Tooooooo Many FanFics

“claire is getting married next week”

“i can reschedule the death ray”

“Yeah, and they were all dicks to her about it.”

“What? MATT’S MISSING?”

“Wait. You’re not the one who trashed his apartment?”

Or it’s not until their friends start inviting them places and then not showing up.

The Villain’s right hand tightens around their milkshake while they try to crush their phone with their left. “Those assholes just canceled on us. Again.”

The Hero looks remarkably unbothered by this. “Weird. That’s like the fourth time this week.” She takes a long sip from her rootbeer float.

The Villain wants to scream. Does the Hero not realize that the two of them are now on a date? And not just any date, a milkshake date which is so completely pure and unfunny and sweet. Why is the Villain the only one who realizes that the Hero shouldn’t be sitting across from them in her civilian clothes looking all freckled and cute and amazing?

“Want to split a plate of fries?” the Hero asks. She smiles and leans forward like she’s about to share a secret. “Then we can get the onion rings and split those too. Best of both worlds!”

The Villain sends Matt, Hannah and Claire a threatening text. “Sure. Sounds great.”

The Secretary

Percy Weasley x Pansy Parkinson

Rating: Explicit

Thrope: Post War. Coworkers. Boss/Secretary.

God, I LOVE kacchako astronautAUs <3

If you’re interested, here are my fav fics by some really amazing writers!

 "Weightless" by @wishwriter (you’re amazing, I love Weightless! :D): https://archiveofourown.org/works/20262697/chapters/48027391… 

 "Is it lonely out in Space?“ by lepetitfromage (I LOVE this!): https://archiveofourown.org/works/22288756/chapters/53230642… 

So, a while ago @phoenixyfriend reblogged an ItaSaku post from me with the addition (not quoted in its entirety): 

Can I tack on a delightful “Sakura, through a comedy of errors involving the records office and her attempts to locate a file on some obscure disease, finds out about the Massacre conspiracy and gets declared Itachi’s point of contact going forward.”

And I was like “what kind of comedy of errors goes from medical research to Deep Conspiracy” and ended up with a whole-ass fic outline. It’s eventually ItaSaku but you are going to have to s c r o l l. 

1. He taught our three year old to reply to all parental requests with, "Aye, sir!"

2. Any time our kids get hurt or ask him for help he now replies, in Wendy's voice, "I'll use my sky magic!"

3. In the almost twenty-five years that I have known him, I have never seen him interested in any fictional ships (Hell, he seems barely interested in ours, or anything, to the outside world. He's like a living, breathing kuudere character.), just in teasing me about mine. However, he constantly points out Nalu, Gajevy, and Jerza moments and randomly makes speculations about what's going to happen with them when we aren't watching the show.

4. When he wandered into the kitchen the other morning, in only his underwear (not unusual and always appreciated on my part 😉), he informed me that "the coffee was for Gray Fullbuster only."

5. Physical tasks are prefaced with "I'm all fired up!" Or "I've got a fire in my belly!"

He would never admit it, but I think he's going to be a little sad when we finish the series.

Edit: I have also caught him bopping along to the opening and ending songs.

pairing: …fremione again, don’t judge me

word count: 2537

rating: t for tender, baby

as usual, this is basically totally unedited, though @lotsofthinkythoughts​ was kind enough to give it a looking over. thanks, babe. you’re basically the reason i write.

Christmas morning comes early and eager to the little flat over the joke shop.

“Hermione.”

Awareness drifts toward the sleeping witch, painted coral behind her eyelids. Warm breath teases the back of her neck, stirring up curls and goosebumps.

“Hermione, wake up, love.”

The weight of an arm, sliding around her waist and pulling her back, back against a slab of warmth. Skin. Soft. 

Flannel-clad legs shift to cradle with her bare ones, still burning with that sleepy heat. It’s nice, she thinks. Cozy, despite the twitchiness of her heat source.

She nestles further into her bedsheets and sighs.

Her silence is met with a whine. “Wake up, wake up, wake up,” is mumbled in rapid, husky succession, and then: “Hermione, c'mon, it’s Christmas and you’re missing it. Wake up!”

We… were not. 

War had ravaged us, and sickness, and war once again, until our population dwindled beyond the point of recovery. We struggled against that, of course… we used genetic manipulation, and cloning, and even more desperate measures. None succeeded. When the humans came, we were sinking into apathy, only a few tens of us left. We had begun to discuss whether we should commit a mass suicide, or simply wait to fade away. 

