Happy Weasley Wednesday!

Happy Weasley Wednesday!

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A Bouquet of New Beginnings Chapter 23: Anemone

Summary: A little finding in the Undercroft, and it's a twin birthday (11/11).

Floriography: Healing & Sickness

Full Chapter: [AO3]//7.1k words

Excerpt Below:

Sebastian sneezed. “We really need to dust down here.”

“You’re a wizard, cast a scourgify,” quipped Ominis.

“Why don’t you do it? You always complain mine’s not as good as yours,” countered Sebastian, his eyes now lifted from his book.

“Because I’m busy, Sebastian.” Ominis lifted his pestle. “And you are interrupting.”

Artemis brought her attention back from the incredibly distracting pool of ancient magic. Ominis had managed to crush the dittany into fine granules after four bowls before the genius epiphany of placing a sticking charm on the mortar came to be. Sebastian had come down at the start of the third bowl, and much to Ominis’ chagrin, decided to stay.

“This looks good, Ominis. Now, stick your fingers in so you can feel the texture.”

Ominis perked up slightly as his porcelain smooth fingers slipped into the dittany.

“Did you stick your fingers into dittany when you learned?”

“Still do sometimes,” hummed Artemis. “Guilty pleasure.”

Sebastian chuckled as he flipped a page, and Ominis even smiled small. They’d poured the varied dittanies into their separate jars; she’d crush the other three thoroughly later. They could prepare for the brewing next session.

Ominis leaned just close enough to whisper. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Okay, have fun.”

Ominis huffed a quiet laugh. “As much as one could.”

Artemis watched as Ominis exited and the gate fell with a clang.

Sebastian piped up. “He’s gone to wrap our presents, hasn’t he.”

“Maybe he wanted to chat with the mermaids,” said Artemis.

Ominis was, in fact, going to wrap Sebastian and Anne’s presents. She was on distraction duty, and frankly, it was a blessing in disguise.

“Uh-huh, right,” said Sebastian sarcastically as he closed the book. “But I’ll take it. Now that he’s shown you the Undercroft, we can talk freely without any ears on us. About ancient magic, and where you actually were on Halloween.”

“I was in Hogsmeade.”

“Really. Fig wasn’t pulling my leg?”

“Yes. But… not to study ruins.”

“Go on.”

She bit her inner cheek. She didn’t know how Sebastian would react about Lodgok and that whole debacle, but she had to give him something. He already knew about the ancient magic – it wouldn’t hurt for him to know.

“Ominis wasn’t wrong; I was ill. Just not with a sickness. Being in Hogwarts on Halloween was making me sick.”

“What does that even – wait. Don’t tell me. Let me think…” trailed off Sebastian.

His warm chocolate eyes pierced through her as she could see the gears shift in his mind. His fingers drummed on the book spine. He paced in front of her, back and forth like a pendulum, and sometimes she would catch little flickers of the ancient magic lick his ankles.

Sebastian slowly touched his finger on her hand. “Your hand’s still cold.”

“I suppose.”

“And you hardly reacted when Nearly Headless Nick strolled through your arm yesterday.”

“I…suppose?”

“You didn’t take Garreth’s poisons, did you?” Sebastian asked with an eyebrow raised.

Artemis blinked twice. “No!”

“Hey, just had to get that option out of the way,” said Sebastian with his hands up.

The momentary easy smile slipped as he again paced. His eyes danced with curiosity, but they had limited time that they’d be alone in the Undercroft; she had a long way to go before she could set foot inside without an obvious Calming Draught and Ominis.

“I could offer a different mystery, if you wanted to think on that one for a while?”

“Sure, I’ll get back to you with an answer later,” said Sebastian. “Good mystery?”

“I see ancient magic here.”

Sebastian full on stopped with his eyes widened. “WHAT?!”

Artemis pointed toward the arcane blue puddle. “There, specifically.”

“Since when!”

“Since Ominis showed me last week. But I couldn’t very well do anything… plus, I wanted you here.”

Sebastian stopped his wild gesticulation before he straightened up. The warm chocolate browns now danced with excitement as the firelight from the candelabras reflected along the lens.

