So My Twilight Phase Is Coming Back I Think. However, Instead Of Being All Over Bella Im Now Reading

So my twilight phase is coming back I think. However, instead of being all over Bella … I’m now reading crossover fics with Hermione Granger having relationships with the shape-shifters and vampires.. why am I like this?

If you have any hermione in twilight fic rec’s, let me know 😶🙂

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙧: 𝙐𝙣𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙, 𝙐𝙣𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙, & 𝘼𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙙

Rain pelted against the windowpane of Malfoy Manor. A soft lull of the wind blew against the hundred-year sturdy walls. While the occupants slept soundly in their beds, a lone candle burned brightly in the library of the manor. Curled up in a winged-back chair, with her legs tucked under her, was a girl with silver eyes, (h/c) hair tucked behind her ears, and soft skin that warmed beneath the candle flame. The silver-eyed little girl bit her bottom lip softly as she turned the page of a scrapbook. Her eyes studied the moving pictures, almost as if she was memorising the figures' movement. As she turned the next page, she smiled softly. A picture of her father and her when she was very small.

Her father, Sirius Black, was a figure in her life that she barely knew. She was too young to really remember him before he was imprisoned. Too young to understand what was going on. Too young to remember. From what she could gather, through scraps of memories, she knew he smelt like leather, tobacco, motor oil, and firewhiskey. She knew he had the same silver eyes as her—eyes that were hard until they landed on her. The silver melted and became kind, warm, and soft. She remembered he liked to kiss her forehead.

The little girl didn’t know what he sounded like. She didn’t know if he called her affectionate nicknames. All she knew was one day, after putting her into bed at the small apartment they shared, after kissing her forehead, he left and never came back. He didn’t come back for her.

Men and a woman in weird robes carrying sticks came into her room, their gazes landing on her small figure. She remembered crying and holding onto her stuffed animal of a dog, Paddy. After the weird people took her away, she stayed with an old woman in green robes and had a tabby cat that slept with her when she napped. After a few days of staying with the old woman and her cat, the same people came and took her away. The next thing she knew was being dropped off at Malfoy Manor, into the arms of her father’s cousin and her husband. And ever since, she’s lived in their home, under their care and supervision. They were her guardians now.

Though she did love her cousin, Draco, she sometimes wished she could leave the lonely and cold walls of the Manor. She wanted to be scooped up into warm arms and held close. To be kissed and hugged, to spend time in the sun.

Draco’s parents weren’t warm, not like the parents she’s seen in the Wizarding and Muggle world. And at times, when she couldn’t sleep, she wondered. Was her father warm with her? If he was here right now, would he be warm and hold her close? Would tell her goodnight and warn off the nightmares? Would he come running if he heard her screaming instead of telling the house-elves to place silencing spells in her room so she didn’t disturb Draco or his parents?

She had questions. Questions that never would have answers.

Her father was a murderer. It was because of him that led to the murders of the Boy Who Lived’s parents. He murdered twelve muggles and the war hero Peter Pettigrew. He was in Azkaban and she was stuck in the dark house. Alone.

She didn’t know when tears started flowing from her silver pools, but they fell from her cheeks into the scrapbook. Onto the picture of her and her father, smiling at the camera as he held her in his arms, his eyes bright with laughter and love.

Underneath the photo, written in sloppy script, was:

