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ׂ╰┈➤lee 𖤐 she/herִ

𖤐professional weird girl𖤐 march baby 𖤐ravenclaw 𖤐 cabin 7 𖤐 waiting at platform ⁹ ¾ᯓ★

little ms.giggles @ everything 𖤐 bookworm 𖤐 born theater kid 𖤐 daydreamer 𖤐 arts & crafts-aholic 𖤐 ron weasley's partner in crime 𖤐 80's fanatic 𖤐 proud delorean owner ᯓ★

❝were all pretty bizarre. some of us are just better at hiding it, that's all.❞

- the breakfast club

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ welcome to the library ✎

•Main Masterlist • || •Christmas in July• || • Story Trick or Treat •

: ̗̀➛That's Not a Cup

Cedric Diggory x reader

⋆⭒˚.⋆Summary: You attempt a simple Transfiguration spell in class, but when your toad turns unstable and escapes, you’re thrown into a chaotic chase, with Cedric Diggory unexpectedly pulled into the disaster.

⋆⭒˚.⋆Authors note: I was going to post this next week but there was a literal toad in my garage yesterday after the rain and it was stressful as hell so here we are.

Transfiguration was not your subject.

That was your official stance on it. A personal truth. A warning label, really.

You repeated it in your head as you walked down the corridor.

I am good at many things.

Transfiguration is not one of them.

Today will be fine anyway.It would not be fine.

You reached the classroom just as Professor McGonagall began speaking, her voice sharp enough to make even the air sit up straighter. “Today,” she said, her voice precise as ever, “you will be attempting a simple transfiguration exercise: amphibian to crockery.”

A few students perked up.You did not.

“Specifically,” she continued, “a toad into a cup. This requires control, patience, and focus.”Her eyes swept the room like she already knew someone was about to regret their life choices.

“Inaccurate pronunciation will result in unstable transformations. That is to say, your object may behave… unpredictably.” She paused for emphasis.

“Do not panic.” McGonagall turned to the board and wrote the spell in sharp, glowing letters:

“Calirbufo.”

She tapped it once with her wand, underlining it.“Repeat,” she instructed.

The class echoed obediently:

“Calirbufo.”

McGonagall nodded once. “This is not a spell for force. It is a spell for refinement. Think of shape, not change. You are guiding the object, not commanding it.”

A pause.

“And if your toad begins behaving as though it has developed ambitions, fix it immediately.”

A few nervous laughs.

She did not smile.

“Begin.”

You stared down at your toad, it stared back. You had a feeling you were both about to be disappointed.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Toad to cup. Easy. Just… don’t move.”

You lifted your wand. “Calirbufo” you said confidently.

A flash of light.

POP

The toad turned into something vaguely cup-shaped. Unfortunately, it also sprouted legs, and immediately jumped off your desk like it had just been personally insulted.

There was a pause. Then chaos.

“It’s running-”

“WHY IS IT RUNNING?!”

“That is NOT a cup!”

“GET IT BACK!” someone yelled.

“I'm trying!” you yelled back, already on your feet. The toad (now semi-cup) darted between desks with terrifying speed.It leapt onto a chair before making its way to a desk and launching itself straight out of the classroom door.

Silence.

Then McGonagall, without even looking up from her notes: “Whoever’s toad that is will retrieve it.”

“…It’s mine,” you admitted.

McGonagall nodded once. “Obviously.” You ran.

The toad was faster than it had any right to be. And apparently set on ruining your life. You chased it down the corridor, dodging a few students straying in the hall. “It’s just a toad!” you shouted.

It turned a corner and vanished. You skidded after it, and collided directly with someone.Hands caught your shoulders immediately to steady you. “Sorry- are you alright?” a calm voice asked.

You looked up.

Cedric Diggory.

Of course.

He blinked at you, then glanced down the hallway.“…Are you chasing a toad?”

“Yes- ,” you said instantly. He nodded like that made perfect sense. “Alright.”

A pause.

Then he added, more carefully, “Are you okay, though?” “I AM—” a blur of green and ceramic legs shot behind him.The toad. “THERE IT IS!” you screamed.“HELP ME!”

You shoved past Cedric and sprinted after it again.There was a beat of silence behind you.“Wait why does it look like that? ” Cedric said, confused but immediately turning. He followed. Because of course he did.

The toad had gained confidence, almost like it discovered something important: freedom.It launched forward with terrifying speed. Cedric caught up to you panting slightly. “Is this a normal occurrence?” “No! It’s supposed to be a cup!” you cried out.

“That explains the handle.”

It leapt onto a suit of armor, sending a loud clang to echo the hall. “You stupid toad!” you screeched as you ran past the armor. The toad suddenly changed direction again, Straight toward a staircase.You and Cedric both lunged at the exact same time.

Not gracefully.

Not carefully.

Fully committed.

You practically slid across the floor while Cedric took two long steps and dove forward. The toad jumped. You both missed. Completely. It landed on a passing banner, bounced off it like a trampoline, and somehow landed on a curtain rope.