And then the young species came, in their clumsy ships, and they asked us why we were so few. 

“We are becoming extinct,” we told them. “We have passed the point of recovery.” 

It is custom to avoid the races that are dying – once a species reaches the point of inevitable extinction, even war is suspended, and the fiercest enemy pulls back. The custom was born of plagues and poisons that could be carried forth from a dying world to afflict a healthy one, but it has the implacable weight of tradition now. After we are gone, after they have waited for the prescribed period of quarantine, there will be a fight for our world. Habitable worlds are few, and this is a good one, with plenty of free groundwater and thriving vegetation. It is a bitter thing to be grateful for the custom that allows us to die in peace, but we are grateful.

But the humans don’t know that custom, and they do not leave. They seem distraught, when we tell them we are dying, and try to offer their aid - but their technology is behind ours, and it is too late. When they realize that they can’t save us, though, they do something that bewilders us. 

So I was rereading Harry Potter, when I came across this and thought- what if instead of Cedric Diggory, Cassius Warrington had been chosen to compete in the Triwizard Tournament?

Imagine Dumbledore calling out the name of the Hogwarts champion and it isn’t a Gryffindor, or a Ravenclaw, or even a Hufflepuff, but it’s a Slytherin. A student from a House most people hate.

Imagine Cassius Warrington getting up, and three out of four Houses are booing at him and shouting things like “NO!” or, “We can’t have a Slytherin champion!” or demanding a retry. But he’s a Slytherin- he’s been dealing with this shit since he got sorted, so he keeps his head high and joins the other champions.

Imagine Harry trying to catch Warrington alone because he doesn’t really want to associate with Slytherins (plus Malfoy has this tendency of being around the guy ALL THE TIME since he got chosen), but at the same time he’s also fair enough not to want him to walk into the first task unprepared.

Imagine Warrington walking over to Harry a few months later, and Ron and Hermione both jump into a protective stance, wands out, but instead of attacking Harry he just tells him to stick the egg underwater. (Because Slytherins don’t forget those who helped them out).

Imagine Warrington and Harry helping each other out in the labyrinth.

Imagine Harry being devastated when Peter kills Warrington- because Voldemort doesn’t care what house they’re form, a spare is a spare.

Imagine the uproar that causes among the Slytherins, because some of their parents really are Death Eaters and they know what really happened.

Imagine Slytherins reaching out, asking for help from classmates from other houses. They’re terrified, truly terrified because the being their parents claimed would never hurt them because they’re pureblood, they realize that he does not care.

Imagine Slytherins in the 5th book sneaking off to join Dumbledore’s Army, to learn more about who Voldemort is without their parents acting as a filter. 

Imagine the shock when they’re told what he’s really done.

Imagine that a few talented Slytherins went with Harry and the others into the Ministry of Magic. The others are a bit wary but they prove themselves as friends.

Imagine them being confronted by Lucius Malfoy in the the Hall of Prophecy, and when the Death Eaters descend, they know that any one of them could be their parents.

Imagine the shocked gasp of a Death Eater as they realize their own child, a pureblood, is standing defiantly with Harry Potter. They choke back a cry. They can’t let their child know that they were about to duel to the death.

Imagine a DA Slytherin facing off against their own Death Eater parent. That they make the decision to let their child defeat them, because in that moment, they realize that they love their child more than they fear Voldemort. They go down, mask unveiled, and the Slytherin kid has to be dragged from the fight before he gets killed.

Imagine Book 6 Slytherins getting more friendly and cooperative with the other houses. Two years of Voldemort terrorizing the muggle and Wizarding world, two years where their parents just up and leave some days, cringing from the pain in their arm, two years after the death of the first Slytherin pureblood, Cassius Warrington, killed by Voldemort’s right-hand man, and they’re slowly hitting the breaking point.

Imagine Slytherin kids keeping tabs on their parents, sending the information to Harry, who shares it with the Order of the Phoenix, and hoping that their parents won’t be killed.

Imagine Book 7 Slytherins low-key rebelling against the new oppressive Hogwarts staff.

Imagine the final siege on Hogwarts, where Slytherins stand proudly by their fellow houses, knowing full-well they could be fighting their own parents. Some Slytherins know their parents were in the fighting. They hope to find them first and sneak them away. Their fellow students understand. Professor McGonagall allows 7th Year Slytherin, Pansy Parkinson, to duel a death eater in her stead; her father is under that veil. She knows it.

