We BALL

🏀we BALL🏀

Honestly my cheeks, sides and diaphragm have no recovered at how funny this fic is.

Her and the Hoop | Part 1

Solomon x ball ✨🏀

Tags: Solomon x ball, SFW, Solomon is deluded, one single humorous sexual reference, historical inaccuracies, lots of Australian pride, hammed-calves, not a single rule of the game is followed, witches/wizards can now contract tuberculosis

This crack fic was written for a HL discord event. I dedicate it to @morelikeravenbore and @2centniffler who I’ve written in as characters. A/N at bottom

A simple wink in their direction could ignite untold passions raging in their bosoms; as was the case for one such woman, who was fanning herself so forcefully despite the tepid temperatures of the Scottish summer.

The only logical explanation was that being in my presence had brought her to such a heightened state of arousal – an observation proven true by her husband's chagrin, engulfing him in the most violent shade of crimson. Unsurprisingly, the handsome woman collapsed to the ground, her body clearly weakened by such strong forces of lust. 

I was later told it was caused by tuberculosis; to this day I do not believe them. 

Word count: 918 {Wattpad | AO3}

The real reason Solomon Sallow despises his nephew so much, is because. . .

I remember it like it was yesterday.

Mostly women, married and unmarried from all across Scotland had congregated in my humble farming hamlet of Feldcroft. Desperate to witness the spectacle, they pushed against the barricades of the makeshift arena, corsets tight-laced and petticoats hiked up to expose their ankles to me. Perhaps it was to avoid the manure soiling their finest gowns – but I believe it not to be the latter. 

A simple wink in their direction could ignite untold passions raging in their bosoms; as was the case for one such woman, who was fanning herself so forcefully despite the tepid temperatures of the Scottish summer.

The only logical explanation was that being in my presence brought her to such a heightened state of arousal – an observation proven true by her husband's chagrin, engulfing him in the most violent shade of crimson. Unsurprisingly, the handsome woman collapsed to the ground, her body clearly weakened by such strong forces of lust. 

I was later told it was caused by tuberculosis; to this day I do not believe them. 

For a moment, I entertained the fantasies brought on by the overwhelming amount of female attention, being naturally curious to what their soft flesh might feel like when they threw themselves against me – lauding my muscular frame from years of plowing the field; but I digress.

Nothing, and I repeat: nothing, could be comparable to to the feeling of supple leather, cradling the beauty of which was firm and round, inflated with so much love that seeped into my calloused fingertips. The truth – was only she, my orange and spherical lover could fulfill me, and I desired for nothing more. My obsession for the game overshadowed everything, and all that mattered was her and the hoop. 'Wilsona' is what I affectionately named her. 

The sun had shone so brightly that day, it's warm rays bathing me in glinted golds and the promises of glory. It was the game of the century – the final showdown, so to speak. As captain of the Feldcroft Flobberworms, I'd assured our triumph against every opponent we had faced thus far. Today would mark our final and greatest victory in a worldwide basketball tournament, held for only the most talented of witches and wizards in the profession. 

The crowd was vivacious, chanting my name before I'd even begun warming up with my trademark three-quarter shots.

Sol-o-mon! Sol-o-mon! Sol-o-mon!

I couldn't blame them; I had quickly risen to become one of Scotland's most revered basketball players – and arguably, one of the greatest in the world. I pencil-rolled down the court, grasping Wilsona tightly above my head before knocking one– two– then three of my own teammates off their feet. When implemented during a match, my then wobbling teammates would knock down our opponents like bowling balls to pins.

With the other team flailing about for purchase, I'd use my immense strength to swing Wilsona over my head and launch her into the air, having full trust she'd be caught by my ever-dependable teammate, Banshee. Holding the perfect amount of muscle and buoyancy in her tender-hammed calves, she'd use their power to float through the air, slam-dunking my Wilsona into the hoop. 

I expected to be met with raucous applause after graciously displaying a preview of my three-quarter shot, and yet, my ears were assaulted by a name I'd heard only in myths...

Aura. . .

AURA, AURA, AURA! The crowd cheered.

It was the infamous wild woman, captain of the Australian team the Darwin Dugbogs, who'd just arrived at the scene in a chariot drawn by a dozen Milo-drinking Abraxans, evident by the chunky malted drink dried at their muzzles. Rumors of her story had swept through the hamlets like a haze, with some claiming she'd been taken in as an orphaned child by a court of kangaroos and raised as their own. As a man of considerable intelligence and impeccable breeding, I was incredulous to believe such utter hogwash. 

