Citrus & Smoke (Draco Malfoy X Gender-neutral Reader)

Citrus & Smoke (Draco Malfoy x Gender-neutral reader)

this is for you babe, @sadittarius-art inspired by our dm's last night

He really didn’t like it. No one bit. The way his hands held her, his lips close to her ear, the blush she had on her cheeks—no Draco didn’t like. Not one fuckin’ bit. A part of him was still in shock—had been for over a year now, ever since he found out his baby sister—his little Lyra was getting married to his traitor of a friend. He remembered how he gave Nott a shiner, after he found out Theo was shaggin his sister. You wouldn’t believe how pissed he was once he found out that the bugger was now marrying her. Stealing her he was, he corrected himself. 

Grey eyes glared menacing at Theo Nott as he spun his new wife; Lyra Nott, on the dance floor. What a dick. How dare he look that happy! Stealing his sweet sister out from beneath him! 

A hand clapped him on the shoulder, drawing his attention. “Well, well, look who’s here! Finally come around, did ya?” 

“Fuck you, Blaise,” Draco glared at the smirking Italian. Blaise’s blue eyes danced with mirth. “Oh, come on! Lighten up! It’s your sister’s wedding, for god’s sake! Look how happy she is, shagging our friend!” 

The blonde-haired man swung around and punched. A crack sounded and Blaise groaned, his hand flying up to his now bleeding nose. 

“What the fuck?!” 

“That’s what you get you stupid piece of shit,” drawled a high, yet deep-ish voice. Pansy Parkinson. She smiled at Draco, her green eyes narrowed and her arms crossed over her chest. Her hair, no longer cut short, flowed in a black waterfall of waves, with a pearl clip on the side. She wrapped her arms around Draco, hugging him in a friendly way. Gone was her school infatuation with him, now the two were closer than ever. She was the only one who knew of Dracos sexuality. Well, ever since she walked in on Draco getting ready to suck cock, at least. 

“How you doin’ love?” she asked, pressing her lips to his cheek. Draco sighed. “I can’t get over it. No matter how much I try, I can’t imagine her like this.” He waved his hand in Lyra’s direction. “She’s still my little sister. The girl who begged me to help her host tea-parties and play with barbies. She’s still my little star. Not a woman. And definitely not a girl fucking my best friend.” 

“But that’s just it, Draco. She is an adult.” 

“Whose side are you on, Pans?” He scowled. 

Pansy laughed, her eyes rolling as she regarded him. “I’m on my side. Not anyone else’s. And you need to grow up and see how happy she is. Look at Theo, I’ve never seen him this happy before since he got with Lyra.” 

Draco glared at his long-time friend. She was right. He’d never seen Theo this happy before. Not since his father was taken away to prison for getting mixed up with a drug lord. And even then, he was only happy to be free of him and his abuse. But with his sister, Theo was truly happy. 

“Ugh, I hate it when you’re right. Bitch,” 

She smirked. “I’m always right, dick.” 

Satisfied she kissed him once more before returning to her date—Neville fucking Longbottom, the DAPD detective. He rolled his eyes at how sickly Longbottom was with his psychotic friend. 

Sighing, Draco felt a vibration from his coat pocket. He fished out his phone, resting a groan at the e-mail from his agent. 

Hey man, don’t mean to bother you but, you really need to look over and read through the scripts I’ve attached, give my congrats to your sister and her husband.

He growled in annoyance. What a fucking prick. He runs his hand down his face, before eyeing the bar in the back corner of the ballroom in his parents’ house. I need a drink. 

He stuffs his phone back into his suit pocket before stalking towards the liquor, in need of some alcohol. Draco sighs and leans against the bar as he watches the bartender run back and forth with drinks, making them, and severing. As he watches, he notices that you are strange. Perhaps it’s the tousled hair and the clip-on bowtie, or maybe it’s the obvious rented uniform and the high-tops you're wearing. Strange colors, magnate, yellow, and cyan, decorated in stripes with white shoe laces. Huh. 

“Hi! What can I get you?” You ask, smiling a friendly smile. His grey eyes pierced your own (e/c) orbs. What unusual colour, you thought. 

“Can I get a whiskey, neat?” He asks, his voice deep and layered. Whoa, you thought, that’s a voice I’d like to hear in my bed. 