Imagine the aftermath of the battle; every house suffered loses. Slytherin students crying over the deaths of friends they made in every house.

Imagine Harry staring over her head at everyone else until Hermione steps up–it doesn’t take long, but it takes long enough that when she does all eyes are on her as a source of motion–and says “we’re never going to forget this. They’re not going to get away with it” and the girlfriend just latches onto Hermione and everyone is in wands-out stance convinced she’s about to attack the shit out of Hermione, and then the girlfriend stares into her eyes and says “do you promise me” and Hermione just gives her this super-firm nod and says “I promise” and the girlfriend just collapses on her, sobbing. 

Imagine Dumbledore trying to give some flowery speech about inter-wizard solidarity while glossing over why, because Slytherins have always been a touchy subject, and Ron gets to his feet and says “Professor, I need to say something important” and Dumbledore is so surprised he just cedes the floor, and Ron–after that awkward moment when he realizes everyone is staring at him–says he didn’t know Warrington particularly, but he knows how Warrington and Harry played. That each was always cheering on the other. Both wanted to win, but neither was willing to undercut the other by underhanded means. He finishes up saying “I think–I think it’s important everyone should know he died being what a champion should be. Because he could have abandoned Harry and instead he stood up with him to play the game the honest way, and he died for it. And–and Slytherin House should be proud, and we should all be proud, because Warrington was a good bloke.” He sits back down all flustered because he didn’t actually stand up meaning to make a speech. And then Pansy Parkinson stands up before Dumbledore can take back control of the room and says “I want to tell Weasley thank you.” And all of Slytherin House raises a glass–to Warrington, to Weasley, to Potter–and the other houses follow suit. Many years later, Wizarding scholars will say that was the moment Voldemort truly lost.

Imagine later that summer. Harry gets several owls on his birthday, all unsigned. The birds are plump and pretentious and well-cared-for. He will never know which Slytherins sent him their treasures: parchments with hexes developed by the Death Eaters; a strange locket that will only open if he whispers a special spell but that always shows him the picture he most needs to see; a page torn from a potions book that, brewed properly, will allow him extra time to summon a Patronus by giving him a few crucial seconds not just of happiness but of bliss. It doesn’t matter. Harry knows these gifts not as birthday gifts but for what they really are, and he treasures the locket and copies out the potion to send to Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, and when first summoned by the Order of the Phoenix he marches straight up to Dumbledore with the hexes and says “I can’t tell you where I got these, Professor. But they’re in use by the Death Eaters and I think you should have them.” Months later, Sirius will recognize the spell Bellatrix shoots at him, and will dive out of the way just in the nick of time.

The final battle. Everyone is there. Sirius somehow ends up herding a group of Slytherins. They all stare at him and he at them, across a centuries-old divide Voldemort has only succeeded in deepening. Then he remembers the hexes. Harry’s locket, now tucked under Sirius’ shirt because Harry’s friends are with him in this battle but most of Sirius’ are dead. The moment that happiness potion saved Remus’ life, his very soul. Snape’s final words to Harry, finally seen not as mockery but real true advice. What Harry said Voldemort said–his first words in his new form. They are kids, and they are sharing the same kind of hurt he once wouldn’t admit to, watching his mother burn his name off the family tree. “When we go in there, it’s going to be hell,” he tells the Slytherins. “Some of you are probably going to die. I might go down too, and if I do I want your best curser in the front. But I want you all to remember one thing. There are no spares.”  Later retellings of the battle never fail to mention the moment a group of angry, screaming teens burst into the Great Hall, wearing their green and silver as the badge of honor it should be, shouting NO SPARES, NO SPARES at the tops of their voices in between hexes and curses and the occasional physical punch. When Hermione is present, she always interrupts the storyteller to be sure everyone knows about the moment Blaise Zabini shoved her to the floor, dropped on top of her, fired off three curses in rapid succession and said “stay alive, Granger, we need you” before jumping back to his feet and vanishing into the melee–how, for all anyone knows, those may have been his last words, and she will not let his sacrifice go unnoted. 