An air of mystery and intrigue surrounded the wild woman, flowing through her lustrous auburn hair she'd adorned with sticks from her homeland. As she approached me, I found no reason to believe such a lovely and diminutive lady was anything to be feared on the court; my reputation was secure. 

'How ya goin'?' She said, her native tongue so exotic and beautiful it could only be compared to a siren song. 

I was utterly speechless, and even more so as she'd managed to ignore my handsomely rugged features in favor of the view above my head. A confident and all-knowing smile tugged at the edges of her delicate lips, as if she already knew exactly how the view from above would appear.

A ball of nerves settled into the pit of my stomach then, but I stood my ground. Defending my territory, I repeatedly dragged one leg back through the dirt while firmly planted on the other, like a bull preparing to charge. 

In my own native tongue, I answered her back.

'Fuck it, we ball.'

AN: The idea for this hastily written crack fic was inspired by the image above, which I scribbled on after noticing it looked as if Solomon was about to slam-dunk a basketball through a hoop. I couldn't have written it without having met some insanely lovely people on a Hogwarts Legacy discord server 🩵✨

A Library Defiled

Garreth Weasley x f!reader

Summary: An tense encounter in the library shatters the barrier between friends and lovers. Tags: explicit | fingering | semi-public sex | friends to lovers 1.7k words

A/n: Just a quick smutty drabble from me but it's been a while since I wrote anything for Weasley Wednesday! I was inspired by this art which sent me slightly insane yesterday (help, he's so fucking tall).

The gold embossed spine winked down at your from its perch, far out of reach amongst the teetering heights of the stacks. Your instinct was to grab your wand and cast a quick summoning charm, but that idea fizzled out with a quick glance at your surroundings. The signs that Madam Scribner had hung earlier that year usually went ignored, but the stern librarian was only feet away now, shuffling through a cart of returned books. Forbidding the use of magic in a magical school was preposterous, though you could quite easily see Professor Black agreeing with her madness. No doubt it had been in response to that business with Cressida and her damned flying diary. 

You rolled your eyes before standing on tiptoes, fingers merely inches away from your prize, and yet it was to no avail. That extra height eluded you. The thought occurred to you to start climbing the shelves until the very book you needed was snatched from above.

“Wait, I-...”

“Is this what you wanted?”

You needn't have turned to discern who'd spoken—his voice was as familiar as his densely freckled face—but you fixed your face with a suitably irritated expression. You came face to face with his chin, having to crane your neck to meet the towering redhead’s eyes. Garreth held the book out for you with a smile that looked far too self satisfied for your liking.

“Yes, it is. Well done for being so tall,” you replied, casting another mutinous glance at the librarian. “How does she expect us to get anything down without using magic?”

“I think she'd be happy for nobody to touch the books ever again. However, I'm always happy to help a damsel in distress.” You could practically feel the implied flirtatious wink.

Shadow eclipsed your face, an arm braced against the shelf beside you. Your heart stuttered, arms clutching the book tightly to your chest like a shield in case the organ burst from your ribcage. The reaction he elicited wasn't new or unexpected—in fact, he played into it as much as he could these days. He knew how to stand, how to speak and what to say to send your heart racing, hoping that one day you would end the torturous game you played and let him fulfill those desires you both knew you held. The chase was fun but your patience and self restraint grew thinner with each passing day.

“Is that what I am?” you asked. Your voice quivered as you felt him envelop your back, his warmth seeping through your shirt. He ran hot like a furnace. You'd forgotten how to use your limbs, how to think; every sense was acutely aware and attuned to his movements. 

“You looked pretty distressed before I got here,” he chuckled, his mouth so very close to your ear. His fingers flexed against the wood, warm breath slipping down your collar. Another inch and his lips might brush your skin.

Garreth knew when to stop. This invisible boundary you'd drawn lay somewhere on the hair's breadth between your bodies. You still felt everything—the steady rise and fall of his chest, the copper curls that barely ghosted your forehead and his gaze lingering on your neck. 

Sweeping the hair away from that spot, you heard him inhale, dizzy from the slightest show of skin; not quite an invitation, only an enticement. If he insisted on teasing, you would repay him for his efforts. When he stepped closer you knew it had been foolish.

There was no more room between you anymore, only his muscled chest and the hint of softness at his midsection. “Are you going to let me leave or keep me pinned here forever?” you asked, hoping that the answer might be ‘yes’.