Silence.

You both looked up. “…It’s climbing now,” Cedric said. “I can see that.” The toad then started swinging back and forth. You grabbed the nearest piece of curtain. Cedric grabbed the other side of it automatically mimicking your action.

“Wait! what are you- ” he started. “I have an idea!”

“That’s what scares me...”

Too late. You both pulled. The curtain yanked sideways.

The toad flew straight into the air and landed on a passing student’s head.The student screamed, and the toad used that momentum to spring off them like a launching pad. “WHY DOES IT KEEP DOING THAT?!” you shouted.

Cedric, slightly out of breath now but still annoyingly composed, said, “It’s pretty athletic!” “Stop encouraging it!”

The toad continued to hop down the hall, eventually landing on the windowsill.You immediately spring for it. “Shh, I’ve got it.” he whispered. Cedric places a hand on your shoulder. Before you could stop him, he calmly walked toward the armor.

The toad paused.

Looked at him.

And—

Hopped directly onto Cedric’s shoulder and sat there smugly, as if the chase had been entirely necessary. You stared, “What! How?”

The toad settled like it belonged there, and you finally got a proper look at it. It was definitely not entirely a toad or cup. Its back half was smooth white porcelain, complete with a tiny curved handle sticking out awkwardly from one side, while its front half remained unmistakably amphibian. Two bulging eyes blinked lazily above a rim where a mouth should have been, and little green webbed feet dangled over Cedric's robes.

Cedric tilted his head slightly, carefully not moving. “Perhaps it prefers calm environments.” You squint your eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing! I just meant you’re the one chasing enchanted wildlife down corridors.”

“IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A CUP!” “Right. Sorry,” he grinned.

Cedric stood beside you, still with the toad perched calmly on his shoulder like it paid rent there. “I should take it back,” you said flatly. “Should I come with you?” he asked.

“Yes please…before it learns my name.” You narrowed your eyes at the toad as it blinked at you, as if to say: "Too late."

He smiled. “Alright.”

Then, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, he walked beside you back toward the classroom, toad still on his shoulder. And somehow, that felt worse. Because now you couldn’t stop noticing that Cedric was very calm. Very kind. And apparently very good at being chosen by magical creatures that absolutely did not choose you.

Cedric adjusted his pace slightly so you could walk beside him as you headed back to the classroom. “You know,” he said after a moment, “that was impressive.” You looked at him. “What part? The running? The screaming? The public humiliation?”

“The commitment,” he said simply. That made you pause. “…That’s one way to put it.”

Cedric smiled faintly. “You’re very determined.” “So was the toad,” you muttered.

Once you made it to the Transfiguration classroom you quickly adjusted your robes and opened the door trying to act like nothing too exciting had just happened. Which was difficult, considering Cedric was still carrying your rogue toad like a familiar. The classroom chatter simmered down as you walked in.Professor McGonagall stood at the front, arms folded.

Silence.

Her gaze moved from you.

To Cedric.

then To the toad.

“I was wondering,” she said dryly, “how long it would take.” You froze. Cedric, however, straightened slightly. Polite as ever.

“Professor,” he greeted. McGonagall’s eyebrows lifted just a fraction. “Mr. Diggory.”

Her eyes flicked back to the toad. “I see you have located it.” Cedric nodded. “We reached an understanding…” The toad chose that moment to calmly adjust itself on his shoulder like it had done nothing wrong in its life.

McGonagall exhaled through her nose.It might have been a laugh. It might have been disappointment. It was hard to tell.

“I trust,” she said, looking directly at you now, “that your assignment is concluded.”You opened your mouth, then closed it. “…Yes, Professor.”

“Good, and Mr. Diggory?”

“Yes, Professor?” McGonagall’s gaze flicked briefly between the two of you.“Try to keep each other out of trouble.” oh. “Yes, Professor,” Cedric said.The corner of her mouth twitched.“An ambitious request, perhaps.”

McGonagall turned away, already moving on like this was simply another Tuesday at Hogwarts.

You hesitated as Cedric stepped aside, letting the toad hop gently back onto your desk. “I should probably go,” he said. You nodded. “Yeah. Thanks… for the help.”

Cedric smiled slightly. “It was entertaining.”

“Traumatic,” you corrected. “Both,” he agreed.

Then, as he turned to leave, he added casually, “If you need me, I’ll be in the library.”

You frowned. “To help.” he stated. “With the toad?”

“With... whatever needs helping.”

His ears had gone slightly pink by the time he turned away. Leaving you with a very calm toad. And the distinct feeling that Cedric Diggory had somehow just volunteered himself for future disasters.

Ron Weasley x reader

⋆⭒˚.⋆Summary: When Umbridge enforces a rule banning students from being alone together, you and Ron turn the library into your quiet loophole. Until a shared afternoon turns into something more complicated than studying: detention

⋆⭒˚.⋆Author's note: I was re-watching Order of the Phoneix and was reminded how much we despise Dolores Umbridge, so here you go.

