15 Fics With Militant Harry

MY BABIES

James definitely was Sirius's gay awakening and you can pry this headcanon from my cold, dead hands

Marauders playlist:

A short Hinny one shot cause I’ve been obsessed with @blvnk-art and the way they draw the pairing. Their Harry and Ginny are beautifully portrayed, so realistic and full of life, and with more chemistry than in the seven movies together. Go look them up, you’ll love their drawings.

“Race you to the Whomping Willow Potter”

“Your ruin Weasley”

Ginny sets off towards the stairs, dropping her bag and spilling all her books over the floor.

“Oi, what about your things!?”

She barely glances at me, continuing to run like a bloody maniac, but I see a hint of a smirk before a wave of red hair hides her face. I chase after her, ignoring the protests and surprised yelps of students walking in the halls as we rush through them.

“It’s a shame you’re still the Quidditch team’s Captain! You’re bloody slow Potter!”

I scoff, skipping the steps of the stairs two by two. I’d answer her, but I’m running low on energy as it is. Fuck, I do need to train more.

Her black robe billows after her, blazing long hair flying against the air coming in from the courtyard as she continues running. The startling blue sky blinds me for a few seconds, and I put a hand against my forehead to protect me against the light. The grass dances with the breeze, emerald green reflecting the rays of sun. My breath is coming in short gasps, but I don’t stop, stubbornly chasing after the sneaky little minx.

She’s ten feet away, sprinting towards the Quidditch Pitch as fast as she’s on air, laughing with mirth. I close the distance between us, five feet, three feet away until she’s at reach.

“Hah, got you”

She wriggles against my arms, groaning when I just tighten them against her waist. “It was a race, not a dare to catch me you idiot”

I laugh in the crook of her neck, smelling her coconut body wash and a hint of something sweet. Maybe a new perfume?

Her skin is smooth as a baby, and I unashamedly rub my nose against it. Ginny elbows my ribs and I let go with a startled yelp.

“You were enjoying that too much Potter”

The corners of her lips curl in a teasing smile, and for a moment I’m struck speechless by how beautiful she is. I’d been so blind, focusing on my best friend’s little sister to realize how fucking stunning she’d become on her own right. Brilliant, harsh and aggressively beautiful, Ginny Weasley was a force of nature.

“Well, you are my girlfriend after all”

She snorts and continues walking backwards, never taking her eyes off me. She has pretty eyes, I realize, almond shaped and a beautiful shade of brown.

The sun illuminates her skin, a jumble of red freckles covering the bridge of her nose and a bit of her cheeks.

“Not if you continue being that slow no, I can’t have my boyfriend embarrass me in front of the whole school”

I smirk with malice, happy to bring her down a peg or two. “Something you’d know about, Miss Eyes Green as Fresh Pickles Toads”

That makes her stumble, and I take the chance to close the gap between us and wrap a hand around her neck, warm with embarrassment under my fingers. Her lips are soft, and all that attitude vanishes in a second as she sighs against my lips, curling her hands around the lapels of my uniform. The low murmur of students chattering inside the castle reaches my ears, the cheerful tune of birds chirping and the rustling of leaves in the border of the Forbidden Forest.

I feel Ginny’s lips curve in a smile and I can’t help smiling back, even as we break apart and I rest my forehead against hers, breaths mingling together.

DRARRY WRITERS!!! GET UP PLS 😭😭WHY IS DRAMIONE FOUR PLACES ABOVE DRARRY?! and losing to JEGULUS?! get up drarry!! get up plsplspspls

I’m actually obsessed with this ship

Thinking about Sirius being a big spoon cuddling James, and James completely melting in his arms, sharing a moment so vulnerable it's like they're the only ones in the universe, like they're the only two that matter. Sirius is able to give James everything he needs - comfort, safety and endless unconditional love, because James isn't just his love, James is his salvation. He will move mountains, hold the sky and rewrite the stars if it means getting to hold James like this, in his arms, right where he belongs.

Wanted to share this Golden trio fluff:

Who was Harry Potter anyways? The Chosen One? The Boy-who-lived? The Saviour and Golden Boy of the Wizarding World?