“I'm not stopping you.” He shoved his free hand into his pocket. He was quite correct—there to your right, was a route of escape. You could turn and leave, but your legs had suddenly atrophied. And then Garreth dipped his head further. To an outsider it might look as if he were whispering conspiratorially in your ear, his billowing robes and broad shoulders masking just how tightly your bodies pressed against each other. “You can go, or you can stop pretending not to want this,” he said.

“And what is this, exactly?”

Garreth shifted his weight ever so slightly, enough for you to feel an unmistakable twitch in his trousers. Cheeks blazing, you inhaled sharply whilst suppressing a whimper, clutching the book so tightly you thought the spine might crumble.

“You drive me crazy,” he replied with what could only be described as longing lacing his voice. Garreth wasn't the type of person to manipulate others; you knew he was being sincere. “Just give me a chance to love you.”

You finally looked at him then, shocked to hear that word slipping from his lips. He didn't seem to have noticed, or perhaps he held no shame in laying his heart on the line for you then. His eyes were full and earnest, unwavering as they held your gaze. In response to your shocked silence he asked, “Did you think I just wanted to sleep with you?” 

“Maybe,” you muttered. Despite every rational thought imploring you not to, your eyes dropped to his lips, and his own quirked into a smile at his victory. When he kissed you, he finally let go of the shelf to tilt your chin to meet him. The hand in his pocket came to encircle your waist, swivelling you around to face him. The book you'd held as a shield that signified the final barrier between your coupling fell to the floor with a thud as you gave into him completely. 

Your heart pounded so fiercely you didn't hear Madam Scriber shouting or the students whistling—there was only Garreth and his gentle touch and soft lips, tongues swirling in an endless caress. The battle had been long-fought but your surrender had made winners of you both. The whimper you'd forced down threatened to escape the tighter he held you, the longer his tongue teased your lower lip. 

Perhaps it had been a blessing when the librarian broke her own rule and blasted a hex at the pair of you, rendering you speechless and unable to move. Saving you from further embarrassment had been a steep price to pay and had made Madam Scribner enemy number one.

-

A month later, you found yourself in that very same spot again, except this time it was under the cover of darkness. Tonight you would exact your revenge on Madam Scribner by defiling her precious library. The room was still and blissfully quiet except for the rustle of fabric and lustful moans that spilled from your own mouth. Garreth's lips were just as sweet as that fateful day one month prior, his hand braced again on the shelf next to you—but this time his slick fingers teased your clit with precision as you pressed against his chest. 

Your head fell back on his shoulder, back arching into his touch as the circles grew faster and tighter. You whimpered unbidden, met by a breathy chuckle in your ear before Garreth's mouth returned to your neck. You guessed there would be purple bruises there tomorrow, by the way your skin now tingled and stung so deliciously.

“Fuck, Garreth…” Stars perforated your vision as every drop of blood rushed south, preparing for a mind-shattering orgasm only minutes after your arrival. Everything was so intense, so passionate with Garreth; years of tension finally culminating in the moments you joined bodies.

“That's it, let it go,” he whispered in your ear, silky smooth and commanding. “Come for me.”

You gripped his hair as those final slippery strokes sent you over the edge, coming hard with a loud moan that echoed along the rows of books. If they could talk, they'd have quite the tale to tell. Your thighs clenched around his hand, hips grinding against his fingers. His cock was already nudging against your behind whilst you writhed in the throes of pleasure.

“I can’t wait to be inside you. Fuck, you’re so wet.” Another nudge from his stiff length, his arm abandoning the shelf to hold you tight against him. You’d barely caught your breath before Garreth was tilting you forward, angling your hips just right as he slid between your folds. “This is exactly what I wanted to do to you that day, you know.” His voice had become gravelly, laced with want. His cock twitched eagerly at your entrance.

“I wanted it, too,” you sighed, gripping the shelf in front of you hard as books shifted and dust invaded your nostrils, yet nothing could overpower the heady aroma of musk that had you salivating at the thought of Garreth’s dripping cock. “Please…”

Garreth entered you in one swift motion, stretching you until you were blissfully full. He groaned and nipped at your ear, sending shivers down your spine before retreating and plunging back inside. Harder, faster, deeper; he fucked you until the books fell all around you and coherent sentences were a thing of the past. 