The entire Great Hall went silent. Then exploded.

"What?!"

"She can't do that!"

"That's completely ridiculous!"

You pushed through the crowd gathering around the newest Educational Decree hanging on the wall.

Written in bright pink ink were the words:

Educational Decree Number 97

"Students are forbidden from spending time alone with other students without educational supervision."

You stared.

Then read it again.

You read it again for the third time, just to make sure it still made no sense. Because surely that couldn't be real. Across the hall, students were already arguing.

"What if you're working on homework?"

"What if you're friends?"

"How is she even supposed to know?"

"Knowing Umbridge, she'll find a way."

Behind you, someone scoffed.

“That’s ridiculous.”

You turned.

Ron Weasley was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking genuinely offended on your behalf, or maybe just offended in general.

“Everything she does is ridiculous,” you said. “Yeah, but this one’s… extra ridiculous.”

You almost smiled. Almost.

Because the truth was, you’d already done the math in your head. Most of your conversations with Ron happened alone.

Accidentally alone. Quiet corners of the library. Empty corridors. After-class detours that somehow always ended in the two of you still talking.

Now, apparently, that was illegal.

"Educational supervision?" Ron repeated. "What does that even mean?"

"Probably a teacher," you said.

Ron  pushed off the wall. “So what, we’re supposed to just- what? Stop talking?”

“I guess so.”

"That's mental," he said.

A ravenclaw student crossed her arms. "It's another way to control students."

"But why?"

"Because she can." The answer seemed to satisfy absolutely no one.

Least of all Ron.

The next afternoon, you were sitting alone in the library when a chair scraped across the floor.

Ron dropped into the seat opposite you.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Ron.” 

He snorted.

"I'm here for educational purposes."

"Oh, are you?"

"Absolutely."

Ron dramatically pulled a book from his bag and dropped it onto the table.

You looked down.

Introduction to Magical Creatures: First Year Edition.

Then back up at him.

"I found a loophole."

"You found trouble."

"Same thing."

You laughed quietly. A few tables away, Madam Pince narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

Ron lowered his voice.

"If we're studying, she can't complain."

"We don't even take this class."

"So? Listen, if Umbridge asks, we're discussing..."

He opened the book.

His eyes scanned the page.

"...the migration patterns of magical slugs."

You stared at him.

He stared back.

Neither of you lasted more than three seconds before laughing.

A sharp "Shhh!" came from Madam Pince.

You immediately lowered your voices.

"You're ridiculous."

"I know."

Unfortunately, Ron's terrible plan worked.

Every afternoon after that, he would appear with a random textbook and an even worse excuse.

One day it was vampire habitats.

The next it was the history of cauldron thickness regulations.

The day after that he spent twenty minutes pretending to explain Goblin tax law. You were fairly certain he didn't understand a single word he was reading.

"You don't actually care about any of this, do you?" you asked one afternoon.

"Nope."

"Then why are you here?"

Ron froze.

For the first time all week, he didn't have a quick answer. His ears immediately turned pink. Interesting.

"Well..." he said.

You waited.

"I just thought it'd be nice."

The unfairness of the decree quickly became obvious.

Students started avoiding each other, people kept looking over their shoulders, and nearly every conversation felt like it might get someone in trouble.

But somehow, your corner of the library stayed the same.

Safe.Normal.Away from Umbridge.

One afternoon, as rain tapped softly against the windows, Ron arrived carrying three books.

Three.

You stared.

"Why do you have so many?"

"Camouflage."

"What?"

"If someone sees us, they'll think we're studying really hard."

"That's not how camouflage works."

"It should be." Ron grinned.

For a moment, neither of you looked away. Something warm settled in your chest. Something that had nothing to do with magical creatures or fake study sessions.

"You know," you said quietly, "this whole rule is stupid."

Ron nodded immediately.

"Yeah."

"We're literally just sitting in a library."

"Exactly."

"We're not doing anything."

"We're trying to."

You blinked.

"What?"

His ears immediately turned red.

"I meant studying."

"You absolutely did not."

"I absolutely did."

"You liar."

Ron buried his face in one of the books.

You were still laughing when a shadow fell across the table. The laughter died instantly.

Pink.

Too much pink.

You looked up.

Professor Umbridge stood over you.

Smiling. The kind of smile that made your skin crawl.

"Well," she said sweetly, "what do we have here?"

Nobody answered.

Umbridge's eyes moved between the two of you.

"You seem to spend quite a lot of time together."

Her voice suggested this was a crime.

"We're studying," Ron said.

"Are you?"

The smile never left her face.She reached down and plucked a book from the table.

Her eyes scanned the title.

Then another.

You watched her expression carefully. Waiting.

Looking for a reason.

Any reason.

"There appear to be very few notes."

"We finished earlier," Ron said.

"Did you?"

"Yes." You said at the exact same time.

Ron looked at you. You looked at Ron.

Umbridge's smile widened.

"Interesting."

"Oh, come on," Ron muttered.