“Oh.” He cleared his throat with an easy smile. “Well, here I am. Come on! Let’s find out what it is. It can’t be a statue at least; the ceiling’s too low.”

Artemis chuckled. “Small comfort, that.”

“Can I stand with you? When you do your –” Sebastian gestured. “– thing?”

“Of course.”

The closer she got, the arcane magic welcomed her as it seeped through her ankles and calves.

“Huh, that’s odd.”

“Feel something?”

“Yeah, like taking a dip in the ocean.”

“Hm, not inaccurate. It’s bubbling around our ankles. Just, uh, here, hold on,” said Artemis as she offered her left arm. “When I do this, there’s usually a burst.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one offering?” Sebastian offered his right arm with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes with a smile. “Semantics.”

She slipped her hand easily through his arm, resting on the crook of his elbow, and lifted the pool of magic.

The arcane magic sung as it rushed toward a blank wall. Sebastian whipped out his wand as he stepped closer to her, hardly any room between them as both their wands pointed at the shifting wall. The bricks pulled back and apart by the arcane tendrils, and soon revealed a large, brown triptych in the centre of a small alcove.

“Well, that’s new,” offered Artemis.

“You don’t say,” deadpanned Sebastian. “Come on, let’s check it out.”

She didn’t let go, nor he didn’t comment. Their steps fell in stride as they approached the strange alcove, and with a look, she slowly slipped her hand out of his arm and opened the triptych. Most of the canvases were missing; only the left frame’s depicted some sort of hillside mine, and a yellowed envelope with a royal purple anemone wax seal was pressed into the middle frame.

Artemis opened the envelope, and first pulled up a note with a collection of runic symbols drawn with more middle English.

“These look like those buttons down in the Restricted Section, don’t they?” Artemis asked as she passed the note to Sebastian.

Sebastian accepted the parchment as he stood just behind her, his right shoulder just behind her left.

“Huh. It is. Well, we already knew it’s ancient magic related, so this isn’t exactly new information. What else in that envelope?”

“A letter. Hold on,” said Artemis as she pulled out the letter – thankfully, not middle English – and read aloud:

“If this note has been found, that means Liz had done her part of the bargain.

Welcome to my sanctuary. I am Isidora Morganach, and like you, I can see and wield ancient magic.

Sebastian, this is… Isidora made the Undercroft.”

Sebastian whistled low. “Damn. What’s the bet that this Liz is Ominis’ ancestor?”

“I’m not giving you easy money, Sebastian,” tutted Artemis before she continued.

“You have also likely spoken to the Keepers – have been told of how ancient magic works to manipulate the physical world. How it can be used to transfigure the earth, to reinvigorate the land and call forth tempests. Useful of course, but limited.

I am here to tell you that that is not all that it can do. It can do so much more.

This magic can heal people. Heal them in ways no ordinary healing spell...can…”

“Artie… Artie.”

The amount of hope in Sebastian’s voice was shattering. His hands enveloped her shoulders as he shook them in excitement. She couldn’t blame him; her own grip tightened on the parchment.

This could help Henry. If she could figure this out… there was a chance he could walk again. She wasn’t going to let that chance go.

“Wait, there’s more.

This magic is complex, and I did not have the luxury of time nor the resources as desired for this research. I have left a path for you, so that you may learn what I’ve done. I’m loathed to think the Keepers would train you outside of what they deem as ‘proper’. Each location will have a canvas for you to place –”

“– Damn, she’s giving you trials as well? What is it with these people and trials,” grumbled Sebastian as he peered over her shoulder. His hands were still glued onto her. “Are the Keepers teaching you anything?”

She nodded. “Well, it’s a bit slow, and they are focused on honing what I already know. So, Isidora is right in that regard. Let’s see…

Each location will have a canvas piece for you to place, as well as a few of my tomes and journals. I hope that, like me, you will find and develop this new way of using ancient magic for the betterment of people.

Isidora”

A pause befell on them as they digested the information. Sebastian let her go as he paced, though this time his eyes danced with glimmers of hope.

