishly at you and your heart fluttered, “Here I am helping you out like a dear old gentleman and you throw things at me.” With another two quick, almost instantaneous steps, he was at your bedside, his hands coming down to your ribcage, fingers curling in as he began to tickle you mercilessly. You couldn’t do much more than squeal, kicking gently to get him off of you, whining his name as you begged him to stop.

“Peter!” you cried out, “It’s too hot for this!” There were tears in your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks and your bottom lip was swollen from where you were biting it to try to keep control of your laughter. Looking down at you, Peter knew he was finished, absolutely doomed, to fall into the warm and beautiful void that was loving you.

His fingers paused their attack and you both seemed to take stock of the position you found yourself in; you, flat on your back in bed, hair a dishevelled mess haloed out over your head; him, legs spread so that they were straddling your hips, his arms on either side of your body, lean muscles holding him up.

“Pete—” you whispered, eyes fluttering down to where your bodies met, lashes wet with unshed tears.

He blinked once, twice, three times, a pregnant pause in the hot air before his brain supplied the two words he’d been wanting to hear, giving him permission to plunge forward. Fuck it.

“Y/N,” he licked his lips, “You—” his fingers moved from your ribs to the edge of your camisole, thumbing across its stitching, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and your eyes shot up to his, pupils dilated. Your lips twitched, uncertain. “Don’t do this,” you sighed, all the while your own hands moved as if of their own accord, coming to rub up and down his arms, caressing lightly over the rippling muscle.

“Do what?” he asked, hand pausing in its movement to slip under your shirt. He withdrew it immediately, hoping he’d not grossly misread the situation.

“Don’t start something with me that you won’t finish,” your voice was barely there, “I—” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, couldn’t utter those little words out loud, but you knew Peter understood. You could tell from the way he settled down closer to you, his lips running feather-light kisses along your collarbone, the way he brushed the lightly calloused pad of his thumb over your eyes.

“Y/N, I feel like I was finished the moment I met you,” he said, “And now I’d really like to give you a proper kiss, if you don’t mind.”

“Hopefully you’re as good at kissing as you are at running that mouth, Par—”

The words couldn’t finish leaving your lips because Peter’s shut them right back into your mouth. He kissed you gently at first, then ran his tongue along your lips, asking entrance which you granted easily enough. Your kiss went on for what felt like years, each of you learning the other with care and attention. His hands explored your body freely, eliciting small moans of approval that led him along a path he was memorizing and then his lips were navigating that same path, kissing and nipping at your shoulders, your clavicle, your navel, between your breasts at the edge of your shirt.

You were on fire as your hands tangled into his soft brown hair, nails gently massaging into his scalp. You knew, from the vibrations on his lips, that he liked the sensation and filed that information away for a later date.

Once he’d kissed all the way down to your ankles, Peter flopped onto the mattress beside you, watching as your chest heaved with pleasure.

“It feels even hotter in here than before,” he smirked, “I should go grab that part, yeah?”

You swatted at him, laughter on your lips. “You’re the worst, Peter Parker.”

He caught your hand in mid-air, wrapping his fingers around yours and gently squeezing your palm—once, twice, three times. Three squeezes for three little words that neither of you were ready to say yet, but that you would willingly show each other.

“I’m serious,” Peter said, “I’ll grab the part and a pizza and we can hang out, even though I’m the worst.”

You rolled your eyes again, still trying to steady your heart rate. “Like I said, my hero. How can I ever repay you?” For good measure, you placed the back of your hand against your forehead, faking a swoon.

Peter only looked at you with fire in his eyes. “I can think of a few ways.”

He was out of the room before you could throw another pillow at him. Shame.

i love this sm <3

Obliviously yours (4.3k)

summary: when you and james get detention and are tasked to serve drinks at slughorn's party, you have no choice but to agree than fail the class. but the whole night, everybody gives their piece of mind about you and james' relationship. this makes you rethink everything you do and everything you feel for james.

warnings: drinking

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

a/n: oh god writers block sux!!! I've finally took the time off and wrote this little gem. actually loved this piece, hope u do too <3

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James Potter was evil. Absolutely vile. You knew how your relationship with him worked. It was the type where you argued whenever you saw each other, debated about almost everything, and made most of your subjects a competition. But it also had boundaries you both put up, the first one being not sabatoging the others work.