"I beg your pardon?"

"They're books. We’re studying.”

Several students nearby had started watching.

Nobody was pretending to read anymore.

The library had gone quiet.

“Allegedly.” Umbridge hummed.

Ron sat up straighter.

"You made a rule saying students have to be supervised."

"Correct."

"We came to the library."

"Yes."

"Where Madam Pince is."

"Yes."

You saw several students exchange looks. Ron looked genuinely offended.

"So we're following the rule."

Umbridge's smile tightened slightly.

The first crack.

The first sign she hadn't expected someone to argue back.

"You are testing the spirit of the decree."

"The spirit of the decree?"

"The intent."

"We're sitting at a table."

A few students snorted.

Umbridge's eyes flashed.

"There is no need for insolence, Mr. Weasley."

"There is no need for ridiculous rules."

Your heart stopped. So did everyone else's.

The library became silent.

Completely silent.

Even Ron seemed surprised he'd said it.

For a moment, Umbridge just stared. Then her smile returned.

Worse than before.

"Detention."

Ron rolled his eyes.

“For What?!” you question.

“Educational Dishonesty!”

“That’s not a thing!” 

“Enough! Detention for a week, each of you.” She gave you a narrow stare.

"But I’ve barely said anything at all!" You argued.

"Association, child!" She spat.

The unfairness of it hit you instantly.

You were being punished simply for being there.

For sitting with a friend. For existing in the wrong seat.

Ron looked furious.

"That's not fair." he mumbled.

Umbridge's smile widened. "Hogwarts is not a place for students to decide what is fair."

Then she turned and swept from the library.

A moment later, whispers erupted across the room.

Ron groaned and dropped his forehead onto the table.

You couldn't help laughing.

"We got detention." you exhale.

"We got detention for sitting."

"You argued with Umbridge."

"So did you, besides someone had to, She's insane!."

You smiled.Ron lifted his head.

The annoyance was still there. But so was something softer. Something that appeared every time he looked at you lately.

"You know," he said. "I'd still come sit here."

You blinked.

"Even with Umbridge stalking us?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

His ears immediately turned red.Again.

You were beginning to enjoy that.

Ron looked down at the table.Then back at you."Because I wasn't really coming for the books."

Your heart skipped.

A smile tugged at your lips.

"Good."

He looked up. "Good?"

You nodded. "Because I wasn't coming for the books either."

For a second, Ron simply stared.

Then he grinned.

The biggest grin you'd seen all year.

Together, you left the library, still smiling despite the detention waiting for you.

At the nearest corridor intersection, you paused.

"I should go this way," you said.

Ron nodded, though he looked reluctant.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then Ron groaned dramatically.

"Well."

"Well?" you smiled.

"I'll see you in detention."

You laughed.

"That sounds significantly less romantic."

"I wasn't trying to be romantic."

"You were absolutely trying to be romantic."

His ears immediately turned red.

"I was not."

"You were."

"I wasn't."

You grinned.

Ron pointed at you accusingly.

"See? This is why we got detention."

"I'm fairly certain we got detention because you started it up  with Umbridge."

Despite himself, he started smiling too.

For a second, neither of you looked away.

Then a bell rang somewhere in the castle.

Reality returned.

Classes. Homework. Detention.

All waiting.

Ron shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'll save you a seat."

Your smile widened.

"For educational purposes?"

"Obviously."

With one last grin, the two of you headed in opposite directions, already looking forward to seeing each other again, even if it was in detention.

: ̗̀➛The Quiet Authority

Thomas x reader

⋆⭒˚.⋆Summary: You've been in the Glade longer, and take on the role of teaching Thomas how everything works. While ignoring the others Thomas only listens to you. Trusting your voice above everyone else’s.

⋆⭒˚.⋆Author's note: First Thomas story ;)

Thomas doesn’t listen to anyone.

Not Alby, even when his voice carries authority like it’s carved into the stone walls of the Glade. Not Newt, even when he tries to explain things calmly, like Thomas might break if spoken to too sharply. Not Minho, who mostly laughs and tells him he’ll figure it out the hard way.

Thomas listens to you.

You notice it the first morning after he arrives.

He’s standing near the Gardens, arms crossed, staring at the Runners like he’s already decided he’s one of them. You’ve been in the Glade for over a year, long enough to recognize that look immediately. The I don’t belong here but I’m not backing down look.

You walk up beside him and hand him a cup of water.

“Rule one,” you say casually, “don’t stare at Minho like that. He’ll make you run laps just to prove a point.”

Thomas blinks, then takes the water. “You serious?”

“Dead serious.”

Minho glances over, catches Thomas staring, and smirks like he absolutely would’ve done it.

Thomas looks back at you. “…Okay.”

Newt raises an eyebrow from a few feet away.

Later, you’re showing Thomas around the Glade properly, not the rushed, half-explained version everyone else gives. You point out the Slammers, the Med-jacks, the Builders. You explain what happens when the Doors close and why no one jokes about the Maze.