“Sure!” You said once you recovered from going cross-eyed over his velvet covered voice. He watched you as you got a tumbler and poured the liquid, your movements fluid—yet clumsy at the same time. You knew your way around but you were still unsure. Huh. 

“Here you go!” You placed the tumbler in front of him a smile bright on your face. He took a sip, letting the alcoholic burn down his throat. Ah, that’s what I need. Hello sweet friend. 

Draco sets the tumbler down, his eyes drawn to yours as he smiles. “Enjoying the wedding?” You ask, desperate to make conversation and to not get drawn in by his eyes. He frowns. “I guess. Are you?” Your brows furrow and you look down temporarily before responding. 

“Well, no one has dragged out a dead body and danced with it yet—so it’s going great!” Draco raises a brow at that, a smile playing at his features. “What?” 

You look down before explaining. “That happened at a recent funeral I bartender for.” You rub the back of your neck sheepishly. He laughs. It’s warm, smooth like honey. 

“Well, I’m glad no one has dragged a dead body out then.” He says before taking a sip of his whiskey. 

“Yeah, that was hard to explain to my boss and the police. Why I left the bar, and all the supplies—thousands of dollars worth of alcohol and stuff.” 

Draco narrows his eyes, but a smile was still on his face. He was enjoying this conversation very much so. 

“Why did you leave?” 

“Cause a fight broke out. And gun shots went off.” His brows shot to his hairline, his mouth gaping. 

“W-what?” 

“Yeah. Apparently the recently deceased had an affair, and his lover was upset that his drunk wife disrupted his body.” Draco cocked his head. “Oh?” He raised a brow in question. 

“Yeah. His lover was a Texan. And male.” Draco guffawed. You joined in his laughter, a snort here and there. “Right? For a guy who comes from a red state and carries a gun, and had the whole “cowboy aesthetic”, he was totally gay. And the bottom.” 

Draco smirked. “How can you tell?” 

You smirked back. “Trust me, you can always tell. It’s my gaydar.” 

A laugh followed him and you watched as the tensity of his shoulders became relaxed. He was relaxing, good. 

You watched as he leaned forward, his elbows leaning on the counter, as the alcohol eased his tension. His grey eyes stared into your own eyes. They were pools of striking grey—like a stormy day; it pulled you in and kept you there until the sun broke it up. But there was no sun to break up this storm. 

“Sooo, bride or groom?” You asked, hoping to pull yourself away from him and his captivating eyes. 

“What?” he asked. You smiled and cocked your head at the couple. “Are you here for the bride or groom?” Draco scowled, his eyes trailing over to where his sister and Theo were. His eyes softened at the scene. Theo’s arms wrapped around Lyra, holding her close as they conversed with the guests. 

“The bride. She’s my sister.” 

“Oh!” You blushed before nodding your head. “That’s cool.” 

He smirks, knowing you’re embarrassed don’t know what to say. “Yeah, it’s cool.” He turns his attention towards you and once again leans forward, his eyes quickly flicked to your lips for a second before he smiled. 

“I’m Draco, by the way.” 

“Oh! You’re the new Drake Black fan cast!! Now I know why you look so familiar!” You exclaimed, happy to realize why he looked familiar. 

He raises a brow and chuckles, while you blush in embarrassment. 

“Oops that shouldn’t have came out,” 

“Drake Black?” He asked. “Yeah, my best friend, she writes fanfiction, and she loves the book series: “Corrupted Magic” and Drake’s a dark wizard who falls for the hero, aka his old child-hood friend and crush. She loves morally grey characters, and she’s always looking for people to use as fan-casts since the author completely disregarded Drake’s good looks. She’s a bit pissed off, even though it’s been fifteen years since the book series came out,” You explained in a rush. 

“But it’s an honor!! You have thousands of simps writing a character after your physical traits!” 

“Oh yeah, I guess you could call it that.” He says, unsure what to say of that revelation. I mean he’s always been aware of people “fan-casting” him for character’s he’s never played. He’s been tagged on Instagram numerous times, so he’s aware. 

“Um, anyway!” You look away and see customers. “Excuse me for a second,” You quickly rush over to those waiting by the bar while he watches you. He smirks as he realizes that the shoes you’re wearing, besides the colours, they also light up as you walk—reminding him of skectur sneakers. As you walk up to him, now done with the other customers, he notices your name tag. He repeats your name a few times, smiling. He likes you name. 