The aftermath. Malfoy holds out a hand to Sirius, badly injured on the floor. Sirius asks how Malfoy is willing to trust him. Malfoy nods at his chest. “You’ve got my godfather’s locket,” he says, and when Sirius and Harry finally speak after the battle Harry gives his full agreement to the very first thing out of  Sirius’ mouth. They give the locket to Malfoy. Sirius grits his teeth and closes his eyes and opens them and says “He probably saved my life, giving Harry that.” He doesn’t say thank you. Malfoy hears it anyway.

The school reopens under a single banner: the four Houses united. The House rivalry is reduced to just that–a competition in fun–with those deep divides slowly healing to scars, and eventually away to nothing at all.

Imagine it.

the fic: *happens the same way it did last time because it’s a fucking book like why tf would it have changed*

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2UfxHQj

by In_Dreams

Unable and unwilling to walk away from a dare, Hermione is forced to stay up all night with Draco Malfoy. Sometimes, one night is enough to begin to understand a person.

Words: 10461, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas

Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy

Additional Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Truth or Dare, Bets & Wagers, Fluff and Angst, All-nighter Shenanigans

She stared determinedly at the book on her lap. “As I have explained many times now, I despise Quidditch. Sitting in the rain, watching people zoom around on broomsticks, risking their lives for the sake of a game is not even remotely enjoyable.”

There was a pause and she glanced up to be greeted by the sight of Malfoy, dressed in his Quidditch uniform, carefully tightening the laces on his dark leather shin-guards.

Her ears grew warm and a small, involuntary shiver slid through her gut. She averted her eyes quickly, determined to resume studying as if there was no one of any interest or consequence currently in the room with her. There was a low sigh and she watched from the corner of her eye as Malfoy stood and started towards the door before pausing in front of her

“You always came when Potter and Weasley played,” he said in a low voice.

Hermione could feel his eyes on her, and she began rereading the page in front of her for the eighth time. “Yes, well—“ she choked slightly, “—they were my friends. I was worried they might get killed.”

There was a deafening silence.

“Right,” Malfoy finally said in a clipped voice. “I’ll see you for rounds tonight then. Assuming I haven’t died.”

He stalked across the room, and Hermione heard the portrait hole slam.

She sat frozen for several seconds, gripping her book and replaying the conversation carefully to the end.

Oh.

“Bugger,” she said, picking up the heavy Charms textbook and slamming it against her forehead.

She dropped it on the table and bolted to her room, pulling out half the contents of her trunk before she found what she was looking for.

She had to run out of the Head common room and halfway through the castle before she finally caught sight of Malfoy’s blond head.

“Malfoy!”

He paused and waited for her to catch up, a hard, irritated expression on his face. He started pulling his Quidditch gauntlets on as she approached.

“I really don’t like Quidditch,” she said when she got close.

“Yes, you said that.” He twisted the leather laces around his fingers and pulled them tight with a sharp jerk.

Her throat tightened and she glanced away. “I always worry when I’m there. First-year, Harry’s broom was cursed, and second-year Dobby jinxed the bludgers, and third-year the dementors made Harry pass out… When I’m at the matches, I can’t stop thinking about the ways things might go wrong—“

“Granger, it’s fine. You don’t need to explain.” She looked up and found that Malfoy was looking visibly uncomfortable.

Hermione shook her head. “No. You were right. I’m Head Girl, I should come. The war’s over. It’s important to encourage inter-house unity.” She forced a bright smile. “I’ll see you at the match.”

She started to turn away, then froze, and her cheeks grew hot as she gripped a little velvet bag in her hand. Without letting herself pause to reconsider, she plunged her hand in and pulled out the amulet, holding it towards Malfoy without looking at him.

“Take this,” she said, staring determinedly away and feeling as though her face might burst into flames. “The runestone is enchanted to protect the wearer from harm and misfortune. You should wear it today because—because if you die without finishing any of last week’s reports, I will hunt you down in the afterlife and drag you back.”

There was a pause, and she thought she might die of embarrassment. Then she felt a quick pulse of magic in her nerves as Malfoy‘s hand closed around the amulet.

The air shifted. Her breath caught nervously in her throat, and she tensed as she felt him step closer.

••

The halls were quiet and largely empty that evening as Hermione did rounds. Everyone was either celebrating or mourning after the day’s quidditch game. It had been pouring rain and windy, and the game had been miserable and barely exciting at all aside from a few minutes when the Seekers had gone after the snitch.

Hermione’s robes had been dripping by the time she returned to the castle. She’d changed, stayed in the Gryffindor common room long enough to be politely sympathetic, and then headed out for rounds.