Me and my little girl, April 1981.

~~~

“(Y/n)?” Someone was shaking her. She groaned, opening her eyes. Sunlight streamed into the library. The sound of birds tweeting and the smell of last night's rainstorm hung in the air. (Y/n) sighed and looked at her cousin. Draco wore a smirk on his face, and she noticed he’d already slicked back his hair with Otists' Hair Solution-Gel .

“You slept here?” Draco sneered at the chair she was sitting on. “Why’d you do that? Is the bed not comfortable enough for you? I’ll tell mother—I’m sure we can get you a new mattress that’ll suit you.”

(Y/n) shook her head, sitting up, stretching her arms over her head.

“No, my bed’s fine, Draco. I just fell asleep after reading, that’s all.” Draco sniffed at her explanation. His own grey eyes—the same colour as hers—narrowed before he shrugged his shoulders.

“Alright. If you say so.” Standing up from the chair, (Y/n) walked over to the library’s doors. “I’ll let mother know you’ll be down for breakfast in a few.” He sauntered off, leaving her in his invisible dust as he made his way to the dining room. (Y/n) yawned, trying to wake herself up, as she walked into her bedroom. The light blue walls greeted her, and she smiled softly at the french doors of her balcony.

Draco’s distinctive voice reached her ears when she walked down the stairs heading towards the dining room. As she grew near, she could hear him speaking about the newest Nimbus broom they recently released to the public. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Draco was obsessed with all things relating to Quidditch. Though (Y/n) never quite enjoyed the game, she did like flying. It was one of the few times she felt free. As if she could fly into the blue sky and bask in the rays of the sun warming her skin. It was when her soul felt light as a feather—no longer tied down to the weight of the world. She was free.

“Morning (Y/n), sleep well?” The voice of Narcissa interrupted (Y/n)’s train of thought. Blinking away the last remnants of her inner thoughts, she smiled and nodded her head at the blonde-haired witch.

“Good morning Aunt Cissa, and yes, I did. Until a blond goblin woke me up,” she snapped her head towards Draco, glaring at him. The blond vampire just snickered, shooting her smirk. In retaliation, she hissed at him.

Laughing, Draco rolled his eyes and (Y/n) went over to the vacant chair next to him.

“Prat,”

“Lazy witch,”

“Children,”

Together, Draco and (Y/n) shot apologetic glances to Narcissa. She raised a perfectly shaped blonde brow and had a gleam of mischief in her sapphire blue eyes. Narcissa was beautiful. Anyone had to admit that.

She was pale as a marble statue, always had perfect hair and posture, wore clothes deemed suitable for her station in Wizarding society. But she was beyond terrifying when angered. If Draco and (Y/n) feared Lucius’s punishments, Narcissa was a whole other battlefield. Like the mascot of her house, she was silent and quick as a snake. She always found the perfect moment to strike, and when she did, her strike was hard and true, sinking her fangs into your helpless skin, forcing the venom on her sharp fangs into your veins, paralysing you.

Yes, Narcissa Malfoy scared her.

As (Y/n) placed a waffle on her plate and spooned some berries onto the cooked batter, Narcissa cleared her throat.

“Draco, (Y/n), since you two have received your letters of acceptance from Hogwarts, today we're headed to Diagon Alley to pick up your supplies.” Draco would have shot up from his chair sprung up in the air like a monkey if his mother’s stern eyes weren’t on his person, daring him to lose his cool.

“And after, we’re going to be hosting the Parkinsons over for dinner,” At that Draco audibly groaned. (Y/n) patted his back sympathetically. She knew how troublesome and loony Pansy would get at times.

The loony girl was somehow convinced that she and Draco were to be married. When they were little, Pansy would always want to play wedding, which involved trying to kiss Draco—who in turn ran around the Manor screaming his little head off while (Y/n) and Theo watched on, confusion and annoyance in their eyes, before they continued speaking about the book they were reading.

“Must she come, Mum?” Draco asked, a whine in his voice. It was a good thing Lucius wasn’t present. He would’ve scolded Draco about it, claiming that Malfoy Men don’t whine like pathetic little simpletons, and Narcissa would snicker into her wineglass, while he gave her a glare. It seemed to be a private joke between them.

“Yes, dear. She is a part of their family. It would be quite rude to exclude her from the invite.” Draco sighed pathetically before nodding in defeat.

His grey eyes snapped to (Y/n).

“You better not abandon me like last time.”

(Y/n) smirked and laughed. “Why not? Last time, the outcome was hilarious. In fact, I want it to happen again.”

“(Y/n)!!”

~~~~

(Y/n) had only been to Diagon Alley a handful of times, but each time, it always made her buzzing with excitement and nervousness.

After being taken in by the Malfoy’s, the Daily Prophet made a whole ordeal about it; praising her cousin’s parents about how generous and gracious and how compassionate they were to take in a felon's abandoned daughter. Saints, they called them. All while they released story after story about their generosity and the story of her father’s imprisonment. When she was in public with Lucius and Narcissa, many witches and wizards would stare and point and whisper, talking all about the mass murderer Sirius Black and his daughter.

For a while, strangers would send her birthday letters wishing her a ‘Happy Birthday’ before saying how lucky she was to be raised in the Malfoy’s home and how she should be careful to not end up following in her father's footsteps.

It hurt. To only be reminded of her father's faults. Never his achievements or greatness. Just his crimes. Unwanted. Unloved. Fatherless. Abandoned. Neglected. Words to describe her and her relationship with her estranged father.