All you knew was him, and his name sighed to the heavens as he pulled your hair and bared your throat. The sting of your skin felt like promises, made to linger. He was everything, and he was yours.

Garreth’s long fingers trailed your collarbone under the open fabric of your shirt before wrapping around your throat. Calloused fingertips grazed your pulse and the corner of your jaw. You were close again; tension coiled so tight it almost hurt. He must have felt your body twitch, your muscles contract—he responded with a shuddering groan, his hips grinding relentlessly against your behind as he met his own release. 

Your climax followed soon after, every pulsing wave around his cock filling you further and further until you were dripping, happy and satiated.

The dim light of the cavernous room made for quite the relaxing atmosphere, and your eyes blinked slowly at the ceiling as you came down from your high. You could have curled up there and slept, warm and safe in Garreth’s arms. 

He was busy nuzzling against the crook of your neck when he finally sighed contentedly. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

Sebastian: I have a crush... on MC.

Garreth: Same.

Sebastian: What?!

Ominis: Get with the times, Sebastian. We all have a crush on MC.

A Bouquet of New Beginnings: Chapter 25 "Purple Vervain"

Summary: The Scriptorium (Before & During)

Floriography: I weep for you

Full Chapter: [AO3]//7.2k words

Trigger Warnings: Endangerment of a minor, pureblood supremacist times, past abuse mentions, suicide.

The below excerpt does not contain the above trigger warning items.

Excerpt below:

Artie,

Ominis accepted my apology, but he still won’t discuss the Scriptorium with me.

Could you try and talk to him?

Also on your other mystery – I think I got it. I’ll give my guess soon.

Sebastian

The Undercroft wafted of crushed alihotsy and peppermint as Artemis watched the liquid change from a murky pink to blue.

“Bind now.”

Ominis nodded as he performed the binding spell, sealing the potion’s properties into the Invigoration Draught as Artemis jotted down the brew time. The cauldron fire was quelled as Ominis silently poured the potion into vials.

A droplet landed on the testing strip – purple vervain appeared as the purple hued into blue vapours. Success.

Artemis smiled. “You did good, Ominis.”

The blond gave a small smile as he touched the vial. “Thank you. Never thought I’d ever be told I did good on a potion.”

“It’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you about the quality of a potion,” said Artemis. “Besides, these potion instructions don’t exactly help. ‘Dissolve alihotsy leaves when potion is orange.’ Really.”

“Shame, orange is such a lovely colour,” said Ominis sarcastically.

Artemis chuckled softly. “As long as you can time between each step and have the ingredients prepared beforehand, I don’t see why you couldn’t score high on the O.W.L.s.”

“Now you’re just buttering me up.”

“Just an observation. We’ll keep practising; repetition is key. But I think we had enough for tonight – three hours on an invigoration draught is a long time.”

“I agree.”

They started to clean up the makeshift preparation station, carefully transferring the remaining crushed ingredients into their respective containers. All the while, the letter from Sebastian burned a figurative hole through her legside bag.

She did say that she would talk to Ominis about it after he apologised, though she herself wasn’t wholly convinced. There could be something in the Scriptorium to help Anne or Henry, but it wasn’t a guarantee, and Ominis didn’t seem the type to withhold information without reason.

“I’m sorry.”

Ominis’ hands stopped as he lifted his head. “Whatever for?” He moved his wand from right to left as if to scan the Undercroft. “Did you two make some weird alcove on accident again?”

Artemis blinked twice before she shook her head.

“No, nothing of the sort,” said Artemis. “Though, I am sorry about that as well. I meant about… well, the Scriptorium.”

Ominis’ shoulders stiffened. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Still.”

Ominis sighed. “Is this because of what happened at the Bickle’s?”

“Did Sebastian tell you?”

“He didn’t give me specifics, but he mentioned you four were instrumental in preventing a child from being kidnapped and said child not becoming fatherless.”

“We were lucky,” muttered Artemis.

“It seems the Bickles were the lucky ones.”

Artemis didn’t respond. Mr. Bickle was stable, but he had been placed into a coma to recover from the blade’s curse according to Mrs. Bickle’s latest letter. The relief she’d felt initially fizzled away; if she knew how to break curses, if she knew –

“Artemis?”

“Hm?” She lifted her head as her thumb let go of the pressure against her scarred palm. “Sorry, I was just, thinking.”

“I see.”

“How’s the view?”

Ominis laughed once. “Not bad, actually.”