“Artie, this – if Healer Gavin’s consult and everything comes back bad then – then you. You could help Anne,” said Sebastian elatedly.

She could help Henry. Anne as well, of course, but Henry. She took in a deep breath; it wasn’t good to rush to conclusions, not without evidence.

“We’ll need to learn how much she developed this. Then, see how much more work needs to be done to perfect it,” started Artemis carefully before her gaze met his. “But we’ll do it together.”

Sebastian beamed. “Yes, yes we will. I suppose the first place we’d need to look for is where this place is.”

He tapped on the canvas piece.

“I’m not much help there I’m afraid,” sighed Artemis. “I don’t get out of the castle as much as people seem to think.”

“Let me research it – lived in these parts for a long time.”

She bit her inner cheek. This was something a different angle on ancient magic, one that only she and Sebastian knew. She wanted to go with him, but…  

“Alright but, please, be careful,” said Artemis.

She needed to trust he’d be okay.

“When am I not – no, don’t answer that,” Sebastian cut himself off as Artemis looked pointedly. “Don’t you worry. I’ll be back in no time to translate more of that pesky Middle English.”

“Appreciated.” She looked up at the triptych. “How are we going to explain this to Ominis?”

“Explain what?”

Artemis gestured. “The fact that a whole wall just transfigured itself and a triptych appeared? In the one hour he stepped out?”

Sebastian looked back at the triptych, then back at her with a confident smile.

“Leave it to me.”

Holy...

The lighting? The way he is illuminated because of *her*?

I love. Clora is just ✨✨✨

🖤 his light 🤍

🌸Thank you for the tag @sallowslove

🌸Artemis Loreley when she goes to visit her mother's family on the Pacific side.

🌸Darling, sweet girl with a shadow cast.

🌸NP tags: @sunnyrealist @thefeatherwrites @gingerlegacy07 @galaxiasgreen

oh, these are such beautiful picrews, and I just had to!

make your OC + their sword of choice

np tagging: @valyrra @localravenclaw @shanaraharlyah @thriftstorebabayaga @eternalremorse @charmedcleric @sebastianswallows @ominisss @trulyblockedout @ephemerasnape, and really anyone who'd like to join

🏀we BALL🏀

Honestly my cheeks, sides and diaphragm have no recovered at how funny this fic is.

Her and the Hoop | Part 1

Solomon x ball ✨🏀

Tags: Solomon x ball, SFW, Solomon is deluded, one single humorous sexual reference, historical inaccuracies, lots of Australian pride, hammed-calves, not a single rule of the game is followed, witches/wizards can now contract tuberculosis

This crack fic was written for a HL discord event. I dedicate it to @morelikeravenbore and @2centniffler who I’ve written in as characters. A/N at bottom

A simple wink in their direction could ignite untold passions raging in their bosoms; as was the case for one such woman, who was fanning herself so forcefully despite the tepid temperatures of the Scottish summer.

The only logical explanation was that being in my presence had brought her to such a heightened state of arousal – an observation proven true by her husband's chagrin, engulfing him in the most violent shade of crimson. Unsurprisingly, the handsome woman collapsed to the ground, her body clearly weakened by such strong forces of lust. 

I was later told it was caused by tuberculosis; to this day I do not believe them. 

Word count: 918 {Wattpad | AO3}

The real reason Solomon Sallow despises his nephew so much, is because. . .

I remember it like it was yesterday.

Mostly women, married and unmarried from all across Scotland had congregated in my humble farming hamlet of Feldcroft. Desperate to witness the spectacle, they pushed against the barricades of the makeshift arena, corsets tight-laced and petticoats hiked up to expose their ankles to me. Perhaps it was to avoid the manure soiling their finest gowns – but I believe it not to be the latter. 

A simple wink in their direction could ignite untold passions raging in their bosoms; as was the case for one such woman, who was fanning herself so forcefully despite the tepid temperatures of the Scottish summer.

The only logical explanation was that being in my presence brought her to such a heightened state of arousal – an observation proven true by her husband's chagrin, engulfing him in the most violent shade of crimson. Unsurprisingly, the handsome woman collapsed to the ground, her body clearly weakened by such strong forces of lust. 

