A/N: I adored this request and although it is extremely short, I had a really fun time writing it and I think it is very sweet and fluffy as you wanted! I was overall really pleased. Based on Lover by Taylor Swift, as even though it isn’t directly related, it just reminded me of it and I think it fits the romantic vibe. :) Also I started a taglist, drop me a message if you’d like to be on it!

Summary: When Y/N finds herself sick with the muggle flu, her boyfriend Harry is right by her side to get through it with hot drinks and cough sweets.

Warnings: mentions of coughing, mentions of blood, illness and disease, mentions of the flu, swearing.

-

“I’m not bloody sick.” Y/N says adamantly, ignoring the harsh scratch in the back of her dry throat as she speaks. Beads of a clammy, cold sweat cling to her forehead and inch down her face, which is paler than her boyfriend - Harry - has ever seen it, and yet she insists she is fit to go to work. 

“Y/N, come on. You’re clearly sick.” Harry begs, although it’s hopeless. Unfortunately, Y/N is as stubborn as she is beautiful in his eyes, and his efforts are likely to be in vain. Y/N folds her arms tightly across her chest as she shuffles over to their kitchen, thinking maybe an early morning coffee brew would help her dry throat and consequential fever. “You’re clearly ill, just stay at home with me today. It’s my day off anyway.”

Y/N tips the coffee down her throat, wincing as it scalds her oesophagus on the way down. “Well actually, darling, I feel a lot better now-!” She tries to argue, grabbing her briefcase and stepping towards the front door when Harry stands in the way. “Harry!”

“Y/N!” He childishly repeats back at her.

“Are you going to move so that I can go to work?” Y/N begins, but she is soon interrupted by a fit of violent coughing. Taking the opportunity to put his arm over her shoulders and lead her to the sofa, Harry smiles sympathetically. 

“You need to stay home. I’ll send a letter to your work explaining everything.” Harry shouts, rushing to the kitchen to grab a cup of wildflower tea for his girlfriend. 

Albeit with some reluctance, Y/N takes a tentative sip of the tea and a small smile creeps onto her face. Warmth seeps from the tea into her tired bones, filling her with a sense of comfort and easing her sore throat. “Fine. I’ll stay home for today. Thank you for the tea, darling.”

“Of course love, anything for you.” Harry mumbles as he sits down on the sofa next to her, leaning in to kiss her when she puts a hand on his chest to slightly push him away. 

“You’ll get sick if you kiss me.” She mutters pathetically, consequentially shocked when Harry laughs before pressing his lips against hers anyway, ignoring her worried sentiment. 

At first, Y/N is surprised by the gesture. Even years on into their relationship, she is still taken aback by the uncontrollable flurry of butterflies something as simple as kissing Harry causes. His lips fit perfectly with her own, moving in sync in a way she only imagines he could. Kissing Harry was like melted chocolate: devious and rich and she knew nothing else would ever be quite as decadent. Harry pulled away with a grin, pressing the mug of tea back into her hands.

“Are you sure you don’t mind me staying in your apartment so long? I haven’t been back to mine in ages.” Y/N asks honestly. She couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t slept in Harry’s bed without him by her side.

Harry paused before shaking his head softly. “Why don’t you move in then?”

“What?” Y/N stutters, unable to form a coherent sentence. Although the pair had been dating for years, they were both rather afraid of commitment after the war. People had lost so much, so if they didn’t commit, then perhaps they’d have less to lose. But the war is long past, and that excuse didn’t really make sense anymore. 

“Think about it. We could leave the Christmas lights up until January... let our friends crash in the living room. Anything we wanted.” Harry explains calmly. Even though most of the time Harry is a typically nervous person, something in Y/N has always made him feel confident. 

“Anything we wanted.” She repeats back to him, Y/E/C eyes gleaming in the dim light of their living room.

“Is that a yes?”

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Always.”

-

A/N: If you request something, I will always tag you if I can! 

Tolerate It | Harry Potter

A/N: Hi lovely! First off, I adored this request so much and I really hope I’ve done it justice. Tolerate It is such a beautiful song and defo one of my favourites off of Evermore to cry to, there’s just so much detail hidden within the lyrics and I adore that. Harry too!! There’s not enough stuff for Harry, so I hope I’ve done well for you! ( Also this is super short, but I’ve been swamped with coursework xox )

Summary: Y/N is in love with The Boy Who Lived, and due to marry him in the Spring with a beautiful April wedding. Friends to lovers to that engaged couple who are just too in love to function, they share the most perfect story. But when Y/N begins to see their relationship for what it is, her entire world is thrown off key...

Warnings: angst and lots of it, loneliness, sadness, swearing.

~

“You’re coming home tonight, right?” Y/N asks, excitement and anticipation heavy in her tone, cherry red nails clicking against the cold metal of the answerphone.

“Of course, I’ll be back soon, love.” Harry Potter, her beloved fiancé, answered back on the other side from his workplace all the way in central London. His office is almost empty, devoid of any homely photos or colleagues: they had all gone home to their families long ago, and yet he stayed behind. He had no work to finish, no cases glaring to be solved. There was nothing to do but leave, but Harry didn’t.

“You’ve said that before.” Y/N pointed out blandly, her forced smile fading slightly. Many times had Harry said he was on his way home, only to send a letter the next morning apologising for suddenly getting swamped with unavoidable paperwork. “Please come home Harry, I’ve even made your favourite for dinner.”

“That sounds good, I promise I’ll be there soon. I’m just leaving the Ministry now.” Harry replied monotonously, not sounding nearly as happy as Y/N wished he would. Perhaps he had just had a bad day at the office, he must have done. But he had just one too many bad days now, and the reality that he might not want to see her was beginning to sink in.

