#fictional romance

⚞ Harry Potter x Reader ⚟

≫ After a messy breakup with Draco, the reader seeks comfort with her friends at breakfast. When Hermione teasingly asks who she’s waiting for, she accidentally calls out “the Chosen One,” sparking a long, tense, and wordless stare with Harry, full of unspoken emotions and confusion.

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The corridors of Hogwarts had never felt so suffocating. Every stone wall, every echo of distant footsteps, seemed to mock the emptiness inside you. The memory of the argument with Draco still gnawed at your chest, twisting itself into a knot that refused to untangle. You remembered his pale face, sharp with anger, his grey eyes flashing with that familiar mixture of pride and bitterness, and how, no matter what you said, it always ended with a slam—his hand on the door, the sound echoing in your ears long after he left.

It wasn’t just the fight. It was the slow unraveling that had led up to it: whispered accusations in the library, tense silences at meals, the way he had stopped showing up for things you’d planned together as if your happiness didn’t matter. And now…now there was nothing but emptiness where there had once been warmth, a cold space that even the sunniest corners of Hogwarts couldn’t seem to reach.

You tried keeping busy—classes, homework, study sessions with Hermione—but every time you found a quiet moment, your mind wandered back to him. His smirk when he thought he had outsmarted you. The brush of his hand against yours in the hallway, fleeting yet potent. And worst of all, the words he had left you with, heavy and sharp: “Maybe you’re not worth it after all.”

It was absurd, the way your chest felt like it had been hollowed out and then stuffed with lead. You were angry, hurt, confused, and, despite everything, a little sad. You had loved him once, or at least, what you thought was love. And now…you weren’t even sure what that had been.

Hermione, of course, noticed. She always noticed.

“Breakfast with us,” she had insisted this morning, her tone firm but warm, leaving you no real choice. “Trust me. Nothing heals a broken heart faster than toast and scrambled eggs. And Ron and I can provide excellent moral support.”

So here you were, sliding into the familiar spot across her and Ron, beside Harry, trying to look like your usual self, trying to let the rich, buttery aroma of freshly baked bread and sizzling bacon soothe some part of your shattered spirit. You took a bite of toast, letting the warmth seep into your fingers, hoping that somehow it would also seep into your heart.

Hermione watched you carefully, her brown eyes soft with concern. “You’ve been quiet,” she said gently, “since…well, since him.” She didn’t need to say Draco’s name. It hung in the air, heavy and unavoidable.

You forced a small, brittle smile. “Yeah…just thinking.”

Ron gave you a sideways glance, his red hair catching the morning light. “Thinking about him, huh?” His voice was teasing, but his concern seeped through.

You sighed, taking another bite of toast, savoring the butter melting and the subtle crunch, trying to anchor yourself in the sensory comfort of the hall. “I guess,” you admitted, almost to yourself. “It’s…messy. I didn’t think it’d end like this.”

Hermione reached across and patted your hand lightly. “It’s okay. You’ll get through it. You always do.” Her words were comforting, but they were also a reminder that your heart was still raw, still fragile, and still…open, despite yourself.

The conversation drifted for a few moments, casual and safe, until Hermione, ever the curious one, tilted her head and fixed you with a playful, sharp gaze. “So…tell me,” she said, leaning forward, her fingers wrapped around her mug. “Who are you waiting for?”

You froze, your fork halfway to your mouth, suddenly hyper-aware of every scent and sound around you: the sweet tang of pumpkin juice, the warm yeastiness of bread, the crispy aroma of frying bacon, and…Harry. Across the table, sitting quietly with his tea, his green eyes seemed to have a brightness today, catching the light in a way that made your chest lurch.

You wanted to deflect, to brush it off, but the words slipped out before you could stop them:

“The Chosen One.”

The moment you said it, the hall seemed to fall away. Your words hung in the air like a spell, heavy and impossible to ignore.

Harry’s head lifted slowly, his green eyes locking on yours, wide and piercing, searching. He didn’t move, didn’t blink at first, as if trying to comprehend what he had just heard. The world around you—the clattering of plates, the murmur of voices, the aroma of breakfast—seemed to dissolve, leaving just the two of you suspended in a quiet, electric moment.

Your heart raced. You hadn’t meant him. Not Harry. Not in that way. But his eyes…his eyes were all you could see. There was an intensity in his gaze that made your stomach tighten, your pulse spike, and a thousand thoughts tangle into panic in your mind.

“Huh?” you stammered, almost whispering, panic rising. “What?”

