Amaehonne



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Summary

    Harry does not like Draco Malfoy, not even one bit. Never did and never will. That is, until he finds himself married to him.

    Language:
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    17 Mar 2024

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    He went to Hange, even though they smelled sour and had the remains of something bloody in their hair. He sat as far away as possible in the rooms they’d taken over, back curved over the bench, peering down at what they were examining.

    “Got something I need to say,” he started, and wished he hadn’t. “It’s private. Personal. You tell anyone and you’re dead, shitty glasses.”

    “Yes yes. What is it?”

    “How did you know that you—” Levi paused. He’d never been good with his words. They tangled easily, and he was so quick to rise to frustration. “That you’re different or whatever.”

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    24 Feb 2024

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Beautiful and real

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    “There’s nothing keeping you here. You know that. And,” Sirius continues, “we don’t see enough of you.”

    Remus lifts his gaze up over him. He’s been rationing the sight of Sirius, today, see. Each glance, etched into his retinas and tucked into the jacket of his father’s hand-me-down suit. Like a smoke, like a pear drop. Something sweet.

    His mother is dead and he is thinking about putting his hands beneath his best friend’s shirt. Often, he worries that eventually resenting himself is not going to be enough, and he’s going to start resenting Sirius, too, for the mess he has made of him.

    or:

    Remus is nineteen and tired, now. And he knows that if he and Sirius were ever going to become anything—if Sirius loved Remus the way Remus loves, and will probably always love, him—it already would’ve happened.

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    31 Jan 2024

    Bookmarker's Notes

    "strange and sad and freaky loveliness"

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    1979, year of war and obsession and sleep loss and sexual frustration. Sirius is hoping to go out with a bang and not a whimper; enter Remus, stage left.

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    13 Jan 2024

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Prose

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    “It is hard to keep the truth from clever friends,” Dumbledore had said, first. “I had hoped --”

    Remus had looked down at his hands. There were little, half-moon scars around his knuckles, too inconsequential to see unless light hit them at an angle and made them silvery with scar tissue. He wondered if other werewolves had these scars too, whether they were a telltale sign too mundane to have made it into the textbooks.

    Remus had hoped, too.

    Language:
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    05 Jan 2024