Shaking off that horrible thought, Y/N inhaled a sharp breath and chewed the edge of her top lip. “Alright, if you say so. I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.” Harry said shortly before putting the phone down and staring at his office, desperately trying to find a reason to stay at work. He did love Y/N, he did. Heck, he had even asked her to marry him and kissed the edge of her lips as they set the date. And then postponed it. And then postponed it another year after that, all because of some urgent work that Harry had suddenly come across. He was just so young, forced to grow up so quickly he didn’t even have time for a scrap of a childhood. Maybe that was why he didn’t want to see Y/N, why going home to their apartment often felt like a chore.

Back at their cosy flat in the nicer part of Greenwich, Y/N put the phone down after hearing an abrupt beep on the other end that let her know he had hung up. She sighed before walking over to a tall cabinet that stood to the side of their kitchen, taking out a set of nice china plates her Grandmother had left her and crystal wine glasses. It was the lovely cutlery only used for things like Christmas and obligatory dinner parties her family forced her to hold.

After setting it out on the table, Y/N checked the time and supposed that if Harry really had left as he said, he would be back in just a minute through the wonders of apparation. Carefully so she wouldn’t somehow spill the food in her clumsiness, a quality Harry once said he loved about her, Y/N moved the food from the oven, to plates and then through to their front room where the fancy cutlery was set up. A smile made its way onto her face, a beaming, gorgeous smile of confidence that her and Harry would finally have the night she deserved. One where work or his reluctance to put effort into their relationship, even if she did pretend she knew nothing about this, didn’t get in the way.

Alas however, minutes passed and there was no sign of Harry anywhere. The food grew colder and that wonderful, rare smile of hers faded into an all too comfortable frown, the crease between her eyebrows deepening with not only disappointment, but anger. A growing resentment for Harry’s lack of care or even acknowledgement of their engagement. He didn’t seem to give two hoots that she had made a lovely meal; after all, he had only called it ‘good’. Not fabulous or decadent or even something praiseful. Just good.

They hadn’t said ‘I love you’ before they hung up the phones. Harry had only said one word. Y/N’s mind began to spiral, her breathing growing quicker and sharper as the thought that it might be time to confront Harry about the buildup of letdowns over the course of the last few months. A year even, since he had properly spent time at home. At their home, the one in which he had knelt down on one knee and told her he wanted to grow old with her by his side, failing at muggle card games on the front porch as they watched their grandchildren play.

Not knowing exactly what to do, Y/N retreated to grasping at the doorframe to keep her body from tumbling to the ground. Her mind whirred with the usual possibilities to try and chase away his lateness. Got caught at work, perhaps Ron called. But none of it compared to the looming threat that Harry was scraping any old excuse together in order to stay away. That he was lying, something she never thought she would have to think about him doing. Harry had always been such an honest person, even as a child.

Y/N remembered how nervous he was when he first asked her out during their fifth year at Hogwarts. He had been on this disastrous date with some Ravenclaw she couldn’t quite remember the name of, and come back utterly defeated. Feeling sorry for a friend she had always harboured a crush on, Y/N had stayed up all night convincing him something better was around the corner. It occurred to Harry quite quickly after that that Y/N was that somebody. She liked him, and at the time that was enough to make him think he was in love. To some degree he was, but not nearly as much as Y/N had fallen for him.

It was almost midnight when the front door to their apartment clicked with the turn of a key, and Y/N, still standing in the same sad place by the door to their living room, finally saw Harry step into their home. It had been hours since they were supposed to eat the food that Y/N had worked to hard to create. There it still sat however, with the plates and crystal glasses and unopened bottle of wine in the same place, completely untouched.

Y/N had a thousand things to say to him. Usually it would begin with her asking him where he had been galavanting off to, but not tonight. Tonight was the final tear in her elastic heart, just enough to finally make it tear into two broken, hollowed out pieces. She stood, silent and just watched as he took off his shoes and put his coat back in it’s place without saying anything. Harry wasn’t even trying anymore, and that hurt more than him being late to begin with.

“Sorry for the delay, something came up.” Harry said, standing a few metres away from her. There was no affectionate kiss to the forehead like when they were fresh out of Hogwarts with teenage dreams and ambitions. No arm comfortably slung around her waist in a protective manner. Y/N missed that especially out of all the things that had faded away. That simple gesture that showed he wanted to hold her above all else, above everyone else who had ever wanted to touch the Chosen One like she did.

“Something.” Y/N repeated, no emotion in her voice. It sounded almost like a recording being played back to him, just with any tone sucked away. “It’s always something, isn’t it?” She continued, not finding quite the right words to encompass the flummox of emotions seeping into her veins. “Work. Ron called. Hermione called. Work. Work again.”

“There really was something.” Harry pathetically added. It was a lie of course, he had spent the hours at his desk alone and staring aimlessly at a fountain pen as it leaked ink onto the black carpet of his office.

“Do you really think I don’t know you at all? Stop lying to me, Harry, just stop it. I’m done with being lied to.” Y/N says, her voice remaining as monotonous as ever as if she’s already grieving something. “I want to know what was so important that you’ve missed the dinner I made. The last thirty dinners, in fact.”

Harry just runs a hand through his messy hair as he tries desperately to think of something to say. But he can’t. There’s nothing to say that would make him any less guilty.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He manages to whisper.

“You’ve said that already.” Y/N points out without missing a single beat. She’s exhausted of pretending that she doesn’t know what Harry’s been doing, drained of all energy to put in effort anymore.

“Just tell me what the problem is and we can fix it.” He begs, but his voice is shaky and the words sound as though he’s reading them from a script.

“Fine. When did you stop being in love with me?” Y/N asks, sadness seeping into her voice. Tears began to form in her eyes but were quickly blinked away; the last thing she wanted was for Harry to see her as weak. She might be pathetic, pitiful, stupid for not realising earlier... but Y/N was not going to be weak. Not now, not ever.