She assumed everyone in the Wizarding World—except muggle-borns–er, mudbloods—knew about her father and her. It was probably the reason Mr. Olivander never truly looked into her eyes—probably didn’t want to look in the eyes of the daughter of a mass murderer and supporter of You–Know–Who. He looked as if (Y/n) was You–Know–Who himself. It was the reason why she hid in the stacks of Flourish and Blotts, their last stop in Diagon Alley.

(Y/n) tucked herself into the bookshelves themselves, trying to find the titles she needed for Hogwarts before finding a few volumes to read for pleasure. Sliding down to the hardwood floors, (Y/n) tucked herself into a book about dragons and their cousins' wyverns.

Losing herself in the book of mythological creatures, she hardly noticed the figure coming closer and closer to her and her foot until she felt a thump against the shoe and the figure fell to the floor. She gasped at the sight. Books were scattered, and a boy, with shaggy black hair, was sprawled on the floor. Sprouting like a flower up from the ground, (Y/n) sprung into action.

“Oh, Merlin! I’m so sorry!” She apologised whilst picking up the pile of books. “I didn’t see you and I—well, I was reading a-a-and I was so lost in the story I sort of forgot where I was and—oh I’m so, so sorry.” She stacked the books into a pile while the boy groaned and rubbed his head, scrunching his messy black hair.

“Again, I’m so sorry. I thought I was out of the way, truly I did! I feel so terrible that I tripped you. Oh! Your glasses, right?” She scrambled over to where the boy’s glasses fell while he rubbed his chin. “Here you are, all fixed!” She placed—shoved, really—his glasses into the boy’s hands and smiled when he placed the frames back on his face.

Silver met Green.

All the colour drained from (Y/n)’s face, turning it into a pale complexion. She looked ghostly. Her eyes took in the appearance of the boy before her. Messy black hair, porcelain skin, black shorts that reached his knobbly knees, and a striped shirt with black suspenders holding up the shorts. But what she recognized most of all was the scar spanning down from his forehead, across his left eyebrow, down his temple, and stopped when it reached the top of his cheek. It was gruesome. It scared her. She knew him.

Before her stood the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter. The boy who saved the Wizarding World from He–Who–Must–Not–Be–Named. And her father had helped in the murder of his parents, sold them to his Dark Lord.

He must hate her. No. Despise her.

(Y/n) felt the surrounding room become small. She never had enough breath, no matter how hard she tried to compensate for the shortness of it in her lungs. She bet she had a sheet of sweat glistening on her skin as well.

Her hands shook at her side, and she unconsciously took her bottom lip into her mouth, sucking it and biting it hard. It drew blood. The tangy metallic taste flooded her taste buds.

“I—I—I,” She tore her eyes away from the boy, focusing on her Mary-Jane shoes as if she found those more interesting than him. (Y/n) didn’t know what to say or how to get out of this without running from him and causing a scene. Oh, the Prophet would love this. She could picture the headlines. Daughter of Mass Murderer Sirius Black meets The Boy Who Lived and a sparring match accrued between them in the stacks of Flourish & Blotts.

As if the forgotten gods heard her, Draco’s voice travelled up the stairs.

“(Y/n!) let's go!” (Y/n) turned her head towards the spiral staircase before looking back to the green-eyed monster before her. She whimpered before taking a deep breath.

“Again, I’m sorry. I…” She shook her head before striding to the staircase, leaving the victim of her father's crimes to glare at the place where she once stood, stuttering and whimpering. Pathetic.

Draco stood with Lucius, who was paying for their books when she remembered the dragon and wyvern book she’d abandoned.

“Ready?” Draco asked, smiling. He managed to convince Narcissa and Lucius to buy them both brooms—even though (Y/n) told him that first years couldn’t bring a broom or join the Quidditch team, Draco ignored her and was able to get the both of them the new Nimbus 2000s. They had plans to fly them after dinner with the Parkinsons, but seeing him had soured her stomach and day.

Did he recognize her? Did he know who she was? If he didn’t, he would. She was just as famous as him, but for a completely different reason. And when he found out about her father, he would hate her and they would be rivals. It was inevitable.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

“what are you reading?”

“its a…online book.”

Watching spooky season movies and it occurs to me that Jack skellingtons idea of christmas presents wouldve been a hit in the Addams family house

Metanoia’s Draco Abraxas Malfoy “The Sliver Prince”.

“influencer” is such a sinister title. it’s got all the menace of “royal adviser” but none of the raw sex appeal.