#Ancient runes professor

[sundropcass]

it’s 7:30am. i have not slept yet, but i have started a crimson rivers reread and committed to writing the fanfic i’ve been passively thinking about for months so. yay!

[kathrynalicemc]

HPMA | Study of Ancient Runes | Professor Clodagh Dromgoole

A gifset for Dafne’s favorite professor (and later will be Mikael’s fav too). Might give her a fc for my universe 👀

[lissiewrites]

Mina Monaghan & Aesop Sharp

[nezuscribe]

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: six years ago, when they placed that sorting hat on your head, nobody expected for it to assign the muggleborn to the slytherin house, but it did. six years later, you find yourself as alone as the day you walked through those doors. little did you expect the prince of slytherin, the pureblood maniac himself, gojo satoru, to be the one to coincidentally fill your empty hours.

warnings: gojo is a pureblooded slytherin, slight angst, slight messy makeout

word count: 12.6k

note: part two is out now! comments and reblogs are always appreciated! thank you to @jadeisthirsting for beta reading as always!

part two

slytherin!gojo masterlist + jjk masterlist

When you were little, all the strange and peculiar things that happened to you, such as Ms. Bromsely, the awful maths teacher's desk going up in flames, or Patricia Gallaghers rings disintegrating after she teased your dress, were chalked up to chance or just something else.

Your mother was too busy covering extra shifts down at the pub to worry about it, so she rarely made an occurrence to the meetings your headmaster had scheduled, resulting in very awkward meetings with just you as you were explained how peculiar it was that you always seemed to be in the middle of all these weird occurrences.

So when that brown spotted owl almost crashed into your bedroom window at the ripe age of eleven, explaining that you were chosen to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you suspected that one of your classmates was playing a cruel joke on you, but alas, it turned out to be very real. 

You were whisked away soon enough, stumbling your way in some sort of haze through Diagon Alley, and then in a blink of your eyes, you found yourself waving goodbye to your mother from that red train, on your way to a life you may have only imagined when you were younger, dreaming of a place far away from where you were.

And you loved it.

The feasts, the history-soken steps that you walked on every day to get to class, the little town that was within walking distance that you could go to every weekend. 

While most of the students here had been introduced to this early on in their lives, you hadn’t. Your mother was just as shocked and as bewildered as you were all those years ago, and given your special circumstances, sometimes you wondered if you were yet to see the thick of it, wondering if some things were hidden from you given your upbringing, given your blood.

But you blinked out of your stupor, being brought down from your daydream to the sound of quills scratching, the smell of faint smoke burning in the background, and the quiet sounds of different animals in their cages. All of these tall-tell signs of the transfiguration classroom. 

After years of spending time in this classroom, it slowly became one that you’d look forward to, and despite most Slytherins having an aptitude for potions or defense against the dark arts, transfiguration was where you shined the best.

The light that carded through the high arching windows illuminated the desks, and you were glad seeing how the back of the classrooms was usually the most poorly lit place. Unfortunately, they’re the only places you found yourself sitting throughout the years, which is just another reason why this specific classroom in itself brought you a slight sense of comfort. 

“...cross-species and inter-species transfiguration is one of the most difficult, if not the most difficult, sort of transfiguration to achieve. Even the most accomplished witches and wizards find themselves struggling with it,” you watched as Professor McGonagall walked around the front of the classroom, her graying hair pulled into a tight bun behind her head, her emerald robes swaying behind her like green waves, “The only way we were able to replicate this form of magic is through ancient runes.” 

Her eyes raked over all the students of the class, to make sure that everybody was understanding the weight of her words. As seventh years it was expected that you all would be ready to face the challenges of such a high-level class. But especially with Professor McGonagall, seeing just how difficult her classes usually were. 

“Of course, this was all covered during your fourth years, so I hope that some of you,” she gave a knowing look over her glasses, “Remember your lessons.” 

You momentarily caught her eyes.

You squirmed in your seat, knowing that her displeased look was directed to the Gryffindor’s sitting next to you. The boy to your left had his mouth open in a large yawn, promptly shutting it when McGonagall looked at him, and the girl to your right was busily finicking with a piece of parchment, trying to figure out how to enchant it so that it could turn into a swan to send to her boyfriend who was sitting across the class. 

You loved Hogwarts. Most of the time. 

The reason why you usually found yourself at the back of class, sitting with people you barely knew, and the reason why you were yet to experience most of the core memories other witches and wizards your age experienced was because you weren’t welcomed the way other would be by their assorted houses. 

Nearly six years ago, when Professor McGonagall placed that sorting hat on your head, you didn’t know what to expect. 

You had heard from some of the people that you sat near on the train that Gryffindor was best. Of course, the boy who said it came from a family of Gryffindors, but his friends seemed to agree with him. Ravenclaw was only for the smart people, which you hoped you might be sorted into and Huffelpuffs were known for their loyalty, which, judging by your mother's statement about how you dared to leave home, you didn’t have much of. 

But the Slytherin house seemed…forbidden. 

At least for you, anyways. 

“And what about that girl we saw?” One of the boys pointed outside the carriage window into the little hall outside, pointing to a much older girl wearing green robes, walking with some other friends who wore adorning colors, “What house is she in?” 

The other boy, who seemed to have the most knowledge out of anyone, scoffed, shaking his head. 

“Not for you, sorry,” he leaned in closer as if he were telling a secret. You tried to listen in, not making it obvious seeing how you weren’t any of their friends and how this was the only cart available with space, “That’s the Slytherin house.” 

“Why’s it not for me?” The other boy argued, his face pulled into a scowl.

“Well, Slytherins are many things. Ambitious, cunning,” the other boy said but shook his head disapprovingly, “But above all else, they’re all purebloods. Some are half-bloods, but even that’s rare. You’re coming from a muggle family. My father works at the ministry, and he says that some of the people in his department who were Slytherin still despise muggle-borns and muggles even long after they’ve left.”

So you had a basic understanding of what to expect. Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Gryffindor.

But when the hat cried out “Slytherin!” you almost jumped in your seat, looking behind you at the professor, your face of hesitancy surely mirroring hers. 

And you soon found out that the boy on the train (who was sorted into Gryffindor, big shock), was right. Word spread quickly that a muggle-born was sorted into Slytherin, the first in centuries, and that it surely must’ve been a mistake. 

But the sorting hat doesn’t go back on its word, and what was said was done. So six and a bit years later you found yourself as the pariah of your own house and were forced to fade into the background to avoid any further trouble. 

“...and this is the one project in which I’m having you work with partners, picked by me, of course. The research that is needed to go into this is too much to be done alone.” Professor McGonagall continued, and you perked up in your seat a little bit, your brows furrowing at her words. 

You felt a part of your heart race at the thought. Normally when professors assigned partners, it either left you with a fellow Slyhterin who hated your existence and forced you to do the project on your own, or somebody from another house who didn’t know you and forced you to do the project on your own. 

Your tongue felt heavy as she began reading off the paired names on her list, your hands becoming clammy. 

“Miss Finnegan and Mister Belton. Miss O’Shea and Miss Adan,” The girl next to you, who you quickly pieced together was Leila O’Shea groaned, her face depleted as she realized she wasn’t going to be paired with her boyfriend, and you watched as she sulkily went to the other girl's desk. 

You listened in anticipation as she went down the list, your heart beating loudly and comically in your chest the closer it seemed that she was getting to the end. 

“Mister Reeve and Mister Thompson,” she paused momentarily as she watched the two boys clap each other on the back, her lips threatening to quirk up into a smile, just waiting to read what foolishness they were going to write, “Miss Ward and Mister Green,” you felt like you might be getting off the hook, that maybe she took pity on you but it all came crashing down when she looked at you, a knowing look in her eyes far worse than pity as she read your name along with perhaps the singular person you would’ve paid all your money to not be paired with, 

“…will be with Mister Gojo,” you heard some of your housemates laugh out loud, some of them pushing at the boy and ruffling his hair as if he were the one that was going to face the brute of everything. He sat near the front, and you could see a flash of his white hair as he begrudgingly began to pack his things up, having no choice but to sit next to you seeing how the seats next to him were filled up. 

You watched as she rolled the piece of parchment back up as if she hadn’t just sentenced your public execution, and she raised a singular thin brow at the faces that were looking back at her, “Well? Get a move on. This essay is due in a month.”

You tried to take in a deep breath, your eyes trained on the blank piece of parchment in front of you as if you couldn’t hear his footsteps getting closer and closer to you, as if you didn’t just feel his robes brush up against your legs as he sunk into his seat.

This can’t possibly be happening.

Anybody would’ve been better than him. Even Marley Petterson and her constant poking and teasing about how your clothes were held together by scraps, and how you must’ve lived with mud people before you came to Hogwarts would’ve been better than him. Being forced to be a partner with the Prince of Slytherin was torture, and you wonder if after all these years Professor McGonagall was just now starting to show her distaste towards you. 

That day on the train was the first time you heard his name. 

“You see that boy? The one with the white hair?” The boy discreetly pointed out the window to one of the kids standing outside your cart. All the other boys hurriedly nodded, each craning their necks to get a better look at him, “He’s a Gojo. He comes from a line of Slytherins, each one worse than the one before. They’re purebloods, obviously. You wouldn’t find a speck of anything else in them. They’re rich too, filthy rich. They could buy this school if they wanted to.” All the other boys guffawed, but he seemed serious as if this stranger's family was nothing to be taken lightly. 

“When it comes to Slytherins, there are four families to be wary of. There’s the Gaunts and the Malfoys. There’s the noble house of Black, but lastly…them. House Gojo is one that every other wizarding family steers away from.”

After the day you were sorted you also quickly realized why most wizarding families stayed away from them. His word seemed to be law, and all the other Slytherins, especially those in his inner circle, held him to it. 

You peeked from the corner of your eye, watching as he unpacked all his supplies, his face contorted in obvious anger and disgust, and you thickly swallowed. You had done a good job in staying away from him these past couple of months, fortunate enough to only be called a mudblood and an offense to their ancient house a couple of times by him and his posse. 

His left-hand ring finger almost caught your eye in the sun, the gold ring with his house emblem shining brightly, a clear reminder of your difference with him, and you tried to hide your old school bag, riddled with holes and stains, something you just couldn’t replace. 

When he was done unpacked, he sat there for a couple of seconds, the silence between the two of you thick and heavy. You felt like you could choke on it, your fingers twitching to do something, to leave.

“...this is insulating…” he was talking to himself, shaking his head in disbelief as you sat awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

Gojo Satoru wasn’t one for many words. You had observed him from afar, long enough to see that aside from the occasional words he’d exchange with his closest friends or the few times he’d mutter traitor under his breath when the two of you locked eyes, he was a more brooding type of person. 

When he was angry, he hid it well. His cheeks might’ve flushed a bit, his nose flaring, but he never made an outburst. Which is why, at this moment, you could tell that he wasn’t in a particularly elated mood. 

“I…” you started, your mouth going dry at the way his eyes snapped to you, cold and cruel, “I can do the essay. I’ll get it done in time…if you want.” 

Most times your partners would just tell you to do the work, expecting (and knowing), you’d just say yes and go along with your day. But here, you couldn’t afford to let your guard down, rather having your pride be bitten at rather than your overall self. 

You heard him snort, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he rolled his eyes. 

“What? And have you do everything wrong?” His voice was hushed and clipped as if talking to you a second longer than needed would ruin him and everything he and his family stand for. 

He unrolled his piece of parchment, opening up his book as he kept his head down. 

“Well, I’m fairly decent with transfiguration,” you spoke up, trying for a smile that quickly fell when you felt his eyes burn into yours. For most of your time at Hogwarts, the only times you’ve ever really spoken to Gojo was when he was hurling insults at you, his words spurred on by his group of friends behind him. 

Gojo Satoru knew his worth. He knew that his family name would last through centuries and that the gold his family owned could buy out the entire ministry if they wanted to. Those around him treated him as such; as if his word was law. It also didn’t help that he was incredibly charming, growing into his looks over the years. 

You watched as he grew taller, his lanky figure now filled out with muscles that you could sometimes see through the baggy uniform. His eyes were always a topic of conversation, the infamous Gojo blue. His arctic white hair grew a little longer, sometimes falling in his face when he wasn’t aware. He was gorgeous, and you couldn’t even lie to yourself that he wasn’t.

Aside from his looks, he was also freakishly smart. If he hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin you were sure that Ravenclaw would’ve been fitting for him as well. He was always top of the class with O’s on every exam. 

Above all else, he knew his difference from everybody else. Even his closest (pureblooded) friends weren't even near his level. Even before he could walk, he’s been told of this. Not only that but he’s been told of the vileness of muggleborns. How their nature threatens the very fabric of wizarding society, and how muggles who have somehow been blessed with magical abilities are below humans, that they don’t deserve the rights every other witch and wizard has. 

Which means that you, the sole muggle-born in Slytherin, stood against everything Gojo Satoru believed. You were an abnormality, inhuman, somebody that he should resent for even existing.

“Well, we could always divide the work…?” You offered, your feet anxiously bouncing on the ground as you waited for his response. One of the blessings of sitting so far away from everyone else is that sure, they looked over to see how this was going, but at least they couldn’t listen in as you embarrassed yourself even further. 

His eyes darted over to your paper, blinking once, deep in thought. 

He sighed deeply through his nose, swallowing thickly as he gave you a singular, curt nod. 

“Hm,” he hummed, not even sparing you a glance as he began going to work, his pen scratching against the paper as his eyes began reading over the page, “But I’ll read what you write,” he said quickly, “I refuse to have my rank tank just because you mudbloods can’t do your work properly.” 

Mudblood  

After six years of it, you know you should’ve gotten used to it, but the stinging in your chest would argue otherwise. 

Your shoulders sank, eyes falling to the ground as your fingers fidgeted. You murmured something inaudible as you opened your book to the page McGonagall instructed you to. 

—

The days moved on and everything continued as it always did. 

The essay you had to write with Gojo was a slight hindrance in your usual schedule, but the two of you worked in silence in class and never interacted outside of it. Sometimes when his elbow would accidentally bump into yours as the two of you were busy writing he’d make a sort of noise in the back of his throat, his hand snatching back quickly as if you had somehow burnt him, but that was the most of your interactions. 

Sometimes when you were in the common rooms, late at night, you could hear him talking with his friends, talking about how heinous and ridiculous it was that McGonagall paired the two of you together, but you tried to ignore it.

That following week you found yourself back in the transfiguration classroom, working away quietly as you tried to understand the scriptures on the pages you had to read. You found yourself lucky that this subject was the one you might have some sort of talent in, seeing that this sort of ancient magic was just as difficult as McGonagall made it out to be. 

You heard some mumbling next to you, your eyes discreetly looking over at your partner, only to find his head in his hands as his brows furrowed in both annoyance and confusion. 

“...what does this…?” You heard him say to himself, watching as he flipped the page back and forth as if he was missing something. 

You looked back at your work, the talking around the room drowning out whatever it was that Gojo was saying to himself. 

Or at least you tried to drown out the noise, if not for the fact that your partner made some sort of sudden movement that managed to knock his ink bottle down, spilling ink all over the table. You moved your work to the side, watching as some of the ink soaked into your robes.

“Fuck,” he snapped, moving suddenly from his chair so that the ink would drip onto his clothes, “damn it,” he looked around almost helplessly, his hands clenching in anger after seeing all his hard work soaked up in black. 

“Wait,” you suddenly say, your arm outstretching over his body, watching as his head snaps over to you, “Stop moving for a second.”

He didn’t have much time to bite back at how dare you order him around because you had already begun to pull out your wand, flicking it on a quick movement as you murmured “tergeo,” watching as the ink slowly yet surely began clumping up in the middle of the table, going back with snake-like movements into its bottle. 

There was a beat of silence. 

Gojo sat still in his seat, his lips pursing as he finally let out a deep breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Thanks,” he said, but it seemed like he had to bite the word out, choking on it as if thanking you was taking too much of his mental willpower to do. 

You nodded briefly, still watching him as he settled back into his seat. 

“Uh,” you scratched at the back of your neck, knowing that you’d probably regret asking this in a matter of seconds, but somehow not able to stop yourself as you continue talking, “I don’t mean to be rude, or intrude, but is everything alright?”

You hold your breath as you watch Gojo sigh, his eyes shutting briefly. You braced yourself to be snapped at, to be victim to yet another reminder of how much you’ve tarnished the Slytherin name, but he just shakes his head. 

“No,” he seethes, but when he peeks over at you he licks his lips, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he grabs his papers, moving it over to the middle of you two as he motions to it, “Everything is not alright. Something’s wrong with the book…and I have no idea what. I’ve read this page at least twenty times and it makes no bloody sense to me,” 

You try to hide your surprise. 

That’s probably the most he’s ever spoken to you without any mention of your muggle heritage. 

You move in a little closer to look at what he’s pointing to. You try not to heat up under his stare, squinting your eyes as you try to make sense of what it was he was writing, trying to hide your reactions when you realize that he was doing most of it wrong. 

The point of this essay was to learn about the origins of cross-species transfiguration, and eventually an animagus transformation and how it even came to be. 

You had to reference at least five other books and scrolls to piece together the correct herbs and spells needed to even begin the process. McGonagall honestly probably told everybody to reference the textbook because there was nothing in it. This essay was a testament to how many people went out of their way to learn about the true nature of transfiguration. 

What Gojo had written was something you were sure almost everybody else was writing as well, a mistake you almost made. His research was simple and black and white, and he was getting everything wrong because he was missing at least ten different very important points. 

“So,” you swallowed nervously, chewing on your already chapped lips, “You have the main ideas down,” which was a lie, “But there are just some things-” Before you could even finish your sentence the bell tower chimed once, twice, and then a final time, telling everybody that their class was over. 

All around you people began hurriedly packing up, surely excited for lunch, the chatter of conversations growing in volume, and you didn’t have to look at Professor McGonagall to know that she was irked by her student's sudden enthusiasm to leave. 

Gojo sat motionless, still looking over at you, waiting impatiently for you to finish. 

“I…” you scratched at your hands, “I can’t go over everything right now, but tomorrow I’ll bring in the other-” He raised his hand, packing up his bag as he cut you off. 

“No, not tomorrow, I’m already behind,” you watched as he shoved his papers into his leather bag, “Just explain it now.” 

You wanted to laugh, not knowing how long it might take to explain your twisted thinking process to him and you doubted he wanted to stay in this classroom with you for a minute longer. 

“Well, there’s quite a bit of things,” you searched for the right word, “Missing. I have to study for the potions exam right now, but I’m going to be in the library tonight anyway. I could show you then…?” 

You stood at your chair, your eyes looking up into his, wavering. 

What did you just do? Surely he’d laugh now in your face, roll his eyes at how absurd it was that you could even suggest such a thing, just as he usually does.

Instead, he looks at you, then at his paper, and then at yours, which is at least three pages long at this point. He’d never admit it out loud, but you were understanding this assignment better than him and nobody in his group seemed to understand it as well as you were. 

“Fine,” he runs a hand through his hair, the white sticking out between his fingers like snow perched on grass.

Your brows furrow, your lips pursing together in sudden confusion. 

“What, okay,” you fiddle with your fingers, tugging on them in that anxious way you always do, watching him tighten the straps on his bag, “But wait, what time…” You try to call out but he has already left, his robes swaying behind him as you stand alone at your seat.

You slowly begin to pack up, your thoughts running at what you have just done.

—

The potions exam went well enough, but you couldn’t stress out about it too much right now. 

After dinner (which you ate earlier than most, too anxious to be late), you made your way to the library, found a table near the back, somewhere that didn’t get a lot of foot traffic, and set up your workstation for the time being. 

Amongst many of the amenities Hogwarts had, the library was one of them you loved dearly. 

It wasn’t usually too busy, but it filled up quickly the night before some exams. But you didn’t mind it, you liked being surrounded by people. In the Slytherin common rooms, you usually had to wait until everybody had filtered out or had gone to bed before you could make your way down, not wanting to face their icy looks or the way they’d talk behind their hands when you were near, so you opted to be in the library above anything else. 

The muted sounds of pages turning, of people talking in hushed whispers, and the books that would sometimes rearrange themselves were calming. You liked the candles that were lit carefully around the large room, illuminating it deep into the night. 