Malfoy had failed to appear.

Hermione hadn’t been surprised. The moment she saw him zipping upwards, the snitch triumphantly gripped in his left hand, she’d assumed he’d probably skip rounds in favour of celebrating.

She’d waited for a minute outside the Prefect office and then proceeded on alone.

It was probably for the best. If Slytherin had lost the game and he’d shown up, he would have been in an unbearably foul mood.

Hermione intended to get the route over as quickly as possible.

She picked her way carefully through one of the damaged hallways past the old Arithmancy classroom. There were parts of the castle that were still being repaired, they were supposed to be off-limits, but that detail only seemed to attract studens

Hermione held her lit wand aloft, trying not to disturb any of the damaged walls as she checked all the abandoned classrooms and closets.

The hallways were eerily quiet. She hadn’t realised it when on rounds with a partner, usually there were two sets of footsteps and some idle conversation to while away the time or, when it was Malfoy that she was paired with, an oppressively heavy silence punctuated by stilted and awkward commentary.

Honestly. It was a relief to just do rounds alone and be spared having to deal with him.

She hadn’t been disappointed in the slightest that he hadn’t bothered to show up, or hurt that he didn’t have the basic sense of courtesy to at least send a message.

He was probably sitting around the Slytherin Common Room gloating like an absolute tosser.

He’d better be.

If she caught him out after curfew having a celebratory snog or shag with some tarty Slytherin girl, Hermione was going to do considerably more than deduct points.

She slammed an empty broom closet door shut and continued on.

She didn’t know what had possessed her to give Malfoy her amulet. After all, she certainly didn’t care about what happened to him.

He’d just caught her off-guard because he’d been looming so much when he was getting ready to leave, and she hadn’t meant for it to sound like she didn’t care whether he died. Not that she did care. She didn't—aside from the professional inconvenience and general sense of sadness that she would experience if anyone died.

She’d feel badly if there was any Head Boy who died, it certainly wasn’t a sentiment she had exclusively in regard to Malfoy.

After all, they were supposed to be demonstrating inter-house relations and the spirit of cooperativeness, so really she’d only been being polite.

But maybe he thought she’d given it to him as a personal gift.

She froze in the middle of the hallway. Maybe he thought she was some soppy little idiot and that if he showed up after winning the match, that she’d jump him and do something tarty.

Her face suddenly felt uncomfortably warm.

Oh god, what if he was avoiding her now?

If he was, and she harassed him about his duties or reminded him about office hours, he’d assume it was because she was pining and trying to invent excuses to spend time with him.

Maybe he was in the Slytherin Common Room right now making jokes about her and handing her amulet around so everyone could have a turn making fun of it.

There was an uncomfortable twisting sensation in her chest, and she had to swallow several times before she continued on with her route, head determinedly held high.

He’d said he was going to show up for rounds, so he’d probably skipped them on purpose just to avoid her.

She gripped her wand even tighter.

She’d only been trying to be nice. He was the one who’d acted like it was hurtful that she hadn’t wanted to sit in the rain watching a Quidditch game. She’d wasted hours of her day going, and now he couldn’t even be bothered to do his job in return.

He really was the most monumental arse.

“Granger!”

Malfoy’s enraged voice broke the silence like the crack of a whip. Hermione jumped with such violent surprise that she tripped and nearly knocked over a suit of armor.

She turned to look back, heart pounding, as Malfoy came storming down the hall towards her, his expression black.

He was still in his Quidditch uniform for some unfathomable reason. That detail made Hermione feel even more uncomfortable and for an irrational moment she almost turned tail and bolted.

She forced herself to stay and wait for him to catch up.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” he asked once he was close, looking enraged. “I was waiting at the office for fifteen minutes and then when I went to Gryffindor Tower, they said you’d already left “

Hermione blinked several times as she stared at him.

“I thought—I thought you wouldn’t come.”

Malfoy froze and stared. Hermione glanced awkwardly away, her cheeks feeling warm.

“I assumed when you caught the snitch, that you would probably be too busy celebrating the match and wouldn’t come. So I thought I’d just do rounds myself rather than deal with the hassle of finding a different partner at the last minute.”

“I was one minute late.” His tone was scathing.

The tips of Hermione’s ears were burning and she studied her shoes carefully. “Sorry.”