“Why would you think that? Y/N, I could never stop loving you.” Harry said, trying to wrap her into a hug only for Y/N to quickly wriggle out of his cold grasp. His fingers left icy burns where they had briefly touched her arm, and Harry’s face dropped as he realised she didn’t want him anywhere near her.

“But you have, Harry. Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming home at ridiculous times, or avoiding even looking at me like you are now. You don’t love me, you tolerate me because you don’t want to be alone. I feel like I’m begging to be in the footnotes in the story of your life, not a main character anymore.” Y/N explained quietly, neither expecting her to be so frank but once the blunt words were spilling from her lips, not even she could stop them. She watched as Harry’s face crumpled, sadness twisting her gut as she fervently tried not to cry herself.

“Y/N... I don’t know what to say.” Harry trailed off. Y/N used to be so infatuated with him, so desperately in love that she was blind to his flaws, much like his ridiculous fan base. But she had grown up from the teenager with a crush to a young woman with heart and with ambitions, and Harry was no longer apart of what she wanted out of life. She had stopped being a part of his long ago, she just hadn’t realised it then.

“Is this in my head? Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow, Harry. Because please believe me, I could do it. I could leave.”

“I can’t.” Harry finally said. “I did love you once, Y/N. I’m not even sure what happened to us if I’m being completely honest.”

“That’s the problem: you don’t really even want me to stay. But that’s the thing... you built an entire new wizarding world after you defeated You-Know-Who, and where was I? I’m sorry for being dramatic and shit but I’m taking this dagger out and finally going where I need to be.” Y/N continued, not pausing as not to give him any time to ask her to stay, not that he would. Her mind was made up, and even Harry could see that.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Harry whispered, his voice trailing off as Y/N went to get her coat from a peg just beside their front door.

“It’s alright, really. I know you don’t hate me, but both of us know this isn’t working anymore. I deserve someone who celebrates me and my love, and that isn’t you. I’m not really sure that it ever was.” Y/N said, a sad smile gracing her delicate features. She looked almost relieved. Utterly broken-hearted, but relieved all the same. “I’ll come back for my stuff tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving me?” Harry said. Even though she had told him why, it still came as a shock. Y/N nodded. “I’m so sorry I didn’t treat you how you deserve.”

“I’m sorry about that too.” Y/N replied, both warmly and coldly at the same time. “Goodbye, Harry Potter. All the best.”

“Goodbye.” It was all Harry could fathom to say as she pressed her engagement ring back into his hand, the final recognition of their relationship officially being over. It was a beautiful piece of jewellery, one she at one point she thought she would never take off her finger. There were no more words exchanged about the gesture for none were needed, all had been said already.

One simple word that locked the door on their relationship, the one that Y/N had finally gained the courage to close in the first place. It had taken her so long, so pathetically long, to realise that something wasn’t right. That Harry was meant to love her, that love shouldn’t and can’t survive while being one sided. It shouldn’t have to be tolerated, and Y/N had finally learned that through all those lonely nights of wondering where Harry was, what he was getting up to at work, if he even was there.

But as Y/N’s grandma used to tell her every Christmas, as one door closes, another always opens.

-

A/N: hoped you liked it anon!!!

A/N: Before reading, I just want to say this story is based around cheating, so simply if you don’t like that, don’t read it! It’s also really bad, but I need to get back into the swing of regular writing for my mental health’s sake, and this was my way of doing it so please don’t be too harsh reading it. I’m still v new to this shit, and v Geordie too so if I’m using words you don’t get or smth like that, just lemme know.

Summary: Y/N has been in love with James Potter for who knows how long... the only problem is when something happens between them, he’s in a relationship with someone else.

Warning: Infidelity, cheating, mentions of sex, angst, shit writing, shit characters, just don’t expect much okay?

“I have to tell you something.” Y/N says, fiddling awkwardly with the now frayed hem of her mustard-yellow jumper, fingers fumbling as she tries to speak.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Marlene, her best friend, asks worriedly, but Y/N just shakes her head, tears beginning to spring in her eyes. Seeing this, Marlene quickly rushes to sit next to Y/N on the edge of her bed in their gold and crimson adorned dormitory. She just stares blankly out of the window, trying and miserably failing to hide the fact that all she wants to do is rush out of Hogwarts and never return.

“I don’t even know where to start, Marls.” She mewls between choked sobs. “There’s so much I haven’t told anybody.”

“You can tell me.” Marlene continues, throwing a comforting arm over her friend’s shoulders with ease. Her face is twisted with worry, the kind of anxiousness that Marlene has never seen before and frankly is terrified by. “Just start at the beginning, I suppose. Who’s all this about anyway? Do I need to beat anyone up?” Marlene says frantically, and Y/N lets out a humourless laugh.

“No. Me, perhaps. Just promise if I tell you, you won’t tell Lily about it?” Her voice breaks more and more with every syllable.

“Why would I need to keep something from Lily?”

“Because it’s about James. Me and James.” Y/N whispers, pressing her face into her trembling hands.

“You and James?” She questions just a little too satirically, causing Y/N to send her a withering glare. “What is it you need to tell me?”

“I slept with him, Marlene.” Y/N cries before she finally collapses into a flummox of tears and loud cries that fill the dormitory with a tense, thick silence as the information settles in.

“When?” Only one word is managed from Marlene, said in a half shocked, half angry tone. Y/N feels Marlene’s arm shift off of her shoulder as she moves to sit cross legged on the floor. Away. Away from Y/N.

“The night of the party in September when they had that huge row because he got drunk when they had agreed not to.” She replied, her throat dry and hoarse making speaking physically painful, but she had to tell somebody. Anybody who would listen and wouldn’t judge her too harshly. Unfortunately however for Marlene, this burden fell to her since everyone else was out that day including both Lily and James, leaving no chance of being overheard.

“How did it happen?” Merlin, Y/N, why did it fucking happen?” Marlene said angrily, looking for something to throw across the room just to watch it smash into millions of irreparable pieces.