“Rule two,” you say, stopping near the edge of the stone walls. “You don’t go near this place unless you’re told. And even then, you don’t cross the line.”

Thomas steps closer anyway.

You grab his wrist without thinking. Not rough, just firm.

“I’m serious,” you say, quieter now. “People don’t come back.”

Something in your voice makes him stop. He looks at your hand on his wrist, then up at your face.

“…Alright,” he says. “I won’t.”

Alby, watching from a distance, mutters, “Unbelievable.”

Newt had tried explaining the rules three times already. Thomas ignored every word until you said the exact same thing.

Somehow, your voice cut through the noise of the Glade easier than anyone else’s.

By the third day, it’s obvious.

If Alby tells Thomas to rest, he shrugs it off. If Newt warns him not to push too hard, Thomas argues.

But when you tell him to slow down? He does.

When you say, “Don’t volunteer for things yet,” he hesitates. When you say, “Trust me on this,” he does.

You’re sitting with him one evening, watching the sun dip low and paint the stone walls gold. The Glade feels almost peaceful, almost normal.

“Why do you listen to me?” you ask suddenly.

Thomas frowns, like he hasn’t thought about it before. “You explain things,” he says. “Not like I’m stupid. Just… like I need to know.”

You smile a little. “That’s because you do.”

He looks at you for a second longer than necessary. “And you don’t look at me like I don’t belong here.”

You don’t answer, because the truth is, you’ve already decided he does.

And later that night, when shouting suddenly breaks across the Glade and runners scramble toward the Maze entrance, Thomas doesn’t move first or ask questions.

He looks for you.

And waits for you to tell him what to do.

: ̗̀➛Your Eyes Are Purple

Neville Longbottom x reader

⋆⭒˚.⋆Summary:You wear sparkly purple eyeshadow. Neville stares, gets confused, thinks it might be magic, then shyly admits he likes it.

⋆⭒˚.⋆Author's note: first Neville story!! Inspired by an interaction i had at school 🤫

You were sitting cross-legged on your bed, mirror propped up against a stack of books, humming quietly to yourself.

Getting ready at Hogwarts always felt a little chaotic. Someone’s owl usually tapped at the window mid-eyeliner, or your roommate would burst in asking where their tie went,but this morning was calm.

The dorm room was quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric and the faint click of a makeup compact snapping open.

You leaned closer to the mirror, squinting slightly as you brushed a little more shimmer across your eyelids. The color caught the light instantly,soft purple with hints of silver, like stardust pressed into powder. You tilted your head, blinking a few times to see how it shifted.

“Okay…” you murmured to yourself. “That’s actually kind of cute.”

Everyone had already left for breakfast, leaving you alone with your thoughts, and your very serious debate over whether the sparkles were “magical fairy” or "accidentally got glitter-bombed.”

You dabbed a tiny bit more onto the inner corners of your eyes, then sat back.

“Nope. Commit,” you decided. “We’re committing to the sparkle.”

With a small, satisfied smile, you grabbed your bag and headed out.

The Great Hall buzzed with chatter, plates clinking and owls swooping in late with letters. You scanned the tables, spotting a familiar head of slightly messy hair bent over a book.

Neville.

He looked up just as you approached, his face immediately softening.

“Oh- hi!” he said, a little quickly, closing his book. “I saved you a seat.”

“You always do,” you teased, sliding in beside him.

He smiled shyly, but then his expression shifted,his brows knitting together as he looked at you more closely.

You paused mid-reach for a piece of toast. “What?”

Neville blinked.

“Your eyes are purple.”

You froze. “...What?”

He leaned in slightly, studying your face with complete seriousness. “They’re- well, not like… actually your eyes, I don’t think- but they look purple. It’s nice. Really nice.”

You stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing.

“Neville, it’s eyeshadow.”

“Oh!” His ears turned bright red. “Right- of course. That makes sense. I just...I’ve never seen it look like that before.”

You grinned, a little amused and a little flustered. “So you thought my eyes just… changed color overnight?”

“I mean this is Hogwarts,” he said, half-defensive, half-embarrassed. “Stranger things have happened.”

You snorted. “Fair.”

There was a small pause, and then he added, softer this time: “I like it, though.”

Your laughter faded into a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He glanced at you again, then quickly looked down at his plate. “It sort of… sparkles when you move. It suits you.”

For a second, you forgot about the toast in your hand, the noise of the Great Hall, everything.

“Oh,” you said, quieter now. “Thanks, Neville.”

He nodded, still a little pink, but smiling.You nudged him lightly with your elbow.

“For the record, if my eyes ever actually turn purple, you’re the first person I’m telling.”

He laughed, soft and warm. “Good. I’d like to be informed.”

You both settled into an easy silence after that, but every now and then, you caught him glancing at you again, like he couldn’t quite help it.

And honestly?