I was later told it was caused by tuberculosis; to this day I do not believe them. 

For a moment, I entertained the fantasies brought on by the overwhelming amount of female attention, being naturally curious to what their soft flesh might feel like when they threw themselves against me – lauding my muscular frame from years of plowing the field; but I digress.

Nothing, and I repeat: nothing, could be comparable to to the feeling of supple leather, cradling the beauty of which was firm and round, inflated with so much love that seeped into my calloused fingertips. The truth – was only she, my orange and spherical lover could fulfill me, and I desired for nothing more. My obsession for the game overshadowed everything, and all that mattered was her and the hoop. 'Wilsona' is what I affectionately named her. 

The sun had shone so brightly that day, it's warm rays bathing me in glinted golds and the promises of glory. It was the game of the century – the final showdown, so to speak. As captain of the Feldcroft Flobberworms, I'd assured our triumph against every opponent we had faced thus far. Today would mark our final and greatest victory in a worldwide basketball tournament, held for only the most talented of witches and wizards in the profession. 

The crowd was vivacious, chanting my name before I'd even begun warming up with my trademark three-quarter shots.

Sol-o-mon! Sol-o-mon! Sol-o-mon!

I couldn't blame them; I had quickly risen to become one of Scotland's most revered basketball players – and arguably, one of the greatest in the world. I pencil-rolled down the court, grasping Wilsona tightly above my head before knocking one– two– then three of my own teammates off their feet. When implemented during a match, my then wobbling teammates would knock down our opponents like bowling balls to pins.

With the other team flailing about for purchase, I'd use my immense strength to swing Wilsona over my head and launch her into the air, having full trust she'd be caught by my ever-dependable teammate, Banshee. Holding the perfect amount of muscle and buoyancy in her tender-hammed calves, she'd use their power to float through the air, slam-dunking my Wilsona into the hoop. 

I expected to be met with raucous applause after graciously displaying a preview of my three-quarter shot, and yet, my ears were assaulted by a name I'd heard only in myths...

Aura. . .

AURA, AURA, AURA! The crowd cheered.

It was the infamous wild woman, captain of the Australian team the Darwin Dugbogs, who'd just arrived at the scene in a chariot drawn by a dozen Milo-drinking Abraxans, evident by the chunky malted drink dried at their muzzles. Rumors of her story had swept through the hamlets like a haze, with some claiming she'd been taken in as an orphaned child by a court of kangaroos and raised as their own. As a man of considerable intelligence and impeccable breeding, I was incredulous to believe such utter hogwash. 

An air of mystery and intrigue surrounded the wild woman, flowing through her lustrous auburn hair she'd adorned with sticks from her homeland. As she approached me, I found no reason to believe such a lovely and diminutive lady was anything to be feared on the court; my reputation was secure. 

'How ya goin'?' She said, her native tongue so exotic and beautiful it could only be compared to a siren song. 

I was utterly speechless, and even more so as she'd managed to ignore my handsomely rugged features in favor of the view above my head. A confident and all-knowing smile tugged at the edges of her delicate lips, as if she already knew exactly how the view from above would appear.

A ball of nerves settled into the pit of my stomach then, but I stood my ground. Defending my territory, I repeatedly dragged one leg back through the dirt while firmly planted on the other, like a bull preparing to charge. 

In my own native tongue, I answered her back.

'Fuck it, we ball.'

AN: The idea for this hastily written crack fic was inspired by the image above, which I scribbled on after noticing it looked as if Solomon was about to slam-dunk a basketball through a hoop. I couldn't have written it without having met some insanely lovely people on a Hogwarts Legacy discord server 🩵✨

A Library Defiled

Garreth Weasley x f!reader

Summary: An tense encounter in the library shatters the barrier between friends and lovers. Tags: explicit | fingering | semi-public sex | friends to lovers 1.7k words

A/n: Just a quick smutty drabble from me but it's been a while since I wrote anything for Weasley Wednesday! I was inspired by this art which sent me slightly insane yesterday (help, he's so fucking tall).