The tip of his wand blinked its usual red. Curiosity got the better of her.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what do you see when your wand blinks? Or… pulses, rather.”

Ominis’ eyes widened slightly as his fingers smoothed over his wand.

“I don’t mind. But…” Ominis shook his head. “Never mind. Yes, I can answer that for you, though I’d be borrowing some of Aunt Noctua’s words.”

Artemis leaned against the now cleared up desk as Ominis started.

“Without my wand, I don’t see anything. Aunt Noctua said it’s like you’re in total darkness. But with my wand, I can ‘see’ the outlines of magic against objects or people. When you say my wand ‘pulses,’ that’s when my wand is communicating to me.”

“I can imagine the first time must’ve been a shock.”

“It was.” Ominis’ smile softened. “Aunt Noctua took me to Ollivander’s, and when I held my wand, it was like a whole world opened. I knew how tall Aunt Noctua was from approximately where her voice was, but it was the first time I could see her outline and exactly where she was. There were so many wand boxes on the shelves, I could see how many fingers I held up…”

“So, the pulses bounce out, hit the latent magic on objects and creatures, and then come back to translate through your wand to you,” summarised Artemis.

It sounded vaguely like how ancient magic existed latently before mixing with her active spellcasting.

“Exactly,” continued Ominis. “It’s not a spell, but it took quite a while to understand what my wand was communicating.”

“Is there a limitation to what you can see?”

“To a degree. For one, I don’t see colours. Sebastian and Anne suggested our first year that I stick my wand inside an Antidote to Common Poisons to see if I can ‘sense teal’.”

“Did you? ‘Sense teal’?”

“All I got was a wet wand for my troubles.” Ominis huffed slightly. “And like I mentioned earlier, I can only see the outlines. I can’t see paintings, nor can I see anyone’s features. Not unless someone decides to, effectively, glow with magic from the inside.”

Artemis hummed. No wonder he never asked about the painting in front of the Undercroft or about the triptych canvas. Rather, he was understandably distracted with the sheer fact an alcove with a triptych had appeared suddenly. Sebastian was rather smooth in convincing him they had stepped on some unknown magical switch while practising spells and it suddenly appeared.

“Ms. Noctua sounded like a lovely woman.”

“She was,” agreed Ominis readily. “She was different than the rest of my family. She thought like I do. Didn’t agree on the family’s use of Dark Magic.”

The blond gently bit his lower lip as he furrowed his eyebrows. Artemis waited patiently as Ominis shifted his weight on his feet.

“Aunt Noctua was a magical researcher. I – when I went back to the manor this summer, I looked for any of her research that could help Anne. Though it’s not like my family would let me take anything. Even her research was mostly hidden away.”

“The meeting last month –”

“– I managed to convince Mimsy, Aunt Noctua’s favourite house-elf that was always kind to me, to continue in my stead. To the degree that she wouldn’t get in trouble with Father. What she delivered to me was the copy of the journal about the Scriptorium and copies of letters Aunt Noctua wrote to my father. Aunt Noctua wanted to convince the rest of my family that there was more to my unfortunate ancestor than just worshipping pureblood status. She even found the entrance in the school but…suddenly she vanished.”

“Vanished?”

“Yes. The last one she wrote said that she was going to try and enter the Scriptorium and would bring back what she found.”

She blanched as a pit dropped into her stomach; the image of Dad’s gravestone without the death date flitted across her mind. Richard’s bones in that cave, abandoned for forty years.

She swallowed silently. “I’m not sure how to say this but, how did your family know Ms. Noctua passed away?”

“Family tree.”

“Family tree?”

“Yes. Many pureblood families have their family tree painted magically upon their ancestral home’s walls or inside their family grimoires. The Gaunt family tree is in a grimoire, represented by coloured portraits. The day she died, my brother so kindly informed me her portrait lost its colour.”

The way his eyes flashed as they stared just slightly toward the ground was proof enough it was anything but kind. But beyond that...

“Ominis.”

“Yes?”

“I think we should go to the Scriptorium.”

Ominis whipped his head up. “Absolutely not! Weren’t you listening to what I just said?!”

“Yes.”

“Then why?! My aunt died going there and –”

“– that’s why, Ominis,” interrupted Artemis as she walked around the table. His shoulders tensed as she came closer. “If Ms. Noctua died within the Scriptorium, then she deserves more than being trapped alone. If she died beyond there, then there’d be clues as to where she is. She should be found and buried where she could be visited by her favourite nephew.”

