It's 7 years after the fall of the Dark Lord. Hermione has been trying to get on with her life and forget the night Ron Weasley died. But the night a long-ago symbol appears outside her window, she gets more mystery and excitement than she wished for.
Ginny Weasley has found out she’s been exploited without her knowing. A Polyjuice brothel. Draco Malfoy. A grown and not-so-innocent Ginny Weasley. “I keep having to remind myself that they’re not real, any of them.”
Welcome to the jungle, it gets worse here everyday. You learn to live like an animal... And when you're high you never ever want to come down. The original Ron/Pansy version.
There was purpose back then; now it was solely survival. Everyday there were tears, nightmares that destroyed dreams, walls, more walls behind which they hid. Everyday the secret was a pain: would they be found here? Would they die today?
Hermione finds her flat not so empty after a gruelling university class. A drabblet based on the hp15min livejournal group, where the goal was to write a fic in 15 minutes. Fluff, really.
Five years after parting to pursue their choice careers, three best friends reunite. Two Aurors have a hole all over one of their most recent cases. A bookworm will help fill it with answers. On the surface, all seems smooth, but the War has changed them.
When Harry gives himself and his two best friends a ring each, the other two don't realise what he is asking of them. And then, slowly, it dawns on them as they wait in the dark: he is so much alone yet so little without them.
This ballroom dancing business hadn't been his idea, at first. All Ginny's fault, with her ability to take him places where he was sure to feel like a right idiot afterward. Well, not quite. HG, RHr
The Queer Sycamore is a hotel during daytime and a brothel at night. It is also a place where an Auror works under the stage name of Geraldine Blewett.
It's the Leaving Ball and Sirius Black and Cassandra Sanscrit find each other in the Gryffindor Tower, only to spark off their nine year-old feud and resulting in a hasty flee and resentment and ... something more.
What do you want? he snarls at her as he removes his shoulder pads. She knows how they smell. Granianhide, sweat, and mud. The sight brings back a particularly delightful memory of him plunging at remarkable speed toward ground, practising Wronski's feint
Coming back to his last dwelling place was one mistake in a series of pestilent ones. I didn't even deserve to come past the entry gate. It should have burned me to the ground. Written for the "Green Hair of Graves" challenge on livejournal RIP darkones
Quiet. Quiet as the two of them stole each other’s breath away. the best way I could explain the rating is with 'literary smut', meaning the real smut you'll find in some stories is much more elaborate than here