The gold embossed spine winked down at your from its perch, far out of reach amongst the teetering heights of the stacks. Your instinct was to grab your wand and cast a quick summoning charm, but that idea fizzled out with a quick glance at your surroundings. The signs that Madam Scribner had hung earlier that year usually went ignored, but the stern librarian was only feet away now, shuffling through a cart of returned books. Forbidding the use of magic in a magical school was preposterous, though you could quite easily see Professor Black agreeing with her madness. No doubt it had been in response to that business with Cressida and her damned flying diary. 

You rolled your eyes before standing on tiptoes, fingers merely inches away from your prize, and yet it was to no avail. That extra height eluded you. The thought occurred to you to start climbing the shelves until the very book you needed was snatched from above.

“Wait, I-...”

“Is this what you wanted?”

You needn't have turned to discern who'd spoken—his voice was as familiar as his densely freckled face—but you fixed your face with a suitably irritated expression. You came face to face with his chin, having to crane your neck to meet the towering redhead’s eyes. Garreth held the book out for you with a smile that looked far too self satisfied for your liking.

“Yes, it is. Well done for being so tall,” you replied, casting another mutinous glance at the librarian. “How does she expect us to get anything down without using magic?”

“I think she'd be happy for nobody to touch the books ever again. However, I'm always happy to help a damsel in distress.” You could practically feel the implied flirtatious wink.

Shadow eclipsed your face, an arm braced against the shelf beside you. Your heart stuttered, arms clutching the book tightly to your chest like a shield in case the organ burst from your ribcage. The reaction he elicited wasn't new or unexpected—in fact, he played into it as much as he could these days. He knew how to stand, how to speak and what to say to send your heart racing, hoping that one day you would end the torturous game you played and let him fulfill those desires you both knew you held. The chase was fun but your patience and self restraint grew thinner with each passing day.

“Is that what I am?” you asked. Your voice quivered as you felt him envelop your back, his warmth seeping through your shirt. He ran hot like a furnace. You'd forgotten how to use your limbs, how to think; every sense was acutely aware and attuned to his movements. 

“You looked pretty distressed before I got here,” he chuckled, his mouth so very close to your ear. His fingers flexed against the wood, warm breath slipping down your collar. Another inch and his lips might brush your skin.

Garreth knew when to stop. This invisible boundary you'd drawn lay somewhere on the hair's breadth between your bodies. You still felt everything—the steady rise and fall of his chest, the copper curls that barely ghosted your forehead and his gaze lingering on your neck. 

Sweeping the hair away from that spot, you heard him inhale, dizzy from the slightest show of skin; not quite an invitation, only an enticement. If he insisted on teasing, you would repay him for his efforts. When he stepped closer you knew it had been foolish.

There was no more room between you anymore, only his muscled chest and the hint of softness at his midsection. “Are you going to let me leave or keep me pinned here forever?” you asked, hoping that the answer might be ‘yes’.

“I'm not stopping you.” He shoved his free hand into his pocket. He was quite correct—there to your right, was a route of escape. You could turn and leave, but your legs had suddenly atrophied. And then Garreth dipped his head further. To an outsider it might look as if he were whispering conspiratorially in your ear, his billowing robes and broad shoulders masking just how tightly your bodies pressed against each other. “You can go, or you can stop pretending not to want this,” he said.

“And what is this, exactly?”

Garreth shifted his weight ever so slightly, enough for you to feel an unmistakable twitch in his trousers. Cheeks blazing, you inhaled sharply whilst suppressing a whimper, clutching the book so tightly you thought the spine might crumble.

“You drive me crazy,” he replied with what could only be described as longing lacing his voice. Garreth wasn't the type of person to manipulate others; you knew he was being sincere. “Just give me a chance to love you.”

You finally looked at him then, shocked to hear that word slipping from his lips. He didn't seem to have noticed, or perhaps he held no shame in laying his heart on the line for you then. His eyes were full and earnest, unwavering as they held your gaze. In response to your shocked silence he asked, “Did you think I just wanted to sleep with you?” 