You didn’t mind at all.

hi guys … it’s me 🫣

i know it’s been a while (we don’t need to count the months, that’s between me and the void), but i’m finally back!! i took some time away to take care of my brain and my heart, because they were being a little dramatic and needed extra attention

but!!! i missed writing, i missed you, and i missed living in all the tiny worlds we make together. so consider this my official “i have returned from my side quest” announcement 🗺️✨

thank you for being patient with me and still being here

Maze runner boys (let me know if i should include gally 🙄)

Neville longbottom ;)

Cedric Diggory

Fred & Geroge Weasley

Stay tuned...

anyways love your writing so muchhhh

The Boy Who Let You Ramble

Harry Potter x reader

⋆⭒˚.⋆Summary: After being told to be quiet for years, you stop talking—until Harry listens and reminds you your voice was never a problem.

⋆⭒˚.⋆Author's note: This was a really sweet idea!! I'm also told I "talk to much"😓 remember your words ARE appreciated !!

By fifth year, most people thought you were quiet.

It wasn’t always like that. You used to talk about everything. classes, strange clouds over the lake, how the staircases seemed moodier on certain days, theories that made absolutely no sense but felt important to say out loud.

Your thoughts spilled over each other, fast and excited, like you were afraid they’d disappear if you didn’t let them out immediately.

At first, people laughed.

Then they sighed.

Then they told you to shut up.

You’re annoying.

Do you ever stop talking?

Merlin, give it a rest.

So you did.

By the time Umbridge arrived, you had learned how to swallow your words before they reached your lips. You raised your hand less. You sat quietly in empty classrooms or along the edges of the courtyard, pretending to read while conversations buzzed around you.

It was easier that way. being invisible hurt less than being told, again and again, that your voice was too much.

Harry noticed.

He noticed because you ended up walking back from the library together more often than not, your steps falling into an easy rhythm.

He noticed because when you did speak, your voice was careful, like you were testing thin ice. He noticed because when you stopped mid-sentence, you always looked at the ground, like you were bracing for impact.

He never told you to stop.

It was small things at first. A comment about homework as you both shelved books. A quiet joke whispered during DA meetings that made you laugh before you could stop yourself.

He listened, not the polite kind of listening, but the kind where his eyes stayed on you, like what you were saying actually mattered.

By sixth year, you talked a little more. Just with him.

One evening, the two of you were sitting on the stone steps near the Black Lake, the water dark and glassy beneath the fading sky.

The castle loomed behind you, warm light glowing from the windows as the air cooled around your shoulders. Harry sat beside you, knees drawn up, idly skimming a pebble across the surface of the lake.

You started talking without realizing it.

“…and then I was thinking, what if the reason the portraits can move between frames is because the magic anchors to the canvas itself, not the subject, which would explain why-”

You stopped.

The words caught up to you all at once. Your stomach dropped. Heat rushed to your face.

“I- sorry,” you blurted, panic setting in. “I’m rambling. I didn’t mean to, I just- sorry. I know it’s annoying. I’ll stop, I swear- ”

“Hey.” Harry turned fully toward you, frowning—not annoyed, just concerned. “Why are you apologizing?”

You shrugged, staring at your hands. “I talk too much. I forget sometimes.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, “I like it when you talk.”

You looked up, sure you’d misheard him.

“What?”

“I mean it,” he said quickly, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. “I like listening to you. You get this look, like you’re lit up from the inside. And you notice things other people don’t.” He hesitated, then added, “You’re not annoying. You never were.”

Your chest ached, sharp and unfamiliar.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Harry smiled, small and sincere. “You don’t have to be quiet with me. Ever.”

Something in you loosened then, just a little. Enough to breathe.

“So,” he said gently, nudging a pebble toward you, “you were saying something about the portraits?”

You smiled back, tentative but real.

“Well,” you began, voice still soft but no longer afraid, “I think the magic might actually- "

And this time, you didn’t stop yourself.

Percy Jackson x reader

⋆⭒˚.⋆Summary: A New Year’s Eve monster attack at Camp Half-Blood turns dangerous—but fighting with Percy makes the night unforgettable and sparks a promise for the year ahead.

⋆⭒˚.⋆Authors's Note: Hii everyone!! I had a lot of fun writing this and thought it was really cute. I wanted to thank everyone for a great year!! :)

Camp Half-Blood felt softer than usual that night.

Lanterns floated along the paths between cabins, their light reflecting off the lake in slow, rippling gold. Someone had enchanted seashells to glow pale blue, strung everywhere. on the Big House porch, around the campfire pit, even along Half-Blood Hill. Music drifted through the air, half-loud, half-chaotic, exactly like every camp celebration ever.

You stood near the lake with Percy, shoulder brushing his as you watched  the campers by the fire,  laughing, dancing, and arguing over who had stolen whose sparkler.

“This is… nice,” Percy said after a moment, as if surprised. “No prophecies. No quests. No monsters. Just- ” He gestured vaguely. “This.”

You smiled. “Careful. If you say it out loud, you’ll jinx it.”

He groaned. “Why does everyone say that?”

“Because you’re Percy Jackson. Give it five minutes.”