“You know bloody why, Marls.” Y/N snapped crossly, earning something close to a sympathetic look from Marlene.

~

Y/N couldn’t remember a time she had felt so lonely as to when James was kissing her.

It was strange really, since she had been madly in love with him for who knows how long at this point. But there, with their clandestine kiss captured into fracturing moonlight in the middle of her otherwise empty dorm room, with his hands travelling softly past her waist and to her hips, lips moving against hers in the way she had dreamed of, Y/N felt more solitary than ever. Perhaps it was because she knew he didn’t love her, that to him it was just completely physical. Maybe it was because he loved another, and someone she had been friends with for years at that. Deep down she knew it was simply because it was James.

James. James who used to carry her books because he was a whole head taller than her, and therefore claimed she needed a prince to save her. James who played Quidditch with her even though she was hopeless at it, and in return she waved a Gryffindor scarf for him at his games. Sometimes he even claimed it was the reason he won. James who told her that Lily was the love of his life while crying into her shoulder, unknowing that Y/N wanted nothing more than to hear those words about herself. But she wouldn’t, couldn’t, ever.

She could taste alcohol on his tongue as it moved expertly against her own, dark and bitter and sweet all at the same time. He carried a beautiful aroma of cigarette smoke, just slightly stale, and strangely oranges and the overly expensive cologne he always wore because Lily told Marlene she liked it four years previous. Everything about him screamed his love for Lily. From tousled hair to mirror her celebrity crush, to the way his eyes lit up every time the redhead walked into a room. And then there was Y/N, hopeless and drowning in an unrequited affection.

James and Lily were the Romeo and Juliet of Hogwarts, the epitome of a saccharine love story stretching over the expanse of seven years. Seeing them together was to be in the presence of true love, at least that was what almost everyone said. Nevertheless, only Y/N seemed to notice otherwise. The longing looks at other girls from James, the way they barely ever held hands, the fact they never kissed in public... although she had brushed this all aside, convincing herself she only saw it because he was looking, and that it wasn’t actually there at all.

But there James was, about to sleep with Y/N and throw that supposedly perfect relationship with the girl he had fawned over for years into turmoil. Some selfish part of Y/N wanted just that, perhaps that was the biggest reason when he whispered an “Are you sure?” against the skin of her jawline, she replied with a definite yes.

The rest of the night passed in a haze of afterglow and skin against skin, and for the most part, Y/N felt oddly sad. James’ touch felt hot enough to let her very skin on fire where he had touched her, and yet she still felt cold knowing he didn’t love her. He didn’t spend his nights dreaming of the colour of her eyes, but she knew his were a shining hazel with tiny flecks of green interspersed within them. She knew his birthday, his favourite colours and lessons and movies and stupid muggle bands... useless details really. They didn’t mean anything except to remind her of what she didn’t have, and of what Lily did.

And of what Y/N was now taking away from her.

~

“He was sad and we were drunk out of our minds. I remember finding him alone in the corridor. I remember talking to him about Lily for awhile, and then suddenly we were kissing and I couldn’t bring myself to say no.” Y/N explained slowly, the hazy memories of that night becoming more and more clear with each passing second.

“I can’t believe this.” Marlene said, raking fingers through her honey hair and pulling on the roots in shock. “I can’t believe it, Y/N.” She repeated, over and over and over until it seemed just a little more plausible. A little more tangible. A little more real. “I don’t blame you, you know.”

“What?!” Y/N exclaimed, an icy surprise erupting in her veins and sending a cold chill throughout her body.

Marlene smiled painfully. “What you did was awful, but he was the one in a relationship.”

“‘Suppose so. What should I do?” She blurted desperately, running her hands over the burgundy silk of her duvet as she anxiously stood up.

“You have to tell Lily.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to, Y/N. He cheated on her with you!” Marlene shouted, previously calm voice rising with exasperation.

“You don’t think I know that?” Y/N hissed back, venom beginning to seep into her voice but it wasn’t even aimed at Marlene. It was aimed at James, and at herself. “I fucking know I fucked up, Marls. But I can’t tell Lily - the literal sweetest person - that I shagged her boyfriend and that I’ve been in love with him since James learned who she even was. And he’ll never feel that way about me. Ever. He saw a quick fuck when he looked at me that night and a future wife when he saw Lily. Why do you think they’re still together? Because he doesn’t care.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so, so very sorry. But James isn’t going to tell her, and she has to know-!”

“Maybe he will.” Y/N interrupted.

“We both know that’s a lie. Somebody has to tell her, and it’s going to have to be you.”

“Please Marlene.” She begged, heart aching within her chest as a million unkempt memories flashed through her mind in the space of a mere moment.

~

“Come on, Y/N, truth or dare?” James asks through laughter.

“I should never have agreed to play one-on-one truth or dare with you.” Y/N replies irritably, although it’s stupidly short lived when he sends her that shit eating grin, and all over again she feels like a thirteen year old with a crush. Deep down she still is, underneath the makeup and the fake laughter, she’s still the same little girl who thinks she doesn’t deserve love. “But fine, I choose truth.”

“Good choice. Alright, who was the first person you ever shagged?” James asks curiously.

“Wow, James, way to make it seem as though I’ve done a hundred people.”

“Apologies, but go on.”

“Fine.” Y/N shifts awkwardly. “It was you, actually. Back in fifth year.”

“Oh.” He replies after a long pause, which to Y/N feels as though it will never end.

“I don’t really remember it if I’m being honest.” She adds in an attempt to dispel the thick tension that has built up. It doesn’t, and James can barely meet her eyes. “We were drunk, I think.”

“I often am when I spend time with you.”

~

And that was the moment it hit Y/N. The moment when he started giggling at her confession. The moment when she knew she hated him almost just as much as she loved him, because she had let that infatuation with him consume her. The moment when he told her in return that he only needed her for drunken sex, after she had lied about remembering it. Because she did remember it, so well in fact that it may as well have been etched into her skin with scarring inks. Where he touched her, how it felt that first night. And how it felt the one they wrecked his relationship.