“And—“ his voice was sharp and irritated, “if I’d intended to skip, I would have let you know and assigned a prefect to cover for me. I thought something had happened to you when you never showed up.”

Hermione swallowed and wished the floor would open beneath her.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed,” she said quickly. “Anyway—I’m almost done now. You can just go back, I don’t even need a partner. I’ll write the report for both of us.”

She turned on her heel and hurried away, eager to put as much space as she possibly could between them.

“Granger.”

She halted, gave a resigned sigh and turned reluctantly to face him again, nearly colliding with his chest.

He was much closer than she’d expected.

She choked and fell back slightly.

“Could you—“ she tried to wave him off but instead he proceeded to move even nearer.

She looked up and found the irritated expression had eased and now his grey eyes were disconcertingly intent.

“I’m perfectly capable of finishing rounds on my own,” she said, lifting her chin and wishing he’d go away and stop looming over her all the time.

Instead of saying anything, his face drew even closer, so close that Hermione was cross-eyed trying to see him clearly, and then, before she could tell him to bugger off, one of his hands slid around her waist and his lips captured hers.

Her eyes immediately closed for reasons she could not justify even to herself, and rather than shove him away, she gripped his robes and pulled him close.

Her back collided with a wall, but she only vaguely registered it as her fingers tangled in his hair. His tongue slid past her lips and into her mouth and he groaned and crushed her against his chest.

Heat shot straight through Hermione’s body at the sound and she nearly whimpered. His hands were roaming everywhere, gripping her, squeezing her, twisting through her hair, and sliding his fingers down her throat, as though he were trying to touch every inch of her.

He kept kissing her, his mouth hot, hungry, and unrelenting until Hermione’s lungs were beginning to burn and she was gasping. Her legs started to give out, but Malfoy just pulled her even closer.

Finally, she had to push against him in order to make him draw his mouth away, and they both stood slumped against the wall, panting heavily.

One of his hands was still tangled in her hair, and his thigh was pressed between her legs in a way that was very inappropriate but also necessary, because if he moved, Hermione was certain she would probably slide down into a puddle on the floor.

She stood with both hands flat against his chest. She could feel the rapid pounding of his heartbeat under her fingers, and every time he inhaled his pectorals pressed against her palms and she could feel the outline of her runestone amulet under his shirt where it was hanging around his neck.

Her own lungs were nearly spasming as she greedily dragged in air and tried to think straight.

His warm breath kept brushing across her face and then, just when she was beginning to collect herself, he kissed her on the forehead and her brain short-circuited treacherously all over again.

His fingers tugged at her curls, and she could smell the rain and sweat and the biting scent of his cologne as he kept standing there, not moving back or away in the slightest. His nose kept nuzzling distractingly in her hair, and his other hand was resting on her shoulder almost as though he were just waiting for her to catch her breath so he could resume snogging her.

Hermione kept trying to think of something to say, but everything she could come up with sounded wrong. It really wasn’t an appropriate time to discuss school assignments or the migration patterns of Golden Snidgets. She probably shouldn’t bring up the detentions report that was due Tuesday, and “congratulations on catching the snitch,” seemed fairly off the mark as well.

“So…” was all she finally managed to say.

His fingers slid out of her curls and then he patted her head repeatedly. She realised after a moment that he was trying to smooth her hair down.

”Did you know, ” he said after a minute, his hands running down both sides of her head. He was still panting and his voice was somewhat rasping, ”traditionally, runestone amulets are very personal gifts.”

Hermione looked up sharply at him, her fingers twitching against his chest.

He had stopped smoothing her hair and was simply standing pressed against her, cradling her face in both hands and studying her face. His grey eyes were glittering slightly.

“The kind of gift a witch would only create for a fiancé or husband.” There was an almost-grin playing at the corners of Malfoy’s mouth. “Imbuing a runestone with protective magic and gifting it to another is sharing a piece of yourself and your magic. On account of that, gifting and wearing them is regarded as extremely—“ he paused for a moment, his eyes growing visibly dark, “—intimate.”

Hermione stared at him, speechless.

The books had mentioned that protective runestones weren’t common and shouldn’t be crafted without serious commitment, but Hermione had assumed they were referring to commitment to the craft, not commitment to the recipient.

She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

Malfoy was looking obscenely smug.

“I assumed you were most likely unaware, and not intending it as a proposal.”

Hermione felt as though her face might spontaneously combust.