And guess what the boy did? He sabatoged your fucking work.

You were near bursting, your sneer louder than you've ever let out. Slughorn was panicking in front of your table, where he stood with a frown on his face. "Miss Y/l/n, I suggest you go clean yourself up." He announces, his voice loud for the whole class.

You huffed out a tired breath. "Yes, I'll go do that. Right after Potter is held accountable for his sticky fingers sticking into my potion!" You said on the top of your lungs, pointing at James.

James Potter, who had the audacity to sit on his chair looking so innocent, began to smile. You knew it was him who ruined your potion, who else would it be? Your potion was the one that looked the most presentable in that class, and James must've been jealous.

James scoffs, "Excuse me? Professor, I think Y/l/n should be punished for even accusing me of such things!" He said dramatically, making your eyes roll in place.

"I know it was you! You were jealous because I did better. I always do, that's why you couldn't bear seeing me with the praise and you put in the powder into my potion!"

You swore you were about to launch over where James sat if it wasn't for Marlene gripping your arm tightly. She kept you in place while you and James eyed each other like you were in battle.

"Enough!" Slughorn interrupted, his face hot red with anger. "Both of you, I'll see you in detention at six! And no, this isn't because of who sabotaged who's potion. It's because both of you disrupted my class. We'll investigate the 'sabotaged potion' later." He said, gripping his wand tighter into his fist.

You were about to shout another quip to James, knowing you'd be in detention anyway and decoded that he deserved a rude comment. But with a flick of his wand, Slughorn silenced both you and James with a spell then walked to the front of the class casually.

You rolled your eyes as James did the same. Sirius patted his back beside him, and Marlene gave you a deathly look. Just another ordinary day.

—

Tap, tap, tap. James' shoes echoes through the room, his fingers tapping on the wood of his chair. He seemed impatient, maybe the waiting was driving him mad. Or maybe it was simply the uncomfortable feeling of being in the dungeons, with the dark green and the freezing walls surrounding him.

"Can you stop that?" You asked quite rudely, your eyes sliding to look at him.

James simply nodded and stopped his actions, his leg still scuffling but not making a loud sound. Sometimes, times like these for example— James Potter was ... tolerable. It doesn't happen very often, because as he says, "You're always the cause of my headache, Y/l/n." So you always saw him whenever he was uptight and stressed out.

"Sorry." He muttered lowly.

One of these rare moments of him, was also quite ... attractive. You would never say it out loud and to anyone. It was the same as coming up to him and getting his ego fed even more.

But you couldn't stop the raging feelings whenever your eyes needed a rest. He was quite the sight, tall, muscular, and that hair. You were quite obsessed with his hair, dark and soft. Whenever it felt too long during classes or you needed to focus on something else, your eyes would shamelessly land on James.

You only got the side view of him from where you usually sat in class. But it didn't stop you from ogling the boy. So now, when you were alone with him while seated in Slughorn's dark office— you couldn't help it. James was fiddling with his fingers, and your eyes didn't leave burning into his face.

"You think he's going going make us clean all the trophies again?" He asks suddenly, his voice sounding more raspy after all the silence.

You quickly looked away, hear rushing to your cheeks. "That's probably the worst punishment I've ever gotten." You admitted, trying to focus on the conversation. "It didn't help that you had like ... five or six trophies and pretended not to see them so I had to clean it." You added.

You still remembered the day vividly, just last week you received detention with James Potter as well. It was one of the worst days you've had. Being stuck in a small dimly lit room with him and having to clean dusty trophies. It quite literally felt like you were being trapped in a cage and having to deal with the devil.

James interrupted your thoughts with his snicker. "Had to show 'em off, y'know? I thought girls liked smart guys." And when he said it, you froze.

Maybe the freezing cold Rook suddenly got hot, and you couldn't breathe because your neck felt restricted with your red and golden tie wound tightly around you. "What? Were you trying to impress me?" You asked, your brows furrowed together in confusion.

As if James had just noticed what he said, he sat straighter but kept his gaze in front of him. "No I was just ... no— no I was trying to make you jealous." He stuttered.

You suddenly scoffed, but laughed at the same time. "Please, I've done better in almost all of our classes and you know it."