Ominis’ eyes widened a fraction.

“I won’t force you to go,” continued Artemis. “You’re clearly, and understandably, uncomfortable about the Scriptorium. But let me do this for you, Ominis. Give you closure.”

“You don’t think there’s anything in there that could help Anne,” said Ominis simply.

Artemis shook her head. “I don’t know, there might be. But that’s not a certainty. But what we do know is Ms. Noctua went down there. Sebastian would go for Anne, and I can go for you.”

Ominis’ fist pulsed gently against his side as his eyebrows furrowed and he remained silent.

“No.”

Artemis opened her mouth before he continued.

“We will go for Aunt Noctua,” clarified Ominis as he sighed. “I’m not going to let you two just go down somewhere concocted by Slytherin by yourselves. And if there is something … I’d like to see through her work.”

Artemis blinked twice before she smiled. “Alright. Though, I think we should do it tomorrow.”

“I agree; if we tell Sebastian now he’d want to go right after.”

“Right. Plus I’d like to ask him about the shed. It’s… concerning.”

Ominis hummed. “Of course. It might be prudent if I don’t partake in that conversation.”

“Why? You’re just as concerned.”

“Because he might be more forthcoming if it was just you, and you’d tell me.” Ominis gestured toward the gate. “We should get back; it’s almost curfew.”

“Right,” said Artemis even though she wasn’t exactly satisfied with the answer. She instinctively reached for his robe as she took another Calming Draught. He allowed it as he stood in front of the lifting gate, though he didn’t move.

“Ominis?”

“I am sorry, for not coming back last time.”

She shrugged. “It’s alright. You were upset and, frankly, I don’t fault you. I managed to take another Calming Draught without him noticing.”

“It’s no excuse. I gave you my word I’d come with you every time until you’re fine – that meant I would leave with you.”

“I – oh.” She gripped his robe slightly tighter. “Thank you.”

The corner of Ominis’ lips lifted. “See. You’re consistent.”

“Are you going to ever clarify that?” Artemis asked.

Ominis chuckled.

“No.”

This scene in DMATMOBIL has me in a *chokehold* after literal years.

Fave moments in DMATMOBIL by @isthisselfcare: -Hermione evened out the odds with her wifi pucks. -Draco just skewered a man with a wand. -Draco whips out a knife. -Larsen the Viking is about to face the ferally protective Auror Draco Malfoy in a hand to knife combat. Can you tell which part of Draco I spent the most time on? Yeah, I know, I like them veiny leave me alone. 🤭Also, gotta love him in his red Auror robe.

What I would feed HL characters and why

Because cooking food is the best love language

Sebastian Sallow - Beef bourguignon (French beef stew) with scalloped potatoes

(because that boy probably eats like a hobbit and I’m all for it.) (And an Onion soup for starters and a warm caramel apple pie with vanilla ice for dessert. He’s my favourite he gets the full course.)

Ominis Gaunt - Fraisier (French strawberry cake)

(because don’t tell me that boy doesn’t love sweets and especially fancy desserts. He’d try to hide his love for cute desserts tho.)

Garreth Weasley - Fancy Grilled cheese with cheddar and onion jam

(he is the kind of guy to always enthusiastically compliment the food but never remember what it was. Just that it was good.)

Leander Prewett - Bento cake with words of affirmation

(because he needs some reassurance. Like « you’re doing great », or « good boy » to fit in the small space ?)

Amit Thakkar - Dakgalbi (Spicy stir-fried chicken)

(I’m sure that poor boy suffers from being forced to eat British food everyday but I don’t want to insult his palate with my poor knowledge of Indian cooking. So Korean spicy chicken it will be, I bet he’d be eager to discover a new cuisine.)

Poppy Sweetings - Onion tart and a muffin

(all vegan because that girl would be vegan, and she needs food easy to eat while out while she cares for beasts.)

Natsai Onai - Cinnamon rolls with a hot chocolate topped with whipped cream

(because I’m sure her mother doesn’t let her eat too much sugar but she loves it.)

Imelda Reyes - Cacio e Pepe pasta

(because she needs her carbs as a quidditch player and she must like simple things. And she’d tell me I did it wrong, like Italians when you cook Italian food. Same attitude.)

Anne Sallow - Juk (Korean rice porridge) and brownies

(rice porridges in many Asian cultures are popular when sick, to give strength. And a yummy comforting dessert for that strong girl.)

Photo credit : Ali on Pinterest