Percy laughed and nudged you with his elbow. “Wow. Hurtful.”

But he didn’t move away. Neither did you.

For a while, you just stood there, sharing a cup of blue punch someone had insisted Percy try. Fireworks were stacked near the hill, waiting for later. The lake was calm, almost too calm, its surface smooth as glass.

Percy glanced at it, then back at you, like he was debating something. “Hey,” he said quietly, “after midnight… I was thinking maybe we could-”

The ground shifted beneath your feet.

It wasn’t enough to startle you, just a subtle shake  that rattled the lanterns and made the fire flicker. Percy stiffened instantly.

“You felt that?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

Another shake followed, stronger this time, knocking your cup out your hand.

“Dam.”

Percy’s hand dropped to his pocket. “Stay close,” he murmured, already scanning the hill.

The earth split open with a wet, grinding sound.

A massive shape forced its way out of the ground, mud-caked scales and jagged claws gleaming, roaring loud enough to shake the cabins. Dirt and rocks flew everywhere as the creature dragged itself free, eyes glowing a sickly yellow.

Percy didn’t hesitate. Riptide appeared in his hand, already uncapped. He stepped in front of you without thinking.

“New Year’s Eve,” he muttered. “Of course.”

Percy slammed his foot into the ground, and water surged up from the lake, crashing into the creature’s side. It staggered, roaring, mud splattering across your clothes. 

You drew your weapon swiftly, heart pounding—not with fear, but with that familiar rush. Fireworks exploded overhead—bright reds and blues bursting across the sky as if nothing was wrong.

“Same plan?”

Percy glanced back at you, eyes sharp but steady. “Always.”

The monster lunged.

“Go- now!” he shouted. you slipped out from behind him, moving with instinctive precision. Your weapon struck its head with a sharp clang as the monster roared and stumbled backward. You pressed your advantage, twisting and dodging as claws smashed into the ground.

“Is it bad timing that this is kind of epic?” Percy shouted.

You laughed, breathless. “Little bit!”

The monster swung wildly, forcing you back. You nearly lost your footing, but Percy grabbed your arm, yanking you clear just as claws slammed right where you’d been standing.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, meeting his eyes. “You?”

“Always better when you are.”

The words hit harder than the monster ever could.

Working together, you pushed forward, your moves perfectly in sync. Percy’s power relentless. Water coiled around the creature, dragging it down, holding it still long enough for one final blow.One last  strike and the monster dissolved into golden dust.

Silence fell over the two of you.

Both of you stood there, chest heaving, hands shaking slightly as adrenaline faded. Percy wiped mud from his cheek and laughed softly.

You glanced around at the camp, then smirked. “Are we going to talk about the fact that the rest of them don’t even realize a literal monster just showed up?”

Percy chuckled, shaking his head. “Classic Camp Half-Blood. Fireworks and punch are more important than monsters.”

You laughed, the tension finally slipping away. Then something caught your eye—the familiar weight of your watch beneath your sleeve…you tugged it back and glanced down at the small round face, the thin hands glowing faintly in the firelight. The minute hand had just slipped past the twelve.

12:01 a.m.

Your breath caught.

“Percy,” you said quietly.

“What?” He followed your gaze.

“It’s… it’s the New Year.”

He blinked, then looked around at the fireworks fading into smoke, the campers cheering, the lanterns glowing.

“Well,” he said softly, “year’s already off to a strong start.”

“Saving the world together again.”

“Wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else,” he said, and then froze, realizing what he’d said.

For a moment, the noise of camp faded. It was just you, Percy, and the lake reflecting the fireworks like shattered stars.

“I, uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly nervous, “I was gonna tell you something before the monster showed up.”

You stepped closer. “Right… yeah-”

“I was trying to say earlier,” he admitted, “that if the year’s gonna be dangerous—and it probably is—I want to face it with you. Not just in battle. In… everything.”

The lake shimmered behind him, reflecting the last sparks of light.

“Then let’s do it together.”

Percy tilted his head, smiling. “All of it?”

“All of it.”

“Happy New Year,” he whispered.

“Oh, and sorry I jinxed it.”

Harry Potter x reader

⋆⭒˚.⋆Summary: Under the Gryffindor table, you and the girls eat twelve grapes, following a Muggle tradition to get a boyfriend. Harry spots you, curious, and quiet feelings linger. The New Year begins with something real.

⋆⭒˚.⋆Mentions: Bit of a slow burn, Harry doesn't confess,

The Great Hall was glowing.

Floating candles flickered softly overhead, enchanted snow drifting just above the long house tables, and a massive banner read HAPPY NEW YEAR in glittering gold letters. Laughter echoed everywhere as students crowded together, plates piled high with food and sweets.

You were not focused on any of that.

Instead, you were crouched beneath the Gryffindor table with Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and a few other girls, clutching a small bunch of grapes like they were sacred treasure.

The thing was, you hadn’t planned on believing the grape thing.