James takes offense in this, his arm looping on the side of his chair and looking at you. "Yeah but you've gotten us in more messes." He shoots.

"Oh, so you admit I'm smarter than you!" You couldn't help but reply.

"What—! No, remember how Flitwick praised my part of our group project?"

"Don't try to change the subject, Potter. I'm better and you know it. You know it but you can't admit it." You said, looking down at your nails as the conversation bored you.

"Yeah, right. I can't believe I ever tried impressing you, Y/l/n." He said coldly, barely sparing you a glance.

"It didn't fucking work, because I will never be caught dead being impressed in you." You sneered, your words cutting his wounded heart into two halves.

Just when you were about to take back what you were about to say, offer him an apology or do something— the door busted open and Slughorn came in with the same angered expression he had during class.

—

"The problem I've had with you two ... it's an endless list." Slughorn explained, his fingers intertwining together. "It's been six months, and all those six months have felt like pure hell to me whenever both of you are in my class." He said, making it clear how angry he was.

"Professor—" James tried, but was rudely interrupted.

"No! You will stay silent for as long as I'm talking, Mr. Potter. And I won't be tolerating a word from you either, Miss. Y/l/n." He said calmly, though his expression said otherwise. "Is that understood?"

You both nodded, "Yes, professor."

"Alright, now let's talk about your form of detention. Since all our trophies have been polished, cauldrons have been scrubbed, and you can't be trusted to tutor first years without competing with each other—really there's nothing else you could do." Slughorn explained, sighing and rubbing a hand on his forehead.

"Might I suggest—"

"No talking!" Slughorn repeated, making you slump on your seat. "I've had it enough with you two that I'm considering kicking you both our of the Slug Club." He complained, lighting up at his own words. "Wait a second ... both of you are in the Slug Club, yes?"

You and James nodded, not saying a word as both of you stared at the angry professor.

"Well, then! You could serve the drinks! This is perfect, I needed last minute volunteers for students who needed extra credit. I think both of you would do well for servers, hm? It's not that hard to pass around drinks." He said to himself.

James scoffed, "No, wait— you're asking us to be servers? To a party that we were respectfully invited to?"

Then you added, "Yeah, this is just— quite rushed, sir. I was looking forward to this party, to meet people from the ministry and make connections. I— I even bought a dress for this occasion, I thought—"

Slughorn put up a hand, "Now, now. Don't you complain to me about all this. Both of you deserve this punishment, after making it really hard for me to teach in class." He said, looking like he's had enough. "Don't worry about the dress Miss. Y/l/n, both of you can come in formal clothing— I shall not ruin your night of confidence." He cleared his throat while getting up from his chair.

Both you and James tried to reason with the man, but it was to no avail.

"Sir—"

"I can't believe—"

Slughorn waved his wand, and both of your mouths were sealed shut. When the room was quiet, he muttered, "Now excuse me, I shall be going over some papers. Both of you should go to bed, you must be exhausted after all the fighting, I'm sure."

—

The common room was empty, it was just past seven but it seemed like no one wanted to witness you and James' quarrel that almost always happens after a talk with a professor.

After the painting door closed, James skipped to the couch and threw his body on it tiredly. "I am fucking exhausted." He admitted, sighing heavily and stared at the fire that was still burning brightly.

"Shut up, Potter. I can't even hear your voice without getting upset. This party was important to me!" You said suddenly, throwing your bag to the ground, the contents spilling out.

"Right, because it didn't to me. Got a new suit and all." He muttered, his expression obviously looking more sour now.

You decided to sit on the lounge chair that was next to the couch, striking up a conversation. "Yeah? Was it snazzy? Plain black ... or?"

"Why do you care?" James snaps, "Yeah, it's plain black." He adds sheepishly.

You roll your eyes, chuckling all the while. "You're so lame, Potter. Who're you trying to impress with a plain black suit?" You mocked, your eyes glancing at him.

Just as he talks, your eyes don't dare to move from his face. He pushes his hair back, still short black curls tumbling down his forehead. You think then, that he's so gorgeous, with his eyes looking so warm and brown. His lips are red, highlighting his pale features.

Then he makes a small sound, flicking his fingers to signal you to listen. "Hey, you listening?" He says, his tone so low. And it sounds so different than how he usually talks to you.

"Er .. yeah. You were saying who you're trying to impress ... and I dunno, blanked out." You admitted, trying to look anywhere except his pretty face.