You made sure that the work you had already written was set out, your quill resting straightly adjacent to it, your ink pot above it. Your pile of books sat neatly to the left. You wanted to seem as organized and as composed as you could, this might be your one chance to show the prince of Slytherin that you weren’t the slob he must imagine you as. 

The clock on the wall ticks, and you note that it’s nearly ten minutes till five. You chew on your lips, cracking your fingers as you keep your eyes trained on the door, waiting for the familiar mop of white hair to appear. 

After the first ten minutes, you begin fidgeting again, moving your papers centimeters above where they were as if they could appear any straighter. You weren’t wearing the usual house robes, and you hoped that your decision didn’t cause him to walk in, scan the area, and leave because he didn’t see what he expected to see. 

But you pushed those worries aside, just doing your best to watch the people who filed in and out of the large double doors. 

After the clock struck six, you began to stop looking at the doors, instead choosing to just get some work done while you were here, and opened up one of the books. Of course, he probably just lied just because he wanted to. There might be some of his friends standing outside, snickering as they watched you wait stupidly. 

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, feeling like an idiot.

For the next half hour, you busied yourself with reading about the start of the animagus process, about the mandrake leaf, and the strenuous process of keeping it on your tongue for an entire month. 

Around you, you could hear the scrapping of chairs on the floor, and how most of the people were beginning to leave seeing that it was getting pretty late. The library closes promptly at eight, and although it was an hour till that happened, most people left till then. 

Your eyes flitted to the door, not seeing anybody, and deflated. 

Stupid, you repeated in your head. 

So you began shutting the books strewn out in front of you, packing them all up in your bag as you rubbed at your tired eyes. Madam Pince also made a deal if you left any ink splotches on the table, so you cast a quick tergeo charm to clean up any spots you might’ve missed. 

“You’re leaving?” 

You looked up from the table, eyes squinting to see his tall figure standing in front of you, his face flushed red, sweat dotting on his brow bone as a bit of his hair stuck to his face. Gojo was panting, his chest heaving up and down as if he had just run across the entire castle, and his brows were creasing in the middle, looking down at you as you seized your packing. 

You note his green quidditch robes and muddy boots. 

“I, um,” you looked at the nearly empty table in front of you, and you shook your head, giving him a small smile, “No, no, I just got here.” 

He looked at your bag, as if not believing you, but not caring too much as he hummed in the back of throat, rounding the table, and plopped himself down in the seat in front of you. 

Wordlessly, Gojo began taking out his supplies, and you figured you might as well, setting everything back up to where you initially had it.  You watched as he slyly looked around the two of you, his shoulder becoming less tense when he realized it truly was just the two of you left in the library. 

“Practice took up too much time,” he mindlessly explains, a clear explanation for why he looked so different from the put-together self he usually is. He pushed some of his hair out of his face, his breathing still a little erratic. 

You nod, swallowing thickly as you pretend to understand the ins and outs of quidditch. 

You were aware that amongst one of the many things Gojo could do, on his long lists of talents (which if there was a list would consist of his ability to speak five languages or his incredible ability to calm any creature down), was that he was an amazing seeker. 

While you weren’t very familiar with how quidditch worked, despite trying to best to follow along with others' conversations as you listened in, you could understand that his forte on a broomstick wasn’t talked about just because he was Gojo Satoru. 

He was fast on his broomstick, and thought it could be chalked up to the fact that every year he came to practice with the newest model, he could whize past anybody. He was nimble as well. With how large his hands were, larger than the other house seekers, he was able to secure a win for almost every single match ever since he got recruited. Last year he was named captain of the Slytherin quidditch team, so you were able to piece together that he got held up with the recent tryouts.

“That’s um,” you scratch at your arm awkwardly, “That’s alright…okay so I’ll try to be as quick as I can, but there’s a lot that McGonagall wants us to do,” you start slowly, letting his get situated as you push forward the first book that helped you out, “Oh, that textbook doesn’t help…right now,” you quickly said as you saw him pull out the assigned reading, saw how he looked at you for a second, his face scrunching up in an unreadable emotion. 

“This one is good, though,” you motion to the one in front of you. 

Gojo’s movements are slow as he takes it, eyes scanning over the title until he looks back at you. 

He doesn’t do much talking, you decide. 

“This book covers cross-species transfiguration, but it briefly mentions inter-species transfiguration. But the author referenced this one,” you pull out the other hefty textbook, sliding it over to him, “And this covers all things related to inter-species transfiguration and then goes into animagus transfigurations.” 

You pause, biting your cheek to stop you from rambling on. Transfiguration was something that you could talk about forever and ever, and you’d never really talked about out loud to anybody else up until now. 

“McGonagall said that the essay was on inter-species, she never mentioned animagus transfiguration,” Gojo said suddenly, pushing the two textbooks back, letting out a heavy sigh as if this was all a waste of his time.

You nod slowly, picking at some of the skin around your nails.

“R-right, and you’re right,” you quickly sputter, nodding, “But because cross-species and inter-species transfiguration are so close together, I doubt that this was what she wanted our month-long essay to be about. Which is why,” you pull out some old essays you had done earlier in the year, “I referenced back to these animagus essay’s we had done. I mean, she wouldn’t introduce us to the topic and then drop it for no particular reason, right? I suspect she wanted us to piece the two and two together.”

Gojo gently took the papers from your outstretched hand, his eyes raking over your words, and then back to the textbooks. He seemed to read it intently as if things were slowly starting to click for him. 

“Which is why the textbook she gave us isn’t really helpful, because it resembles more of an herbology textbook rather than transfiguration. So I think that this textbook, if anything, should be referenced at the end of the essay, seeing how it mentions the mandrake leaf and the properties of the chrysalis of a Death’s-head Hawk Moth. It’s all instructions on how to become an animagus without saying it.”

His eyes, a different shade of blue in the candlelight, watched your every moment. He listened carefully as you eventually did end up rambling, watching the way your face, on its own accord, twisted into a proud smile at your clever handiwork. 

You abruptly stop to catch a breath and glance up at him apologetically. 

“I’m sorry, I went too fast,” you shake your head, rubbing your temple in your hands, tired from staring at textbooks for as long as you’ve had. 

“No…it made sense,” Gojo murmurs suddenly, his lips pulled into a thin line as he quickly looks away from you, back down to his work which was now surely long after your in-depth analysis, twisting and turning that gold ring on his finger, the one he always wore, the symbol of his family crest as he looked through the books you had offered him. 

You stay silent, not knowing what to do, resting back in your seat, picking your nails. 

“Well, that’s all of it,” you rub your hands against your pants, your dry eyes blinking a couple of times, yearning for sleep.

“You could’ve said this during class,” he said, still reading, his attention preoccupied, as if this was a hindrance to him. 

You wet your lips, trying not to clench your hand in anger, frustration, and years of pent-up emotions, as you slowly nod, pulling the leather strap of your bag over your shoulders as you begin to stand up. 

“Right, sorry,” you apologize quietly, taken aback when he suddenly looks up at you, as if startled but you didn’t feel like spending any more in the presence of someone who despised you anyways, “goodnight,” you bid farewell, not noticing how he had opened his mouth to say something, scurrying out of the library as you make your way back to the common rooms before he could.

—

The next day at transfigurations, the two of you didn’t speak to one another at the beginning of class, like normal. 

You took out your books like normal, as did he, and began writing silently, like normal. Everything was going normally until he suddenly paused, his hand wavering above his essay as he set his quill down, turning his head over to you.

“Can I see what you’ve written?” 

You stop writing, eyes darting to the side as if you had misheard him.

Gojo points to the papers you’ve been working on as if you didn’t understand his first command. 

Wordlessly, you pass it over to him. 

He reads it over a couple of times, flipping through your endless pages, muttering some words to himself now and then. You would wager that compared to other people you had made far more progress in terms of how much you’d compiled, so you weren’t necessarily worried about the time restraint on this essay. 

You couldn’t say the same for him, however. 

You’ve never seen him look so intense, his brows furrowed and his lips pursed in clear concentration. He almost seemed frustrated, and it was a strange thing to see from somebody so usually put together. 

“Our work together is too divided, it looks like we haven’t been working with each other,” Gojo says as if that wasn’t purely what was the issue. 

You didn’t say anything, wanting to see what idea he’d propose.

“I need to finish the rest of these texts,” he jutted his chin to the textbooks you had given him last night, “We can work on the essay after classes are over, in the common room.” 

A part of you wanted to laugh at him as if he had just joked. 

But Gojo Satoru was not a joking sort of person. You rarely saw him smiling, even when with his friends, and it was even rarer for him to say something of any comedic value. Which could only mean that he was being serious and that he truly was proposing to work in the common rooms with…you.

A little snort escapes your lips, looking at him as if he were crazy. He looked at you as if you were the crazy one.

“I don’t go to the common rooms after class, it’s too busy,” you explained slowly to him, wondering if he was daft and even after all this time didn’t take the time to understand your situation. 

He blinked, eyes narrowing. 

“...and?” 

Your head tilted to the side, confused. 

“Well…there’s people there,” you explain even further. 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes as if you were stupid. 

“Ironically, that is the point of a common room.” Gojo looks back to his essay, picking up his quill as if he were done with this conversation, but you pushed.

“Right,” you say more curtly, nose flaring, “For you, it might be. But people don’t want me there.” You say, a truth that you had to stomach, something that you grew used to after too many unsavory encounters with other Slytherins when you tried to come down to the common rooms during social hours. 

“So during the hours of two to eight, you don’t go to the common room?” He didn’t even look up, his voice sarcastic, not believing such an insane thing.

“No.” You reply as if it was obvious as if he should at least know that this is why you rarely ever make an occurrence unless it’s early in the morning or late at night. 

That finally gets him to stop and look at you, confusion woven into his expression. 

“What?” He set his pen down again, and you noted that his eyes seemed a different shade of blue when he was confused, a little bit lighter than usual, he seemed like he was the only one not in on some sort of joke, “So from two to eight you just stay in your room?” 

You shake your head, playing with your fingers. 

“I’m not always in my room,” ignominy clear in your tone, “Most days I either go outside and do my homework or go to the library.” 

You hate the attention this brings to you from him. You’ve never had such a long conversation with somebody in your own house, let alone Gojo. You hated the way he looked at you as if you were either lying your arse off or even worse…pity?

But you almost shook your head at that thought. The great Gojo Satoru pitying you? 

“What if it’s raining?” He asked, pushing you to see if you were telling him the truth. 

“Then I go to the library,” you said as if it was obvious, mainly because to you it was. This was the usual schedule that you’ve become used to over the years, something you’ve just forced yourself to become used to despite wanting everything in your soul to go to the common rooms like everybody else, to laugh at their stories, to talk about your lives, like you were supposed to. 

“What if the libraries closed?” 

You squirm under his heavy gaze, wondering how the topic of transfiguration got turned around to him interrogating you. 

“Um, well, right now, because of the weather, I’d probably just go up to the astronomy tower if the library was closed. They don’t have lessons during the day. Or I’d probably just find a broom closet and do my work in there.” 

His head tilts just a bit, his lips quirking up into a disbelieving smile as if he just caught you in your lie. 

“In the dark?” Gojo presses, and you can hear the people around you already beginning to pack up their supplies, the class nearing its end. Had you spent this much time talking that you wasted nearly half an hour?

“I’d cast a lumos spell,” you argue, packing up your things as you break eye contact with him. You take your paper back, making sure the ink has dried before putting it in your bag. 

“I’ll be in the library,” you say finally, making sure that was the end of it, “See you there.”

—

In some strange way, meeting up with Gojo in the library became part of your routine. 

Every night at seven, after his quidditch practice would end, he’d run all across the entirety of campus to work on your transfigurations essay together. 

The two of you still didn’t talk much, but it was different nonetheless. 

“I’m tired,” Gojo suddenly announced, the candlelight flickering on and off from his face. 

You could visibly see the dark circles that were under his eyes, how he slouched (which was uncommon for him, seeing how he usually sat as straight as a ruler wherever he was), and how he couldn’t go four minutes without letting out an exhausted sigh. 

“You should take a break,” you muttered, not paying attention, head still stuck in your book as you continued to read the rest of the paragraph you were reading. 

Gojo snorted, rolling his eyes at the prospect. 

“I can’t take a break,” he dragged his hands across his face, “I need to finish this essay, the quidditch games in two days, and Snapes up my arse about that potion exam.” 

Your eyes flickered up to his, startled at how much he had spoken, but then tried to mask your surprise by looking back down to your book.

“Potions wasn’t too bad,” you offer, “And I can finish the last bits you have,” you look back up, putting your hand out, a silent ask for him to give you whatever it was that he had written so far. 

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, silently passing over his stack of parchment, and you scanned through it quietly, shrugging as you nodded once more. 

To be honest, the two of you were far ahead of the other students in your class. He had eventually concluded on his own that you’d be wasting more time not working together, so you guessed that he just had to suck up a bit and bite back on his pride and work with a muggle-born.

His rush to finish the essay was spurred on by the plethora of other things he needed to do, a drawback of being the prime and perfect Slytherin prince everybody made him out to be. 

“You don’t have much left,” you deduce, “I can just write about the Scalivier trials,” the trial in which a man refused to register with the ministry that he was an animagus, “I’ll have it done by Saturday, I’m nearly done with my bit.”

You slide his essay back to him, but stop when you see the perplexed look on his face. 

“Saturday’s the quidditch game?”. 

Your eyes dart to the side, squinting a bit as you try for a laugh. 

“…and?” 

He scratches at his temple, tilting his head to the side. After these past couple of days working with you, he’d be wrong to say that he became more and more increasingly perplexed with you. Six years he spent watching from afar, muttering words to his friends about the absurdity of your existence, but now that he was able to see you from up close, a part of him has to agree that you’re an enigma he’s never been able to crack. 

You don’t say much during class, you don’t talk to many people, and if he was being honest, in that sense, you mirrored him. You were reserved, but the times he picked and prodded at you, you seemed to open up. You don’t have any friends from what he could tell, often eating at the end of the table during the meals. He watched sometimes to see you during the common rooms during the times in which you said you never came, a part of him thinking he’d be able to catch you. 

Gojo Satoru would never admit it, but in a way, he had become interested in you.

“Well,” Gojo didn’t like to be the one confused, hating being perceived as if he didn’t know everything, which is something he prided himself on most of the time, “After the game, there’s the usual…party,” he bit out, hating the word, because it was so unruly from the usual balls and galas he was forced attend, too many people sweaty and jumping, “In the common room.” 

You blink owlishly at him, fidgeting with your quill, twisting and turning it around in your hand. 

“Right…so I’ll be here.” 

Now it was his turn to blink slowly. 

Was this really that hard to understand?

“Coming to the library after a quidditch game seems a bit anticlimactic, don’t you think?” He leaned back in his chair, playing with the green and silver tie around his neck. You wondered how he could bear to wear it even after classes were over, that even his most posh friend ditched their formal wear the moment they got back to their dormitories. 

“Thankfully I don’t go to quidditch games, so for me, it’s just climatic,” you said, smiling at your little joke, covering your mouth as you yawned, tired and longing for your bed. 

He sat up in his chair suddenly, looking even more shocked than before. This was the most emotion you’ve ever seen him emmett before and you didn’t know what to do with it. 

“What? Why not?” He seemed so startled that you almost wanted to laugh. It was strange seeing somebody you had regarded as stoic look like he did now. 

You shrug, rubbing your fingers across your eyes as you let out another yawn, resting your chin on your palm. 

“I went once, during my first year, but everybody seemed rather annoyed that I was there, and they crowded in front of me so I couldn’t see anything,” you recall back on the memory, one that you could remember vividly, “and I don’t know,” you’re suddenly very thirsty, your cheeks heating up the more he stared at you, laughing uncomfortably, “I don’t really understand…quidditch, so it works out in the end. And I also get to have some time to myself in the common room to do my homework, you know, unlike usual.” 

Gojo didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, and you tried to pretend that you had read something interesting to not embarrass yourself any further with your mindless babbling. Sure, he might be willing to work with you now, but that didn’t mean that Gojo Satoru was up for a friendly conversation with you.

You looked at him briefly, feeling your stomach churn a bit to see that he hadn’t stopped looking at you.

“Everything alright?” You asked. 

He nodded, biting on the inside of his cheek as he picked up his quill, a wordless agreement that the conversation was over.

—

Transfiguration the next day went by oddly silent. 

Gojo didn’t talk to himself now and then, he didn’t sigh his exasperated sigh, and he didn’t peek up every once in a while to check how much you’d written since the last time he had looked over. 

You didn’t pay it much attention, keeping your head down, your eyes to yourself. Silence was better than being reminded of your muggle heritage, which even then, Gojo had yet to remind you these past weeks.

Briefly, you looked up from what you were doing to see if Professor McGonagall was walking around or sitting at her desk, but in doing so you felt Gojo shuffle a little in his seat as if he had felt your sudden movement. 

“Tonight…” he started and you quickly nodded, waving off any of his worries. Of course, you chided yourself, he’s anxious about the quidditch match, nothing else.

“Yes, yes, I know, you have quidditch tomorrow. I’ll finish up what I have left and then start reading about the Scalivier trials tonight,” you finished for him, tracing some of the wood grains of the table with your finger. 

He shakes his head. 

“Not that - and I’ll finish up the trials by Sunday,” he’s avoiding eye contact, and if you didn’t know any better it seemed like he was trying to find his words, as if they had slipped from his tongue and were dangling in the air for him to grab, “Tonight…tonight, don’t go to the library.” 

You purse your lips, trying to smile to see if that was his goal, maybe he was trying to be funny.

“Would you like to meet in one of the broom closets then?”

You felt even more lost after it seemed like he was debating taking up your offer, but his eyes shone a bright shade of aquamarine, and his cheeks twinged a slight shade of pink. 

Strange. 

“No,” he chewed on his lip, as if he were anxious, a preposterous thing to even think, “No, come down to the common rooms around eight.” 

The cursed clock tower chimed, three loud rings, and it cut the two of you off once again. 

“Look, I told you-” you go to say but he cuts you off.

“I know, just come down.” He was being so cryptic, and he looked so on edge that it was starting to freak you out. He was already beginning to pack up, his eyes snapping to his group of friends that were nearing the two of you, and he quickly looked back down at you, his head dipping down urgently. 

“Eight. Be there.” 

—-

You couldn’t say you weren’t at least a little apprehensive. 

You were so nervous that you just stayed up in your room, not even coming downstairs for dinner as you waited for the clock on the wall to read eight. 

Why were you so nervous? You first asked yourself, but then asked the more logical question, what did Gojo want with you?

The minutes on the clock seemed to take hours to pass, and the hours seemed to take days. It was such a slow process, and you knew it would be going faster if you were doing something more productive with your time until it was necessary, but you couldn’t. 

The other girls in your dorms could come in and out, sometimes exchanging glances with their friends when they saw that you hadn’t moved from your spot, but they didn’t ask any questions, opting to just leave you be. 

You were picked at your fingers, cracking your knuckles, and finally, finally, the small hand pointed to the eight on that ancient clock. 

Funnily enough, even though you had been mentally waiting for this to happen, you waited for a couple of seconds, trying to calm yourself down, nodding to yourself that this wasn’t anything big and that you were just overreacting. 

Slowly, you rose from your spot on your bed, a little dent in the mattress from just how long you’d been sitting there. You turn the handle of the door, taking in yet another deep as you take a tentative step outside the safe sanctity of your room. 

The common rooms are usually more busy on Friday nights, and that might’ve been a blessing in disguise as you’re able to slip past most people, keeping your eyes peeled for a flash of white hair. 

You scan the couch area, the sitting area, and the large window that looks into the black lake, but you don’t see him. It’s only until you look near the entrance to the common room, the large oak double doors, do you see him. 

It seems like he’s scanning the area as well, blue eyes looking everywhere until they fall onto yours, and you’re able to sneak past some people watching as he cocks his head in the motion of the doors, and before you could do anything else, he leaves, and you take it as your sig to follow him.

You’re glad that nobody’s looking your way as you push the two doors open, looking to your right to see him waiting for you. 

You go to open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it. 

“Follow me, and be quick,” he’s already walking and you have to nearly jog to get to him, walking at a much faster pace seeing how his legs were abnormally long, “Put these on over your clothes.” 