It was just a silly Muggle tradition someone had mentioned offhand weeks ago, something about eating twelve grapes at midnight to guarantee love in the coming year.

You’d laughed at it then. Love didn’t come from fruit. Love came from time, from quiet moments, from noticing someone long before you were brave enough to say it out loud.

And yet.

Here you were, robes pooling around your knees, heart pounding louder than the music echoing through the Great Hall.

“Okay,” Ginny whispered urgently, glancing around. “Twelve grapes. One for each month. You have to eat them right at midnight.”

“And under the table,” Luna added dreamily, “Otherwise the universe won’t hear you.”

Hermione adjusted her robes, clearly conflicted. “I still don’t understand how a Muggle superstition is supposed to affect-”

“Hermione,” you whispered, already shoving a grape into your mouth, “do you want a boyfriend or not?”

She sighed, cheeks pink. “…Fine. But if anyone asks, I was researching.”

You clutched the remaining grapes like they were a secret spell, nerves and excitement buzzing through you. It felt silly… but also kind of magical.

Because it wasn’t any boyfriend you were thinking about.

It was Harry.

You’d noticed him months ago. how he lingered near you during late nights in the common room, how his eyes always flicked toward you during meals, how he listened when you spoke like your words mattered more than the noise of the world.

Nothing had ever happened. Just small things. Lingering looks. Shared smiles. Silences that felt full instead of awkward.

Ginny nudged you gently. “You okay?” You nodded, fingers tightening around the grapes. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Above the table, the boys’ voices drifted down.

“Why are all the girls gone?” Ron asked, leaning over his plate. “Did we do something?”

Harry’s voice followed, softer. “They were right here…" Seamus frowned. “Do you think the floor’s eaten them?”

Right on cue, Neville bent down to grab a dropped fork, and froze.

“…Why are you all under the table?”

Harry leaned forward, peering beneath the table and locked eyes with you.

“Oh,” he said softly. “…Hi.”

You froze, grape halfway to your mouth. “Hi.”

“What are you-” His eyes flicked to the others, all crouched with fruit in their hands. “What’s going on?”

One of the girls answered without hesitation. “We’re eating grapes to get boyfriends.”

Harry’s ears turned bright red.

“Oh,” he repeated. “Right. That makes sense. I mean- wait, what?”

Midnight approached. The enchanted clock began to count down.

Ten…

You popped another grape into your mouth, cheeks full, trying not to laugh.

Nine…

Harry crouched down too, curiosity getting the better of him. His green eyes widened as he took in the scene.

“Uh…” he said faintly.

You swallowed quickly. “Muggle tradition.”

Eight…

Hermione muttered, “This is ridiculous,” while absolutely continuing to eat grapes.

Seven…

Ron leaned down beside Harry. “WHY are you eating fruit like goblins?”

Six…

Ginny shoved a grape at him. “Go away.”

Five…

Harry glanced at the grapes in your hands. “Does it have to be grapes?”

Four…

“Yes,” Luna said solemnly. “Anything else invites chaos.”

Three…

Harry looked at you, trying, and failing not to smile. “And… is it working?”

You shrugged, laughing softly. “Ask me in the new year.”

Two…

Harry’s voice dropped. “So… what kind of boyfriend are you hoping for?”

Your heart skipped. “I don’t know. Someone kind. Brave. Maybe a little awkward.”

One…

Harry swallowed.

The hall exploded with cheers.

"Happy New Year!!"

Fireworks burst across the enchanted ceiling in brilliant reds and golds as music swelled and students stood, hugging and laughing. You scrambled out from under the table, brushing yourself off, laughing as the girls embraced one another and climbed back onto their benches.

You stayed where you were. Harry did too.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The space between you felt careful, like a page left intentionally blank.

“I should probably go,” Harry said eventually, though he didn’t move.

“Yeah,” you replied, just as still.

Another pause.

“The grape thing,” Harry said, almost smiling. “It’s kind of stupid.” You laughed softly. “Yeah.”

He hesitated, eyes dropping to the floor before lifting back to yours.

“But,” he said softly, “there’s been something I’ve wanted to say for a while now.”

Your heart skipped. You didn’t rush him. You just waited.

“I just-” He stopped, exhaled, then gave a small, crooked smile. “Maybe not tonight.”

You stepped a little closer, close enough that your sleeve brushed his.

“That’s okay,” you said gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His shoulders relaxed, like he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath.

A group of students passed by, their laughter breaking the moment just enough. When the hall cleared again, the air felt different,lighter, but charged.

Harry stepped back, giving you space, even though it was clear he didn’t want to.

“I’ll see you around,” he said.

You smiled. “You will.”

He hesitated, then reached out, stopping just short of taking your hand.

“Happy New Year,” he said softly.

“Happy New Year, Harry.”

He walked away without looking back, and you let him, because somehow, you knew this wasn’t the end.

As you left the Great Hall, you felt it settle in your chest: not certainty, not magic, but something steady and real.

The kind of beginning that didn’t need grapes to exist.

Just time.