"You really wanna hear this? I don't think sharing who we fancy are part of this rivalry relationship." He says, a teasing grin painted on his lips.

"Sure, whatever." You agree, shrugging your shoulders. But inside, you felt uneasy. You didn't know much about James Potter's lovelife, all you did was that he fancied Lily Evans. Once upon a time he did, because lately it didn't seem like he was interested in the redhead at all.

Part of you felt jealous, but then you remembered that you had no right to be. James Potter wasn't your boyfriend, or even friend on that matter. Even though you admit you are attracted to him, and would maybe want to snog him in a broom cupboard — you really had no right to be jealous.

"She's ah ... witty. I guess that's a word to describe her, she's beautiful too of course— but her beauty doesn't compare to her brains. I love a smart girl, y'know? A friendly competition in a relationship would be awesome." James chuckles. You nod your head, turning your head to the fire after you saw James' enamored expression.

"You sound like you're obsessed with her." You comment, trying trying avoid his gaze.

When James nods, you don't see it. You don't see how he says "I am." While he's looking straight at the back of your head.

"One thing I hate though, is that she's so fucking hard to talk to. I don't think I've ever had a proper conversation with her ... she's always way too busy to pay attention to me. It sucks that way." James admits, biting his gums and fiddling with his fingers.

"Who is she?" You asked bluntly, desperate to know about this mysterious girl that James is apparently in love with.

James tsked, "Not a chance I'm telling you."

You looked back to him, "I think you should do something about the suit. Plain black won't impress anyone. Maybe add a flower or something, girls love that." I love that. You tried to keep it in your head, careful not to let it out of your mouth.

—

"How do I look?" You asked Marlene, who was laying in bed with a book in hand. She glanced your way and dropped the book, getting up and approaching you.

"Amazing!" Marlene exclaimed, her hands smoothing down the fabric of your dress.

"Not exactly house spirited, but I thought yellow would have a nice touch." You smiled, happy to see your best friend just as excited as you were.

The dress you were wearing was long, going down and nipping your ankles. It was made of an intricate silky design, layers of white and yellow overlapping each other. The top half was just as beautiful, detailed green flowers sprinkling the area near your chest. Then, the straps on your shoulders were thin. It was made out of white fabric, a beautiful detail covering them.

"Merlin, Y/n. You look gorgeous. I'm sure Potter will stare at you the whole night. What a shame you'll have to serve drinks, though." Marlene complimented, her fingers tracing the designs of your dress.

"Potter? James Potter?" You asked, not paying attention to anything else she was saying. "What are you on about, Mar?" You said, half angry and half curious.

"I'm just saying ... you look beautiful tonight, Y/n. He may be your enemy, but he's a boy and he's got eyes. There's no telling what would happen tonight, what with your tension as well." Marlene shrugged, handing you another fresh smile.

"He's not— he won't. He's into someone else, anyways. I'm betting all my galleons it's Lily Evans." You said, an irritated look coming on your face.

Marlene traced a last shape on your dress, then her hands reached up to comb through your head of hair. And finally, she put her hands on your shoulders, smiling enthusiastically. "Or maybe it's you, honey."

—

Marlene's words made you rethink every decision of yours as you made your way up to the seventh floor. Your hands was nervously picking at your dress, looping through the fabric and smoothing it. James had agreed to meet you in front of the tent an, because as Slughorn had ordered, the both of you were supposed to stick together where he could see you.

You bite your lip as you see James' figure, his body clad in the black suit he told you about. It didn't usually feel like this when you were approaching him. Maybe it was because of Marlene's words and because you were wearing a dress. A beautiful dress, that made you look gorgeous. Any other time, you'd be dressed in normal clothes and approaching James to gloat about your marks in Transfiguration. But this time it felt different.

But perhaps, it was also the quickly approaching attraction and/or feelings you had for James. Before you had time to rethink anything else again, James waved a hand your way.

You approached him confidently, making sure you didn't mess up anything while you walked to him. James turned his head to peer inside the tent ad you want towards him. When you arrived behind him, he didn't bother looking at you as he kept his gaze on something— or rather someone else.

"Slughorn wants us to pass drinks for that side. Those are his friends and connections, so we're allowed to serve them alcoholic drinks." James explained, his hand pointing to a group of someone.

