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Welcome ❤
This is a masterlist of my written fanfiction, all of which are currently from the Harry Potter fandom.
Character Masterlists (in progress)
Rare Pairs & Poly
You Taste Like Sin
Written for the 2025.04.09 IG prompt by @thetacowrites, "You taste like sin," grumpy/sunshine / morally grey, <300 words (the WC I blatantly ignored, sorry!)
🪴 Pansy/Neville | Rated R | 8th Year, grumpy/sunshine, greenhouse smut | WC 423
--
The greenhouse walls shuddered with the slam of the door. Pansy stood there, arms crossed and dark eyes glittering. Despite the violence of her entrance, she looked otherwise immaculate. Not a strand of her bobbed hair out of place. Not a wrinkle in her uniform.
“P-Pansy, did you need some–”
“Shut it, Longbottom,” she snapped.
He swallowed hard, hands falling away from the potted plant he’d been clutching between them like some sort of shield.
“You have your work cut out for you now that you’ve put me in this predicament,” she went on to say, before sauntering closer.
He very nearly asked her what he’d done, but caught himself just in time.
A nod of approval from her, followed by a slide of her finger down his exposed forearm. “What did I tell you about this?”
“That you like them.” Merlin, all he wanted to do was touch her.
She hummed, then attempted to wrap thumb and forefinger around the muscle. “And?”
“To keep them covered,” he quickly answered.
It had been unseasonably warm. He could have cast a cooling charm, but hadn’t in favour of rolling up his sleeves. There weren’t any other witches about at the time.
“I had to hear from fucking Daphne how she’d love to have you toss her around.” Her voice dripped with disdain.
“I-I’m sorry, Pans, I didn’t think–”
“No. You didn’t. But, that’s okay. I’ll forgive you.”
He sighed in relief, thinking he was in the clear. Her hold on him tightened, nails digging into the skin.
“Get on your knees.”
Neville dropped to the ground with embarrassing swiftness, eagerly waiting for the next command. Pansy backed up to the workbench, then flipped up her skirt. She wasn’t wearing any knickers.
“Make me come.”
She didn’t need to tell him twice. Gently, he lifted one of her legs to rest over his shoulder, leaned in, and inhaled. Bloody Baron. Neville hadn’t even tasted her today yet and his mouth was already watering. The first swipe of his tongue earned him a sigh. Another, a fist in his hair that edged just the right side of pleasurable.
“What do I taste like?” she asked, her voice husky.
Peering up, he let her see the circle of his tongue before answering. “You taste like sin. Like there’s no going back, not that I want to.”
Her eyes flashed. “Prove it.”
He did, then did again once he’d folded her over the table, until they both shouted hoarsely into the stillness, a potted Puffapod their only witness.
Reblogged landbeorht
The Morning After
I really wanted a slice of life kind of feel for this one. Not based on any certain fic necessarily but just how my brain sees the delicious awkwardness of that first morning after coming back to Hermione’s cheap (practical, thank you) flat.
Bonus:
Devotion
Written in response to @vespertineflower's IG drabble prompt - "Devotion" | any ship | <200 words
🪴 Pansy/Neville | Rated M | romantic fluff | WC 159
-
She doesn’t say it, but Neville doesn’t need her to.
She shows how she feels. Every day. In the drag of her hand across his hip in the still, dark hours of the morning. The way she refills his tea in the greenhouse before he notices it’s almost empty. How she takes care to pretty herself in all the ways he’s complimented before, even if he thinks she’s perfect just the way she is.
Because Pansy is, as her name suggests, a vibrant witch who commands his every thought and dream. He adores all parts of her, particularly when she blooms beneath his hands, unfurls to his tongue, gives up her nectar to his careful ministrations.
That she lets him–no, begs him, when she begs for no one and nothing, to unmake her fills Neville with an almost terrifying joy. Her devotion is nothing short of miraculous. He’ll do anything to protect it. For her, for himself.
For them.
Haven Awards 2025 -Finalists Round
Two of my pieces have made it to the finalist round of Hermione Haven’s 2025 Haven Awards, the voting for which opened today:
Best Hermione Characterization - The Thousand Acres Between Us (Marcus/Hermione, Rated M, fluff and angst, soulmates, 11.7K WC
Best Romance - Reading Dragons (Charlie/Hermione, Rated M, romantic fluff, comfort, 7K WC)
Link to vote (also in stories): https://forms.gle/9rGReakHz4yUAa3b9
Voting runs April 1-7 and includes 11 categories, the results of which will be announced April 9. Gogogogogogoo!!