A familiar song plays, (8teen by Khalid) and he watches as your feet tap to the rhythm, and his hearts winces. As you approach and he asks for a refill, he realizes that he hasn’t been this happy by a single, random, conversation in a very long time. Since before he started acting. He takes his now-refilled tumbler and smiles. 

“I’ll see you later?” He doesn’t wait for you to respond. He walks away, a swagger in his step, leaving behind the scent of citrus and smoke, in his wake. 

~~~~

The next morning, as you wake up from the sun streaming in from the window above your messy bed, you see a notification on Instagram. Frowning, you click on the app and gasp. A smile reaches your face as you see the simple three-letter word: “hey,”. 

(Neels Visser fan cast as Draco Malfoy, this entire post/one-shot is inspired by a dm conversation between my bestie and his gayness for hot men)

𝙈𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙞𝙖 |𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮 𝙭 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧|𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙚𝙣: 𝙒𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙃𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙡𝙚𝙥𝙪𝙛𝙛 𝙃𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚

The hall was silent; everyone stared for a brief moment until Professor McGonagall started clapping. Slowly, the other professors at the high table on the raised dais joined in. Y/n didn’t know what to do. He was frozen—at a standstill. While the table under the yellow banner with a badger applauded and cheered with smiles, he never felt so unwelcome. 

Y/n didn’t notice that the stern professor had removed the old raggedy hat until she urged him off the rickety chair. He didn’t notice his legs moving on their own. Poor Y/n couldn’t hear anything. It was all muffled. As if someone was cupping his ears, shutting him out from the world into a plain of silence. His e/c eyes were glued on Harry. His twin was staring at him with a pained expression. Of course he was sad, thought Y/n bitterly. Why didn’t that talking hat put me in Gryffindor? 

Ever so slowly, Y/n started moving towards the table of his new house. Eyes from the Gryffindor table watched his movements as he slunked towards the long rectangular table. Behind him, Professor McGonagall continued to call out names for each new student to be sorted. Once he reached the table, many eyes and faces greeted him with smiles. They were happy; he realised. Happy to have snatched one of the Potters. Though they did not boast about it like Harry’s house, you could see the joy each one had. 

Before Y/n could sit down, a tall boy with black wavy hair and sky-blue eyes stood up, drawing attention temporarily from Y/n but in the end winded back to being on the young Potter. The boy stopped in front of Y/n and he watched with a terrified expression on his face. 

“‘Ello Potter! The name’s Oliver Benedict, and I’m the seventh year Prefect of Hufflepuff House. If you need anything at all, please come straight towards me. And welcome to Hufflepuff.” Y/n watched in silence as he smiled and gestured to the table behind him. The tall creature smiled too much, which made shivers climb up his spine. Y/n wanted to say hello or nice to meet you, or possibly anything. But alas, all he said was: “Um… w-where d-do I-sit at?” His e/c eyes wandered over the table, trying to figure out where he was supposed to go. He knew from primary school that each table had a group. And he was able to figure out which group was friendly and which one was not. However, there were no multiple tables for Hufflepuff. Just one long rectangular table that had a handful of students. 

“Oh, right!” Oliver cleared his throat and pointed to a small group at the end of the table. “You can sit there with the other first years, or—” He pointed to the front. “You sit with us, seventh and sixth years.” 

Y/n pointed to the rest of the first years. “I think I’ll sit with them; the other first years.” He said shyly. His eyes flickered down to his hands as he fiddled with the black robes of his uniform. 

“Of course, of course.” Oliver chuckled. “Remember now, if you need anything—and I mean anything at all, please come to me and I shall be glad to help you.” With one last friendly smile, Oliver went back to his original seat before Y/n sluggishly walked up to the group of first years. 

He quickly took a seat next to a girl with auburn hair. The girl turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were crystal blue, and she took in Y/n. He smiled, awkwardly. She returned the sentiment and tucked a copper strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Hullo, I’m Rosemary.” She had a bit of an Irish accent, but it wasn’t so prominent. Rosemary held out her hand. “And you are??” 