You muttered a yes to him and let the boy continue. "And that side, those are all students. You can probably tell the difference between them, but just a heads up before you shove firewhiskey down their throats." He said, chuckling at his own joke.

"Got it, Potter." You told him, keeping quiet as James stood silently as well. "What else?"

James seemed to be knocked out of a trance, as he shook his head but kept his gaze where it was. "Huh?"

When you shoved him over to see who it was he was looking at, you weren't surprised. "We're you looking at someone?" You teased, though a smile wasn't present on your face. "Lily Evans, huh? I love her dress." You commented, closing the tent flaps shut after that and looking at James entirely.

"No, I— I was looking at—" he seemed to cut himself off, not knowing what to say I the midst of it all. Because in front of him stood a pretty girl, standing straight looking heavenly.

You didn't dare to meet his gaze, not wanting to suddenly catch his eye and let him see through your expression. So instead, you focused on his breast pocket. A single flower sitting limply inside it, pale green— just like the ones that detailed the top half of your dress.

"Oh, wow. You really took my advice and went with the flower." You raised your brows, flicking the flower playfully. "Looks great on you ... you look great tonight." You praised, feeling gutsy.

James didn't say anything, his body frozen in place and his lips sealed. Then he looked at you and caught that perfect second where you frowned just the smallest bit. And he thought his heart would break into pieces any moment then.

"Guess I'll see you inside, then."

James didn't have time to respond, letting you walk away as you heels clicked and echoed through the halls. All he wanted to do was pull you closer, kiss your hand gently and tell you how incredible you looked tonight. But he couldn't, just like he couldn't all these past years he's been obsessed with you.

—

"No, Longbottom you can only have the drinks on the left. Usually I'd let you do the fuck all you want, but I don't really want to fail Potions this year." You said with an annoyed tone, your hand already growing tired after holding a tray full of drinks for the past hour.

"Oh you're serving drinks for extra credit? Y/n, I though you were excellent at everything!" The boy in front of you laughed, some alcohol clearly already inside his system.

"No you idiot! I'm here because James Potter decided to be a dick to me again and got us both into detention. Detention being serving drinks to people like you— who can't follow the rules."

Longbottom put up his hands defensively. "Woah, just because loverboy got you into another mess don't take it out on me." He said with slight amusement in his tone.

"Lover— why does everybody keep saying that? Me and Potter aren't fucking dating. We aren't anything." You said with a scoff.

A voice behind you startled your nerves, "Really? Because I thought we had some sort of friendship after last night. Advice giving is actually one of the things that start a friendship, Y/l/n. When I met Pads, he gave me an hour of advice on how collared shirts effect our daily lives. It was bullshit honestly, didn't grasp a single thing out of that hour." James rambled, but finally ending on giving you a grin.

With a confused look, Longbottom scrunched his nose and slurred out an excuse from both of you. Then you turned to James, seeing that his hands were empty, you shoved your tray on them. "Hold that for me, I need to go to the bathroom." You told him, trying to escape from the situation.

James smiled like he knew what was going on. "No way. I observed you the whole night and you didn't even drink a single drop. Which I'm quite concerned about because you must be parched— point is, you don't need to go to the bathroom."

You sighed, "Alright, I don't need to. But I want to. It's so crowded in here and I can't even breathe without people asking for drinks."

James muffled his laugh, "That is your job." He replied, giving you a small smile. Somehow, that smile made you feel a little bit better. You used to be confused when someone told you that James had the ability to make someone feel better so quickly. But now you understood it. Because that small grin had made your heart quicken and your lips tingle to smile back.

"I'm just ... exhausted. But that won't cover it, I'm more than exhausted. My arms sore and my legs hurt so much in these heels." You complained.

James' face lit up, an idea sparking in his mind. "Everyone here is either drunk, or too busy chatting up with each other that they won't notice two servers sneaking out. Come on, I know a place."

—

"It's chilly up here." You muttered, rubbing your arms to get some warmth in. It was no use though, because the wind blew harsher. James had bought you to a small balcony, just like the Astronomy Tower but without the big telescopes and much smaller.

"No one's been here everytime I come up here. It's pretty much deserted, me and Remus found out about it in a rush." He told you, looking out to the sky.