Gojo throws you a pile of ratty-looking uniforms, but the more you open up the folded mess you come to realize that they’re old quidditch uniforms. In fact, when you’re finally able to get a good look at him you realize he’s wearing adoring green robes. 

You don’t say anything, multitasking as you walk and shrug over the (huge, it was practically dragging on the floor) robes, buttoning them up as quickly as you could without tripping over your feet, the quidditch uniform, or over the stones. 

He looks at you briefly, and he’s glad that you’re too busy trying to figure out how the robes are supposed to fit over you to notice the way his lips quirked up slightly at the look of you at the moment. 

“Put this on too,” he says once you're finally done, handing you another huge helmet, and you take it silently, pulling it over your head. 

The helmet is way too big for you, as it nearly hangs over your eyes, and you can barely see anything with it on, and you pause, a smile making its way onto your face as you push it up only for it to fall again.

You stop walking for a second, and when Gojo looks back he sees the helmet masking most of your face up until your nose, the only thing he can see is your large grin, the sleeves of the uniform enveloping your hands, reaching to your knees, and for the first time, he hears the softest sound, 

You’re giggling as you try to figure out how to tighten the straps on the helmet, not able to see where Gojo is because you have your head tilted down, struggling with the buckle until his boots come into your field of vision. 

All of a sudden you feel a hand tip your helmet upwards, and your smile falters when you now see his face, the way his eyes are swirling with different hues of blues, something you notice that happened when he was battling multiple emotions at once. You can tell that there’s a small, barely noticeable smile on his face, surely from how insane you look right now. 

You’ve never seen him look so at ease. His shoulders seem more relaxed, his jaw not clenched. It helped that he looked like he was smiling for once. 

But there’s no time to think as you feel the brush of him on your skin, his slender and swift fingers working fast and expertly at tightening the strap under your chin. He looks focused, his white brows scrunched up the way he always does when he’s trying to figure out a transfiguration rune. You feel your breath lodge in your throat. When he’s satisfied with how it was resting on your face his hands drop to his side, and his eyes slightly widen, as if he just realized what he had just done. 

He cleared his throat, looking around the hall to make sure that nobody was around, and he turned his back as he began his brisk pace out to wherever it was that he was taking you.

You walked, corrected, ran with him for a little more until he brought you to one of the openings of the castle, the one that led directly to the quidditch fields. 

“Where,” you were a little out of breath, noticing how the sun was nearly about to set, and also knowing that you sure as hell didn’t have a pass to be out this late, “Where’re we going?” 

“To the field,” he said, which was the answer you were most dreading. 

“Right, I can see that,” you feel hot under all these layers, despite the fact that it was late October and the weather was biting at best, “Why are we going out to the fields.” The breeze that was hitting your cheeks was stinging, so you were at least glad in that aspect that the quidditch robe offered you some sort of warmth. 

“Ravenclaws practicing right now,” Gojo said, turning around to look at you for a fleeting second, “I need to see what Nanami’s strategy is, and you need to learn quidditch.” 

You almost trip. 

And you need to learn quidditch.

His words were ringing in your head, possibly even louder than the blood rushing to your ears. He had to be lying, or have some sort of cruel prank planned out. He must be waiting for his friends to run out from behind one of the stands so that they could tie you to a tree. Not that he’s ever done that, but also not the first time it’d be happening at the hands of other Slytherins. 

Because sure, while you might’ve offended him in saying you didn’t understand how quidditch worked, that wouldn’t mean that he, Gojo Satoru, the Prince of Slytherin, hater of all muggle-borns alike, would be taking time out of his life to fix this wrong.

You should’ve just run the other way, ditched the scratchy uniform somewhere, and ran back to your dormitory, somewhere where you’d at least be safe from experiencing any sort of humiliation. 

But the closer that the two of you neared the stands, the more you felt confused. Because nowhere could you see any other Slytherins, and he was right, the Ravenclaw team was practicing right now, if the flashes of blue and white from above you meant anything. 

Which could only mean that…? 

Gojo finally stops at the stairs that lead you up the stands, his hand on the wooden railing. 

“We’re going…up?” 

He snorts, nodding as he ushers you to move. 

“Obviously,” his voice now seems more amplified with his small and cramped winding staircase, “I’m not going to be observing them from the ground.” 

You’re the one that’s ahead, so you try to go even faster so that he won’t be held up behind you, but everything is moving too fast. Did he give you these robes so that you’d seem like another player? So that you wouldn’t be marked up if you were seen out of your dormitory so late at night?

When you finally got to the opening, you were able to hear the yells that the Ravenclaw players were enhancing with one another. You hold the tarp that acted as the door above your head, heading over to one of the seats in the far back, feeling Gojo right on your tail. 

It had been years since you were here since you looked out into the fields. The stands were high, and the winds were stronger up here. Gojo sat where you were, to your right, and you waited silently to see what he was going to do. 

Nanami was the Ravenclaw seeker as well as the captain. You could see the flash of blonde hair as he flew by, the other team members either watching him or practicing with their respective posts. 

Gojo rested his elbow on his thighs, leaning in as he observed intently. 

Eventually, after a minute or two, he sat back up, leaning in closer to you. You could feel his hair ticking your temple, his nose inches away from your cheek as he began to talk. 

“In quidditch, you have seven players on each side. One seeker, one keeper, three chasers, and two beaters.” 

You nod, following along. 

“You see number seven?” He points to the guy flying around near the three tall hoops, and you nod again, “He’s a keeper. He makes sure that the other team doesn’t get any balls into the hoops.” Gojo is leaning even closer to you now, and you can feel half of his body pressing up against yours. You feel like you're heating up, and not because of the excessive quidditch uniform you’re wearing. 

“The beaters, number four and two,” he then points to the boy and the girl flying around, holding wooden bats, “try to protect their team from the bludgers; which is this black ball that sort of follows around team members, trying to knock them off their brooms. Those bats ward off the bludgers.” 

You make a mental note of everything he’s saying, trying not to be distracted by the fact that you’re being given a quidditch lesson from Gojo Satoru. 

“The chasers, which are the rest of them, aside from Nanami, throw around the quaffle to each other. Every time they get it through the other team's hoop, they score ten points…do you follow?” Gojo pauses, looking at you and you push your helmet up so that you can see him, giving him a confident nod. 

“All that’s left is the seeker-” 

“Which is you, right?” You cut him off, rubbing at your nose which was now freezing at this point. 

Gojo pauses, eyes flickering to you as he raises a brow. 

“I may not know quidditch but I’m not daft,” you tell him.

For a second there, you swear you could see the start of a smile play on his lips.

“Yeah,” he says, almost softly, “I’m the seeker.” You’re too busy looking ahead to notice that he’s busy looking at you, so you continue to talk. 

“...plus, Kento was telling me about it a while ago. He said you were really good.”

This time, his brow raised even further. 

“You know him?” 

You shrug, your eyes following the quick and hurried movements of all the players, too focused on their practice to notice the change in Gojo’s voice, or overall, the change in his entire demeanor. You must’ve missed how he slightly tensed up, or the way his eyes narrowed. 

“We had potions with Ravenclaw last year, remember?” You turn slightly to look over at Gojo before you go back to watching, “He helped me with some of my brews, but we talked about other stuff!” You had to raise your voice, the wind was getting stronger, “And Quidditch came up!”

Gojo’s nose flared momentarily before he swallowed thickly, his jaw ticking as he tried to focus back on the practice as well. 

“A-anyways,” he cleared his throat, not remembering that last time he choked on his words, “The seeker catches the snitch. I can’t see where it is now, but once the snitch is caught, the game is over.” He tried to push some of the hair out of his face, getting annoyed at how it kept getting stuck in his eyes. 

“I need to get something, I’ll be back,” Gojo murmured in your ear, pushing himself off of the seat as he walked in front of you disappearing down the stairs within seconds. 

You glanced at where he left but found yourself looking back to the players, your face breaking into another excited smile when you began to piece together what Gojo had just told you, finally able to understand quidditch after all these years.

The sun had set and the stars were peeking out through the sky, and you watched the players as they furiously rode around, each one tense and stressed for the match that would be happening tomorrow. 

You tried to hide yourself in the background as much as you could, now feeling a little more out in the open with Gojo gone.

The minutes ticked by and yet Gojo didn’t come back. Now and then you found yourself looking at the stairs, eyes darting back and forth from those on their broomsticks to where you had first entered from. 

Slowly yet surely, you found yourself in that position the first night you saw him at that library. 

When the Ravenclaw players slowly began dissenting from the air, running off the fields as they went in from shelter from the old, you felt a part of your stomach twist. 

This was all part of his plan, you concluded, shivering to yourself as you tried not to feel let down, or even worse, like an idiot for thinking anything had changed, that you had maybe actually begun to have a friend after seven years.

You feel your eyes water, either from the wind or from everything, and you make your way for the stairs, your lips trembling as you suddenly start to feel claustrophobic under all the clothes you're wearing, your fingers slipping and sliding as you try to take that wretched helmet off of your head.

You feel like if you go any faster you’re going to trip and tumble down the stairs, and it doesn't help that you’re already too distracted with trying to take the helmet off. You sniffle, your eyes blurry as you feel your heart beat rapidly in your chest. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

You couldn’t even tell if you were thinking that in your head or saying it out loud as you neared the end of the never-ending stairs, unbuttoning the buttons of the scratchy uniform as you bundled everything up in your hands, wiping at your wet cheeks with your palm.

Amongst all the things people have done to you over the years, this wasn’t the worst. You’ve had your room ransacked, your trunk thrown into the river, your shoes stolen on multiple occasions. You’ve been called a mudblood more times than you’ve been called your own name, and none of these things were actually done by Gojo. 

Perhaps you thought that deep down, maybe he could change. That maybe after all that time spent in the library, talking to you, controlling some of his laughs at your awful jokes, he saw that maybe muggle-borns weren’t as bad as he thought they were. 

And yet tonight you suffered your first prank, if that’s what this could even be called, at his hands. It didn’t hurt because of its nature, but because a naive part of you actually thought that he could’ve been your friend. 

But none of that mattered now, not that you-

“Where are you going?” 

You stop in your tracks, your head whipping around to the voice. 

It was now fully dark outside, the moon and the spare candles that were lit around the castle and the stands were the only sources of light. You could see his figure standing a couple feet away from you, his white hair like a beacon in the night. 

He takes a couple tentative steps closer to you, close enough so that you can see the furrow of his brows and the small pout on his lips. Damn it, you wanted to curse, you could hate him more if he didn’t look so pretty. 

“Back to the castle,” you snap, wiping at the corners of your eyes, throwing down the old uniform and the oversized helmet on the ground near his feet. You sniffle, looking to the side so that you won’t have to see his face.

“What?” He steps closer to you and you take a step back, your head still turned, eyes trained on the dewy grass, “Why?” You try not to think too much about the two sets of brooms in his hands, or how for some strange reason, he actually sounded dejected that you were leaving.

Letting out a shaky breath you laugh curtly, crossing your arms over your chest as you look up to the sky, counting the stars, wondering if that could calm you down. 

You hear the grass crunch under his feet, the warmth of his body as he comes in close to you. 

Why does he care? 

“I brought you a broom,” he holds it to you so you can see the outline of it, “Here,” he bends down to pick up the helmet you had thrown to the ground, “At least put this on,” he’s already securing it on your head, not noticing the way your lips were trembling, his fingers brushing up against your chin once again but you don’t him faster it, smacking his hand to the side as you rip the helmet off your head, throwing it with more force on the ground. 

“S-stop,” you murmur harshly, wiping at your cheeks, “Stop, stop whatever it is you’re doing-” 

“I’m not doing anything,” he snarls, his eyes a dark shade of navy blue, “So stop crying, I don’t know what it is you think I did.”

He’s angry now, good, it’ll be easier to yell at him if he’s just as amped up as you are. 

But when you finally look at him and get to see his face, it’s not the kind of anger you’re feeling. His eyes are narrowed, his eyebrows pulling together down the middle the way they do when he’s confused, the way you often see him looking like when he’s frustrated at your cursed transfigurations essay. He’s not angry at you because of you, he’s angry because he doesn't understand where your frustrations are coming from. 

He’s at least a head taller than you, looking down as his chest heaves slightly, waiting for you to say something, anything, so that he could explain himself for whatever it is he’s done wrong. His cheeks are a little pink, either from the cold or…something else, and his hair is messy, no longer kept the way it usually is. 

Gojo looks different.

And you don’t know who it was that moved in closer, whose rational mind slowly turned irrational as you two took another step towards the middle, but all you do know is that the two of you didn’t care as you roughly grabbed him by his robes, tugging him in as you slammed your lips to his. 

It happened in an instant, your lips moving against his soft one, your hands gripping onto that fabric for dear life. And for a second, you begin to pull away, your eyes opening in shock, but there’s no use, because Gojo slams his lips down onto yours as he pulls you into his chest. 

It’s rushed and messy, your teeth clash against one another, your hands going up from his chest as they intertwine around his neck, your fingers tugging on his long white strands and you hear him groan into your mouth. 

He moves fast, biting at your lips, one hand sprawled on the expanse of your back, the other one behind your neck, almost cradling the back of your head, tilting your head upwards to meet him. His tongue prods at your lips, and somehow, mindlessly, you part them a little more, moaning quietly at the way his tongue explores your mouth. 

Gojo leads you a little back, so that you’re up against one of the wooden pillars of the quidditch stands, offering you more stability, a good thing, seeing how you feel like you're becoming lightheaded, soon about to faint. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, heavy on your lips as he dips down again to kiss down your chin tilting your head up to expose the column of your neck, “Fuck,” he says once more, diving down as he sucks and bites at your skin, his movements growing faster and more erratic once he hears the soft and sweet mewls that escape your swollen lips. 

“G-gojo,” you whine, feeling hot as his hands travel across your chest, cupping your tits through your thin sweater as he continues to kiss down your neck, tugging some of the material down so that he could leave even more marks across your collarbone, “G-god, oh my god,” 

His pants tighten at your voice, his pupils dilate at the way you're pawing at him, pulling at him, needing him. 

“Satoru,” he says against your skin, “Not Gojo. Not you.” 

He’s delirious, he kisses you like you’re the air he’s been missing his entire life, and holds you to him as if you’re the only furnace in a land barren with snow. He needs you. 

Your fingers are lost in his hair, pulling and tugging, hearing the way his breathing stutters when you do so. 

One of your hands drops down to his chest, feeling at the skin that’s exposed from where his uniform was pulling up, and when your cold fingers make contact with the skin resting taunt on his stomach you swear you could hear him almost whine, his head momentarily dropping into the crook of your neck as he urges you to continue, holding your wrist tightly, pushing it up further. 

Your eyes find his, your breathing coming out in short spurts, and he seems so far gone, so transfixed with how you look under him, that the two of you fail to hear the footsteps that come near where the two of you were.

“Who’s there?” 

A voice calls out, and you see somebody behind him standing with a lantern. 

You push Gojo off of you, but he stays put, looking over his shoulder, shielding your body with his. 

“Oh, fuck off Taylor,” Gojo calls out, anger and irritation laced into his voice.

The boy's eyes widen when he realizes how it is, the blue and white Ravenclaw robes dashing away into the distance, the lantern long gone in a matter of seconds, but it’s no use. 

When Gojo looks down at you, you’ve been given too much time to come back to your senses. 

You push him away from you, and this time he moves.

You take a deep breath, not looking at him as you wipe at your spit-soaked lips, blinking rapidly as you try to make sense of what happened. 

He didn't say anything, but you could hear the quiet pants that escaped his lips, trying to catch some air. 

You open your mouth to say something but close it promptly, shaking your head in disbelief. 

You don’t think twice as you make your way back to the castle.

---

(part two)

taglist (CLOSED): @satorusemepls, @mokonasenpaiposts, @kao-ri, @rinxgojo, @notsochillnerd, @astral-hydromancy, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron, @tedbunny333, @13-09-01, @mynameislove1, @hyunsuks-beanie

[mallowsweetmiri]

Need you to continue Best Friend! Fred please… PLEASE… I am begging on my knees… You write so well… I will be waiting right here… Oh how I yearn for Best Friend! Fred…

Merry Christmas sluts ❤️

—————————————————————————

Bestfriend!Fred with no boundaries teaches you how to have sex pt 2

summary: its the day after you asked Fred to teach you about sex, and he's keeping up on his promise.

warnings: smut, cursing

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

It wasn’t unusual for you to think about Fred first thing in the morning. You often walked to breakfast with the twins and saw him within your classes on a daily basis. But it was unusual to wake up with your panties completely soaked while thinking about him. Was this something that happened the morning after, or did you just not shower well enough after last night?

Either way, you ended up taking a very cold shower before breakfast. By the time you came down to the common room, Fred and George were waiting by the couches. Fred smiled as he watched you come down the stairs.

“Good morning, lovely,” Fred said as you approached them. He pulled you under his arms as the three of you started towards the exit.

“Good morning,” you smiled, happy to start another day by your best friends side.

“What am I, a flobberworm?” George scoffed sarcastically from behind. You rolled your eyes playfully and looked back at him.

“Good morning to you too, George,” you teased, walking through the portrait hole. The day seemed much brighter in the halls, and it looked surprisingly nice out. The three of you walked into the Great Hall and sat down where you normally did, next to Hermione usually at this time of the morning.

"Good morning," she chirped, her head buried in a book.

“Morning, Hermione,” you greeted, taking a seat.

“Whatcha reading there?” The twins sat on the other side of the table.

“Ancient Uses of Mystic Herbs,” she replied, sitting up straighter and flipping her book up to show the cover. “Trying to find something that could help Harry.” You hummed in interest as Hermione sank back into her book. George pulled out a paper and began writing at the bottom.

"What’s that?" you asked, buttering your toast. George smirked and gave you a funny look.

"The Herbology assignment that's due today?" George said questioningly, raising his brows at you. Your brows shot up in response as you remembered the blank paper in your bag.

"I completely forgot about that assignment," you gasped. "Fred, can I please, please copy yours?" You pleaded, sticking your bottom lip out in persuasion. He shot you back an amused look as he gathered sausages onto his plate.

"Y/N, you're usually such a good student,” he teased, shaking his head at you in disapproval. “Were you distracted yesterday?” You sharpened your eyes at him and he laughed, passing you his paper. You felt your cheeks heat up. At least he was letting you copy off of him.

"You're too nice to her, Freddie," George joked, shaking his head at him.

"Ah, it's the least I can do for my best friend," Freddie grinned, leaning over the table to pinch your cheek. You batted his head away and started furiously copying his work, ignoring George laughing at you. As you copied his work, he filled your mug with tea. Earl grey with a dash of cream, just the way you liked it. By the time breakfast was over, you had finished the assignment and were off to your first class of the day.

The day dragged on per usual. In Herbology, Fred and George rubbed sneezewart on the observation sheets causing multiple students to rush out of class in a fit. You had a few classes without Fred and George, and Ancient Runes was your final class for the day. You stared out the window as dull clouds began to roll in from the forest. You tried to pay attention to Professor Babbling, but her droning voice quickly became background noise. The clouds came in closer to the castle, the sound of thunder rumbling through the windows. Rain storms always made you feel cozy, and you wished class would end so you could curl up in your favorite jumper. It was Fred’s Gryffindor sweatshirt and the memory of its smell reminded you of yesterday. His skin had been so close to you, and while it was comforting, there was something else. A want, a yearning to just press your hips against his. Your head snapped away from the window as your peers began to gather their belongings. You began to do the same, noting the slickness between your thighs. There it was again. You needed to find Fred and ask him what you should do about it. Was it pathetic that you knew virtually nothing about sex? You slung your bag over your shoulder and left the classroom, moving hastily towards Gryffindor. You knew Fred wouldn’t judge you and would actually teach you, that’s why you had asked him in the first place. But would he pity you for barely knowing anything at all?

By the time you got to the tower, it was pouring outside. There was the usual chatter and rough housing in the common room, but your failure to spot Fred had you climbing the stairs to his dorm. You were frustrated and cold and you just wanted to be near your best friend.

When you opened the door after a hurried knock, you were happy to see only Fred in the room. He was laying on his bed reading his book.

"Hi Y/N," he greeted, looking up from his book. "How was class?" You huffed as you moved towards his closet, pulling his hoodie out and slipping it on over your head.