No Questions
Written in response to the IG prompt by @kerosenehoney: Friends to Lovers, “It’s always been you," < 250 words total
Neville/Hermione | Rated G | romantic fluff | WC 249
---
It started small.
Pickled vegetables as a housewarming gift for her new flat. Fresh mint for her tea.
Then, Hermione took up gardening. She consulted Neville, of course. Consulting turned into entire days spent together, elbows deep in soil.
Now…
“It’s Friday.” She bit her lip.
He paused, hand above the Floo jar. “So it is.”
“Do you have any, um, plans for tonight?”
He’d wanted to get an early start on grading exams so he could spend all of Saturday outside. It wasn’t often that he wasn’t otherwise busy chaperoning students or helping other professors.
But, this was Hermione.
“Why do you ask?”
“I enjoy spending time with you, and…” She faltered, flushing.
Neville closed the gap between them with two long steps. “I enjoy our time together, as well.”
“D-Do you–would you like–”
“Yes.”
That earned him a disbelieving laugh, tension lifting as she peered up at him. “Neville, I haven’t even explained–”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He grinned, tickled at her baffled expression.
“Hermione, if you didn’t already know, it’s always been you.”
“...me?” she echoed.
Snagging one of her curls–Merlin, it’s soft–he nodded. “You could ask me to completely redo your garden or chop you a year’s worth of firewood. I’d do it, no questions asked.”
She matched his grin with one of her own. Her hand snuck in to trap his where it still tugged at her hair.
“And if I said I wished to kiss you?”
True to his word, no questions were asked.
Reblogged eurhythmix
Harry & padfoot <3
Reblogged
🦋🌷Fleur Delacour🌷🦋
Can we just take a moment to appreciate Fleur? She is unapologetic, confident and knows what she wants. Talk about a powerful woman⭐️ I like that she doesn’t feel the need to be nice to everyone, or smile at everyone. She doesn’t have the patience for it. She’s smart and resourceful. She did get chosen to be a Triwizard champion, after all!
I never liked that the women in book 6/7 were so annoyed with Fleur when she stayed at the Burrow. It was a misogynistic piece of writing and I do not agree with it, nor do I tolerate it 😤
So, here’s to celebrating Fleur Delacour✨🌈🌷
Take It, Or Leave It
Written in response to LK's 3.27.25 prompts: Alice Longbottom, Prank gone wrong, The Forbidden Forest, Levicorpus
Alice & Molly | Rating T | suspense, prank gone wrong | WC 1453
◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟⠀ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟
They’d been walking for much longer than she’d been promised. The once warm day had vanished amidst the shadows of the trees. Countless roots impeded their path, demanding attention lest they trip.
Not far, Molly had said. We’ll be quick! she’d added.
An hour later, they were still walking, and Alice’s feet ached.
“Moll, are you sure we’re not lost?”
“This should be the way!”
Barely pausing to throw a reassuring smile over her shoulder, her friend continued trekking through the Forbidden Forest with a vigour that Alice envied. Molly had always overflowed with excess energy–it was only natural, her brothers being who they were.
Another concern that bothered Alice the longer they walked.
“Are you sure Gideon and Fabian weren’t just messing with you?”
The other witch snorted. “Could be, if they were the only ones, but I even overheard Bellatrix talking about it with her cronies.”
The thought that the intimidating Slytherin might have the same idea as them was almost as terrifying as their surroundings. The last thing Alice wanted was to be caught anywhere with that witch, one who seemed to take Alice’s house and friendships as a personal affront.
“It just sounds too good to be true, you know? Surely Professor Sprout would have told us about the plant if such a thing truly existed.”
Flicking her eyes to the side, she flinched at the sight of a spider web stretching between two trees and large enough to stick her and Molly to it like a pair of flies prime for the picking. Acromantulas, she remembered. There was a very good reason why the school forbade students from entering the forest.
This time, Molly opted to stop and turn around, a hand on each hip. “You should know as well as I that there are plenty of topics they refuse to teach, like blood magic.”
“That’s different, and you know it.”
“It really isn’t. Love is one of the most powerful magics to exist, and, like blood magic, it’s capable of both good and evil; it all depends on the individual.”
“Still…” Alice chewed at her lip, doubt refusing to let go. “What if it’s actually something horrid, like sex pollen, or–”
Cackling interrupted her, each of Molly’s arms wrapped around her waist as she laughed at Alice’s expense. “Sex pollen? Circe, Alice, where do you come up with these things?”
“It’s real!” she cried shrilly. “A couple of seventh years came across some. They didn’t even like each other, and they shagged right there, where anybody could see them!”