Ron and Hermione were watching, though you barely noticed them now. Hermione’s eyes were bright with barely contained excitement, and Ron’s mouth was a thin line, his eyebrows lifted in anticipation. But Harry’s gaze—steady, patient, impossibly intense—held you captive.

Seconds stretched. And then more seconds. You felt the warmth of the sun streaming in through the enchanted ceiling, the faint smell of cinnamon from pastries, the sizzle of bacon—but all of it faded into the background against the weight of his stare.

You opened your mouth to clarify, to explain, to say no, I didn’t mean you, but the words wouldn’t come out. You could feel him waiting for you, and every second his eyes remained on yours made your chest tighten and your mind spin.

His green eyes softened slightly, just a fraction, a subtle shift that made your stomach twist. There was understanding there—or was it amusement? Curiosity? Something warm, something that made your throat tighten and your hands clammy.

You fumbled with your fork, gripping it like a lifeline, trying to focus on the buttery scrambled eggs on your plate, the steam rising in gentle curls, the faint scent of salt and butter. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t focus. All you could do was stare back, your mouth slightly open, heart hammering like a drum.

“Uh…” you whispered finally, voice trembling. “I…didn’t mean you. Not…not the Chosen One.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly, but not in irritation. He was still fixed on you, tilting his head, green eyes soft, patient, waiting for more.

Your face flamed, your hands twisting together in nervous energy. “I mean…the one…for me. The…right one. Not…the prophecy kind of chosen one. I…mean…someone else. Totally someone else!”

For a moment, he just held your gaze. And in that moment—long, suffocating, electric—you realized just how much the world could shrink to just two people sitting across from each other, eyes locked, hearts racing, unspoken words hovering like invisible threads between you.

And you also realized…you weren’t ready to look away.

Best wishes and good luck on your writing! ❤️

I specifically don't have a favourite, lol! Part of the reason I made each romance very different is so as I can enjoy elements of them all as strongly as the other.

Like A's brooding 'no, we can't do this for reasons unknown' trope of romance just gets me every time. Is it healthy? Jeez, no! Do I still swoon for it in fiction? Oh yeah! Lol! :D

N's suave and charming with a hint of something mysterious gets me really involved and sweeps me off my feet. To be with someone who is confident and assured in who they are but also with secrets to uncover.

M's romance is interesting as I wrote it specifically for the more physical aspect, as I'd never written a romance like that before. Not just the sex part, but more physical in general—a character who is usually averse to touch but finally finds someone with who they finally feel relief at being touched from and gets the unbelievable comfort from it.

F's, well, F was written to be the romance route that you get to just have fun with. It's easy, it's sexy, it's loving. But my word, has it seriously blossomed into a romance that is everything to me! :D

I think one of the most fun things of writing the romances as they develop over a series and not just one book is seeing how the popularity swings and sways with you guys! That is always interesting to watch!

There was a period of my life when I genuinely believed I just really admired certain female characters. I thought I wanted to be them. Dress like them. Act like them. Have their confidence, their beauty, their charm.

And to be fair, I did.

But somewhere along the way, I had to accept the fact that admiration and attraction are not always easy to separate when you’re a little girl with undiagnosed bisexuality and unrestricted internet access. This list isn’t ranked. Frankly, asking me to rank them would be cruel.

Jade West, Victorious

Jade West was probably one of my earliest “I just think she’s cool!” crushes. Which is hilarious, because there was nothing subtle about it. She was sarcastic, alternative, gorgeous, and had enough emotional issues to fuel several seasons of television. And somehow, little me thought I wanted to be her. No, sweetheart, you wanted her to bully you a little and then secretly be obsessed with you.

What got me wasn’t even her beauty, though obviously Elizabeth Gillies is unfairly gorgeous. It was the way Jade loved. Underneath all the sarcasm and eye rolls, she cared deeply. She was possessive and dramatic and crazy, but she loved hard. I think little me saw that vulnerability underneath the black eyeliner and immediately went, “Wow, she’s so cool. I want to be her.”

No.

I wanted to hold her hand and tell her she didn’t have to pretend she hated everyone.

Meg, Hercules

Meg is living proof that I apparently came out of the womb attracted to women with emotional walls.

Everything about her screamed, “I’m fine,” while simultaneously radiating, “Please understand me.”

She was funny. Witty. Independent. And she had that exhausted, dry humor that I now realize absolutely destroys me.

The older I get, the more I appreciate how kind Meg actually is. She acts detached because she’s been hurt. But underneath all of that, she’s soft. And maybe it’s because I grew up watching Disney movies where the men got to save the women, but a part of me always thought, “No, no. I can fix this one. Put me in, coach.”