Y/n took her hand in his. 

“I’m—” 

“That Y/n Potter, that is!” exclaimed a boy with blond hair. He was leaning across the table, staring at Y/n closely. His brown eyes were glued to his scar, making Y/n want to cover it up with his hair. 

“If you don’t know who he is, you must be daft!” 

Rosemary glared at the boy. “And you must be rude to interrupt our conversation, y’know!” She spat venomously. 

The boy next to the rude one simply stared at Y/n. 

“I don’t know who you are.” He said quietly. “I’m Justin Finch-Fletchy.” He held his hand out. Y/n took it. “I’m Y/n Potter.” 

“How is it you don’t know who he is, Justin??” cried out the blond. “You muggle-born or somethin’?” Justin blushed, his cheeks were the colour of beets. 

“Yes. I-I am. Do you have a problem with that?” Justin’s voice quivered slightly. 

“No! ‘Course not! Just cause I’m a pureblood doesn’t mean I believe all that rubbish!” 

Rosemary rolled her eyes. 

“Anyway, I’m Ernie. Ernie Macmallin. Nice to meet you, Justin. Potter.” Ernie purposefully left out Rosemary to goad her, and she knew it too. Glaring at the blond pimple, she scoffed before introducing herself to Justin. 

Y/n watched as Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the sorting hat after a boy named “Zabini” was the last one to be sorted. Soon the hall grew quiet around Y/n as the man sitting at the high table on the raised dais stood up, raising his hands to draw everyone’s attention. 

“Welcome new and returning students!” His voice was soft yet strong at the same time, plus his long white beard reminded Y/n of Father Time. He, like the rest of wizards and witches apparently, wore bright purple robes with blue and burgundy embellishments and embroidery in the fabric. On his head seemed to be an overly large nightcap. “Before we start feasting, I would like to say a few words: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!” 

Laughter boomed through the hall, and Y/n looked around the hall as he said those odd words. His brows were furrowed, confusion laced in his eyes. Was he supposed to laugh? If so, those words weren’t funny. In fact, they were rather strange. Strange word choice. He didn’t like the way the old wizard’s eyes twinkled. It made him shudder. 

“He’s a bit loony, huh?” questioned Rosemary. “My mum thinks so,” whispered a girl with blonde pig-tails. “Dumbledore, loony? Reckon you’re loony if you think the best wizard in the world is loony himself!” claimed Ernie. 

“Thank you, and have a wonderful feast!” He raised a hand and suddenly, dishes appeared. A plate and silverware and goblet materialised in front of him, making Y/n gasp and stare wide-eyed. 

“Whoa,” he whispered. Food started being passed around and lively chatter filled the hall. Soon, food was piled on his plate, drawing some looks from other Hufflepuffs—though Y/n did not care. He was busy eating. He never, in his entire eleven-years of life, has ever seen this much food that he could eat! Harry would be lucky to see him tomorrow and not nursing a food-coma. 

As he shovelled food into his mouth, Y/n missed the glances he received from others. A few Ravenclaws whispered behind their hands, a few Hufflepuffs elbowed each other and pointed, while some Slytherins watched on. Gryffindor house was the only ones that did not notice, for they were too busy being occupied by their new member. 

“Y/n, would you like some potatoes?” He looked up and nodded. “Thanks, Rosemary,” she smiled in return. “No problem,” She brushed her red locks behind her ear. 

“So, Potter, did you and your brother really kill You-Know-Who?” The table became silent. The only ones who spoke were the 7th and 6th years who were far down and didn’t hear. Y/n froze and hesitantly looked up from his plate. His housemates were either staring at him, waiting for his answer, or they were sending glares at Macmillian—Rosemary was in the latter, her fists clenched—and a tense silence was cast on the table. 

Before Y/n could give his answer, someone interrupted him. 

“Oh, shut your trap Macmillian, ye old geezer!” snapped a voice full of a Scottish burr. “The next time a hear any incentive thing comin’ outta yer mouth, a’ll kick yer arse maself!” A tall and muscular girl gripped the rude blond boy by the ear, yanking on him as her eyes, full of fury, was directed on him. “Shame on you for bein’ an old cocker!” Giggles and snorts were heard all around Y/n, as his new housemates laughed at Macmillian. 