"It was terrible," you pouted, coming over to his bed. Fred put his book down and opened his arms to you. You fell gladly into his chest.

"Why was it terrible love?" Fred mumbled into your hair. You groaned and buried yourself deeper into him.

"It's just..." you hesitated, always losing the courage to talk about stuff like this.

"Is it about yesterday?" Fred asked, his hand petting the back of your head. He always knew what you were thinking and you were relieved that he had caught on.

"Yes," you fussed, sitting up from his grasp. Fred huffed out a chuckle and followed suit. "It's just that, I can't stop thinking about it, y'know?"

"Oh, I know," Fred mumbled. You continued on with your ramblings.

"It's like I'm in class and I'm just distracted," you explained, your hands gesturing wildly. "And my underwear has been wet for hours. How do I make it stop?" Fred swallowed and dropped his gaze to your skirt.

"Darling, it's not something you can just stop," Fred explained, his eyes coming back up to yours. "Your body just wants more." You pursed your lips as you pondered this for a second, listening to the rain pelt against the window. Maybe you really did want more...

"I want to go all the way," you declared, sitting up straight and nodding your head. Fred couldn't help but smiled at your naivety.

"You want to go 'all the way'?" Fred chuckled, teasing your choice of words. He found this entire situation charming.

"Yes," you huffed defiantly. "I want you to have sex with me." Fred chuckled in disbelief and ran his hands through his hair. Your bold innocence made his head spin.

"It's going to hurt," Fred warned, trying his best to properly inform you before you made the decision to lose your virginity. He wouldn't be able to say no to you.

"Okay," you nodded, your fingers playing with the hem of your sock. "What else?"

"You might bleed," he said. "And it might not feel good at all this time." Your brows furrowed.

"But everybody says sex feels amazing?" You questioned, tilting your head. Freds half smile made you heart skip. That was new.

"It does," he chuckled, his eyes falling to your lips for a moment. "But it might be uncomfortable your first time. Especially with me,” he teased. You rolled your eyes at his insinuation and he laughed again. "I'm serious, Y/N. I don't want you to do something you don't want to do." This was clearly the wrong thing to say as you leaned forward to roughly grasp his shoulders.

"Fred, I want this. I want to know what it feels like and there's nobody else on this entire planet I trust more than you," you stated, gripping his shoulders as he watched your declaration.

"Well if I'm going to fuck you we need to kiss first," he grinned cheekily, watching the heat rise up to your cheeks.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," you huffed, finding the courage to lean forward to kiss him. He laughed into the kiss but gladly gripped your hips in return, his mouth moving in tandem. You kissed him greedily, your body moving on its own. Fred swept you onto your back, crawling over your without breaking the kiss. Within seconds, he had taken the control back from you, his kiss melting away your sudden burst of courage. He clearly knew what he was doing and you didn't put up a fight for dominance. The ache in your core surged as his knee pried open your legs, causing a moan to leave your lips. You felt more confident this time, less embarrassed of your noises of ecstasy as Fred's knee applied a much needed pressure to your cunt. You let your hands grip his hair, then run down his back. You felt him groan and it made you want to do it again. You were surprised at your self assurance, and even more surprised that you seemed to have to same effect on Fred that he had on you. His teeth bit softly into your neck in a change of pace.

"Fred," you moaned instinctively, you back arching off the mattress against your will. He didn't stop, instead tearing off your sweatshirt. This prompted the two of you to hastily take off all your clothes, only stopping to laugh when your hand accidentally whacked Fred in the face. The laughter faded as he came forward again, this time kissing you with such tenderness, you thought you were melting back into the mattress.

Fred was hopeless; he had been ruined since yesterday. He knew from the moment he kissed you that he'd been a complete fool. All day he'd been trying to convince himself otherwise, that he didn't harbor any romantic feelings towards you and you were still just his bestfriend. He wasn't going to bother lying to himself any longer. He was hopelessly in love with you.

His kiss began to trail down your neck again, then to your breast, then down your navel. Fred wanted to devour you. He wanted to watch as you came again for him. It drove him crazy that he was the only person to watch you unravel.

"F-Fred," you breathed, your hands tugging at his hair. "What are you doing?" His brown eyes peered up at you as he pressed his mouth into your thigh, making your hips buck.

"Before you have sex, we need to get you nice and wet for me darling," he breathed, kissing closer to your cunt. His fingers ran up your slit and you shivered. "Although, it doesn't seem like you need much help." You didn't have time to respond before he pressed a kiss into your clit, effectively sucking the rest of the air out of your lungs. You shuddered repeatedly as he licked gently on your sensitive clit. It felt so different from his fingers, so wet and warm. It took you a moment in your daze to realize he was moaning into your pussy, greedily lapping at your clit and pushing his tongue inside you. Fred wasn't even trying to hold himself back, his arms wrapping underneath you thighs and pulling you into his face. You tried to press him off of you, embarrassed at how close he was to you heat, but his grip won over you. His tongue lapped in circle, his gentle suck and kiss pulling terrible noises from your mouth. With every movement, the pressures built up inside you, sensation washing over you as you rocked your hips against his tongue. It felt like only a minute had passed when the tightness in your core suddenly snapped.

"Oh, fuck-" you cried as you came unexpectedly onto his tongue, the waves of intense pleasure taking away your ability to breathe. He sighed deeply as he lapped it all up, his grip not loosening for a second. It was only when he felt your legs kicking and your needy pleas for him that he gave one last gentle kiss to you clit. You stared at him breathlessly, unsure of what to say after you just came all over your bestfriends face. Luckily for you, Fred didn't miss a beat.

"You taste so fucking good," Fred praised, kissing up your stomach as you caught your breath. “You’re so good at this Y/N. Did that feel good?" He asked, coming up to hover over your face and brush the sweaty strands of hair off your face. You nodded shyly as you breathed, leaning up to catch his lips in a kiss. He chuckled as he accepted your kiss before saying, "Use your words, darling."

"Yes," you panted, pulling the back of his head down towards you. "That felt so good, Freddie." Fred groaned as his mouth came down to savor your kiss. You stayed like this for a while, kissing as Fred gently pressed his hips into yours. After a while, your hips began to rock with his, naturally moving with the rhythm he had set. There was nothing between the two of you besides his thin boxers, and you could feel his hard length rubbing against you. Occasionally, his tip would catch your entrance, and the pressure made the both of you groan.

"I'm ready," you mumbled into his lips, the two of you unable to break your kiss. He hummed into your lips and kissed you hard for a few more second before he pried himself off of you. He kneeled over you, freeing himself from his boxers with a slap. Your mouth parted slightly at the sight of him, and you were starting to believe him when he said it might hurt. His smile was more adoring than teasing as he watched you gape at his size. You watched breathlessly as he stroked himself a few times before coming back over you.

"Are you sure?" He asked once more, rubbing his tip up and down your slit, spreading your slickness. You weren't sure you could even speak as you watched him do this, you were mesmerized.

"Yes," you breathed, you gaze coming back up to his. His eyes searched your face for any hesitation, and when he found none, he lined himself up with your entrance.

"Just tell me if you want to stop," he soothed, brushing your fallen hair behind your ear. You nodded and tightened your grip on the back of his neck. He pressed a kiss to your lips and pushed himself inside of you.

Fred felt like an idiot as he exhaled into the kiss, his thumb rubbing gently across your cheek. He couldn't believe he didn't realize how much he liked you, how much he loved you. He wanted to swallow you whole. He wished that you knew how much this meant to him, but he knew you were too distracted to be thinking about anything else but his cock inside your tight pussy for the first time. Fuck.

"How does it feel, love," Fred asked, his voice nothing but a raspy whisper. You buried your face into his neck and whined.

"Just keep going," you whispered. "Please." Fred tried not to groan at your pleading as he pulled back again. He knew it must hurt for you, you were so tight. It was taking everything inside of him not to groan uncontrollably and push himself fully inside of you, you felt so good. His lips fell to your neck and left soothing kisses as he pushed himself into you again, this time going deeper. He felt your breath hitch into his neck as your eyes clamped shut. Fred's fingers gripped the sheets for his life.

"Just one more, darling. You’re doing so good," Fred muttered, pulling back gently once more. You nodded into his neck, making some sort of noise of assurance. With a final push, Fred bottomed out and let out an irrepressible moan. You cried again, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you felt his full length. He stayed like this for a moment, his lips encouraging you to return his kiss. You obliged and felt yourself relax, the feeling of his lips against yours softening your face. After a moment you let out a soft moan, the fullness inside of you finally satisfying what you thought would be a never ending ache. You moaned again into his kiss, this time louder as he became less controlled, his mouth eagerly devouring your own.

"It feels better now," you whispered into the kiss. Fred hummed and began to move with small and gentle pumps, letting you get used to his size. Fred's fingers were losing circulation as he gripped the bedsheets in an attempt to control himself from fucking you senseless. He fit perfectly inside you, and your breathy whimpers and pants were sending him over the edge. He made a critical mistake by pulling back to watch you as he picked up his pace, your watery eyes and swollen lips looked like heaven.

"Fuck, Y/N," he grunted, fully moving with his entire length at this point. "I'm not going to last long." You didn't seem to be able to form any coherent words besides your whines so you just nodded instead, overwhelmed by the unexpected knot forming in your stomach. He watched your eyes as he thrust into you over and over again, the pleasure on your face growing with each movement. His hand gripped your waist as he drove himself into you at his full capability for the final few thrusts. He couldn't help himself and from the noises you were making, you seemed to enjoy it. "Fuck," Fred whispered as he pulled out of you, pumping his cock a few times as he came on the sheets next to you. You watched in awe as he spurted hot liquid onto the bed, some of it falling onto the side of your hips. It made you buck you hips as the emptiness began to creep up, his warm cum dripping teasingly down your side. Fred finished and promptly smothered you in kisses, the two of you groaning as you rode out the last moments of euphoria with each other. Breathless and spent, Fred rolled off of you and pulled you in his chest.

"Are you okay, my love?" He asked, kissing the top of your head and your ears and your cheeks. You giggled and sighed into his kisses, coming up to place one onto his lips.

"Yes," you sighed. "More than okay." Fred smiled and huffed out a laugh, burying his face into you neck as his arms pulled you in tighter. You both sighed contentedly and rested like this for a moment, wetness and warmth in between your bodies.

"We need to get you cleaned up," Fred hushed, reaching over to his bedside to grab his wand. He quickly cleaned up the bed before moving to you, carefully casting the proper charms to get you clean before doing himself. "You should definitely use the bathroom soon and shower before you go to sleep tonight, love." Fred pressed a kiss to your lips again before pulling his sweatshirt over your head and finding you a fresh pair of his boxers to slip up your legs before pulling his sweats back on.

"Mmm," you groaned, closing your eyes and falling back onto his pillow. You were sapped. Fred chuckled and came to join you again, wrapping himself around you.

"Are you listening, love?" Fred teased, rubbing your back with his soft and sturdy hands.

"Mmm," you hummed again, burying yourself deeper into his chest, relishing in his comfort. He huffed out a laugh and buried himself back into your neck.

"Well, I'm getting you up in a moment to use the bathroom," he said, pressing a kiss into the fabric on your shoulders. "And you're not getting out of it. I'm not going to succumb to your cute little noises." You murmured again into his chest and smiled when this made him laugh.

"Can we do this again?" You asked quietly, almost hoping he hadn't heard you. He chortled at your question.

"Yes. Yes, we can do this again."

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

I can stay silent no longer. Viktor and big tits. Guys.

Viktor can't stop looking at your tits, and he’s trying oh so very hard to not be obvious about it, because of how embarrassing it is. He's doing his best to stay respectful, but his eyes constantly drift downwards whenever you move and your bust shifts or bounces. He can't even focus on his notes when you're standing nearby, the calculations in his mind gone in a puff of smoke every time you pass by him.

More often than not, he finds himself staring at the way you rest your chest on your desk to help with your back pain; whenever you look up and catch him in the act, his cheeks get so red he has to hide them underneath his hands. He pretends he's deeply focused on reading the book of ancient runes in front of him, but in reality, he's been stuck on the same sentence for the last half an hour.

An insubordinate, nasty little voice in the back of his head whispers that he could help you: he knows a lot about back pain after all, doesn't he? He could be so good for you, if you only let him touch you…

The worst is when you come to ask him questions, just slightly pushing your tits against his back to lean over his shoulder; he can't count the number of times it's almost made him fall over in panic (excluding the times it has actually landed him right down on his ass). It’s gotten to the point where he has to excuse himself to the restroom for a few minutes at a time, just to remind himself how to breathe and to make sure the tent forming in his pants is fully dead and gone.

If his pride doesn't kill him first, with how flustered and unnerved you manage to get him by simply existing in the lab, then the constant, awkward falling at your feet like an enamoured fool surely will.

For your birthday, he ultimately decides to get you a nice, fancy jacket to put on top of your blouse while you work. Lab assistants aren't supposed to wear these, usually: they're reserved for professors and their own assistants. But it closes right where that damn, one little button stretches the fabric to its very limits, creating a large opening that leaves nothing to his already very active imagination. No one would fault him for bending the rules a little if they had any idea of the struggle of completing a single task around you in that forsakenly translucent top.

It's not a perfect solution, by any means, but he hopes it'll at least allow him to start thinking in his own damn lab again. Just a temporary fix, until he gets his feelings for you under control. You seem delighted by the present, so he figures he's fixed the issue in a relatively acceptable and satisfactory manner.

The next day, you show up with the jacket.

Only the jacket.

You've discarded the white blouse, and there's nothing but your bra underneath the piece of clothing he naively thought would solve all his problems. There’s now nothing stopping him from fully, openly gaping at your exposed chest every time you bend, or lean forward even slightly.

He's made it worse. So much worse. It's quite possibly his biggest failure as an inventor, because he's effectively trapped himself into getting a full face of your tits every time he even glances in your direction.

Viktor has engineered his own fucking demise with nothing but a jacket.

Next time, he's simply going to get you a full-body suit to wear around the lab; you know, as a safety precaution, for wielding sharp tools and participating in dangerous experiments. He wouldn't want his most efficient assistant to get hurt in a preventable work-related accident, after all.

It’ll protect him and his dwindling sanity far more than anything else, but you really don't need to know that.

[muiitoloko]

I'm EATING all of the Severus' fanfics and I haven’t seen one about daddy Severus, where his private, not secret, love (also a teacher from Hogwarts) is pregnant and he's so fluffy and protective about his new little family. Thank you for your work on all these stories *kisses to your brain* 🩷🩷🩷🩷

(Also if yall have father-to-be Severus fanfics recs please share, I beg)

Title: Daddy Snape's Dilemma.

Summary: The feared Potions Master reveals a softer side as he prepares for the arrival of his child, though his strict nature remains. Balancing love and discipline, Severus discovers that fatherhood is as complex as any potion.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: I love your enthusiasm for Severus fics—who can resist the allure of a fluffy, protective Daddy Severus, right? 🩷🩷🩷 Your idea is so sweet; I might have to dive into that territory myself! As for father-to-be Severus fanfics, I have to admit, I don't usually read them, so I'm not too familiar with what's out there. It's quite rare for me to venture into Snape fanfics. But hey, maybe @smilingformoney has some hidden gems or knows where to find them! *kisses to your brain back* 😄

First, Second and Third part here.

Also read on Ao3

You sighed with relief as you settled behind your desk after finishing the last lesson of the day with the second-year students. The Ancient Runes classroom was quiet now, a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere of a few moments ago. You allowed yourself a moment to caress your growing belly, smiling softly as you felt the gentle flutter of movement within. At five months pregnant, your belly was getting bigger with each passing day, and though you loved the feeling of your child growing inside you, you couldn't deny that it was also becoming more tiring. Your magic had become unpredictable, surging with emotion and exhaustion, which made your job as a professor a bit more challenging than usual.

Despite all this, you stubbornly refused to take things easy, as your beloved husband, Severus Snape, had repeatedly suggested—no, insisted upon. But "suggested" was putting it mildly. Severus could be a pain in the ass when he wanted to be, and now that he knew he was going to be a father, his overprotectiveness had reached new levels.

You chuckled to yourself, remembering how he had practically growled at poor Professor Flitwick earlier that day when the tiny Charms professor had approached you, his usual cheerful demeanor evident as he asked if he could feel the baby kick. Severus had swooped in like a bat out of hell, his dark robes billowing behind him as he inserted himself between you and Flitwick.

“Absolutely not, Flitwick,” Severus had snapped, his tone icy. “My wife is not a spectacle for your amusement.”

Flitwick, who was well accustomed to Severus’ gruff manner, had only chuckled in response, backing away with his hands raised in mock surrender. “My apologies, Severus, I didn’t mean any offense. Just a bit of fatherly curiosity.”

Severus had glowered at him, his dark eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. “Fatherly or not, I’ll thank you to keep your distance.” He had then turned to you, his expression softening just enough to show his concern, but not enough to lose his characteristic sternness. “You should be resting,” he had admonished, his voice lowering to a tone that was meant only for your ears. “These students and staff can manage without you for a while.”

“I’m fine, Severus,” you had replied, smiling at him despite his overbearing attitude. “Besides, I’m pregnant, not an invalid.”

He had given you one of his signature looks—a mix of exasperation and something deeper, something softer, that he would never admit to in front of others. “You’re far too stubborn for your own good,” he had muttered before storming off, his robes swirling dramatically around him.

You shook your head fondly at the memory, amused by how protective Severus had become. It wasn’t just the staff he was wary of, but the students as well. You had heard from several sources that he had taken to patrolling the hallways near your classroom during your lessons, his presence enough to intimidate even the bravest of Gryffindors into behaving. There were rumors among the students that he had placed extra wards around your classroom, though you had yet to confirm them.

The door to your office creaked open, pulling you from your thoughts. You looked up to see Minerva McGonagall stepping inside, her stern expression softening into a smile when she saw you. “Good evening, dear,” she greeted warmly. “I just wanted to check in on you before I head to dinner.”

“Good evening, Minerva,” you replied, returning her smile. “I’m managing well, thank you. And how are you?”

Minerva’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Oh, the usual chaos,” she said with a fond sigh. “The Gryffindors are keeping me on my toes, as always. And I hear Severus is keeping you well-protected?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “That’s one way to put it. He’s being Daddy Snape in full force.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow at the nickname, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Daddy Snape, you say? I dare say he’s earned that title.”

You nodded, feeling a surge of affection for your husband, even if his overprotectiveness could be a bit much at times. “He certainly has,” you said softly, your hand resting on your belly. “He growled at Flitwick today for simply asking to feel the baby kick.”

Minerva chuckled at that, shaking her head. “Poor Filius. I can only imagine Severus’ reaction. But don’t worry, my dear. Severus means well, even if he’s a bit… overzealous in his protectiveness.”

“Yes, I know,” you agreed. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Though sometimes I think he’s more afraid of you than anyone else. You’re the only one he allows to touch my belly without glaring daggers.”

Minerva’s eyes twinkled with amusement as she stepped closer, her hand hovering just above your belly. “May I?”

“Of course,” you said with a smile, moving Minerva’s hand to the side where you felt a small kick. “Right there.”

Minerva’s eyes softened as she felt the gentle movement, a warm smile spreading across her face. “He’s going to be a wonderful father,” she said quietly, her gaze meeting yours.

“Yes, he is,” you whispered, feeling a lump form in your throat as you thought about the future. “He’s already so devoted, even if he drives me mad sometimes."

Minerva patted your hand reassuringly before stepping back. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, my dear. But if Severus gives you too much trouble, just let me know. I’ll have a word with him.”

You laughed softly at that. “I’ll keep that in mind, Minerva. Thank you.”

As Minerva left your office, you leaned back in your chair, feeling the baby move again beneath your hand. You couldn’t help but smile, thinking of Severus and his fierce protectiveness. He might be a pain in the ass, but he was your pain in the ass, and you wouldn’t trade him for anything.

You were just beginning to relax when the door to your office swung open with a loud bang, and Severus Snape stormed in, his expression a mixture of irritation and concern.

“What did I say about resting?” he demanded, his voice sharp as he approached your desk.

You raised an eyebrow at him, refusing to be intimidated by his tone. “I was resting, Severus. I was just sitting here, minding my own business.”