That day, sitting with Marlene in her dormitory having just told her of the worst crime Y/N had ever committed, it hurt just the same. And now she was stuck with this pain, this awful, selfish feeling every time she saw him and Lily together that she just wished something would happen to her and James could be together.

Y/N never expecting it to be through cheating, but perhaps that was all it would ever be.

A one night stand, forever kept in the darkest part of her mind with the rest of her regrets. Regretting never telling James of her love for him. Regretting not asking him years ago to kiss her age fourteen, maybe she could’ve had a chance to get over him then. It felt like she never had that. It was a hookup, a torrid, illicit affair.

And that was all it would ever be. But perhaps that was what she deserved.

As Y/N walked down towards the Gryffindor common room, she could only think of a few things. How Lily could possibly react, how James would react to her telling Lily because he didn’t. Both had thousands of answers, none of which she could possibly predict in the moment. Step by step down the mahogany staircase leading to the plush, homey centre room the Gryffindors adored so much, Y/N inhaled and exhaled sharp breaths, planning out exactly what she was going to say to Lily in her mind.

All of that went away when she saw them together, curled up on the red velvet sofa in front of the dying embers of a once roaring fire, just watching it flicker away with their hands intertwined. Just sat there, staring hopelessly into one another’s eyes, so deep in love they didn’t even notice her step in the room. While she expected tears to spring in her eyes, they didn’t, the usual feeling of suffocation she felt around them had suddenly disappeared.

And as Y/N watched them, it finally hit her that what James did wasn’t some way of trying to communicate a discontent in their relationship, it was a stupid, pathetic mistake. But that’s all it was: a mistake.

And they would just have to live with that.

~

Summary: Y/N catches sight of her ex-boyfriend, George Weasley, at his older brother’s wedding after exactly one year apart. Based on Exile by Taylor Swift and Bon Iver :).

A/N: This isn’t directly linked to the song, but its certainly inspired by it as it’s about two ex-lovers seeing each other again at Bill and Fleur’s wedding and how they feel when they see each other again and shit like that. It’s very angsty, since I’m unable to write anything else hehe, and I do enjoy a good angsty story! Hope you all had a great Hanukah and Christmas, or any other events you celebrate too in December and fading into the new year. Also my requests are now open, go wild xox.

Warnings: angst and a hell of a lot of it, swearing, drinking. Let me know if I’ve missed any!

-

Y/N’s hands gripped a pristine glass of mulberry red wine so hard it seemed as though it would smash. Her Y/H/C shone in the dim candlelight of the marquee she was awkwardly standing in the corner of, fervently wishing she had politely declined the invitation to Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour’s wedding that she had received a few months prior. It seemed like a good idea at the time, just to be in the same room as all the people she had let down twelve months before and simply survive the palpable tension. But now she was there, Y/N couldn’t think of anything worse.

She could see where George was, dancing with some blonde girl from Hogwarts that Y/N didn’t care enough to remember the name of. Just seeing his arm slung lazily around the girl’s waist was enough to make sticky bile rise up in her throat.

Exactly one year had passed since Y/N had abruptly ended her whirlwind engagement with George Weasley, the younger brother of Bill, who’s wedding it was. Granted the ceremony was beautiful, with a huge marquee tent in a meadow of autumn flowers on a poignant, warm afternoon, but Y/N couldn’t feel anything but uncomfortable and out of place around her ex-boyfriend’s dotting family. It had been a messy breakup, with Y/N running away to France in fear of the brewing war and leaving George behind with it.

She had lived in Paris for eleven months, stewing over the pain of losing George by her own sword. But she couldn’t go back. Being both muggleborn and associated with a pureblood, even if he was a Weasley, was dangerous to say the least. So many years were spent with Y/N constantly getting put down for her purity, even in the supposed sanctuary of Hogwarts. She had never said anything to George. He wouldn’t have understood anyway. And so, she agreed to marry him. Agreed to wear the diamond ring he could barely afford, and agreed to a life she didn’t want. One she had never wanted.

It didn’t occur to her that she was too scared to go through with it until her clandestine bag was packed for France, and the words ‘I can’t marry you’ tumbled from her lips.

Draining the rest of the dark wine until her glass was completely empty as a distraction, Y/N barely noticed a tall, redheaded man move to stand next to her with a crooked smile close to George’s own.

“So, how have you been?” The man said, making Y/N snap to attention in surprise before having to force herself not to smile. She wanted to, but Fred Weasley wasn’t somebody she entirely expected to try and talk to her after what went down between herself and his twin brother.

“Fine, you?” Y/N replied hotly after a moment of hesitation, pouring another large glass of wine. Her voice was clipped as if she didn’t want to be talking to him, and her eyes were careful not to meet his.

“Better than ever. It’s nice to see you, Y/N.” Fred mused with a brutal honesty that made her want to spit out her drink. “Truly, I’ve missed you.”

“Not usually something a guy says to his twin brother’s ex.” Y/N chuckled in return. “Especially me, for that matter. Out of curiosity, did he ever tell you what actually happened?” She continued worriedly. Breaking up with George was the hardest thing she had ever done, the hardest thing she would ever have to do, and it was the messiest, most gut-wrenching breakup either of them would face. The details of it... she just dually hoped Fred didn’t know them. Really she hoped nobody but herself and George did.

“Of course he did.” Fred said, but he’s lying. Y/N knows he’s lying from the way he scratched his nose: it’s his tell, but she goes along with it anyway.

“Oh really?”

“Obviously, why wouldn’t he?”

“Well...” Y/N trailed off, making Fred both curious and suspicious.

“Alright I lied. He hasn’t said a word, just told us you two split up and the engagement was off. What didn’t he tell me about, Y/N?”