The sky and it's endless limits, tiny dots on the sky blinking back to you. You admired the night sky, taking note of every little movement of the clouds and smiling in awe.

"It's so beautiful." You comment, your hand fiddling with your dress to distract you from the numbing cold.

"You are." James said from behind you, walking closer to where you stood.

You turned back to look at him in haste, "I'm what?"

"You're beautiful." James said, his mouth twitching at the excitement of finally saying those words to you. "You look beautiful tonight, like every other night."

Your expression wasn't readable when you talked. "Shut up, Potter. Don't say shit like that." You tell him, turning back to look at the dark sky.

"What do you mean?"

You scoffed, "Don't say things you don't mean. You tell me I'm beautiful now. Then you bring me down everytime we compete in class. It's like you manage to make me hurt everyday and not notice it."

When you finished, James touched your shoulder with his fingers. A nudge, his finger grabbing at you gently. You can feel his icy cold skin on yours, marveling at the new feeling. "Is that what you think? That I'm only competing with you?"

"What else? You've never seen me, and I'm always just right behind you, stupidly staring." You say the last part lowly, feeling ashamed that you said the words.

"I just— I just wanted to impress you." James said, scratching the back of his neck.

"I don't like to be impressed like that. It feels like shit. Why don't you try to impress me like Evans? She might not like it ... but I would." You  confessed, saying it sheepishly.

"Really? I'm a little extra, I though you'd appreciate a guy who challenges you and does it subtly."

"Things change, maybe I just want you."

James stepped closer, his fingers snaking up to the sides of your face. "You mean that, darling?" He asked you, a smug smile making its way on his lips. His thumb traces the curve of your lips, getting a bit of gloss on his skin. "I've wanted you for so long ... and I don't want you if you're still unsure about it."

"Kiss me." You ordered, your hands climbing up to lay flat on his chest.

"Are you sure—?"

No more hesitation this time. You don't let James finish as you press your lips to his. He obliges and bring you closer, fingers slipping under to grip your waist. You let out a small sound come out from your mouth, James' heart growing weak at it. You breathe into his mouth, sharing oxygen in the small confines of his kiss.

As if it's like a competition, you don't want to pull away and admit defeat on who was out of breath first. So finally, James pulls away and grins at the sight of you. It felt good to see him smile so sweetly at you, wanting to get used to the sight.

"I'm still confused how you didn't notice, Potter ... I stare at you so much in class I'm surprised I even know the material." You laughed.

"I dunno." He shrugs.

"You're so oblivious." You comment, picking at his suit jacket and shuddering at the slightest when he leans close.

"Obliviously yours, though." He mutters, pausing just a second to take in your image before kissing you sweetly.

—@ wrathspoet

General taglist: @regulusblackswhorecrux @scandalous-chaos @bisexualdragongirl @scamanderinskirts @comfort-reads @ughgclden @dulcet-lover @v1oletvenus @raajali3

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masterlist

all of my works will be linked in here.

a reminder: there is no smut, as i don’t feel comfortable writing it; my works are all mainly fluff and angst (maybe idk).

the golden era

the marauders era

saw this a few months ago, saw this again now, still one of my absolute favourites <3

Dance Lessons | Harry James Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Wordcount: 12200 words (Yes, really. Do you ever just start to write a little oneshot and then it turns out as a fic with over 10000 words?)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of underage drinking, sexual tension but no smut, fluff, slight angst, slow burn i guess

Summary: Harry asks you to teach him how to dance for the upcoming Spring Ball.

a/n: Set in Harry’s sixth year. English is not my native language, so there might be spelling/grammar mistakes. (The beginning is inspired by this oneshot)

Not many could say that they had faced Voldemort more than once and had survived, but Harry Potter was one of the few lucky ones that had gotten away every time. And if that wasn’t enough, Harry had defeated horrifying creatures, had broken into the Ministry and had saved the wizarding world several times – more or less accidentally, but hey. He had dealt with Umbridge and fought Death Eaters.

To the world, he was a hero, he was the Boy Who Lived.

So yes, his record of fighting the evil was quite impressive for a sixteen-year-old. But there was one thing he knew he would never impress anyone with and that were his dance skills.

Because Harry Potter couldn’t dance for shit.