“Please,” Molly wheezed. “Says who? That’s just another rumour–”
“As if yours isn’t!”
Wiping at her eyes, intermittent giggles still escaping, Molly shook her head. “It’s not. Come on; I know we’re close.”
Alice grumbled as she followed the other witch. There was no way for Molly to know whether or not they were close. The second she conceded defeat, Alice was going to drag her straight back to the castle before a creature came along with designs on a pair of foolish witches for dinner.
Then, against all expectations, Molly gasped. “This has to be it!”
They’d entered a small glade. At the centre: a small bed of luminescent flowers. They seemed to glow from within, like they’d taken moonlight for sustenance. Still, Alice was hesitant to rush in–she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. She looked around, eyes narrowed, but it was impossible to pick up the telltale shimmer of disillusionment in the low light.
“It’s too quiet. We should check–Molly!”
Her suggestion to cast a detection spell turned to a hiss as the other witch charged forward with little heed to her surroundings. Alice’s instinct was to hang back in the treeline, but the greater distance between them, the greater her need to close the gap. With an exasperated sigh, she followed, albeit far more cautiously, eyes darting to and fro for any sign of movement.
They reached the flowers without incident. Even then, Alice refused to let her guard down, immediately putting her back to them to keep watch.
“Hurry up so we can get out of here.”
“It’s fine, Alice. This should only take a minute.”
Rustling let her know that Molly had gotten to work. As Alice scanned the glade, she continued to feel as if eyes were on them. The second they got back, she was going to give the twins a piece of her mind for endangering them like this; she didn’t care how rare this flower was. As far as Alice was concerned, love was better left to its own designs–not forced into the open by magic.
Her unease grew as she noted the complete lack of any noise. No buzzing of insects. No choir of frogs.
“Hurry up–”
“Ahhh!”
Alice spun around, wand extended and a shield spell on the tip of her tongue. She blinked, then cast her eyes up.
Molly hung upside down, one leg higher than the other as if she’d been hooked by the ankle. Limbs flailing, uniform slipping to reveal knickers racy enough to make Alice flush hot, and screeching curses all the while, the witch managed to compose herself enough to point accusingly toward her attacker.
“Bellatrix, you bitch!”
Grinning wildly, Bellatrix Black spun her curved wand between her fingers, wholly ignoring Alice as she sneered at her least favourite Gryffindor. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Molly Prewett. Not so puffed up now, are we?”
“Fli–”
“Protego!” Belltrix’s shield shot into place faster than Molly’s incantation, and the attack bounced harmlessly off its curve.
Alice hated to admit it, but the witch could duel. Molly wasn’t a slouch, either, though easily distracted. They both seemed to have forgotten that Alice could hold her own.
She preferred it that way.
Luckily, she recognised Levicorpus and knew its counterspell. Remembering Frank’s reminders, she acted quickly. Two spells casted one after the other. One dropped Molly to the ground as silently as she had been hoisted into the air; the next struck Bellatrix directly, sending her wand into a graceful arc straight into Alice’s hand.
“How dare you!” Bellatrix screeched, finally turning to face Alice.
“Why are you here, Bellatrix?” she asked, willing herself to remain calm.
“Alice, just hex her–”
“Be quiet, Molly.”
Her friend squawked at the rebuke.
The middle Black sister smirked. “Who knew little Alice was such a spitfire?”
“You’d know if you paid any sort of attention in class.”
“Oh, I pay attention. You always blend into the background. You want people to overlook you.”
Alice shrugged, not denying her. “Why are you here?” she repeated.
“I wanted to see if Prewett here was as vapid and desperate as I’d expected, and she just proved me right.”
Beside her, Molly began to move forward, but Alice threw an arm out to halt her in place.
“What I didn’t count on was her bringing a friend along. She seems the type to charge in all brave and stupid, like her brothers.”
“So, she actually proved you wrong.”
Malice glittered in Bellatrix’s eyes. Or, was it madness? There were rumors about the Black family…
Alice shook off the thought. She didn’t like to make baseless assumptions, no matter how much she might despise the other witch. And, she quite liked Andromeda. Narcissa, less so.
“I’ll give your wand back at the castle if you leave us be.”
Bellatrix scoffed. “Please. As if I can trust the word of a Blood Traitor.”
“Take it, or leave it. I don’t care either way.” To prove her point, Alice took hold of each end of the wand and began to apply pressure.
“Stop!”
Ignoring her, Alice continued to push. Unlike her own wand, Bellatrix’s was stiff. Unyielding.
Just like its owner.
Either she would break, or her wand would.