Did the press actually got it right when they wrote pieces about him? Could they know what kind of person he was by amounting together the major events on his life?

Could he?

Did Hermione and Ron knew who his best friend was? During those nights filled with dread when the dead became living and the living bled to death, did they know?

When they took his hand and slept right there besides him, whispering sweet nothings until he fell asleep again—could they describe who he was with the same certainty one would talk about the lush and green hills in Scotland?

Mione watched him with that look of hers; one of unwavering faith. Her eyes softening as she lulled him to sleep.

The moonlight filtered through the tiny gap between the curtains back in his room in Grimmauld Place, illuminating the seven freckles scattered in her nose and cheeks. A hundred years could pass and he’d still be able to trace those freckles to memory, like one traces the starts and constellations in the nightsky. She’d stay there for hours, stroking his hair and drawing silly patterns in his skin. Like a mother would. Soft fingertips and soothing lullabies.

With the tenderness of a mother, the devotion of a lover and the undying loyalty of a friend.

In those moments he could be sure of one thing: Hermione Granger knew exactly who Harry Potter was: His best friend, the person looking back at her with grief and open adoration.

And Ron. Ron held him while Mione grounded him and brought him back to Earth. Soft breath tickling his neck. He was too tall for the bed, so most times his feet stayed dangling from the edge.

Ron was home, Ron was family.

Ron was the first person to ever say I love you, chubby cheeks bouncing as he smiled. Honest in his love like only kids are.

There wasn’t much of that Ron in the 6’2 ft tall man that layed besides him. Except maybe his eyes. They were blue, blueblueblue, round and big and completely sincere. Every emotion Ron felt reflecting back on them.

Violent but oh so soft. Harry had never seen the ocean, but he reckoned that’s how it looked like.

His presence was enough to make the world stop spinning, so he stayed with them: A hand in his arm or a leg tangled between Mione’s.

Always touching.

His silence saying more than a million words could.

I’m not going anywhere Harry. Not today, not tomorrow. Not ever again.

But so they knew? Did they even care?

You’re every Harry love, the ones you like and the ones you don’t

Harry Potter was the guy that passed the Auror official test in record time. The one that spent a year hiding the clues of his slow descent into insanity under red leather robes and tightly wrapped bandages.

Harry Potter was the man who stayed alone in New Year’s Eve changing napies and falling asleep besides his godson as he burnt in fever.

It was the five year old boy that one day came home from school with a carefully written card he’d dedicated to his aunt on Mother’s Day.

It was the boy who loved to fly. That felt more free in the air than any place on Earth. The one that enjoyed the breeze against his hair and the feeling of wood under his fingers.

It was the man that spent half a year in muggle parties with his best friend’s sister fucking his way through London. High with the thrill of anonymity and pissed out of his mind.

The man more scared of his own shadows than he was of any threat out there.

The one that stood in front of Voldemort when he was 17 and killed him like he was born to do so.

Harry Potter was the man scared of dark and cramped spaces. The man that fell apart in his best friends’ arms and sobbed for hours like he couldn’t do with anyone else.

It was the little boy who looked just like his father, that had his mother’s eyes.

It was the man who loved with every fiber of his being, that loved and loved like it was a race. That burned and consumed and desperately wanted to be loved back. It was the man that remembered Molly’s favorite way of taking her tea, that visited Goerge on the weekends at the shop—the one that discussed muggle phones with Arthur. It was the man Andy could always remember his daughter with.

Harry Potter was the boy that walked to his death on a cool May evening because he loved. Because he pictured a future where his friends could laugh and breath freely again, even if he wasn’t a part of it.

And so Hermione stroked his hair, and Ron hid his face in the crook of his neck, and so they’d remind him.

I love all of them Harry, each and one of them

You’ve carried enough burdens mate, leave some of them to us alright? We’ll carry them too

Harry Potter was Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley’s best friend. And sometimes, that was enough.

I’ve been..

A puppet A pauper

A pirate A poet

A pawn And a king

The life of Sirius Black

Hp ships ranking