-

“Why are you doing this? We’ve set a date, Y/N, October fifteenth next year. Please, just don’t leave me.” George begged, years streaming down his face as his hands clutched Y/N’s shoulders, as if he was desperately clinging to something that was already gone. “We can work through this, we can.”

Shaking off his hands, Y/N moved away from him with a deep cold spreading through her icy veins. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to marry you, I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“What are you saying?” George asked simply. It was almost rhetorical in the complicated tangle of feelings that Y/N couldn’t decipher herself could never be expressed in speech.

“I’m saying I’m leaving. Leaving you, leaving this goddamn country where people want to fucking kill me for something I can’t control.” Y/N cried, but there are no tears from her. Her eyes are dry, as is her throat and her skin feels parched, drained of all moisture and blood and richness. “I’m going to France.”

“France? Y/N, just calm down. You can’t go to France.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I love you. And you can’t leave me, Y/N, please.” George continued, not meaning to be possessive but it just came out that way. Y/N used to like it, but now it just feels like a gilded cage. Have the marriage but don’t be free. Have the husband but don’t be safe. Have the life while others are slaughtered, and you might be next. She was done with it all.

“Funnily enough that isn’t your decision. I’m going to France, I’m going away from this war, from Dumbledore and the Order constantly expecting me to just be okay with everything, when I’m not.” Y/N ranted, waiting a few seconds to see if he would continue. When he didn’t, she carried on yelling, wanting him to know why she was leaving for good. “I’m not okay that they want me to just fight aimlessly all the goddamn time. I’m not okay that you think I’m some goddess when I’m so fucking terrified. I’m not okay that nobody sees that people are about to die, and I’m the most likely out of all of us to do exactly that-“

“Don’t say that. We will get through this war.” George replied, but Y/N was already at the door with her suitcase handle clutched in her colourless hand.

“No, we won’t. I’m sorry, but I’m so done. I can’t take it and I’m leaving-“

“You’re running away.” George said in a tone that made Y/N clutch at the roots of her hair.

“Of course I am. Don’t be pathetic, George, of course I’m running away from my inevitable death.”

“You won’t-“

“No, I won’t. I’m not going to die aged 20 because I’m not going to let them have the opportunity.” There was a beat before Y/N finally spoke the last words George would hear from her for the next year. “Goodbye George, all the best.”

All the best, George thought bitterly as she slammed the door, ready to rush to the airport. All the fucking best.

-

Fred watched as Y/N flinched, her shoulders tensing for a brief second before she airily smiled, an action even he could see was very clearly forced. Noticing she wasn’t going to answer his question, Fred asked yet another. “Where have you been for the last twelve months?”

“Paris.” Y/N chuckled darkly, feeling her heart clench as George kissed the blonde woman on the forehead. Her soft smile faded and an involuntarily frown settled on her delicate features. “In France.”

“I know where bloody Paris is, just wasn’t expecting that. Why Paris exactly?” Fred pressed, and Y/N had consumed just the perfect amount of mulled wine to be in the talkative, tipsy stage of inebriated. Perhaps getting piss drunk hadn’t been the best plan.

“There’s not a war in Paris.” She answered honestly, feeling the urge to laugh as Fred’s face flickered between shock and disappointment, almost identically to how George’s had one year previous.

“You ran away.”

“Yep.” She said, idly popping the ‘p’ and smudging her crimson lipstick slightly.

“But you’re back.”

“Also yes. I decided not to be a coward for any longer.” Y/N giggled tipsily, placing a chaste hand on his arm to steady herself, but to the untrained eye it appeared she was flirting with him. While Fred knew this wasn’t the case, another ginger across the room didn’t know as such, and felt a pang of all too familiar pain as his eyes landed on his ex-fiancé. “Alright Freddie, I feel a bit hot. I’m just gonna head outside for a minute or two.”

Fred barely had time to nod before Y/N swanned out of the room, her deep red dress clinging to her sensuous curves as she walked. She certainly stood out against a crowd of bland, Weasley-like fabrics from their family, and combined with her Y/H/C, Y/N was very easy to spot in the wedding. George watched as she left the tent to go stand just outside the entrance, strands of her hair fluttering around sharp cheekbones just visible past the marquee. With a quick apology to his blonde girlfriend, George rushed out after her.

Seeing Y/N again after exactly one year was similar to getting hit by a bus. It was exhilarating and melancholy and a whole other myriad of emotions that George was too mentally immature to comprehend. He didn’t even realise he was standing outside, just beside her before he was there. She looked almost exactly the same, except for the smudged red berry lipstick across her cheek. Y/N noticed he was there and stared adamantly at the ground, not knowing exactly why he was there or what he wanted.

“You’re here.” George said, his tone making it a statement far more than a question. Y/N nodded silently, not finding the courage to look at him for fear she would just spontaneously start sobbing. She hadn’t during their breakup, or even after during the mourning period, but right now she felt tears threatening to spill. “Why are you here exactly?”

“It’s a wedding.” She said, again more of a menial, random statement than an answer to his question.

“Yes, I realised that.” George snapped irritably. “The shop is doing brilliantly considering everything going on. And I have a girlfriend. She’s called Angelina, a Quidditch player-“

Unable to take it anymore, an elastic string pulled taunt in Y/N’s heart tore clean in two. “Why the fuck are you telling me this?”

“Wanted you to know.” George said after a significant beat.

“To hurt me.” Y/N muttered venomously, her eyes squeezing shut for a brief second. “Well congrats.”

“Didn’t know you had enough feelings to be hurt.” George cruelly replied. He knew it was beyond harsh, that it was pathetic considering how long it had been, but seeing Y/N looking quite to radiant had brought up a number of old feelings from their breakup right back.

“You know I came here to try and be in the room with these people again. You, your family. Turns out, I can’t.” Y/N said, tears beginning to fall from her eyes, lips tightened into a thin line. “It’s impossible to be near you.”