She had never felt so embarrassed in her entire life.

Malfoy nodded but rather than step away or laugh, he shifted himself closer, moulding their bodies together. His head dipped down towards her face.

Hey everyone, now that many of us are staying home… I figure this is the perfect time to take a break, relax, and catch up on some fanfiction. Here are my recommendations for Harry Potter fanfiction, Draco/Hermione centric. If you love well-written gems, check these out and review!

Complete:

-A Wonderful Caricature of Intimacy by Countess of Abe

-Love In A Time Of The Zombie Apocalypse by Rizzle  **All Fics by Rizzle**

-Apple Pies and Other Amends by ToEatAPeach

-Love and Other Misfortunes by SenLinYu

-Manacled by SenLinYu

-The Politician’s Wife by pir8fancier 

-The Troublesome Thing About Time by LadyKenz347  **New Fluff*

-Always Something by diamonddaydream **New Fluff**

-The Case of the Creature Kidnappings by frostykitten

-The Creature You Know by In Dreams

-The Deadline by Lena Phoria

-The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man by ianthewaiting

-The Mountain and The Sea by Alexis.Danaan

-Five Days by RavieSnake

-A History of Magic by longdistance

-Cold Side of the Moon by RZZMG

-Enekpe’s Clock by sunshinesundae

-Original Sin by RZZMG

-Silencio by AkashaTheKitty

-Squirm by MrBenzedrine

-The Request by redhead414

-Cake and other Curses by AkashatheKitty (Ao3)

-Strange Love - dulce.de.leche.go (A03)

WIP:

-Howl For Me by Kittenshift17 

-Tip of My Tongue by Kittenshift17

-Mine by Curiositykils

One Shots:

-Blindsided by secretdiary

Malfoy’s oath interrupted Theo mid-thought as he was hurriedly doctoring his morning tea. Theo didn’t expect he’d ever acclimatise to the swill that passed as tea in Hogwarts, but it was warm, unlike the dungeons that someone a thousand years ago had decided was acceptable accommodations for the ambition-ladened.

Mid-winter and the dungeons were presently so cold one would develop frostbite walking across the floors without well-insulated shoes. Burbage claimed that his arse and thighs had never been the same after groggily sitting on a dungeon toilet in fourth-year without remembering to cast a warming charm on the seat.

Dungeon Common Rooms were character building, Snape had said when Theo had inquired about the use of insulation back in first-year. What better motivation to ascend to great heights than an origin story that involved seven years living in a cold, clammy dungeon?

Well, perhaps that was the way it was for some Slytherins. The extent of Theo’s ambition was to stay ensconced within his favourite cashmere jumper and consume a form of hot liquid that would clear his head enough coherently to listen to McGonagall discuss NEWT exams for an hour straight.

Theo added an additional splash of milk until it was the proper colour at least, and then rapidly gulped a mouthful, looking up to see what had managed to attract Malfoy’s ire at dawn.

Malfoy was glowering across the Great Hall at his Co-Head, Granger.

Granger was seated at the Gryffindor table inhaling her breakfast, her eyes fastened on an enormous textbook propped up against a teapot. Without looking up, she reached across the table and snatched away a third-year’s wand before he managed to flick a kipper down a nearby girl’s shirt.

Theo studied Granger and then glanced back at Malfoy, and then back to Granger again.

She appeared entirely normal. The same mountain of books somehow carried in a mysteriously normal. regulation-sized school satchel. Same harried, pinched expression. Same Gryffindor robes with the proudly polished Head Girl badge gleaming. There was nothing notable about her whatsoever. Theo had no idea what about the girl could possibly have done to set Malfoy off so early in the morning.

Then again, Malfoy did have to work with Granger, constantly. As Malfoy’s roommate, Theo was on the receiving end of many of Malfoy tirades about how annoying Granger was, and all the annoying things she did, and how annoyed Malfoy was from having to be around her constantly until Theo was certain he probably knew more about Hermione Granger than anyone in all of history would ever want to know.

Theo had dreamt of becoming Head Boy himself, but hearing about the job endlessly from Malfoy made for an excellent case against it. Granger, according to Malfoy, was the unbearable.

“That does it,” Malfoy said through his teeth, looking ready to combust from outrage. Stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth, he stood and stalked across the Great Hall.

“Granger,” Malfoy’s voice was low and vibrating with angry intensity even across the Hall, “could I have a word?”