He huffed, clearly not satisfied with your answer. “You need to be more careful. You’re overexerting yourself, and it’s affecting your magic. I’ve noticed the fluctuations.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Severus, I’m fine. The baby’s fine. You’re just being overprotective.”

“I have every right to be,” he shot back, crossing his arms over his chest as he loomed over you. “There are too many dangers, especially with that lunatic Black on the loose.”

You sighed, knowing that Severus’ worries were not unfounded. The news of Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban had shaken the entire wizarding world, and you knew it weighed heavily on Severus, given their complicated history.

“I know you’re worried, Severus,” you said gently, reaching out to take his hand. “But I’m safe here. And I have you watching over me.”

His expression softened slightly as he looked down at you, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of concern and affection. “I just want to keep you and our child safe,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

“And you are,” you reassured him, squeezing his hand gently. “But you don’t need to do it alone. We have Minerva, and the other staff, and even Dumbledore. We’re surrounded by people who care about us.”

Severus sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he seemed to accept your words. “I suppose you’re right,” he muttered, though there was still a hint of reluctance in his tone.

“Of course I’m right,” you teased, smiling up at him. “Now, how about you help me back to our quarters so I can actually get some rest? I think Daddy Snape could use a break too.”

He gave you a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated, but the corner of his mouth quirked up in a small smile. “Very well,” he said, his tone begrudging. “But don’t think for a moment that I’m going to stop being overprotective. It’s in my nature.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you replied, standing up and allowing him to wrap his arm around your waist, guiding you out of the office.

As you walked together through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. Despite his gruff exterior and overbearing nature, Severus was a man who loved deeply, and you were lucky enough to be the recipient of that love. Even if it meant enduring his overprotectiveness, you knew it came from a place of genuine care and devotion.

And as you leaned into his side, feeling the warmth of his presence, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together—with Severus by your side, and your growing family at the heart of it all.

Later that evening, you found yourself in the cozy warmth of your quarters, the comforting crackle of the fire in the hearth filling the room with a soft glow. The scent of your simple dinner—a warm stew, bread, and some pumpkin juice—wafted through the air. Severus sat across from you at the small dining table, his dark eyes focused intently on the book he held in one hand. The other hand was absentmindedly stirring his stew with his spoon, though it was clear that his mind was far from the meal in front of him.

You watched him with a fond smile, amused by how deeply engrossed he was in his reading. The book’s title, The Art of Parenting: A Wizard’s Guide, was clearly visible, and you stifled a laugh at the intensity with which Severus was absorbing every word. He looked every bit the severe Potions Master as he read, his brow furrowed in concentration, but the subject matter was decidedly different from his usual fare.

"Did you know," he began suddenly, not looking up from the book, "that at five months, our child is approximately the size of a grapefruit? A grapefruit," he repeated, as though the concept was particularly profound. "And according to this, the baby’s bones are starting to harden now. Quite the development."

You bit your lip to keep from laughing out loud. The way Severus delivered this information—with all the seriousness of a professor lecturing on the properties of a rare potion—was both endearing and hilarious. He was so intent on getting everything right, so determined to master the art of fatherhood just as he had mastered potions and the Dark Arts.

He finally looked up from the book, his expression serious. “It also says here that you should be consuming more calcium. It’s essential for the baby’s bone development. I’ve already spoken to the house-elves; they’ll be bringing you more dairy from now on.”

“Severus,” you began, your tone light, “I appreciate your concern, really, but I think you’re worrying a bit too much. I’ve been eating just fine.”

He ignored your reassurances, setting the book down on the table with a decisive thud. “Worrying too much?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “This is our child we’re talking about. I’ll not have anything less than the utmost care taken, especially given the circumstances.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, knowing full well what he meant by “the circumstances.” The looming threat of Sirius Black was never far from his mind, and it only fueled his already fierce protectiveness. “Severus, everything is going to be fine,” you said gently, trying to soothe his frayed nerves. “We’re safe here. And as for the baby, I promise I’m taking care of myself.”

But Severus was not easily placated. “You may be taking care of yourself, but I’ll not have you neglecting anything that could potentially aid in our child’s development.” He leaned forward slightly, his intense gaze locking onto yours. “Did you know,” he continued in that same lecturing tone, “that the baby can now hear sounds from outside the womb? My voice, your voice… even the drivel those dunderheads of Gryffindors spout during class.”

At this, you couldn’t help it—you burst into laughter. The image of your unborn child listening to the Hogwarts students’ chatter was too much to handle. “Severus,” you said, your voice tinged with amusement, “you’re treating this like one of your potion experiments. I half expect you to start measuring out ingredients for a perfect pregnancy potion.”

Severus’s eyes narrowed, though you could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You may laugh,” he said darkly, “but this is serious business. Do you think this book exists merely to amuse witches and wizards with idle facts? It’s a manual for the correct upbringing of our offspring.”

“I know it’s serious,” you replied, still smiling. “And I’m glad you’re so invested. But you don’t have to treat it like a potion with exact measurements and timed stirring.”

He sighed, a long-suffering sound, as though he was dealing with a particularly obstinate student. “I simply want to be prepared,” he muttered, glancing down at your belly, his expression softening ever so slightly. “I want to give our child the best start in life. Is that so unreasonable?”

Your heart melted at his words, and you reached across the table to take his hand in yours. “It’s not unreasonable at all,” you said softly. “In fact, I think it’s one of the things I love most about you. But remember, Severus, parenting isn’t something you can learn entirely from a book. We’ll figure it out together, one day at a time.”

He held your gaze for a moment, then nodded, his usual stoicism returning. “Perhaps you’re right,” he conceded. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be as informed as possible.” He picked up the book again, flipping through the pages until he found the one he was looking for. “And according to this,” he said, his voice taking on that lecturing tone once more, “we should also be preparing the nursery soon. The baby will need a proper environment—calm, quiet, and free from distractions.”

You stifled another laugh, knowing full well that Severus’s idea of a proper environment would likely resemble his own quarters—dark, orderly, and intimidatingly silent. “Calm and quiet,” you echoed. “That sounds about right. But I’m not sure our child will appreciate the dungeon aesthetic as much as you do.”

Severus shot you a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “I’ll have you know, dungeons are perfectly suitable for raising a child. They’re secure, temperature-controlled, and free from unnecessary frivolities.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll keep that in mind when we start decorating. Maybe we can paint the walls a nice shade of midnight black?”

He looked at you for a long moment, and then, to your surprise, he let out a low chuckle. It was a rare sound, and it warmed your heart to hear it. “You’re incorrigible,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. “But perhaps… a bit of color wouldn’t be entirely out of the question.”

Your grin widened. “See? We’re already compromising. We’re going to be great parents, Sev.”

He looked at you, his expression softening in that way it only did when it was just the two of you. “Yes,” he said quietly, his hand tightening around yours. “I believe we will.”

And as you sat there together, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. The future might be uncertain, and the challenges ahead might be daunting, but with Severus by your side, you knew you could face anything. Even if it meant enduring countless lectures on parenting techniques and the optimal conditions for nursery decor. After all, that was just part of the adventure.

After dinner, Severus insisted on helping you undress and prepare for bed. His hands, usually so precise and controlled in the brewing of potions, were surprisingly gentle as he unbuttoned your robes. The dim light from the fire flickered across his face, casting shadows that deepened the stern lines of his features, but you could see the care in his eyes, even as he kept his expression carefully neutral.

"Severus, you don’t have to do this every night," you teased softly, watching as he folded your robes with meticulous care, his long fingers smoothing out any wrinkles.

He glanced at you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "I’m perfectly aware that you are capable of undressing yourself," he replied, his voice its usual low, measured tone. "But considering your current condition, I prefer to ensure that you’re not overexerting yourself."

You smiled, touched by his concern, even if it came wrapped in his typical bluntness. "I appreciate it, truly. But you do realize that pregnancy doesn’t turn me into a delicate flower, right?"

He didn’t respond immediately, instead focusing on helping you into the bath he had prepared. The warm water enveloped you, the scent of lavender filling the air, and you sighed contentedly as you leaned back against the tub’s edge. Severus knelt beside you, his stern face softening slightly as he watched you relax.

"Perhaps not," he said quietly after a moment, his deep voice almost a murmur. "But it does make you and our child more vulnerable. I won’t take any chances."

You reached out to touch his hand, appreciating the rare moment of vulnerability in his words. He allowed the contact, his fingers curling slightly around yours, though his expression remained stoic.

"Thank you, Severus," you whispered, feeling a swell of affection for the man who, despite his gruff exterior, cared so deeply for you and your unborn child.

Later, when you were settled into bed, Severus surprised you by bending down to your belly. His tall, lean figure cast a long shadow over the bed, and you raised an eyebrow, curious about what he was doing. He hesitated for a moment, as if unsure of how to proceed, before finally speaking.

"Now, listen here," he began, his voice taking on that stern, lecturing tone he often used with his students, "I expect you not to pay any attention to the nonsense that the Gryffindors will undoubtedly try to fill your head with. Your father is here to ensure that you grow up with a proper understanding of what it means to be a powerful wizard or witch, a true Slytherin."

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, your amusement growing as Severus continued his one-sided conversation with your unborn child.

"You will excel in Potions, of course," he went on, his tone brooking no argument, "and in the Dark Arts as well. I will personally see to it that you are well-versed in the most advanced magical disciplines. No child of mine will be anything less than exceptional."

He paused, as if considering something deeply troubling, and you couldn’t resist asking, "And what if our child is sorted into Gryffindor?"

Severus straightened up immediately, his expression darkening as he fixed you with a glare. "That," he said, his voice cold and firm, "will not happen."

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing at the sheer indignation in his voice. "You can’t control the Sorting Hat, Severus. What if it does happen? Can you imagine? A Gryffindor in our family? The horror!"

His eyes narrowed dangerously, but you could see the flicker of something else—perhaps a bit of horror, mixed with a grudging amusement—beneath the surface. "I’ll have a word with the Sorting Hat, if necessary," he muttered darkly. "There will be no Gryffindors under my roof."

"Really, Severus? You’d try to influence the Sorting Hat? I never knew you were so biased!" you teased, still laughing.

Severus crossed his arms over his chest, looking every bit the brooding Potions Master you had fallen in love with. "It’s not bias," he retorted, his tone icy, "it’s practicality. A Gryffindor child would be… disruptive."

You smiled at him, loving how serious he was taking this hypothetical scenario. "And what would you do if, by some twist of fate, our child did end up in Gryffindor?"

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed, a sound full of reluctant resignation. "I suppose," he said slowly, as though the words were being dragged out of him against his will, "I would have to… tolerate it."

You grinned widely, knowing how much it pained him to even consider the possibility. "Tolerate, hmm? That’s quite generous of you, Severus."

He scowled, clearly not amused by your teasing. "Don’t push your luck," he warned, though there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth that betrayed his amusement.

You reached out to him, pulling him down beside you on the bed. He allowed himself to be drawn into your embrace, his usually stiff posture relaxing slightly as you rested your head on his chest.

"Whatever house our child ends up in," you said softly, your voice filled with affection, "they’ll be loved, and they’ll have the best father in the world."

Severus didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel the way his hand tightened around yours, a silent acknowledgment of your words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more vulnerable than you were used to hearing.

"I’ll do my best," he murmured, his tone almost self-deprecating. "Though I make no promises about how I’ll handle a Gryffindor in the family."

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to his chest. "I’m sure you’ll manage, Severus. You’ve already proven you’re more than capable of handling the unexpected."

He huffed softly, the sound almost a laugh, before wrapping his arms around you more tightly. "Sleep now," he said, his voice returning to its usual firmness. "You need your rest."

You closed your eyes, feeling safe and content in his embrace. As you drifted off to sleep, you couldn’t help but imagine the future—the laughter, the challenges, the love—and you knew that, no matter what house your child ended up in, you and Severus would face it together.

Even if that meant surviving the potential heart attack Severus would have if his child ever donned the scarlet and gold of Gryffindor.

[obsessedwithceleste]

Theodore Nott and the Fortress of Trust Issues: how to cast a patronus in 3 easy steps

Theodore Nott x reader

Summary: Theodore Nott had never been able to cast a patronus. In third year, when dementors were swarming the castle, of course he tried, but was never able to manage more than a whisp of soft silver. Come seventh year, he was painfully unsurprised when his efforts were once again lack luster. Turns out, with the right tutor, casting the formidable charm might not be as impossible as he thought.

word count: 3.8k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

Theodore glowered menacingly at the students below him chattering happily amongst themselves in the courtyard. A puff of smoke slipping through his lips as he leaned on the railing of the astronomy tower. Theo knew his life wasn’t exactly one that most would be envious of. Sure his family had money, power, but add on a mother who had died far before her time, and a death eater father whose attention it was far better to avoid? Theo laughed dryly to himself.

Theo knew he didn’t have many happy memories. Truly happy memories. He was painfully, excruciatingly, self aware. Still, nothing made it quite so glaringly obvious that his life was rather pathetic than broadcasting to his entire charms class his bitter inability to force even a wisp of silvery bloody smoke out of his bloody wand. Yes. Flitwick had finally found his weakness. That damned Patronus spell. Being one of the top students of his year, it was humiliating. It wasn’t even expected that most of the class would be able to cast a corporeal patronus, yet even Draco and Matteo of all people managed to produce soft billowy clouds of silvery magic.

Theo shook his head at the thought, trying to clear his mind. His eyes once again began gazing about the courtyard before landing on a lone figure sitting beneath a willow tree, hidden from view unless one was looking close enough. Theo brought his smoke to his lips once more, inhaling deeply as he watched a burst of silver leave the tip of the girl’s wand. His eyes darkened with envy, remembering the words of his professor from earlier that day.

“Wonderful, y/n. Just wonderful! A fox! Withdrawn when necessary, but natural adaptors. Embodying intelligence, independence, mischief, and beauty. A unique patronus indeed.”

His eyes narrowed as he watched the silver creature trot happily through the air before turning and dropping his cigarette to the ground, stomping on it harshly. With one last glance at the girl sitting awestruck with her silvery companion, he descended down the stairs, determined to spend the rest of his night, moping in peace.

Step 1: Find a Pretty Tutor (read: have a tutor forced upon you under the threat of a failing grade.)

“What do you mean a tutor? You of all people?” Matteo laughs mercilessly as Theo scowls at him. “Can’t believe I’m doing better than you in a class, you must be bloody miffed.”

Theo tuned out his friend’s laughter as he continued to glower at the floor in front of him. The two boys currently sat in the Slytherin common room as Theo hastily tried to finish up his ancient runes homework before dragging his arse to the library to meet his supposed tutor. Matteo was making this quite difficult however as he continued to poke fun at the boy, rattling on about how, for once, Theo had had the nerve to not be good at something. The horror.

Snapping his textbook closed and sliding it into his book bag, Theo began gathering his things, choosing to forego the blasted assignment.

“Aww, have fun with you little tutor Teddy. Maybe it’ll be that foxy Ravenclaw you’re always staring at. Bit ironic that her patronus is a fox innit?” Matteo teases as he watches his friend’s jaw clench at the mention of the pretty girl.

While perhaps Matteo wasn’t the most entirely perceptive of the bunch, it would take a blind man to not notice Theodore’s eyes flicker over to the group of Ravenclaws throughout their shared charms class.

“Shut up Matt. Shouldn’t you be shagging Astoria in a broom closet somewhere?” He grunts out.

Matteo smirks, knowing he’d found a tick, but deciding to leave it for another time.

“Not a bad idea mate, see you later. You’ll have to tell Enzo and I all about your tutoring session tonight,” he says with a wink before sauntering off towards the girl’s dormitories.

With a heavy sigh, Theo began making his way slowly towards the library, silently cursing Professor Flitwick as he recalled their conversation from earlier that day.

Class was finally wrapping up for the day and Theo was about ready to bolt out of that blasted classroom, but Flitwick had other ideas.

“Mr. Nott? A word?” He’s called from his grand podium in the center of the room.

The summons had garnered a few raised eyebrows and surprised looks from his fellow classmates, and Theo had trudged solemnly up to the professor.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you appeared to have had some difficulty today,” the professor and stated rather bluntly after all the other students had shuffled out.

Theo blinked back up at his professor.

“You do understand of course, that I cannot grant marks for a spell you did not perform?” He asks finally.

Theo once again stares blankly back at the professor.

Appearing to grow uncomfortable under the boy’s steady, unwavering gaze, Flitwick lets out a deep sigh.

“Mr. Nott. I’m aware that you are quite the talented young wizard, and I simply do not want to have to give you low marks on an assignment I’m confident you could perform well on.”

Still nothing from the brown haired Slytherin.

“I’ve arranged for you to begin working with a tutor until you’re able to cast the spell.” He says finally.

Theo frowns. He’s never had a tutor before. Never needed one.

“Professor-“ he begins to protest.

“The two of you can begin later this evening. 8 o’clock in the library,” Flitwick interrupts before shooing him off to his next class.

Finally arriving outside the library doors, Theo made another look of distaste before pushing through the large double doors. His eyes gazed over the tables not entirely sure who he was looking for as the twat had never actually told him who would be tutoring him. He felt his body freeze momentarily when his eyes locked with another pair of bright eyes and he began silently cursing Matteo. The bloody fucking bastard had jinxed him.

You sat quietly at your table in the library, waiting for the clock to slowly hit 8 as you mindlessly worked away at your essay for ancient runes. During charms today, Flitwick had noticed one of your classmates have a particularly difficult time with the lesson and asked for you to guide them in the right direction. Not one to argue with your head of house, you’d easily agreed.

As the clock struck 8, you began casting quick glances every so often at the library doors, until suddenly you were locked in the gaze of none other than Theodore Nott. Surely he wasn’t the one you would be tutoring? You didn’t know the boy particularly well, but you did know that he was a fierce competitor for top of the class in most of your other lessons. You watched silently as he made his way over to your table, offering him a small smile.

“Charms?” He asks, tossing his bag onto the table with a gentle thud.

You give him a slight nod, eyeing his tall figure as he sat lazily across from you.

“Well I’m sorry to break it to you, but you’ll be wasting your time. Never been able to cast the damn spell. Probably never will,” he says, leaning back on the chair, eyes not wavering.

You purse your lips. Looking at the handsome boy in front of you.

“I suppose you’ll just have to trust me then, won’t you?” You reply, a challenging tone apparent in your voice.

The boy smirks at this, cocking his head as if really getting a good look at you for the first time before finally replying, “I’ve never been particularly trusting.”

“Well then I guess you’ll be learning all sorts of things.”

You take your charms book out of your bag, opening it to the reading you had been assigned earlier in the week. You glance up to see Theodore mirroring your actions silently.

“A patronus, is a concentration of pure happiness and hope, derived from the recollection of a single talisman memory which is essential in its creation,” you read, the underlined section of the textbook was one you had pre-selected as it was the concept most people struggled to grasp.

Watching Theo stiffen and clench his jaw slightly, you knew you were right.

“When someone is unable to cast a patronus, I’ve found it’s usually because they haven’t figured out yet how to focus in on their talisman memory,” you continue.

“And if someone doesn’t have a talisman memory?” Theo’s voice interrupts.

You glance up at him in surprise.

“Everyone has a talisman memory. We just need to find it.”

“I don’t have one.” He insists.

“Then we’ll make one.”

The boy sighs in frustration. Fists clenching as he glares at the textbook in front of him.

“It might not be as complicated as you’re making it. I know when Flitwick was in class, he made it seem like your talisman memory had to be a big, grande gesture, or a clear moment of inexplicable joy. But I think the little moments count too. Everyone has been happy at least once,” you say, watching as Theo slowly relaxes.

“What do you think about?” He asks, before quickly back tracking “You don’t have to answer that.”

“All sorts of things really,” you reply, offering another small smile. “When I got my first wand at Ollivander’s. Honeydukes with the rest of the Ravenclaws. Playing quidditch. Specially that time we beat Gryffindor.”

Theo snorts at that, a small grin reaching his lips.

“Point is, it doesn’t matter how small the moment is, long as it made you happy.”

You’re met with silence, as Theo continues to stare down at his textbook, a look a deep contemplation on his face.

“Think that’s enough for today. Flitwick said to keep up the sessions until you’re at least able to cast an incorporeal patronus, so, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Theo nods his head, still not meeting your gaze.