“Maybe,” you muttered. Despite every rational thought imploring you not to, your eyes dropped to his lips, and his own quirked into a smile at his victory. When he kissed you, he finally let go of the shelf to tilt your chin to meet him. The hand in his pocket came to encircle your waist, swivelling you around to face him. The book you'd held as a shield that signified the final barrier between your coupling fell to the floor with a thud as you gave into him completely. 

Your heart pounded so fiercely you didn't hear Madam Scriber shouting or the students whistling—there was only Garreth and his gentle touch and soft lips, tongues swirling in an endless caress. The battle had been long-fought but your surrender had made winners of you both. The whimper you'd forced down threatened to escape the tighter he held you, the longer his tongue teased your lower lip. 

Perhaps it had been a blessing when the librarian broke her own rule and blasted a hex at the pair of you, rendering you speechless and unable to move. Saving you from further embarrassment had been a steep price to pay and had made Madam Scribner enemy number one.

-

A month later, you found yourself in that very same spot again, except this time it was under the cover of darkness. Tonight you would exact your revenge on Madam Scribner by defiling her precious library. The room was still and blissfully quiet except for the rustle of fabric and lustful moans that spilled from your own mouth. Garreth's lips were just as sweet as that fateful day one month prior, his hand braced again on the shelf next to you—but this time his slick fingers teased your clit with precision as you pressed against his chest. 

Your head fell back on his shoulder, back arching into his touch as the circles grew faster and tighter. You whimpered unbidden, met by a breathy chuckle in your ear before Garreth's mouth returned to your neck. You guessed there would be purple bruises there tomorrow, by the way your skin now tingled and stung so deliciously.

“Fuck, Garreth…” Stars perforated your vision as every drop of blood rushed south, preparing for a mind-shattering orgasm only minutes after your arrival. Everything was so intense, so passionate with Garreth; years of tension finally culminating in the moments you joined bodies.

“That's it, let it go,” he whispered in your ear, silky smooth and commanding. “Come for me.”

You gripped his hair as those final slippery strokes sent you over the edge, coming hard with a loud moan that echoed along the rows of books. If they could talk, they'd have quite the tale to tell. Your thighs clenched around his hand, hips grinding against his fingers. His cock was already nudging against your behind whilst you writhed in the throes of pleasure.

“I can’t wait to be inside you. Fuck, you’re so wet.” Another nudge from his stiff length, his arm abandoning the shelf to hold you tight against him. You’d barely caught your breath before Garreth was tilting you forward, angling your hips just right as he slid between your folds. “This is exactly what I wanted to do to you that day, you know.” His voice had become gravelly, laced with want. His cock twitched eagerly at your entrance.

“I wanted it, too,” you sighed, gripping the shelf in front of you hard as books shifted and dust invaded your nostrils, yet nothing could overpower the heady aroma of musk that had you salivating at the thought of Garreth’s dripping cock. “Please…”

Garreth entered you in one swift motion, stretching you until you were blissfully full. He groaned and nipped at your ear, sending shivers down your spine before retreating and plunging back inside. Harder, faster, deeper; he fucked you until the books fell all around you and coherent sentences were a thing of the past. 

All you knew was him, and his name sighed to the heavens as he pulled your hair and bared your throat. The sting of your skin felt like promises, made to linger. He was everything, and he was yours.

Garreth’s long fingers trailed your collarbone under the open fabric of your shirt before wrapping around your throat. Calloused fingertips grazed your pulse and the corner of your jaw. You were close again; tension coiled so tight it almost hurt. He must have felt your body twitch, your muscles contract—he responded with a shuddering groan, his hips grinding relentlessly against your behind as he met his own release. 

Your climax followed soon after, every pulsing wave around his cock filling you further and further until you were dripping, happy and satiated.

The dim light of the cavernous room made for quite the relaxing atmosphere, and your eyes blinked slowly at the ceiling as you came down from your high. You could have curled up there and slept, warm and safe in Garreth’s arms. 

He was busy nuzzling against the crook of your neck when he finally sighed contentedly. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”