“Fine. I’m going, alright?” Unbelievably, Bellatrix backed up, both hands out in clear view.
“Make her apologise,” Molly hissed.
It was petty of Alice to agree, but part of her wanted to revel in this victory just a bit longer.
“Apologise to Molly.”
True to her surname, Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed to slits, jaw visibly clenched.
“Do it, or I’ll snap your wand.”
Alice’s breath caught at the look levelled at them both. If there was any question before, the answer was clear now: she was no longer unseen.
“I apologise.”
Before Alice could insist she say it like she meant it, Bellatrix spun around and disappeared into the treeline.
“I can’t believe it!” Molly crowed, triumph plainly displayed in her wide smile and the arm she threw around Alice’s shoulders.
She, however, was under no impression that they’d won. There was retribution in Bellatrix’s apology. One day, Alice would face it.
She hoped she’d be ready.
Reblogged eurhythmix
A quick animation of Remus’s mind during his transformation ✨🥹
Chapter 45 of Shed Your Skin is now available to read on AO3!
Narcissa/Antonin | Rated E | Angst, mutual pining
See below for a sneak peek:
He craved Narcissa’s acquiescence almost as much as he did knowledge and power…perhaps more so, as much as he should perish the thought.
Standing, Antonin tilted her chin up. The motion would be slightly uncomfortable for her as close as they were. Still, she allowed it. Held his gaze without question, peach lips parted in anticipation.
“Now is the time to continue what you had started, my love.”
“What I started?” Confused, a slight wrinkle formed between her brows.
“In the alcove, when you wished to please me.”
The wrinkle smoothed as the memory dawned, her breath catching and wintry blue eyes widening.
Read the rest on AO3!
Source: archiveofourown.org
Find Out
Written in response to magicalsydney_'s IG prompt: DTIYS - Your choice of ship, marriage law, "What could possibly go wrong?", 200-word limit
🐉 Charlie/Hermione | Rated M | marriage law | WC 196
Looking up at him like this makes her feel smaller. Then again, Charlie has always seemed larger than life, all booming laughter, free-flowing auburn curls she secretly adores, and tattoos of dragons and vines twining around brawny arms.
He is her fantasy, realised. Hers, but only because they have made it so.
“I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” His brow furrows as he watches her lean back into the bed.
“Don’t apologise.”
“But, Ron–”
Hermione cuts down that thought before he misunderstands. “We’re better as friends. And, I’m not unhappy over this pairing. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
She bites her lip, eyes running across his exposed shoulders, down past the firm muscles and taut torso. He pauses, the shirt he’s began pulling off catching at the elbows.
“You’re happy? Honestly?”
Her eyes snap back to his, finding uncertainty. “With the circumstances, no. With the reality of us, right here? Right now?” She holds the stare as she slides her hand down. He watches its progress, eyes darkening. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. What could possibly go wrong?”
He scoffs, but unbuckles his belt. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Happy Birthday, Antonin Dolohov!
The indomitable HwaetWeGardena and April Rose have dubbed today, March 24, as Antonin Dolohov's birthday, making him an Aries ♈
In coordination with that, I went back to my roots with a daily flashfic featuring Hermione and Antonin (with a couple of special appearances).
💜 Antonin/Hermione | Rating M | fluff and humor | WC 1046
⊹ ︶⏝⭒ ⊹ ⭒⏝︶ ⊹
The International Portkey was set to go off in exactly seven minutes. Hermione had been packed for days, having packed, unpacked, repacked with half the amount, remembered that she was a witch with a gift for extension charms, and packed, yet again, even more than she had the first time.
One never knew when a particular text might be required–it was safer to just go ahead and bring all that might apply.
Through it all, he’d watched her with growing amusement, that smart mouth of his in a near-permanent smirk, the tip of his tongue poking out the corner. A habit he refused to acknowledge.
Now, she waited, Feather-light-charmed bag in one hand and the other resting on her hip. In front of her, the man who she simultaneously adored and despaired over stood with his own bag.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
“I am going with you,” he declared, like the decision had been planned all along.
“Antonin,” she sighed, “this is for work. It’s not a vacation.”
“I know that.”
“I won’t be able to spend most of the day with you–”
“I will be discreet. You’ll hardly even notice that I’m there.”
Hermione scoffed. “Please. Not noticing you is as likely as not noticing a cave troll in an antiques shop.”
A single step put him in her space, the delicious cocktail of scents that were all his wafting over her and turning Hermione’s mind to mush. Musky sweet and spicy and thoroughly debilitating.