“Does 6 o’clock on the lawn work?” You ask, only to be met with another nod.

Sensing the boy needed a bit of space, you quickly gathered your things before leaving the boy to his thoughts.

Step 2: Accidentally Fall In Love with Your Tutor (if you weren’t half way there already.)

You sit staring out at the vast lake in front of you, watching as the breeze pushed against the water, forming rolling waves across the surface and taking a deep breath in. You had been meeting Theodore here every day at 6 o’clock sharp for almost two whole weeks now, but you honestly weren’t sure if he’d show up today. Not that you’d blame him.

You felt as if you’d really failed him as a tutor after so many consecutive days of work, with nothing to show for it. On top of that, the two of you had gotten into a rather intense shouting match yesterday, the stress of the whole thing really getting to the both of you.

You lean back, laying down on the soft blanket below you, knees still propped up, and close your eyes, thinking back to the first time the two of you had met out in this very spot. You’d originally picked the spot, because it helped you clear your mind and you thought it might help clear Theo’s too.

That first day had been awkward. Almost painfully so. You had simply wanted to talk. Get to know the boy, pick his brain for any source of happiness or joy he might get out of life. You didn’t get much, so instead you talked about your own life. What it was like living in Ravenclaw tower, the time you and Cho had tried out together for the quidditch team. You told him how you had gone to the Yule ball with a big group of friends, and how you thought it was much better than going with some stuffy date, and how your favorite candies were the purple taffies from Honeydukes, and your favorite flowers were deadly poisonous despite their pretty and innocent appearance.

The second day, you borrowed Cho’s cat and brought her along to the meeting, thinking it might help further relax your brown haired companion. It did, so you brought her along the next day, and the day after that. It wasn’t until the fourth day that Theo broke. Sure he had told you a bit about his time at Hogwarts. Playing on Slytherin’s quidditch team. Sharing a dorm with Matteo Riddle and Lorenzo Berkshire. But on the fourth day, he told you about his mother. You weren’t expecting it, and it honestly had caught you wildly off guard. Theodore’s mother had been the light of his world, and after she was gone, you could understand why he thought he would never cast a patronus.

It went on like this, the two of you gradually becoming closer, as you carefully began building a sort of trust between the two of you. You thought you might even be becoming friends; which excited you as you’d never been quite able to stop your eyes from wandering over to the group of Slytherins in the back of the class, and stopping on the tall, brunette boy with pretty eyes. You tried every couple of days to cast the spell, guiding him through different memories, trying to focus in on different experiences. But still nothing. You had even tried inviting Matteo and Enzo to a session, hoping they’d help lighten his mood, but it only ended in the four of you skiving wildly off course and getting nothing done. You and Theo had laughed about it the next day, but still not even a whisp of silvery magic.

It had all come to a head yesterday. You could feel the two of you beginning to lose hope, but you were nothing if not determined. The two of you were sitting quietly, skimming the textbook for what seemed like the thousandth time, when Theo suddenly stopped and looked up at you.

“I read something the other day. Bout patronuses. And being able to cast em.”

You looked up from your reading, intrigued.

“Said that there’s a widespread, and justified, belief that witches and wizards who aren’t pure of heart can’t cast a patronus.”

Your mouth slowly formed an O shape, and the book you were holding dropped to the ground, completely forgotten.

“Theodore. You don’t honestly think. That’s ridiculous.”

“It makes sense doesn’t it? Why I can’t even cast an incorporeal charm. Why nothing we’ve tried works. There’s no point,” Theo had said, growing frustrated.

“Theodore stop. That theory is all nonsense. There isn’t even any evidence really to back it up,” you reply.

“Why else would nothing be working?” Theo asks, slamming his book on the ground.

“Theo!”

“No, y/n, honestly. What other explanation could there be. We’ve been doing this for weeks.” Theo’s voice began to rise.

“And we’ll continue until you’re able to get this.”

“What’s the bloody point? We’ve tried everything!”

“And we just need to try a bit harder!” You respond.

“You think I haven’t been trying?”

“Of course I know you’ve been trying! And I’ve been trying to do everything I can to help you succeed!”

“And everything I’ve been doing is for you! I don’t care about the bloody charm, I don’t want to disappoint you!”

Theo’s outburst had shocked you, and your breath hitched as the two of you stared at each other, Theo’s words sinking in.

Then he was kissing you. Hot lips working against yours as he pulled you onto his lap. Your fingers worked their way up to his hair, relishing in how soft his brown waves were as you tugged at them gently.

You let out a soft moan as you felt his tongue glide gently across your bottom lip before diving in at the opportunity you had provided him.

You seemed to get lost in the feeling of his soft lips and large hands around your waist holding you firmly in place. You had no idea how much time had passed by the time you were both panting for breath, foreheads resting against one another.

Seeming to really realize what he’d done, Theo looked down at you, eyes beginning to widen slightly.

“I’m so sorry, y/n,” he’d said before promptly rising and hastily making his way back to the castle.

Now, your finger tips softly brushed the soft leather of Theo’s book bag that he’d abandoned yesterday in his hurry to leave. You thought that maybe, if for no other reason, he’d perhaps come to retrieve it. Not that he needed to you thought dryly, knowing that with his Gringotts account, he could’ve easily already replaced it and its contents.

Sitting up, you glance at your time piece showing a quarter after 6. With a deep sigh, you fish your transfiguration textbook out of your bag, flipping it open to begin your assigned reading. You’re only a few pages in when a twig snaps somewhere behind you. Whipping around, you see him standing there, handsome as ever, looking down at you.

“Sorry I’m late. And, sorry for yesterday,” he mumbles, dropping down to sit next to you.

You eye him warily as he refuses to make eye contact with you, eyes appearing to be glazed over as he gazes out at the lake like you had been earlier.

Slowly, and ever so carefully, you shift next to him so that your arms and legs brush softly, and you gently lean your head against his shoulder as you join him in looking out at the water. You feel him tense initially before slowly relaxing, leaning in as the two of you sat in silence.

“I won’t give up, if you don’t,” you say finally as Theo’s hand finds yours.

Step 3: Trust

It had been a week now since that day at the lake, and you weren’t quite sure where you stood anymore with Theo. You still met each other everyday by the lake, slipping easily into your usual banter. But now it was eyes meeting from across the classroom and slips of paper making their way back and forth. Your fingertips would brush softly in the hallways, and sometimes, you’d feel a hand reach out, pulling you into a hidden nook, and warm lips would meet your own. But you’d never actually, talked, about it.

You shake the thoughts out of your mind, a shiver running down your spine, as you focus in on the present. That all wasn’t the reason you once again found yourself lying out on the lawn, Theo’s head resting comfortably in your lap.

“Can you cast it?” Theo asks, looking up at you.

“Hmm?”

“Your patronus? Can you cast it? I know yours is a full, corporeal form.”

Looking down at the boy, your fingers weave slowly through his hair as you reach for your wand.

Closing your eyes and taking a breath, you focus in, memories flashing through your mind, a sense of warmth overtaking you.

“Expecto patronum.” The spell falls from your lips and you open your eyes to see a silver fox tumble out of the tip of your wand before trotting through the air around you.

You really did love the spell and it amazed and intrigued you every time. A reflection of someone’s soul, your textbook had said. It could change throughout one’s life, should they experience a shocking event, grow more mature, fall in love. The last one had always been the most curious, the idea of someone loving so much, that a piece of their soul reflected that of their loved one.

You watch as Theo’s eyes follow the the creature in awe.

“You know this is hopeless right?” Theo asks softly, your hand in his hair freezing.

“Theodore. We agreed that-“

“But really what’s the point? So I get one poor mark. When am I ever going to need to use the spell really? No point in wasting time on something that’s hopeless.”

You carefully mull over Theo’s words in your head. You supposed that realistically, he wasn’t necessarily wrong practicality wise. But if you both simply gave up, would he ever want to see you again? You knew in your core that it was selfish, but the last three weeks really had been some of the best during your time at Hogwarts. Which was saying a bit considering you’d been there for almost seven years. You supposed you’d just hoped- hoped. Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless. Hope. A concentration of pure happiness and hope.

“Theodore?”

“Amore?”

“When you’re thinking of your happy memory, why did you choose it?”

Theo gives you a strange look.

“Because it made me happy at the time, and the talisman memory is supposed to be a happy.”

“Good. But can you tell me why it’s so important to focus on a happy memory?”

Theo blinks.

“Because the spell says so.”

You let out a small laugh.

“Because the whole point of the charm is to create protection from the dark. Something that will keep you safe so that you can continue to feel that happiness. To give you hope.”

Theo furrows his eyebrows and frowns.

“This feels emotional.” He says, his face distorting in disgust.

“Sometimes magic is.”

Theo’s frown deepens. “It shouldn’t be. I’m perfectly content being apathetic and emotionally detached thanks.”

You let out a small snort. “Come on Theo. Try it again. But this time, think about your memory and why you want to feel that again.”

Theo’s face scrunches up in distaste before he sits up lazily, picking up his wand. You watch as he closes his eyes, pausing. His chest slowly rises then falls, once, twice.

“Expecto patronum.”

Nothing. Theo let’s put an annoyed sigh.

“Hey, it’s okay. You can try again. Think about something that you love, make sure you can picture it clearly. Something that made you so happy that you would relive it over and over.”

Theo’s eyes flick over to you, a brow raised before he closes his eyes once again. You watch him closely, perhaps too closely, as a minute passes. Then two. You’re almost worried he’s fallen asleep sitting up when the words fall from his lips.

“Expecto patronum.”

A burst of silver flashes out of his wand, and your jaw drops as your eyes follow the silver creature that had emerged, gracefully moving across the lawn.

Your eyes dart over to Theo, and you reach out to grab his arm seeing that he’d not yet opened his eyes again. When his eyes finally open once more, his gaze immediately falls on the whimsical creature, eyes widening slightly as he stares at his patronus in disbelief before looking at you with bewildered confusion.

“That’s not mine.” You tell him with a small smile, giving his arm a squeeze as you both look up at the silver fox dancing through the air.

[reader-wandering18]

Yuu Professor

In the staff room, Yuu leaned back in his chair as he sighed deeply.

—I see you’re too tired, Professor Yuu.

— Professor Trein.

— He’s the youngest of us all, try not to intimidate him, Professor Trein.

— What are you trying to say, Professor Crewel?

Yuu felt like he was in the middle of a clash between two mountains. He was afraid his life would end before he even started at that school.

— Come on, get along, we have to make a good impression on the new teacher!

Professor Vargas had arrived, grabbing Yuu by the collar of his shirt and pulling him into a tight hug as if they were old classmates. Although with his large muscles, Yuu felt suffocated.

— If you need anything, you’re more than welcome to come to the Mystery Shop. We have great promotions this year.

Sam handed him a business card.

Professor Crewel was right when he said he was younger than all of them, he was only 27 years old and to top it off… he had no experience in being a teacher.

“It was all because of that incident”

While he was undercover due to his previous job, he was caught in the crossfire between two strangers. Both of them were apparently killed and to top it off, one of them was the new teacher at Night Raven College that year who was mistaken for him.

He had no intention of entering that school and taking that teacher’s place.

When he was ready to escape, he found himself in the school surrounded by a magical field with no way out unless he asked the headmaster for permission.

If he speaks now, he would get into big trouble and have charges like identity theft, possible murder (when he didn’t) and if they were to investigate further…

“Two years, my contract period is only for two years”

Nothing bad could happen.

He would like to kill his past self.

— RIDDLE!

A case of Blot had appeared in front of him.

And soon, a series of them in that prestigious school.

“What the hell have I gotten myself into?!”

Yuu activated a magic shield to protect himself and the students.

Riddle’s blows were fierce, clearly aggravating his anger at the moment, causing the earth to tremble… But the shield showed no signs of breaking.

“That damn crow had said he would bring more teachers, but he hasn’t returned for a while now!”

All the students had evacuated, except for four stubborn young men.

— WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? Get out of the dorm immediately!

— I can’t do it, Professor. I can’t leave Riddle as he is now.

— I refuse, he still hasn’t apologized to me!

“These damn proud brats.”

— Worrying about you shortens my life,— he said in a whisper.

— Don’t leave the shield or I will punish you!

— Professor!

Yuu stepped forward, holding his staff firmly, the wood looked ancient, there was also a design made of pure silver with complicated runes, the magic gem was on top with an exquisite crimson hue.

The moment he stepped out of the magic shield, air bullets pierced the rose bushes leaving nothing but small pieces resembling toothpicks.

It had all happened in the blink of an eye.

Riddle was shocked by the speed at which the master had released the magic. He hadn’t uttered a single word or seemed to have hesitated when it came to making projectiles with the air element!

The strength of the magic power they released could be compared to the cannons of a warship.

— It’s incredible.

Yuu walked towards Riddle with his head held high and only one thought in his head.

“ You are too young to waste your life”

Riddle came back to his senses, thanks to Professor Yuu's intervention. He was taken to the school infirmary after waking up and talking to everyone.

Though Ace, seeing him cry, could only behave as Ace would.

Seeing that moment of conviviality between students, Yuu decided to take a step back and leave that dorm. His rush to flee was also to avoid cleaning Heartslabyul's dorm, which had practically been left in ruins because of him.

"I'm really tired, let the students take care of it."

After a week, in a lonely classroom, Yuu found himself grading his students' homework.

"How can this guy be in charge of teaching him at three years old?!"

The identity he had accidentally taken was not only that of a teacher, but also that of a high-level magician. If anyone else who hadn't studied magic as exhaustively as he had, they would be in serious trouble.

But this coincidence sent shivers down his spine.

That guy, despite being a high-level magician, has no family or friends who can get him into trouble if they see him. Also his age and appearance.

It was as if the role was made for him.

Knock knock

Yuu was startled but didn't show it, his eyes went to the classroom door where he found three students from Heartslabyul. One of them was holding a strawberry cake.

— Teacher, may I come in?

— Clover, Diamond, and Rosehearts. Come in.

With magic, Yuu arranged all his documents and before he could ask the reason for his visit, Riddle put that strawberry cake in its place.

— This is a thank you for helping me.

Seeing the shiny cake in front of him, Yuu couldn't speak for a moment.

— As an educator, I must take care of my students. You don't need to give me a strawberry cake.

— Come on, teacher, the dorm leader made it with so much effort for you!

— Carter!

Riddle scolded the blonde haired boy, though seeing the blush on his face was not something he could hide.

—This is a cake I made as an apology for the trouble I caused. Before the no unbirthday party, I want you to be the first to taste the cake.

Hearing those words, Yuu couldn’t help but look at Riddle tenderly. The overstain is caused by the negative feelings of wizards. It’s something that simply can’t be controlled and he was burdened by his past.

“I still feel a little uneasy knowing that I was able to see his past. It’s really strange.”

He cut the first piece of cake and as he brought it to his mouth.

“This is really salty!”

Hahahaha here I leave you another part of Master Yuu living with heartslabyul, there will be more interactions with the other students, I hope it is to your liking.

PD information: In order not to make Riddle feel bad, Yuu did not tell him that his strawberry cake was too salty. So that was how Ace along with Deuce, Trey and Carter ate the other cakes that he had made beforehand. Yuu couldn't throw away the cake so he endured having to eat it.

One more thing, I probably won't upload anything in the next few weeks, more than anything unfortunately I'm a student so right now I'm full of projects. I already have the two chapters of Darkness ready as well as more ideas of Yuu from other worlds but honestly they don't convince me so I haven't been able to upload them and I also don't have time to edit them but in my free time I plan to move forward.

Slowly but surely.

[ruruumin]

the light of kshahrewar's sister

₊˚ ᗢ canon! alhaitham x kaveh's sister! reader.

⤷ if there is one thing kaveh wishes most, its that his sister does not date alhaitham.

the first time alhaitham met you was when you transferred into his class. having started in kshahrewar like your older brother, you decided to transfer to being a haravatat student. it might give you a great change of pace from your family’s insistence on keeping the tradition alive. the silver-haired boy said nothing to you during your first week, only brushing shoulders with you on the occasion when your professor had you seated right next to each other. for the majority of your first year, you hardly talked to the man, let alone knew he existed.

it wasn’t until kaveh graduated at the top of his class that you and alhaitham finally gave each other a warm welcome. alhaitham chose the humble occupation of a scribe while you chose to be a desert researcher for ancient runes. the two of you hardly saw each other after your graduation. but when you stopped by to visit kaveh, it didn’t take long for you to find out that the two of them were living together. 

to the blond’s horror, you and he hit it off quite well. with your professionalism and alhaitham’s stoicism, the two of you were a match made in heaven when it came to academics. you handled all the artistic elements and research while he focused on the calculations and logistics. you were paired together quite often. mainly because alhaitham was not the friendliest of students. and the only person who could truly tolerate him is you. 

your older brother cannot say the same. you, his charming little sister, who might have also tormented him as a child, should not be with his roommate! to think you’d get so chummy with alhaitham out of all people sent shivers down his spine. this was worse than any horror movie he watched as a kid.

while you may be indifferent, he was aloof. these were completely different things! you were a perfect angel and he's some kind of boar that came out of the pits itself. tighnari and cyno can believe it though.

they've seen the longing looks alhaitham has sent you. they've seen his fluttering touches on your hand. it seemed like kaveh was the only person in denial.

so kaveh spends his time observing alhaitham. as of recently, he’s been coming home later than usual. while the man gets off of work around 5 pm, he’s been coming back at 8 or 10. much later than he usually would be. and whenever he’s been gone, he always has leftovers for him. and each day it’d be from a different restaurant. almost as if he’s been traveling throughout sumeru to try new food. kaveh would have thought nothing of it until alhaitham came back with flushed ears and a faint smile. 

all of this was simply speculation though. there’s no way his roommate, alhaitham, the akademiya’s feeble scholar and formerly acting grand sage, would be in some kind of secret relationship with his little sister. it’s impossible. almost as unlikely as alhaitham being a sweetheart in any kind of relationship.

but it was beginning to be hard to deny what he’s seeing right now. 

tighnari and cyno had invited him to lambards for a game of tcg. a certain somebody was supposed to join, however he was nowhere to be seen. not until the doors swung open and you walked through. before kaveh could wave to you with a friendly smile, he stopped short as he saw alhaitham by your side. his ears were the same tint of red that he remembered. and his smile was far too obvious now that you were in front of him. your fingers were intertwined as he led you through the tavern, ordering you a bottle of wine for your anniversary.

it seems like kaveh’s worst nightmare came true after all.

⤷ tags:

@urmomsgf298

[mischiefinbloom]

Hiiiii! Could you please do a James x Hufflepuff!reader please? Just something really fluffy, maybe with the reader helping some first years with something, and James being super happy? 😊 Thx!!!

(Also, sorry if it’s kinda off, this is my first time requesting something 😅)

thank you for your request—it means a lot! I hope you enjoy it!

୧ ‧₊˚ something different

₊⊹ summary: your quiet kindness catches james potter’s eye, leading to an unexpected conversation and an offer that might change everything.

₊⊹ pairing: james potter x hufflepuff!reader

₊⊹ warnings: maybe one...? use of y/n, besides that, nothing!

it was a lazy autumn morning, and the great hall was bathed in golden light streaming through the stained glass windows. you were sitting at the hufflepuff table, the smell of toast and coffee mingling with the cheerful chatter of students around you.

lily evans, as always, was beside you, gesturing animatedly as she talked about the upcoming arithmancy class, something that seemed to excite her more than anything else that week.

"I need to finish this reading before class, but the library is unbearably crowded." lily sighed, turning the page of her notebook impatiently.

"we could go earlier, if you want." you suggested, taking a bite of the apple on your plate.

before lily could respond, a noise from the gryffindor table caught her attention. it wasn't uncommon for the marauders to be the center of attention in the hall, but that particular morning, it seemed sirius black was exaggerating even more.

he was laughing loudly, gesturing as he told some absurd story to peter pettigrew, who could hardly contain his tears from laughing so much. remus lupin seemed bored, focused on his coffee, but james potter...

you knew james potter was always noticed. tall, with messy hair and that confident smile, he seemed to radiate energy.

but that morning, he wasn't looking at sirius or peter. he was looking at lily.