Granger snapped her book shut, slipped it into her bag, and followed Malfoy out of the Great Hall with the air of a martyr.

Left in blessed peace, Theo finished his tea and breakfast before heading to Transfiguration. Halfway there he heard Malfoy’s voice.

“—if you leave me to cover and I have to do rounds with MacMillan I will end up killing him. Save us both the paperwork and murder trial and cooperate for once in your life. It’s freezing cold in the dungeons right now.”

Theo glanced around the corner to be greeted by the unexpected sight of Malfoy peeling off his jumper and pulling it down over the bewildered, bushy head of Granger.

“Honestly, Malfoy,” Granger indignant voice was muffled through the knit as she pulled it over her head.

The jumper swam on her, all black but for its Slytherin green and silver detailing. Malfoy fastidiously straightened her shirt collar and rolled up the sleeves to her wrists with an aggravated expression on his face.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Theo watched Malfoy step back, looking her up and down as he pulled his robes back on. “That’ll have to do, or we’ll be late for class. For Christ’s sake, wear decent clothes. I don’t have time to cover for you if you get sick.”

He stormed away towards Potions without a backwards glance. Granger followed him a moment later, leaving Theo alone in the hall to press a hand against his forehead and curse his abysmal luck.

Granger wore Malfoy’s jumper the entire day apparently oblivious to the whispers that followed her.

To Theo’s surprise, Malfoy was in an unusually congenial mood that night in their room.

The next day, was business as usual and Theo sipped his tea and turned a deaf ear to Malfoy’s endless stream of complaints about having to share office hours with Granger that evening.

The day after that was Herbology, and Theo was involuntarily treated to the sight of Malfoy herding Granger to an alcove, and carefully wrapping her up in his scarf until she was buried from her shoulders to the tips of her ears in green and silver.

“It’s snowing today. Do you have any common sense, or did you decide to forego because it doesn’t come printed in hardback?” Malfoy asked scathingly as he crowded himself closer and expanded his scarf by a half dozen feet in order to ensure Granger was sufficiently ensconced in it.

Granger was mysteriously silent.

As Malfoy stormed away through the snow, Theo stayed back and took note of the glimmer in her eyes as she re-shouldered her bookbag and set off after Malfoy.

The next night, she was wearing a green trimmed sweater, Slytherin robes, and a green cashmere scarf while up in the Astronomy tower, looking cheerful and toasty during Sinistra’s lecture.

Theo was certain that then entire school population was aware of what was happening, with the sole exception of Malfoy who was apparently on a mission to donate his entire wardrobe to Granger.

As long Theo wasn’t forced to endure any more of Malfoy’s tirades, he didn’t care how long it took Malfoy to figure it out. If it lasted until Spring, at least it wouldn’t be so unbearably cold when Malfoy resumed.

He averted his eyes and feigned ignorance when Malfoy complained about his lack of robes and sulked when he realised he’d run out of scarves after three weeks.

After a month, Theo wasn’t sure how many uniforms Malfoy could possibly still have. Considering what a micro-managing busybody Granger could be, she was mysteriously absent-minded when it came to returning Malfoy’s wardrobe. Malfoy wouldn’t be fussed to asked for them back.

Theo didn’t say a word. If Malfoy was forced to begin wearing last year’s robes, he might finally put together why he was so keen to keep Granger constantly dressed in his clothes.

It was doubtful, but a wizard could hope.

Theo rolled out of bed one bitterly frigid morning after oversleeping and stumbled across the room in search of his favourite cashmere jumper. He reached groggily into his wardrobe to the place it should have been but found empty air.

It was gone.

A bare hanger greeted Theo’s stunned gaze. He looked in horror towards Malfoy’s bed.

With a wail of despair, Theo bolted through the dungeons.

Malfoy and Granger had already left the Great Hall when he got there.

Theo ran on, plagued by visions of his beloved jumper being stuffed over Granger’s head, and disappearing forever into her stash of Slytherin garb.

A first-year had seen them headed towards the Head Office.

By the time Theo got there, his horror had transformed into rage. After all he’d endured. He would not let his jumper be collateral damage.

Theo flung the door open. “Malfoy, just tell Granger you fancy her and give me my jumper back—!”

His voice cut off and he choked at the unexpected sight of Malfoy and Granger across the Head Boy desk, wearing less than half a school uniform between the pair of them.

“Oh god,” Theo said.