“It’s good to see you.” George mumbled, so quietly she wasn’t even sure that he had said it out loud. “I mean it.”

“That’s a change of tone.” She laughed, and even that simple sound was enough to make George smile, however much he wanted to be mad at her. “I thought you would hate me.”

“I do.” He smirked, making her laugh again in a way only he could. In a way both of them had dearly missed. “I really do, but I also missed you. Missed your laugh, your smile, your stupid shoes. I never understood why you needed more than one pair of shoes.”

“For the sake of fashion.” She said.

“You haven’t changed a bit.” He whispered, a saccharine mist clouding his hazel eyes as she brought herself to look at him for the first time, and not at the floor. He was older, not in looks but there was a tinge more wisdom held in solemn eyes. Even though he was smiling, he just looked sad. “You’re still beautiful to me. Even though I hate you.”

“I hate you too.” Y/N said, but her tone is soft and almost loving in it’s insinuation. Her heart swelled as she realised he had called her beautiful. “But you can’t call me beautiful when you have a gorgeous girlfriend waiting for you inside.”

“I do, and she’s wonderful.” George said. But there it was again, that sadness that only Y/N could possibly ever notice. Even then, nobody knew him as well as she did. Not even his new girlfriend. “But she’s not you.”

“Nobody ever will be.” Y/N laughed arrogantly, but it was utterly truthful at the same time. Nobody would ever be who Y/N was to George during their relationship, but even she wasn’t that person anymore. She was still Y/N, but a different version. The one he had fallen in love with was gone, and in her place was Angelina.

“Why’d you leave Paris?” George asked.

“I didn’t want to be scared anymore.”

“You were always braver than you gave yourself credit for, Y/N.” George complimented, making her face flush with a rosy glow. Her eyes were hazy with alcohol and a want for something she had forfeited so stupidly. Her lips were in a slight pout, and she gave him a look he had only seen a few rare times before. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I want you to kiss me. Will you? For old times sake?” Y/N asked, her face just a few brave centimetres from his. George wouldn’t have to do much to close the gap between them, and the urge to feel her lips against his for a final time was too overwhelming, like chugging red wine. Forbidden, something he wasn’t supposed to ever do but it was so duplicitously tempting and devilishly irresistible.

George was kissing her before he knew what was happening, adrenaline coursing through his veins. A warmth spread throughout Y/N’s entire body, fuelled by passion and sadness. His hands found her waist, sending involuntary tingles up her spine and back down again to her coccyx, the fabric of her dress riding up slightly so when he moved her hand lower, it just grazed her thigh. The kiss was treacherous, but as addictive as any drug that George had ever heard of. He couldn’t imagine anything both worse and better.

But it wasn’t a kiss of cheating in intention or action really, it was a kiss of goodbye. A kiss of hello to an old soulmate as he departed their chapter in his life, and finally let go of Y/N. A kiss of want and of love eventually disappearing forever. A kiss of teenage infatuation, of snogging in abandoned classrooms and first times in the Room Of Requirement, young and in love. A kiss of unspoken words and emotions, of ‘I want you but I hate you’ and ‘I love you but I left you’. A kiss of finally portraying unspeakable emotions that neither could understand. Perhaps they never would.

When their lips parted, George walked off without speaking. He just quickly made sure her lipstick wasn’t anywhere on his skin and walked seamlessly back into the party, sweeping Angelina off her feet as he once did with Y/N. As he now finally didn’t wish he was doing with Y/N. That chapter was closed, that storybook finally completely written and the ink had run dry. Angelina was who he wanted now, who he had now and who he loved now.

Y/N was a memory of George’s first love, while George was the memory of the biggest mistake Y/N would ever make. He was a reminder of who she lost, but also of who she could find again with someone else. Someone she was ready to marry, and ready to get through the war with. She hadn’t found them yet, but someday she would. She was sure of it.

At least for now, George wasn’t a part of her thoughts. He wasn’t a part of her dreamless sleeps or of her worst nightmares. He simply existed, and that was the best she could’ve asked for by even attending the wedding in the first place. George was a part of her life that was over now.

-

La carta que nunca voy a enviar, en dos idiomas, con la única esperanza de que algún día la encuentres y la leas.

Español:

Querido tú:

Hace mucho que no escribía una carta, decidí hacerlo porque a veces es más fácil deshacerse o desahogarse explayándose en palabras.

No lo sé, es difícil para mí aceptar que tengo que finalmente dejar ir al incomprensible e insensato amor que siento. Tuve que aceptar que es amor puesto que no le veo otra explicación alguna.

Nunca te lo dije, pero seguro sí te diste cuenta. No es fácil para mí esconder las sonrisas que esbozaba al escuchar tu nombre, o el pequeño color rojo que abundaba mis mejillas al verte sonreír. Con esa sonrisa tan tuya, tan real. Tengo que aceptar que esa sonrisa seguirá haciendo mis días, pero por favor no me dirijas ninguna.

Encontraste mi debilidad y sin embargo fuiste, en sus debidas ocasiones mis fortalezas. Estoy hablando de porcentajes, de números irreales y de algunos datos imposibles de comprobar por la ciencia. Hablo de un 75% de superación, cuando en realidad no llevo ni 3%.

Nada va a superar ese pequeño salto que hace mi estómago al verte, o el cómo se hunde mi corazón cuando me diriges la palabra. Ese jugueteo que hacíamos, un poco coqueto un poco infantil, era lo que hacía que las palabras se entorpecieran al salir.

No te dejo ir por completo. Sería el peor castigo que pudiera yo hacerme. Sin embargo, me alejo, porque finalmente sé que tengo que soltarme ya que aferrarme me costarían más lágrimas las cuales ya no quiero derramar.

Seguiré estando ahí, si tú lo necesitas, y jamás dudaré en apoyarte aunque sea de lejos si es que tu corazón vuelve a romperse. ¿Qué te digo? Eres mi debilidad. Tal vez no estaré ahí derrochando amor por ti, o esperando a que por fin te dignes a verme.