"you're aware that james has been staring at you for the past ten minutes, aren't you?" you said, trying to sound casual.

lily rolled her eyes, "he's always staring."

you chuckled softly, but couldn't help but glance at james. he quickly looked away, as if he didn't want to be caught. there was something about him you could never fully understand. james was a force of nature, but he also seemed to carry something more. something he rarely let show.

that afternoon, you and lily went to the library as planned. the place was quieter than usual, which was a pleasant surprise.

while lily got lost in books on ancient runes, you decided to explore the herbology section. you were so focused on a volume about magical plants that you didn't notice when remus lupin appeared beside you.

"this one's good, but the author exaggerates the properties of mistletoe." remus's voice was calm, almost musical.

you looked at him, surprised, "you've read this book?"

remus shrugged, a small smile on his lips.

"I read everything."

it was easy to talk to remus. he had a calm presence that made you feel at ease, and his observations were always interesting. you ended up spending more time talking than studying, exchanging comments about the professors and classes.

"you're different from the rest of them, you know?" you commented at one point, referring to the marauders.

remus laughed, but there was something melancholic in his gaze.

"they're not as bad as they seem once you get to know them, trust me."

before you could respond, sirius appeared.

"moony, are you stealing evans's friend?" he teased, leaning against the shelf beside you.

you felt your face heat up, but remus just rolled his eyes. "cease it, sirius. don’t bother her."

sirius smiled mischievously, but then his gaze fell on you.

"careful, darling. staying too close to us can be dangerous."

there was something in the way he said that that seemed half-serious, but before you could ask what he meant, sirius was already pulling remus away.

it was late afternoon, and the castle corridors were bathed in warm light filtering through the stained glass windows. james potter was alone, something rare. he had left the quidditch practice early, claiming he needed to fetch a book from the library.

as he walked down the corridor, something caught his attention. a first-year student was kneeling on the floor, desperately trying to gather a handful of scattered papers.

she seemed frustrated, almost crying, but no one around seemed to notice her struggle.

then he saw you.

you were coming down the stairs and stopped immediately upon seeing the scene. james stood where he was, curious, watching.

you approached the girl carefully, without haste, and knelt beside her.

"hey, need help?" you asked, your voice soft and gentle.

the girl looked up, hesitant, but eventually nodded.

as you gathered the papers, you organized them carefully, murmuring words of comfort.

"don't say that, everyone makes mistakes sometimes," you said when she apologized.

james stood still, his heart beating faster than he expected. there was something different about you. something he couldn't ignore.

and, for the first time in years, lily evans was not the only person on his mind.

in the days that followed, james couldn't get the scene out of his head—you helping that first-year student as if it were the most natural thing in the world. he didn't know why, but there was something about that gesture that seemed to encapsulate everything he had begun to notice about you.

in transfiguration class, he saw how you bit the tip of your quill while listening attentively to professor mcgonagall's explanations. during breaks, he noticed how you always made sure to divide your time equally among friends, ensuring no one felt left out.

james didn't know how he had never noticed these things before. or maybe he did. but had been so focused on lily for so long that he had never allowed himself to look around.

now, he was looking.

it was a particularly cold night, and you were leaving the library with lily. the hours had slipped by as you reviewed for the upcoming charms exam, and now the corridors were almost deserted.

"I thought my fingers would fall off after writing so much." you said, shrinking against the cold wind that passed through the slightly open windows.

lily smiled, adjusting her scarf around her neck. "don't complain, at least you know you'll ace the exam."

before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, and an unmistakable voice caught your attention.

"evans! thought I'd find you here."

it was james. he had that mischievous smile on his face but seemed less intense than usual. lily sighed, but he ignored her and looked at you.

"hey, hufflepuff," he said, his eyes shining for a moment before turning back to lily. "I need to talk to you about the prefect meeting."

lily hesitated but eventually nodded. "okay, but make it quick, potter."

as they moved away to talk, you leaned against the wall, watching the torches flicker in the darkness of the corridor. a few minutes later, james returned alone, his face slightly flushed from the cold.

"she's always like that with you?" you asked, without thinking.

james chuckled, a low and genuine sound. "always. but I guess I've gotten used to it."

"you're persistent, that's for sure."

he raised an eyebrow, surprised by the comment. "is that good or bad?"

you shrugged, a small smile on your lips. "depends on who's on the other side."

james fell silent for a moment, just watching you. it was as if he was trying to figure something out, as if, for the first time, he didn't quite know what to say.

"you know, you're different," he said finally, his tone softer than usual.

you frowned, confused. "different how?"

"I don't know. just... different. good different."

before you could say anything, lily called for you from the other end of the corridor. you gave james one last look before joining her, leaving him standing there, alone.

that night, as you tried to sleep, the conversation with james wouldn't leave your mind. there was something in the way he spoke to you, something that felt... different.

meanwhile, james was sitting in front of the fireplace in the gryffindor common room, lost in thought. sirius tossed a crumpled piece of parchment into the air, clearly bored.

"what's with you today?" sirius asked, tossing the parchment in james's direction.

"just thinking."

"about who?" remus asked, raising an eyebrow.

james hesitated for a moment before answering. "y/n."

the silence that followed was brief but loaded.

"y/n?" sirius repeated, surprised. "no offense, she's great, beautiful too, but... she's not evans."

james sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know. and that's what's confusing me."

remus smiled but didn't say anything, leaving james lost in his own thoughts.

in the following week, james began to approach you more, subtly but noticeably. he asked questions about classes, helped you carry your books when he saw you were overloaded, and even started showing up in the library more often.

at first, you thought it was a coincidence, but soon you realized it wasn't. and, to your surprise, you didn't mind.

one afternoon, as you walked together through the gardens, james looked at you with a smile that seemed to carry more meaning than he was willing to admit.

"you know... these days, you’ve been the brightest moment for me without even realizing it." he said, straightforwardly, a faint flush of color warmed his cheeks.

you stopped, surprised, "what?"

"I'm serious. I... I don't know how to explain it, but... you make things seem easier."

there was something in his sincerity that made your heart beat faster.

"james... I..." you began, but he interrupted you, gently holding your hand.

"I know we have our differences, but... how about we go out tomorrow night? just the two of us. we can have dinner in hogsmeade, maybe. what do you think?"

you looked at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. you never imagined that james potter, the mischievous and sweet boy, would make such an intimate invitation, specially to you.

"I'd love to," you replied, smiling shyly.

he smiled back, squeezing your hand.

"then it's a date. tomorrow night, at seven o'clock, at the main entrance. don't be late."

you laughed, shaking your head.

"I'm not the one who's late here, potter."

"true," he agreed, "but I'll wait for you anyway. I always will."

and so, with a smile on your lips and your heart racing, you said goodbye to him, eager for what the next night would bring.

[defectivevillain]

scar-crossed lovers

pairing: Severus Snape/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

summary: “This really isn’t necessary,” you feel the need to say, once you realize that Severus is going to apply the burn paste for you. “I’m perfectly capable-” You break off at the cynical expression on his face, which suggests exactly how incapable he thinks you are.

word count: 2.7k | ao3 version

this work is technically in a series, so feel free to read the other parts and then come back :3

warnings: first-degree burns

Potions was one of your least favorite subjects as a Hogwarts student. You weren’t necessarily bad at brewing, but you weren’t quite skilled at it either. The pressure to follow precise instructions coupled with the subsequent risk of injury that came with errors made it a hard class for you to enjoy. You didn’t have enough confidence in your abilities to proceed through Potions with conviction, and that showed through in your classwork. You often brewed the Potions correctly, but it took you twice as long as it took your classmates. 

Thankfully, your Potions days are long behind you. You’re the Ancient Runes professor at Hogwarts and acting Head of Hufflepuff House—and neither of those roles require an extensive knowledge of Potions. You’re more than content to leave the art of Potions to Severus Snape, the current Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House. You’re secretly relieved that you left Potions back in your school years. You’d much rather continue practicing and researching the subject you’re skilled at—Ancient Runes—than meddle with Potions.

The universe seems dead-set on spiting you, however, because you soon find yourself in a rather uncomfortable position. Minerva is regarding you with an expectant gaze, evidently waiting for you to respond to her statement. You have to put a conscious effort towards remembering what she’s requested of you. 

Severus will be away for the next few school days, in order to attend an international Potions conference. Since the Potions Master will be absent, the castle will need a substitute to stand in his place. You’re not exactly surprised that Minerva is asking you to fill in for Severus—you teach an elective course for upper-years, which means that you have less classes to teach than your colleagues. You have enough time in your schedule to fill in for Severus. The thought of returning to the dungeons for Potions isn’t quite savory, but you know you’ll manage. Besides, you’ll be the professor, not the student. You won’t actually have to brew anything; instead, you’ll be supervising the students’ creations.

“I can do it,” you tell Minerva. The Transfiguration professor thanks you and the tension seems to leave her shoulders. For the rest of your meeting, the two of you review the lesson plans Severus left and discuss any potential obstacles. You leave feeling both nervous and excited. 

To your surprise, however, your Potions classes proceed rather well. The first day flies by without incident and you find yourself feeling strangely validated. You had anticipated there to be a struggle with maintaining your authority, especially with the younger classes of students whom you haven’t gotten to know yet. However, everything went rather smoothly. There were a few hiccups here and there, but you managed to handle them well. Perhaps this won’t be so bad after all.

Of course, the moment you begin to relax, something goes wrong. In hindsight, perhaps you should’ve expected mishaps from the second year Slytherins and Gryffindors—the two Houses usually don’t get along well, and the students are fairly young. But, you don’t have a choice in the matter—you have to supervise them, since Severus is absent. Safe to say, within a few moments of starting class, you’re developing a headache. 

The class is currently learning how to brew Strengthening Solution. You copy the recipe from the textbook onto the board with large handwriting and provide a few general tips, before allowing the students to pair up and begin brewing. By the end of the period, each pair should present a Strengthening Solution for grading.

Strengthening Solution is far from a difficult brew, but you still spot a few pairs having trouble. You eventually decide to pace around the classroom in circles, keeping your eyes peeled for raised hands or confused looks. Malfoy is doing well—unsurprising, considering that he’s apparently one of the top of the class. The same goes for Granger. Zabini and Nott seem to know what they’re doing. Weasley seems torn between attempting to slice his ingredients and cheating off of Granger. There aren’t any noticeable fights brewing amongst the students, which is a plus. Malfoy and Potter have a rather bitter rivalry, from what you’ve heard. 

Someone is trying to get your attention, though. You break away from your thoughts and walk over to the student, who is raising their hand diligently. “What’s the next ingredient?” A boy you recognize to be Neville Longbottom asks. You peek down into his cauldron, frowning when you notice it’s the wrong color. 

“What have you done so far?” You ask him. Longbottom recounts the steps he’s taken and you manage to find where he left off. “Salamander blood is next, Mr. Longbottom,” you answer him. Longbottom exchanges a worried look with Finnigan, his lab partner. Dread coils in your chest. The two of them look scared.

“Salamander?” Longbottom asks, his eyes wide. 

“Yes,” you respond. The shocked look on Longbottom’s face does not inspire confidence. You grimace and take another sidelong glance at the cauldron, surprised to find that the color has since changed. Just what did Longbottom put in the concoction?

You don’t have time to find out, as the cauldron bubbles ominously. Within the blink of an eye, the cauldron is spitting boiling hot liquid everywhere. You quickly shove Longbottom to the side and turn to conjure a shield. Your arm is prickling and aching, but you ignore the sensation and focus on containing the potion’s unexpected eruption. Thankfully, you manage to prevent any harm to the other students—which is most important. A nullifying spell calms the bubbling potion back down, and you quickly send Longbottom to the infirmary before instructing the class to finish brewing and turn in what they have. Despite the mishaps with Longbottom’s brewing, the majority of the class seems to have finished the Strengthening Solution unimpeded. Once the students are dismissed, you turn your attention to the now-melted cauldron and try your best to repair it. After a few minutes of concentration, you manage to somewhat restore it. At the very least, it’s functional. Longbottom will just have to deal with it. 

You finish cleaning the table up, before wiping the sweat from your brow and taking a deep breath. That was a close call—your heart is still racing. There’s no telling what would have happened if you hadn’t contained the potion in time. Thank Merlin for small mercies, you suppose. 

It takes several moments for your adrenaline to fade away, and the feeling is then replaced with a strange prickling along your forearm. You frown and pull up your shirt sleeve, hissing as it rubs against your chafed and burnt skin. It seems not everyone escaped unscathed. Truthfully, though, you’re glad you’re the one injured—and not any of the students (aside from Longbottom, who is likely being chewed out by Madam Pomfrey right now). 

You know a few minor healing spells, but they hardly do anything to get rid of the harsh burn that seems to tear its way up your arm. You don’t really want to go to the infirmary—you know Poppy would have no qualms about telling you exactly how reckless and foolish you were. You suppose you could raid Severus’s Potions stash… but you don’t have a death wish. Severus is very possessive of his Potions, and you know he’d flip once he returned and noticed that something was missing. You inhale slowly and take a moment to process everything that just happened. 

Your brief reprieve doesn’t last very long, as a student enters the classroom and breaks you out of your thoughts. You cast a minor pain relief spell and quickly roll your shirt sleeve back down. Before long, you’re too busy greeting the next class of students to pay much attention to your injury.

Thankfully, your remaining lessons are uneventful. It isn’t until your final class is over and you start to walk to the dining hall that you remember the burn itching at your skin. The pain nullification spell has worn off and you cast another, idly hoping that it’ll somehow get rid of the burn entirely. You don’t really have the luxury to devote time to your wound—you need to finalize your lesson plans for the coming week and grade some essays that the fifth-years turned in. You spend dinner lost in thought, planning out how you’re going to spend the rest of your day. 

It’s really a shame that your plan falls into obscurity the moment you leave the Great Hall. You can’t be more than a few steps down the hall before you feel a presence at your side. You chance a sidelong glance at your newfound companion, relaxing when you realize it’s Severus. 

“Hey, Severus,” you greet him, unable to stop the small smile that works its way onto your face. You’re happy to see him. Severus nods and begins to walk at your side. You’re heading back to your office, and you suppose he is going to be returning to his office too. “Glad you’re back. How was the conference?” 

The Potions professor huffs. “There was a veritable mix of bright minds and complete fools,” he remarks with a dark glare pointed ahead. You have to stifle your amusement at the gesture. Severus doesn’t seem keen to elaborate further on the sentiment.

“That sounds about right,” you hum, recalling what you’ve heard about the conference in passing. “Your classes did pretty well. Only one cauldron blew up.” Severus lets out a long-suffering sigh, evidently thinking about all the cauldrons that will blow up across the duration of the school year. You can’t help but smile at his exasperation. Admittedly, you share some of it too—especially since the incident yesterday. 

“Thank you for watching over my classes,” Severus says, apropos of nothing. There’s no hint of anything other than sincerity in his voice. You raise an eyebrow at the realization. His lips quirk up ever so slightly and, Merlin, is that a smile? He surprises you even more by placing a hand on your forearm. Ordinarily, you’d appreciate the friendly gesture, but his grip falls right on your untreated burn and you have to wince. Immediately, his eyes are squinted in suspicion. You try to tug your arm back, but his grip is tight on your wrist—thankfully, away from the burn. The professor’s infamous scowl returns. “What did you do?”

You resolutely keep your mouth shut. Unfortunately, Severus isn’t the least bit discouraged. Instead, he grabs your sleeve and delicately rolls it up. The marred skin on your forearm is revealed and Severus shakes his head in irritated disbelief. 

“To be fair, I didn’t do anything,” you feel the need to establish. Severus pinches the bridge of his nose. You decide to continue speaking, even though his expression is quickly turning from annoyed to fuming. “Remember the cauldron I mentioned? Yes, well… Mr. Longbottom had a bit of an accident.”

Severus’s grip on your wrist becomes bruising and you hiss. He removes his hand, but the indignant expression on his face doesn’t fade. His fists are clenched at his sides and his scowl is the angriest you’ve seen. It looks as if he’s moments away from stalking over to the Gryffindor Common Room and taking points from the Longbottom boy. 

“Severus,” you chide him. You’ve been meaning to talk to him about his treatment of Neville Longbottom. The Gryffindor is absolutely terrified of the Potions professor. Now that you’re on the topic, you might as well mention it. “Actually-” The rest of the words disintegrate on your tongue, as you catch the murderous expression on the professor’s face. He glares at you and you fall silent. Now might not be the best time, you realize. 

Severus starts to walk away. He doesn’t offer a single word of explanation, but you follow after him because it seems like the right thing to do. A few moments later, you find yourself standing in front of his Potions stores. Severus lets out a long suffering sigh and climbs the ladder to the top shelf with practiced ease, grabbing Burn-Healing Paste and another vial before shouldering past you in the doorway. You take a step back and watch him lock the space, before following him into his office. It takes you a few moments to realize why he hasn’t dismissed you yet. 

“This really isn’t necessary,” you feel the need to say, once you realize that Severus is going to apply the paste for you. “I’m perfectly capable-” You break off at the cynical expression on his face, which  suggests exactly how incapable he thinks you are. Severus silently takes a few steps forward, leaving you to hesitantly backpedal until you’re forced to lean back against his desk. He makes quick work of rolling up your sleeve; you’re not given even a word of warning before the paste is being deposited onto your arm. You manage to keep quiet, despite the sudden shock. The paste is weirdly cold, and it almost immediately soaks into your skin. You stare down at it in fascination. 

“Thank you, Severus-” You move to get up, only for your colleague to push you back with a firm hand. You let your free hand fall to the desk behind you, feeling a sudden urge to brace yourself. Severus doesn’t seem to pay you any mind, as his gaze is honed in on your forearm. He procures the vial from earlier and picks up the pipette to place the amber liquid on your skin. At your questioning gaze, Severus explains. 

“Anti-scarring solution.”

“Severus, I don’t care if it scars,” You try to say. 

“Merlin forbid you mar your flawless skin,” Severus interjects, complete with a scoff and an intense eye-roll. The wording sounds a little familiar, but it takes you a moment to place it. Once you realize that he’s repeating something Lockhart said to you a few days ago— “You have such flawless skin!” —you can’t help but choke on a quiet laugh. 

“He’s rather friendly, isn’t he?” You muse aloud. Severus visibly stiffens at that, for some reason. Tension suddenly settles in the air, heavy and palpable amidst the quiet of his office. You can’t help but feel as if you’ve just done something wrong—you’re just not sure what it is. 

“More than friendly,” Severus states mildly. You want to ask him about the unreadable expression on his face (and the inexplicable glimmer in his eyes), but he places a healthy amount of salve on your arm and you flinch at the stinging sensation it creates. Lockhart had touched your forearm there, too. Whilst his touch incited disgust and discomfort within you, Severus’s touch makes your heart race. 

“Okay, thank you-” You try to escape again, feeling a bit flustered by the intense gaze he has pointed at you. The Potions professor doesn’t respond verbally, instead leveling you with such a malicious glare that any more objections fall to dust in your mouth. Severus returns his attention to your forearm, a roll of bandages in one hand as the other hand gently extends your arm. A shiver rolls down your spine. Time drags on like a viscous sludge, and you’re a prisoner to its whims. All you can hear is Severus’s calm, measured breaths; all you see is the careful manner with which he handles you, as if you’re made of glass. 

“Thank you, Severus.” You breathe once the bandages are secured around your forearm. You swear you feel his hands linger for the briefest of moments, but you put it down to your imagination. At a loss for words, you end up bidding him a good night and retreating to your own office. Even as you try to immerse yourself in grading your class’s essays, the weight of Severus’s touch and the pressure of his gaze refuses to leave your mind’s eye. You fall asleep that night with your arm prickling, both from the salve and from Severus’s attentive, careful grasp earlier.

The next day, you’re set free from your supervisory duties. While the few days you spent as Potions professor were enjoyable, you’re very relieved they’re over. You’d much rather devote attention to Ancient Runes—a subject you feel you’re more qualified to teach. It’s also nice to have your free periods back. You take the chance to study up on some recent scholarship and walk about the castle, taking in the fresh air that the spring brings. 

Unbeknownst to you, during Potions class with the second-years, Gryffindor House loses a hundred points. When you hear the news at dinner, you can’t help but laugh. You then glance at Severus, unsurprised to find a vindictive smirk tugging at his lips. 