Keep reading

oh my god 😭 <33

Unbuttoned (Sirius Black x Reader)

W/C: 1.8k

A/N: I just wanted to write the softest Sirius x Reader fic I could manage. It's just fluff, with a bunch of cursing. fem!reader & brief mentions of alcohol.

You realize you’re in love with Sirius Black in the midst of a storm so tempestuous it feels apocalyptic. And you suppose that’s fitting, given you’ve just acknowledged that the feelings you've been harbouring for one of your dearest friends are deeper and more achingly desirous than they have any right to be. This realization—the bottom of the chasm through which you’ve been falling for years—certainly feels like the end of something, but you’re hoping that this particular ending leads to the beginning of something infinite.

How did you get here? Not here, outside in the pouring rain on the abandoned Quidditch pitch in the middle of April. But here, in the rich complexity that is love; the tangle of feelings and thoughts and wants and needs and hopes and fears that makes you weak in the knees and yet completely invincible. Yes, you had fallen completely and terribly, tumbled heart first, into the abyss that was love. And there, at the depths of your soul was him. Sirius Black.

Sirius fucking Black. The boy who had copied your Transfiguration notes since first year. The boy who shimmied in beside you during breakfast and stole the toast off your plate because you, apparently, knew just the right ratio of butter to marmalade to bread. The boy who teased you about the your height (or lack thereof) and made it a point to dramatically get Potions ingredients from the top shelf of the storage room for you.

The boy who wasn’t a boy anymore, but a man. A man whose soul had ached and broken and healed with the love of his friends, whose shoulders had broadened and voice had deepened, and who had grown taller and more mischievous and increasingly loyal.

But why today? Why now? Was it those damn muggle movies you grew up watching that told you the rain was romantic and the bad boy — for Sirius was Hogwarts’ resident bad boy, though he cared little for the title — was supposed to fall for the quiet, bookish girl who’d been there by his side all along? It was so cliché that you’d turn the movie of your life off at this point. But today was the day that the realization slipped its warm fingers inside your chest and gave your heart one extra squeeze — as if to say hey, don’t forget to take care of me.

You’re not sure if it’s the fact that Sirius convinced you to come out here—not that he’d had to try very hard, making those perfectly persuasive eyes at you and insisting he needed to clear his head after studying for a grand total of twenty minutes. Or perhaps it was the way he quite literally swept you off your feet to fly you around the empty Quidditch pitch, your arms secured firmly around his waist and your chest pressed up against his back, holding on tightly because you’d never been a big fan of flying, much preferring to have your feet planted on solid ground, thank you very much. Maybe it’s both those things and so much more, because haven’t you been noticing the way your fingertips want to linger on Sirius’s skin and the way your stomach tightens when he catches your eye and shoots you a smile that somehow stops your heart and restarts it all at once.

Maybe it’s the kiss you shared at Christmas, both a little tipsy in front of the Potter’s fireplace, high on the sound of one another’s laughter and one too many pieces of Euphemia’s incomparable Christmas cake. That kiss that you haven’t talked about, but that still makes you blush every time you remember the way Sirius’s tongue had gently intertwined with your own and the way his hands had held you, one caressing the back of your neck while the other drew smooth circles on your stocking-clad thigh. Maybe it’s the idea that that kiss might have escalated, might have drawn you both out of yourselves and into each other had James not come bounding down the hall, shouting for the two of you to come see what Remus was doing.

(He’d been juggling, completely pissed on Firewhiskey and a fancy rum that Fleamont had purchased from a muggle liquor store. And while you had to admit Remus juggling was a sight worth seeing, you couldn’t help but to wonder what could have — would have — been).

Maybe it’s the way Sirius calls you puppy, the nickname holding connotations of care and ownership so that it thrills you each time the word leaves his sweet, sweet lips. Or, it could be the fact that he refers to you as his best girl, his pretty girl, his dove. Always his. Merlin, how you wished.

It’s certainly not helped by the knowing looks you’ve noticed Remus casting your way when he catches your eyes on Sirius instead of on the parchment of the homework you’re working on. The smug grin on his face when you quickly whip your eyes back to where they’re supposed to be. The absolutely frustrating way that Remus makes sure to leave space between the two of you in every class so Sirius has no choice but to sit sandwiched there. He’s such an outrageously good friend it makes you want to smother him — with hugs and sometimes a pillow.