“A very attractive, irresistible cave troll, yes? One who will be more than happy to help you relax each evening and prepare your tea just the way you like in the morning.”
Six minutes.
“Antonin.”
“Kroshka,” he implored her–more of a rumble, really, body caging her in against the sideboard, head tilting as his lips ghosted over hers. “Consider it an extended birthday present.”
The mention of their celebration the night prior started a throb low in her still-aching centre. Neither of them had gotten much sleep, Antonin intent on unwrapping her gift to him with his teeth, one agonising ribbon at a time, only to then tie her to their bed with those same slips of sapphire blue that perfectly matched his eyes as he took his pleasure from her again and again and again. Even then, she’d wanted more.
Waking up first. Sliding beneath the covers. Peppering kisses up his thighs, wrapping fingers and lips around the most magnificent cock she’d ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on, bringing him to wakefulness with delightful fervour until he finished with a triumphant cry, both hands threaded deep into her curls as he pulsed down her throat.
Five minutes.
“We celebrated early because I couldn’t get out of this trip,” she reminded him.
“I know, and I appreciate it. Let me show you my appreciation by going with you.” He murmured the words into the curve of her neck, his warm breath sending shudders through her, not helping the predicament between her thighs.
“But, Luna–”
“Adores both of us. She’ll be more than happy to put me to work, as should you.”
The image of her lover running to and fro, a harried expression on his face, while Luna waxed on about Hodags and Snorkacks, wasn’t quite enough to banish the heat blooming throughout her, but it was a near thing. Hermione pinched her lips together to stifle the giggle fighting to escape.
Antonin had spent years watching and learning each one of her habits to intimacy. Every twitch of her eye, a hitch in her breathing, a heavy swallow–he noticed, and he remembered.
He proved as such, tucking even closer, hips to hips, hand descending over hers to rest atop the empty tin that would whisk them away to their destination. “That wasn’t supposed to be funny, kroshka.”
“I wasn’t laughing.”
“Good, because that would be cruel, especially today.” Her favourite eyes in the world twinkled down at her.
Three minutes.
“There’s no getting out of this, is there?” she asked.
“Nyet.”
“Some might consider this stifling, you know?”
“Aren’t I lucky, then, that you are not them?” Slowly, he drew closer, the short bristles of his beard tickling and softer than they appeared.
“Very lucky.” She’d barely gotten the words out before he silenced Hermione of any further protests, lips finally slotting against her own as he’d teased earlier.
He still tasted like the morning tea that he favoured, slightly sweet and smoky tendrils sliding across her tongue. She bumped into the table behind her as he pressed against her, an unmistakable thickness growing between them. The heat that had been slowly building spread outward, tingles that reached her fingertips and suffused the kiss with a hunger that demanded satisfaction.
Meeting Antonin’s groan with one of her own, she wasn’t even aware of her leg swinging up and around, placing him exactly where she needed.
A whirring sound. A flash of heat.
Then, a tell-tale tug to her navel.
They landed with a grunt, bags falling to the ground and mouths breaking apart to gasp for air as they clung to one another for balance.
“Hello, Antonin! Hermione!”
As one, their heads turned to take in the beaming smile of Luna Lovegood, in all her glory. Behind her loomed another surprise.
“Thorfinn?” Hermione exclaimed.
The large man grinned, the hands he’d had laced behind his head, biceps flexing, opening into a welcoming gesture.
“Oh, no, no, no.”
Antonin attempted to dodge behind Hermione, only for them both to yelp pathetically as Thorfinn swept them off of their feet into a hug. “Happy birthday!”
“Mmmmmf.”
“Thrrfffnn!”
Setting them down, he stepped back to throw an arm over Luna’s shoulders. Hermione looked between the two of them, realisation quickly growing.
“You’re the new boyfriend!”
“I’m the new boyfriend,” he repeated, the full force of his grin as blinding as it was exhilarating.
“I figured you wouldn’t mind,” Luna piped in, wearing a sweet smile of her own, then turned her attention to Antonin. “I also thought you’d appreciate the extra company while Hermione’s preoccupied.”
“How did you even know he was going to come with me?” Hermione persisted.
“Of course, he was going to come along. It’s his birthday.”
“See,” Antonin emphasised, “even Luna agrees.”
Reblogged lumosatnight
Reblogged lumosatnight
Hi 💖 I wanted to make a drawing of lily because she is an icon 🍊 and since this is my first time drawing her I wanted to make a more simple drawing. I am busy so here are some wips, THIS DRAWING IS UNFINISHED SO PLEASE BE KIND 🌞
Reblogged scullymurphy
Quidditch draco