Pero, si alguna vez decides querer enamorarte, encontrar amor del bueno y esperar a que te dediquen unos buenos besos, tal vez, solo tal vez, pueda darme una vuelta. No te aseguro nada, pero una parte de mí seguirá a la idea de un nosotros, por más imposible que suene.

Si te preguntan de mí, no me menciones. Yo haré eso, evitaré la pena de darles el lujo de saber que yo estaba enamorada de ti. Qué digo enamorada, te amaba.

No quiero usar ese verbo en presente pues me aterra la idea de verme llorar otra vez, cuando prometí, que por lo menos el día de hoy, te recordaría como algo bonito. Algo que nunca me hizo sufrir, como algo en lo que triunfé.

Si me ves callada, pasando sin mirar, no te preocupes, estoy bien. Te lo puedo afirmar de la manera más positiva posible. Pero no me pidas que me acerque, porque yo sé que es una trampa, y mis heridas están sanando apenas y volver a caer sería estúpidamente insensato de mi parte. Me estoy cuidando, porque aunque no quiera aceptarlo, me duele verte con ella. Y no porque sean celos, si no porque yo recuerdo cuánto te llegó a lastimar y no se si tú estés en la posición de volver a ser lastimado.

No somos iguales, ya que tú no has querido salir del hoyo. Yo lo hago fácilmente porque yo estoy consiente de los riesgos a los que me atengo al dejarme caer. Sin embargo, tú construiste barreras y no estoy tan segura de que abrirle la puerta a quien ya una vez te lastimó es lo ideal. No me malentiendas, estoy feliz de que quieras dejar caer tus muros, pero creo que dejar al enemigo romperlas es una jugada arriesgada.

Lo único que quiero es que seas feliz, aunque me duela que no sea a mi lado.

Déjame ir, yo seguiré mi camino.

Con amor, desesperacion y tristeza de dejarte ir,

Alguien que una vez intentó romper esos muros.

-

English:

Dear you,

It’s been a while since I’ve written you a letter, I decided to do it because sometimes it’s easier to give away, drop off or vent while expanding into words.

I don’t know, it’s difficult for me to accept that I ought to finally let go the incomprehensible and senseless love I feel. I had to accept it is love, since I can’t see any other logical explanation.

I never told you, but surely you realized. It’s not easy to me to hide the smiles that I outlined while listening to your name, or the pinch or rouge that abounded my cheeks when seeing you smile. With that smile that’s so yours, so real. I’ve gotta accept that smile will keep making my days, but please don’t direct any to me.

You found my weakness, and however you were, in their respected occasions, my strengths. I’m talking about percentages, irreal numbers and some data impossible to test by science. I’m talking about a 75% on the process of getting over while in reality, I’m not even close to 3%.

Nothing will ever surpass that little jump my stomach does when seeing you, or how my heart sinks when you talk to me. That little game we did, a little flirty a little childish, was what made the words to silly when coming out.

I’m not letting you go completely. That’d be the worst punishment I could get me. However, I’m backing away. Because finally I know I have to let loose because otherwise gripping on, could cost me more tears which I’m not able to pour anymore.

I’ll keep hanging here, if you need it, and I’ll never doubt on supporting you, even if we’re far whenever your heart breaks apart. What can I say? You’re my weakness. Maybe I won’t be wasting love for you or waiting for you to finally deign to turn to me.

But if you ever decide you wanna be in love, find some good old love, or expect for someone to dedicate you some good kisses, maybe, just maybe, I could come around.

I can’t assure you anything, but a part of me will always follow the idea of an ‘us’, for more impossible it is.

If they ever ask about me, don’t mention me. I’ll do that, I’ll avoid the sorrow of giving them the luxury of knowing I was in love with you. In love, ha, I loved you.

I don’t wanna use that verb in present, for I am afraid of the idea of seeing myself cry again, when I promised, that at least today I would remember you as something pretty. Something that never made me suffer, something in which I triumphed.

If you see me quiet, passing by without looking, don’t dare worrying, for I’m fine. I can confirm this you you in the most positive way. But please, don’t ask me to get close, because I know it’s a trap, and my wounds are slowly and just healing and falling again would be stupidly illogical from me. I’m taking care of myself, because even if I can’t roughly accept it, it hurts seeing you with her.

And not because I’m jealous, but because I remember how much she dared to hurt you and I’m not sure if you’re in the position to be hurt again.

We’re not equal, for you haven’t had the will to get out of the void. I do it easily because I’m am conscious of the risks I abide by falling. However, you’ve built barriers, and I’m concerned that opening up a door to someone who’s hurt you more than once is ideal. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you’re willing to let your walls down, but I think letting the enemy to tear them down is a risky move.

I just want you to be happy, even if it hurts because you’re not by my side.

Let me go, I’ll continue my path.

With love, desperation and sadness from letting you go,

Today I’m no longer the little girl who had fun no matter what.

Today I’m a young woman who has to have perfect hair, whose dress is perfectly neat with matching high heels, and who has to have a perfect shape and has to follow a diet. Today, I’m a young woman who was anxious of people watching her dance, fearing they would judge or laugh at her two left feet. Today, I’m a young woman who’d rather have a lot of people in the dancefloor to get lost into the crowd. Today, I am a young woman who listed to every critic, every comment directed at her, letting her shape her self. Today, I am a young woman who will practice a song a million times just to pretend to sing it spontaneously. Today, I am the young woman who is dragged by the little children to dance along with them.

Today I am a young woman who is forced to believe what society has built of her.

And then I looked at the little girls who are still having fun, and I wondered, does it have to be like this? Do they have to become young women scared of their surrounding?

Why am I not allowed to have fun anymore? Why are we not allowed to be our true selves?

So we can dance again, sing again. Have fun again.