Maybe it’s all of that and more — the way Sirius has barged into your dorm three Sunday mornings in a row now, just because he misses his girl (there it is again!), causing your roommates to groan; the way he whispered his gratitude when you bandaged his knuckles after he punched some Slytherin who spoke ill of Remus last week; the way he hugs you after each full moon to assure you that your friends are all in one piece and then lets you take care of him, allowing himself to be soft and vulnerable with you in a way that no one else is allowed to see.

Yes, it’s all of that. His charm, his recklessness, his joy, his pain, his loyalty, his smell, his voice, his hands, his heart and his soul and, of course, his hair. Saints, his hair is fucking perfect.

It’s funny the way the thoughts come to you like a deluge from your spot on his broomstick, streaking across the grey sky between bolts of lightning, your heart palpitating partly from the thrill of the ride, but mostly from the absolute impulsiveness of the decision you’re about to make.

“Sirius!” You call out over the swirl of wind that blows its course past you, somehow never interrupting the control he has of your flight, “We should land. It’s so bad out here!”

As if to emphasize your point, thunder claps loudly to punctuate your words and you feel your fingers dig deeper into Sirius’s sides, literally holding on to all that is dear. The only indication that Sirius heard you is the feeling in your stomach of falling—this time, literally. Your guts feel as though they’re still in the air as Sirius expertly hurtles you toward the Earth, stopping just short of the ground, his feet landing perfectly on the mud-streaked pitch.

You don’t realize you’ve been screaming until Sirius is laughing at you and turning to face you so he can grab your shoulders and steady you.

“I got you, Y/N,” he laughs heartily, “I’d never let anything happen to my best girl.”

Your hands are shaking as Sirius helps you off the broomstick, your boots sinking slightly in the muck.

“You’re mad,” you whisper at him, close enough to his body that you’re certain he can hear you despite the rain. In the back of your mind, you wonder how ratty you look right now with your hair sopping down your shoulders, your robes sticking to you, and your mascara probably running down your cheeks in unflattering streaks. Somehow, you can’t bring yourself to care because Sirius has seen you at your best and he’s seen you at your worst and right now, you’re just you.

“Yes, probably,” he agrees with you, a smirk on his lips, “But you love it.”

Shit. You did. You love him. And though you’d never been as much of a daredevil as this boy—man—standing before you, there’s something on the tip of your tongue, battling to be let loose from your lips, threatening to burn you if you swallow it whole.

“I love you.” Your reply is in earnest and the way you say it makes Sirius pause, his own hair a dishevelled wet mess (yet still, somehow, perfect—fucker), his lashes fluttering at you as he tilts his head to the side. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out—that’s a first, and it makes you slightly concerned. Then his lips are pursed and his brow is furrowed and he backs up a step and you think your heart might stop beating and you want to sink into the mud completely, let it consume you and never give you back to the daylight.

“Don’t joke,” Sirius says, voice short and uncertain. You laugh—loudly. It’s the only reaction you can think to have and that laugh completely dies on your lips, replaced by something softer, yet more desperate. Him.

Sirius is kissing you—hard. He’s kissing you like his very salvation depends upon finding something in your kiss. What does he want to find? Requited feelings, warm comfort, infinity? You kiss him back, running your tongue along his lips, giving him all those things and more. Giving him yourself—his best girl, his pretty thing, his, his his, as you’ve always been.

His hands come up to tangle in your hair, one sliding down your cheek and you wonder if the wetness there is all from the rain or if you’re crying because it feels like a millstone has been lifted from your shoulders and you’re fairly certain if Sirius didn’t have a solid hold on you, you’d float away.

And then he’s pulling you even closer, bringing your body into the folds of his own and even though it’s raining and cold, you feel heated, like the sun is shining only for you.

Just as it feels as though your lungs will collapse with lack of air, Sirius’s lips let yours go and you inhale deeply, chest heaving. His is doing the same as he stares into your eyes, that vulnerability only you’re allowed to see fully on display.

“I wasn’t joking,” you say quietly, another crack of lightning illuminating the sky behind you. It’s nothing, you think, compared to the electricity you feel in Sirius’s gaze.

It’s his turn to laugh and then he kisses you again, softly and quickly this time. His lips are just hovering over yours, his hands on your waist. “I love you, Y/N.”