“Mary!! Put me down!!” he whined. The giant of a woman sneered and Y/n realised then that somewhere in between her telling him off, she picked Macmillian up by his robes and held him close to her face, a few feet off the ground. The giant—Mary—plopped the scrambling boy down onto the bench and gave him one last glare, before she turned her fiery amber gaze onto Y/n. 

“Am Mary Fraiser, this little twat,” she nudged Macmillian. “--is ma cousin! He’s a shite, ignore ‘im,” Fraiser reached over and held out her hand. Y/n took it gingerly before being yanked a bit as she gripped it and shook. “Nice ta meet you!” 

The Y/n gave her a friendly smile, hoping that she’ll stop shaking his bones with her strength. “I’m Y/n Potter. Nice to meet you as well.” 

The brawley girl barked out a laugh. “Aye we know ye, Potter.” She chuckled before giving Macmillan one last glare before she went to sit further down at the table. 

The rest of the meal, Macmillan ignored Y/n, only talking—more like yelling—with Justin about the wizard sport, Quidditch. It looked like Justin didn’t get it, but nodded along for Macmillan’s sake.  

As Y/n reached for a jug full of pumpkin juice, an arm went straight through the jug, making the Potter boy scream and jerk back. His eyes blown wide, he watched as a fat man wearing a grey frock with a rope tied at the waist flew through the table, moaning as he gazed at the juice longingly. 

“Oh phooey,” he sighed. “I forgot,” 

A few older Hufflepuffs looked on at the ghost with pity. 

“Y-Y-ou’re the Fat Friar,” Y/n said, his eyes watching the ghost with a strange fascination. The ghost turned to look at him, a smile on his face. 

“Indeed, I am Mister Potter! Oh! I heard you were able to be sorted into my old House!! Oh, dear, I hope you’ll enjoy it. We have a celebrity! I cannot wait to rub it in Old Baron's face! Ha!” The Friar flew off towards the Slytherin table. Y/n turned his head to watch. He noticed how the ghost called the Bloody Baron was sitting next to the blond-haired boy—Draco Malfoy. Shaking his head, Y/n went back to his food. 

“What class are you excited for most, Potter?” asked Rosemary, her blue eyes full of curiosity. Before he could answer her, Rosemary interrupted. “I’m very excited for Herbology! My mum is a herbalist, it’s what drew my dad to her, y’know!” 

“I really like Charms, but also I’m very excited about Potions.” 

Someone chuckled. “I thought so too until I knew who was to be our Professor.” Y/n turned his head to look at the voice. He had short black hair and brown slender eyes and a round face. He looked nervous, yet confident at the same time. 

“Snape, that fellow right there,” He pointed to the raised dais where the high table was, and pointed at a man with a hooked nose, shoulder-length black hair and black eyes that were staring at his brother, Harry. 

“He’s a nasty bloke I’ll tell ya,” Y/n watched as “Snape” nodded his head as the professor from Diagon Alley, Professor Quirill, spoke with the black-haired professor. 

“He hates anyone that isn't in his house. It makes Potions dreadful. He’s always hovering and when you make a simple mistake, he takes away so many house points and calls you names.” Y/n and Rosemary gasped. 

“How cruel!” 

“Can he do that?” 

Cried Y/n and Rosemary at the same time, their eyes wide with shock and fury. 

“No one stops him, not even Dumbledore. Tcch.” The boy crossed his arms, his eyes rolling. Realising that he didn't introduce himself, he sighed and offered his hand. “Nakamura Hiroshi, second year.” 

“Y/n Potter,” He gripped Nakamura’s hand. “Rosemary Thorn, nice to meet you,” she smiled and shook his hand. 

“Nice to meet you both,” Nakamura nodded his head in greeting. “Welcome to Hufflepuff House,” 

The Hall fell silent after dessert as Professor Dumbledore stood up from his chair. 

“Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.” A few Hufflepuff’s rolled their eyes. “First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” 

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.” Rosemary leaned over to whisper to an older Hufflepuff. 

 “Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.” Madam Hooch stood up from the High table. “And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.” Only a few people laughed, Harry being one of them, along with Justin, who looked around at the worried eyes of their new housemates looking grim. 

“He’s… he’s not joking?” asked Justin, his voice wavering. “Nah, he ain’t. A jus’ wanna know wat it is,'' spoke Mary a few seats down. 

“Usually Dumbledore gives us a reason,” murmured another student. 

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. Y/n noticed that the other teachers’ smiles had become rather fixed. Oh, no. Nakamura and Mary firmly placed their hands over their ears. Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

 “Everyone please your their favorite tune,” said Dumbledore, “and off we go!”