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[marauder-misprint]

Listening to your heart

Sirius Black x fem!Slytherin!reader

series masterlist

2.2k words

cw: fluff, Y/N

Semi-reluctantly, you decided to listen to Pandora’s advice to listen to your heart. It’s not as easy as you expected it to be, given that your heart didn’t know exactly what it wanted. Doing nothing was also not an option. So, you avoided having conversations with and about boys. You considered it buying yourself time, even if there was no real timeline besides the chance that Sirius would grow tired of waiting for you to come around. 

You were attempting to study in the common room when you felt the couch dip near you. You looked up from your book to see a pale-faced Regulus looking semi-mortified that you did indeed notice him sitting down. 

“Is this… spot taken?” He coughed. “Is this okay?”

“You can sit there. I don’t own this couch,” you replied flatly. 

His demeanor relaxed, leaning back into the cushions and opening his own book. You knew you’d laugh about this little interaction later with the girls. You had told him you would play nice if he did, yet he was still walking on eggshells around you. Had you been a bit cold towards him in general? Yes, but still. You wanted to tell him to get over himself. 

“How have you been?” Regulus asked, barely looking up from his book. 

You blinked slowly. You debated your answer. For some reason, ‘I’m trying to figure out my feelings toward your brother since he seems rather fond of me, like how you used to be’ didn’t feel like the right answer. Telling Regulus your thoughts were overtaken by his brother and a little bit by him wasn’t the thing to do.

“Y/N?” he asked, now fully looking at you. 

“Yeah, sorry. Erm, good enough, I guess. N.E.W.T. level courses, you know.”

He nodded. “Professors really ramping up for O.W.L.s right now too.”

“I’m sure you’re trying to do well in all of them, but are there certain classes you’re aiming for?”

“The usual,” he said with a sigh. “Defense, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Runes, Arithmancy. Father wants me to look into Alchemy, Advanced Arithmancy, Ancient Studies and maybe a field study… They want me to be a hermit apparently.”

You chuckled at that. If he was to get O’s in all of those courses and take the added extracurriculars, Regulus wouldn’t have any extra time on his hands. 

“Go for the classes and like one or two of the extras,” you advised. “Whichever speaks to whatever you’re looking to do. Unless they expect you to outdo Merlin or something…”

He smiled with a nod. You took that as a sign that you can return to studying, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him return to his book. The two of you sit in silence on the couch for a while, each immersed in your own activity. It’s productive for you and it doesn’t feel too uncomfortable. You felt confident in your ability to be neutral toward him. 

Then Barty and Evan strode over to you. Their mere presence was enough to make both you look up from your work with matching annoyed looks on your faces. 

“If this,” Evan gestured between the two of you, “had worked out, that would’ve been comical, but alas.” He laughed. 

“Okay, and? What do you need?” you asked, irritation edging your voice.

“Right, Hogsmeade,” Barty said.

“When and who?” you asked lazily, closing the book you had been working out of. The common room was no longer somewhere you could work apparently. 

“This weekend. Uh, the boys, the girls, and these two idjits,” Evan answered, waving his hand between Barty and Regulus. 

“Idjits?” Barty gasped as you countered, “The boys, the girls?”

Evan let out an exaggerated sigh. “Pandora, Dorcas, Cora, Beatrice, me, Avery, Wilkes, and you two. Invited Snape and Mulciber but not sure if they are going to show.” 

“Quite a group,” you muttered, tilting your head to crack your neck.

“You’re coming, you don’t have a choice, Black,” Barty said definitively.

“Great,” Regulus groaned, turning a page in his book.

“Y/N? Whaddabout you?” Barty asked, turning to you with his arms crossed. 

“Yeah, we’ll see.” You stood up with your things gathered into your arms. 

Evan laughed. “Pan will sort you out by then.”

You knew he was right. If all of the girls were going, including Dorcas, you were sure to be dragged along, even if you decided to put up a fight. You hated to admit that your only possible way out would be Sirius and you certainly weren’t going to use that. 

---

By the time Saturday rolls around, you’ve been properly talked to by all of the girls, each with their own two cents about why you were going. So, despite being convinced, you really didn’t have a choice. The group headed to Hogsmeade after breakfast. As you walked, your brain couldn’t get over how large the group was when everyone was there; you were a little herd. 

“Gladrags!” Beatrice announced as soon as you stepped into the village. 

She charged ahead, leading the rest of the group. All of the boys groaned and dragged their feet, but they followed nonetheless. The boys waited outside the store while the girls packed the inside. Beatrice, Cora and Pandora looked at every display and tried on several different articles of clothing. You and Dorcas milled around behind him.

“Don’t need anything new?” you asked her as you stood by a stand of scarves. 

“No,” she said with a sigh, looking at the price tag on a maroon scarf. “S’pose I could get something for Marls but… nothing screams her, you know?”

You nodded and moved to the next display. 

“Doesn’t she play quidditch? Could get her some new gear or whatever?” you offered.

“Oh, I’m not looking looking for a gift. Just if anything speaks to me.”

“Oh, got it.”

You picked up a pair of black leather gloves with silver stitching. You cast a glance toward the shopkeep who was talking with Beatrice about a shirt she was holding. Without looking away, you slid the gloves into your pocket. Cora came out of one of the dressing rooms with a pile of clothing and handed them to the shopkeep with a handful of coins. 

“Looks like they are almost ready to go. Want to wait outside with the boys?” you asked Dorcas. 

The two of you left, shortly followed by the other three. The boys quieted their conversation.

“Get anything good?” Evan asked the girls, noting their bags.

“Sexy lingerie?” Avery added, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Ew, no,” Cora snapped at him as Pandora whacked his head. 

“Don’t be gross.”

The rest of the boys laughed. You weren’t listening to the group’s discussion on where to go next. Another group appeared not far from you: the Marauders. You locked eyes with Sirius. His gaze was magnetic, those grey eyes bringing you in and making it impossible to look away. You gave him a small smile and wave. Shock is evident in his expression, but it only lasts a second as a wide grin takes over his face. But your shared moment is just that, momentary. Your groups headed in different directions, your toward Honeydukes and his to Spintwitches for James’ quidditch needs. 

As you walked into the sweets store, you’re glad your moment with Sirius went unnoticed by the group. Yes, your heart told you to smile and wave. But Regulus was in this group. Most of the people in this group considered Sirius to be a blood traitor and disliked him. You were still figuring out how you felt about him; you didn’t need the group questioning you about him. 

Once again, you were paired with Dorcas as you browsed the candies. Avery and Wilkes followed Beatrice and Cora around while Pandora tagged along with his brother, Barty and Regulus. You debated asking Dorcas what she thought about Sirius. Without pressure from the other girls, you figured you could get a more authentic answer from the girl who spent the most time with him out of your friends. 

“Hey, Dor, can I ask-” you started to say when you were interrupted by Barty

“Ladies! What we lookin’ for? Licorice wands? Drooble’s?” he asked, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“Mate, we are in front of the sugar quill stand,” Dorcas said dryly. 

“Maybe you’re lost?”

“Where’s your boyfriend?” you asked.

“Arguing with Dora,” Regulus answered for him. “Got awkward.”

You chuckled as you turned over a package of sour sugar quills to read the back. The twins were usually well-mannered, but when they argued, it was best to get out of the way. Barty had witnessed enough of it and you’re sure that Regulus had similar arguments with Sirius. 

“Who let us have siblings in one friend group?” Dorcas sighed, before looking at you. “Getting that?”

You nodded. “And some chocolate frogs,” you said before dropping your voice, “but I’m not paying for the frogs.”

“Wha-?” Regulus gasped before Dorcas elbowed him in the stomach. 

“Let her do her thing,” she told him firmly. 

You and Dorcas went to pay for your things, with the two boys following you. You looped back around the store to pass the chocolate frog display and bumped into the stand, just hard enough for some to fall off of it. When you bent down to pick them up, a few of the fallen ended up in your bag. Once outside the store, you gave the two boys a smirk. They didn’t say anything. Barty had a look of approval on his face while Regulus seemed to be uncertain of this habit of yours. 

Pandora and Evan were still arguing as they led the group to the Three Broomsticks. At least it was a more hushed argument now. 

“Any idea what it’s about?” you asked Barty as he slid into the chair next to Evan.

“Think she got upset about something he said about Lovegood,” he muttered with an eye roll. 

Pandora made sure to sit on the same side of the table as Evan but the opposite end. You sat next to Pandora with Dorcas between you and Barty. It didn’t take long for mugs of butterbeer to appear in front of you. You hated how close your table was to the door. Every time it opened, which was often, you had to see who was entering or leaving. When the Marauders arrived, you made immediate eye contact with Sirius and he smiled at you. You flashed him a tiny smile before letting it fall from your face as you looked away. You refused to look in his direction for the rest of your time in the pub, even with the constant feeling of his eyes on you.

As you walked back to the castle, Pandora sang softly, “He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“I know,” you replied just as quietly.

You didn’t want the group asking who had their eyes on you all night. You wondered if Regulus noticed. 

---

You tried not to think about why you were wearing Regulus’ ring more often. You didn’t care if he noticed and you kept rebranding it in your mind as your ring. It was yours now. Like you had told Sirius, you weren’t going to give it back. Pretty soon, the ring had a regular place on your hand and if anyone asked about it, it was just simple, classic Slytherin pride. You would say it was a gift. 

Regulus noticed you wearing his ring. He’s pretty certain that it’s his, especially since he can’t find his. A small voice in his head says it might be at home, but Regulus can’t remember seeing it there over break. He never says anything, just in case he’s wrong. That would make things worse between you and he was content with having you ‘play nice’ as you put it. 

Sirius, just like his brother, took notice of you wearing the ring. He smiled every time he saw it and played with its partner on his own hand. The two of you haven’t talked since you pushed him to the ground after Herbology. Sirius wanted to change that. He found you after Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“Have your thoughts of me subsided?” he asked teasingly.

“I’m afraid I’m still plagued by them,” you retorted with an easy smile. 

“You know what would help with that?” 

“I do.”

The air between you is playful. It’s flirty. 

You and Sirius speak at the same time.

“Go on a date with me,” is what he said.

“Kiss me,” is what you said. 

You stared at each other. You blushed furiously. Sirius suggested a date and you suggested a snog. Clearly, you weren’t on the same page. 

“Oh,” Sirius said, his voice sounding almost nervous.

That confused you; Sirius Black doesn’t get nervous. He looked down at your hand, the one wearing the green ring. He reached for your hand to touch it and you didn’t move it away. Instead, you continued to stare at his face as if challenging to say something more.

“We, erm, can do both?” he finally said, gently turning the ring on your finger. 

“In which order?” you asked with a smile. 

Now Sirius was the one blushing. 

“Fuck it, come on.”

You turned to walk toward the nearest broom closet. You didn’t need to look behind you to know that he was following.

tags: @nsr-15, @kabekusa, @made-for-oliverwood, @sunflowerscloudydays, @salvatt1, @sammyreid, @ravisinghs-wife, @petrificustottally, @stanzie, @moonjellyfishie, @1989-taylors, @urmykindofwoman, @mrspotatas

[sailorgoon13]

Theodore Nott

Basics:

Full Name: Theodore Nott

Nickname: Theo

Gender: Male

Date of Birth: 4 November, 1979

Heritage: English/ Italian

Blood Status: Pure Blood

Wand: Blackthorn, Unicorn hair, 11 3/4", Slightly Flexible

Appearance:

Hair Color: Dark brown, a bit fluffy

Eye Color: Striking baby blue

Skin Tone: Olive

Height: 6'

Body Type: Lean and athletic. Tall, well proportioned

Style: Well-fitted jeans or chinos paired with a crisp button-down shirt or a cashmere sweater. Accessories are key to his look, with luxurious touches like leather loafers, silk scarves, and perhaps even a designer watch or cufflinks. His color palette leans towards darker tones like charcoal, navy, and deep burgundy

Features: Confidence, Mysterious aura, Sharp wit, Distinctive voice, Leadership

Personality:

Traits: Reserved, Loyal, Manipulative, Intelligent, Emotionally Complex

Likes: Privacy, Fine literature, Refines tastes, Debates, Chess

Dislikes: Arrogance, Lack of ambition, Betrayal

Hobbies: Quidditch, Reading, Playing Piano

Fears: Vulnerability, Rejection, Turning to the Darker side

Family and Friends:

Father: Mr. Nott

Valued Pure-Blood status

Supporter of Voldemort's cause/ Death Eater

Mother: Mrs. Nott

Died when Theo was young

Instilled his love for literature and fine art

Taught him Italian

Friends: Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Lorenzo Berkshire, Mattheo Riddle

Magic:

Special Abilities: His father taught him darker magic when he was young, though he doesn't like to use any of it. Particularly good at charms and hexes

Boggart: A memory of when he witnessed his mother dying

Patronus: Fox

Polyjuice: Would look velvety black with sparkling flecks of gold and silver. Smell like earthy Italian herbs and leather books with a hint of roses. It might taste like dark chocolate infused with hints of espresso and blackberry, with a subtle undertone of smoky oak and vanilla

Amortentia: Bergamont, Sandalwood, Freshly Brewed Coffee, Dark Chocolate

Backstory:

Theodore Nott was born into a prestigious pure-blood wizarding family, his childhood filled with the enchanting landscapes and rich cultural heritage of Italy. His mother, a talented witch with a passion for art, literature, and music, imparted upon him a love for the finer things in life. She taught him how to speak Italian, play the piano, and appreciate the beauty of the magical world around them.

However, Theodore's childhood took a tragic turn when his mother passed away, leaving him with a profound sense of loss. Compounding his grief was the revelation that his father, though also deeply devoted to his family, had been a follower of Voldemort. With Voldemort's downfall, Theo's father met his demise, leaving Theo with conflicting emotions and a sense of isolation.

Despite his father's past affiliations, he distanced himself from his family's dark legacy, choosing instead to honor his mother's memory by embracing the values she had instilled in him. He found comfort in the company of his friends, particularly during Christmas vacations and over the summer, when he would often stay with classmates Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Mattheo Riddle, and Enzo Berkshire.

Throughout his years at Hogwarts, Theodore excelled academically and athletically, distinguishing himself as a talented and ambitious student. His keen intellect, strategic mind, and refined tastes set him apart from his peers, earning him both admiration and envy. Despite facing teasing and discrimination for his softer side and Italian accent, Theo remained resilient, drawing strength from the bonds of friendship that sustained him.

He discovered a passion for Quidditch, becoming the star keeper for the Slytherin team. With each dive and save, he felt a sense of freedom and exhilaration, leaving behind the weight of his worries and losses, if only for a moment.

Academics:

Best Subject: Charms

Favorite Subject: DADA (But he won't tell you its really Astronomy)

Favorite Professor: Flitwick

Worst Subject: Ancient Runes

Least Favorite Subject: Divination

Least Favorite Professor: Slughorn

Student Life:

Academically excels in his studies, particularly in subjects like Potions and Charms

A regular fixture in the Hogwarts library, spending hours poring over ancient texts and refining his magical skills, teaching himself a new language, (Or really just hiding behind a romance novel)

Respected by his classmates for his intellect and admired for his cool demeanor, though some may find him enigmatic or intimidating.

He enjoys spending time in the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, honing his skills as Keeper

He also indulges in his love for art, literature, and music

Girls at Hogwarts are drawn to Nott's confidence, intelligence, and refined tastes, finding themselves mesmerized by his cool demeanor and mysterious aura

While he remains discreet about his romantic interests, there is no shortage of girls vying for his attention and affection.

Template: @hazyange1s

[moonstruckmoony]

MCtober2024 - Introduce your MC!

I'm well aware I'm one week behind but this is literally the earliest I could finish this.. (moony crawling from the depths of irl problems) lol better late than never right? I'll try my best to catch up! · · ─────── ·❄ ❅ ❆· ─────── · · Winter Blackstone A 6th-year Ravenclaw, Winter Blackstone is quite the name at Hogwarts—mainly because she enrolled very late, took down a troll on her first day (as one does), and is known to mysteriously disappear between classes. Where to? Only Merlin knows. She’s also credited with helping stop Ranrok’s plans, though how big of a role she played remains a bit of a mystery to the students.

Winter’s mother, a Slytherin and skilled Curse-Breaker, tragically passed away when Winter was just 9 years old. Her father, though a Squib, is deeply knowledgeable about the wizarding world and has ensured Winter never felt out of place when it came to magic.

FAVORITE / HATED SUBJECTS? Winter’s top subjects are Potions, Ancient Runes, and Magical Theory—no surprises there for a curious Ravenclaw. But if you ask her about Arithmancy? That’s where you’ll hear a groan. While the concept and the theory behind it intrigues her, she absolutely avoids anything to do with numbers.

“I’m already so late to the world of magic, and now I’ve got to deal with numbers too? No, thank you!” she’s often heard saying. Yet, despite her complaints, Ominis constantly reminds her that she’s never scored a P, D, or T in Arithmancy—something he can’t say about his Potions work.

Her favorite professors? None other than Dinah Hecat, Aesop Sharp, and of course, the late Eleazar Fig.

SCHOOL CLUB Because of her late admission, Winter has little time for clubs—though she makes an exception for Crossed Wands. It’s the perfect way for her to sharpen her dueling skills, and she relishes every moment. PETS Winter has two cherished companions: Khione, her Barn Owl, and Snowball, her playful white golden retriever. Snowball was a gift from her father when she was 11, meant to lift her spirits after she didn’t receive her Hogwarts letter, leading her to believe she was a Squib. Little did she know, her letter would come at age 15, changing everything. Thanks to Professor Fig, she was given a nab-sack to sneak Snowball to Hogwarts, keeping him close even in her busy schedule. After a bit of help from Sirona at the Three Broomsticks following the troll attack, Snowball found a cozy spot to stay while Winter was in class. But when Professor Weasley introduced her to the Room of Requirement—well, Snowball ended up with a far more magical home within Hogwarts! Naturally, that little secret is kept under wraps. HOBBIES Winter has a passion for cooking, especially dishes from all around the world. As a child, she traveled extensively with her mother due to her mother’s unique Curse-Breaking work. Everywhere they went, Winter was enchanted by the local cuisine, jotting down recipes and experimenting when she got home. Now, in Hogwarts, she often recreates dishes like baozi, frikadeller, paella, oyakodon, and to Amit’s delight—Indian curry.

She frequently invites her friends to the Room of Requirement for her culinary experiments and is always on the lookout for rare ingredients. Thanks to her mother’s connections scattered in different parts of the world, Winter manages to have specific ingredients occasionally sent to her via owl.

[akascow]

its so amazing how smart viktor and jayce actually are to figure out the hexcore like. its wild magic, ancient runes, and they implememted a raw harsh stone, refined it into a usable energy source and launched their city into greatness

like im not the first to mention it but

first of all theyre incredibly smart, piltover's next smartest professors and inventors couldnt crack it after heimer, jayce and vik disappeared (as seen when that one dude got absolutely dusted lmao)

second, theyre never looked down upon. which is probably an odd thing to say but idk it seems like inventors and extremely smart scientists are usually made fun of in medias (no thanks to the anything before the early 2000s lmao) ig its different bc piltover kinda revolves around invention so idk if that totally applies but still HAHA

and yeah we have autistic twink jesus incarnate in the corner which could very well be seen as a stereotype (his body type is 100% due to his illness tho lol)

but we also have jayce talis over here whos like this 6ft hunk and completely and utterly a genius and everyone loves him (which is lowkey the conflict in s1 but im brushing past that rn)

what am i saying rn HAHAHA

anyway they work so well together and they love each other completely (romantic or platonic, whatever u prefer it works both ways). they are from two different places, two different upbringings and yet they manage to come together without judgement or belittling to create this seemingly perfect tool that aforementioned other geniuses were not only unable to crack, but terrified of it

alls to say that the scene where jayce just starts scribbling the anomaly on the cave wall just from memory and starts analyzing it from almost nothing, in the moment we think 'oh hes losing it' but hes literally trying to figure his way out of this alone, again FROM NOTHING. all he has is a broken leg, a pity fire, a rock, a wall, and a fucked up hammer LIKE BROOOO theyre both so intelligent and we dont talk about it enough OUGHHHHH

but also EKKO too like bro figured that out and understood it in a few days it literally took jayvik a decade to decipher it all HAHA (sure heimerdinger was there too but) we moved on from ekko being so gd smart way too quickly lmao