certher
Stories
9
Chapters
109
Words
468.5 K
Comments
32
Reading
1 d, 15 h
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"You ate all of it," Harry said. "You ate four pieces." Daphne hadn't turned from the dance floor. "I had two." "There were six?" "I counted." The hall was thinning. Half the tables empty, ties undone, shoes kicked under chairs, and the Weird Sisters playing something slow that nobody was listening to anymore. Ron and Padma were still out there, Ron's jacket slung over one shoulder and his sleeves rolled up, moving in something that was almost a dance. Hermione sat at the next table with Lucien…-
227.3 K • Ongoing
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Author’s Note: All characters in this story have been aged up to 18 and above. This work contains mature content intended for adult readers only. The weight room smelled like metal, sweat, and testosterone. Harry stood at the edge of the bench, eyeing the bar like it might bite. Ron clapped his hands once. “Alright, Potter. Shirt off. Let’s see what we’re working with.” Harry hesitated. “Is that really…” Ron snorted. “Do I look like I’m joking? You’re about to lift in…-
33.3 K • Ongoing
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"Right then, Potter. Wand up. Eyes forward. And for Merlin's sake, try not to hex me again." Tonks was leaning against the wall of Training Room Six with her arms crossed and her hair a bright bubblegum pink, grinning at him like this was all a great laugh. Which, to be fair, it probably was from her side of the room. She wasn't the one who'd accidentally sent a Stunning Spell into the ceiling last week and brought down half a light fixture on Williamson's desk. "That was one time," Harry…-
62.3 K • Ongoing
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The café was called Brewer's, and it served the worst coffee in South London. Harry had tried every item on the menu in his first week, working through them with the grim determination of a man who had nowhere else to be, and had concluded that the filter coffee was merely bad while the espresso was actively hostile. The tea was fine, but that was because tea was difficult to ruin if you had a kettle and a box of PG Tips, and even Brewer's could manage that. He ordered a pot every morning, sat at the…
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62.3 K • Ongoing
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"Harry! I hope I am not interrupting." Fleur Delacour, or Fleur Weasley as she was technically called these days, was standing on the front step of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, holding a leather folio in one hand and looking like she'd just stepped off the cover of a magazine. Which was unfair, really, because it was half seven on a Thursday evening and Harry was wearing joggers with a hole in the knee and had pasta sauce on his shirt. "Not at all," he said, stepping aside to let her in. "Bill…
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62.3 K • Ongoing
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