 And the school bellowed:

 “Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

 Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

 Our heads could do with filling

 With some interesting stuff,

 For now they’re bare and full of air,

 Dead flies and bits of fluff,

 So teach us things worth knowing,

 Bring back what we’ve forgot,

 just do your best, we’ll do the rest,

 And learn until our brains all rot.”

The noise was painful. Y/n had placed his hands over his ears when it first started. “Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes. Rosemary whispered to Y/n. “Was that really music?” He chuckled, smirking at the auburn-haired girl. “A magic beyond all we do here!” 

“And now, bedtime. Off you trot!” Prefects, Oliver and a girl with short blue hair and green eyes, stood up with a bunch of other students from the three other tables, calling out: “First year Ravenclaws, follow us,” “First year Slytherins, follow us,” “First year Gryffindors, with me.” 

Y/n watched with sad eyes as he and Harry were split from each other, one wearing red and gold and the other yellow and black. 

Oliver and the witch led Harry and his fellow first years through the corridors of Hogwarts. Y/n watched as the other students, red and gold, blue and bronze, climbed the grand and moving staircase—thanks to Hogwarts: A History—that Y/n couldn’t wait to explore. While he and the rest of the first years followed their Prefects. Rosemary stuck close by him, pointing to the portraits that lined the cobblestone walls. 

“Our common room is in the basement?” whispered Justin. Macmillan nodded. 

“Yeah, it’s near the kitchens,” a smirk formed on his face. 

They climbed down the non-moving staircase and they felt a slight chill in the air. Rosemary stuck close by Y/n, pointing to the fruit themed portraits that lined the cobblestone walls. They passed a portrait of a bowl of fruit—that reminded Y/n of the bowl of fruit that muggle art teachers would have their students paint or draw—and Y/n could hear a slight commotion happening behind the portrait. Frowning, he looked at Rosemary, seeing if she had any clue as to what it was. Her face was marred in confusion. So she didn’t know what it was then, mused Y/n. 

“If you need a map of Hogwarts, please let us know, myself and Oliver shall provide you with one.” Commented the female perfect, a friendly smile on her face. 

The group stopped together at a nook, hidden by… barrels? Y/n looked at it in confusion. 

“Unlike the other houses where they need a password or need to answer a riddle, for us, we need to tap on these barrels to a rhythm, our House Founder’s song’s rhythm. We will teach you the rhythm tomorrow after your classes. So until then, stick together in a group and we’ll assign an older student to let you in and out of the common room.” Oliver smiled at the first years. “Now, Ethel, will you do the honours?” Ethel—the other prefect—nodded her head. She approached the barrels and tapped two from the bottom, and two in the middle row, and one in the top row. A soft melody played from the barrels, and the door of the nook opened. 

Y/n peered into the doorway along with the other first years. The ceiling was low; the room was round and had two small platforms with a staircase leading up to a door. One said Gents, the other Ladies. It must be the dorms, Y/n thought to himself. There was a sense of warmth and welcoming to the room. The smell of vanilla and sunflowers reached Y/n’s nose. It brought a sense of homeliness to the common room. It made him want to cuddle up in a blanket and read one of the books about dragons by the fireplace and drink some hot chocolate with marshmallows. It temporarily made him forget about his dread and his sadness. It made him forget that Harry wasn’t with him. His heart winced at the thought. 

“Welcome,” Oliver smiled. “To Hufflepuff House,” 

Authors Note:

Happy birthday Harry, Y/n Potter! Hope you enjoyed this weekends chapter! I don't know when the next one will be, hopefully soon, but this Monday I'm starting my last semester at school, so wish me luck! A lot of the characters that'll be showin' up will most likely be OC's, so I'm plannin' on doing an introduction to Hufflepuff house students of Hogwarts soon so you'll get a feel of them when they get older! Thanks for reading! xx

Taglist:

@officialsaturn

@mysticanxy

DABI

you're lying to yourself if you say you wouldn't sit on that face

👀

If only Mr Aizawa was real 😩

Honestly really happy with how this turned out though 🖌️

my toxic trait is to write fanfiction and then see the potential for an original story---so i start writing it and now i can never finish those fanfic stories

late night writer thoughts