Jane Margolis, Breaking Bad

Looking back, I think Jane should’ve been my first clue.

Because I don’t know many straight girls who watched Breaking Bad and thought, “Wow. Jesse’s girlfriend is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Jane was artistic. Mysterious. Alternative. She had that effortless coolness that made everyone around her seem slightly less interesting. She was the kind of person who would’ve introduced me to bands I’ve never heard of and judged my playlists lovingly.

Honestly?

I would’ve thanked her.

Thorn, Scooby-Doo and the Witch’s Ghost

Thorn had absolutely no business being in a Scooby-Doo movie.

I’m serious.

The voice. The hair. The confidence. The fact that she fronted a rock band. Little me watched Hex Girls performances with the intensity of somebody witnessing religion.

I genuinely thought I wanted to be her.

And to be fair, I did.

But I also wanted her to write songs about me and teach me guitar.

Esmeralda, The Hunchback of Notre Dame

Esmeralda might actually be one of the most beautiful animated women ever created.

She’s compassionate, fiery, protective, and stands up for people who can’t stand up for themselves. She’s sensual without losing her humanity, and she’s kind without being naive.

I used to think I wanted to be brave like Esmeralda.

Which I still do.

But watching that movie as an almost-adult, I realized something.

I don’t want to be Esmeralda.

I want Esmeralda to flirt with me.

Vidia, Tinker Bell

Oh, this one explains so much.

Because apparently my type includes women who are mean to everyone except me.

Vidia is competitive, arrogant, and kind of insufferable.

And yet.

Something about the eye rolls. The confidence. The smirk. The eventual softness.

It’s the “I hate everyone but somehow tolerate you” dynamic.

Which, in hindsight, should’ve been concerning.

Evelyn Deavor, Incredibles 2

Listen.

I’m not defending her actions.

But I am saying I understood Elastigirl’s confusion.

Evelyn Deavor was intelligent, stylish, beautiful, and looked like she hadn’t slept in three days, which apparently does something to me psychologically.

There’s something incredibly attractive about competence. Watching her casually run circles around everybody while wearing those giant glasses and talking like she had twelve plans running simultaneously?

I would’ve folded immediately.

Daphne Blake, Mystery Incorporated

Specifically Mystery Incorporated Daphne.

Because she wasn’t just pretty.

She was weird.

She was emotional and dramatic and romantic and just a little bit insane.

She loved hard. She cared hard. She felt everything at maximum volume.

honestly?

Same.

Something about her always made me smile. I wanted to take her on dates and listen to her ramble and reassure her when she spiraled.

Which sounds suspiciously like a crush.

Because it was.

Callie Torres, Grey’s Anatomy

If confidence were a person, it would be Callie Torres.

She’s passionate, brilliant, funny, and somehow makes every room she’s in feel warmer.

But what I love most about Callie is that she loves loudly.

She’s emotional. She’s messy. She wears her heart on her sleeve. She sings in the musical episode. She makes mistakes. She gets hurt. She gets back up.

She’s so deeply human.

And maybe that’s why I love her.

Because she reminds me that loving people isn’t embarrassing.

Natalie Scatorccio, Yellowjackets

Natalie, my beloved.

I genuinely think Juliette Lewis and Sophie Thatcher altered my brain chemistry.

Natalie is rough around the edges. She’s self-destructive. She’s sarcastic. She acts like she doesn’t care while caring more than anyone else in the room.

But underneath all the cigarettes and trauma and dark humor is somebody who loves fiercely.

And I don’t know what that says about me.

Probably nothing good.

But I know this.

I would’ve followed that woman into the wilderness.

Which brings me to a conclusion I’ve spent years accidentally avoiding.

So… What’s My Type?

I honestly didn’t think I had a specific type in women until writing this!

Butttt, something about w omen who are sarcastic, witty, and a little intimidating.

Women who act tougher than they are.

Women who care too much and pretend they don’t.

Women who are fiercely protective.

Women who are creative.

Women who are passionate.

Women who are dramatic.

Women who feel things deeply.

Woman who tend to have dark hair and arched eyebrows lmao

And, unfortunately, women who require approximately six seasons of character development.

Apparently, I like women with walls around their hearts and enough emotional baggage to qualify for checked luggage.

But more than anything, I think I like women who are soft underneath everything else.

Women who make me want to protect them.

Women who make me want to listen to them talk forever.

Women who make me laugh.

Women who feel real.

Which is funny.

Because for years, I thought these women represented who I wanted to become.

But looking back, I think they represented something much simpler.

I didn’t want to be them.