#Beauxbatons!reader

[crescenthistory]

im working on a reggie request where him and reader are childhood bffs separated by their parents by sending her to beauxbatons instead of hogwarts and im going INSANE. i absolutely love the angst of it all and the concept (happy ending ofc bc im not a war criminal)

afraid this will be another one of my bible-sized fics, but we'll see 🤭

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

Fred Weasley masterlist nav. megalist bth

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️fluff▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

ridiculously in love

together at last

Yn had died years before Fred was even born, she died during her 7th year. So when Fred first sees her he fell in love

too far

Fred has always been the king of pranks, but one day he goes a bit too far, and he Fred spends the rest of the day trying to make it up to you with adorable gestures until you can’t help but forgive him

the kissing booth

a bit down

after a tough day, Fred surprises you with your favorite sweets from Honeydukes and a cuddle session

you’re completely mad, you know that?

y/n(she/her) loves thunderstorms and the rain and always wants to go dance in the rain with Fred, but Fred is terrified of them

it’s okay to be happy, even after everything | p2 | p3 | p4

i like you, and it scares the hell out of me | p2

all of Fred's life he's hated Slytherins and has always said he would never befriend one much less date one, but reader appears and he starts falling for her while denying it and is maybe a bit of an a**hole to reader because he just doesn't believe he could ever like you, but realizes that reader isn't horrible and that not all Slytherins are monsters, and once they're together everyone teases him about how he would say he would never date a Slytherin but now reader is basically the love of his life

well, i suppose we’ll just have to share them

Fred is definitely the type to want his partner to get along with George’s partner

tu sais que je t'aime bien, non? | p2

you should pick where all my rings go

Fred always wears his unusual rings and y/n(she/her) is obsessed with them and like to move them around and play with them when he's not looking. So one day she does it and she moves her favorite ring of his to his ring finger and he's absolutely obsessed with it and won't stop thinking about it

i don’t think i should pick favorites

y/n(she/her) has a crush on her best friend's older brother

i know | p2

Fred falls for Sirius's daughter

seems like deja vu to me | p2

Fred always tries to flirt with her and impress her but she just acts annoyed, just like how James was with Lily

told you I'd keep you warm

y/n(she/her) is always cold in general and especially when she sleeps and one night she's in the twins room and it's too late for her to go back to her common room so she stays and ends up in Fred's bed and he's really warm and after that night she can barely sleep without him

just don’t get us caught

what’s wrong? too shy to look at me now?

just Fred basically teasing short!y/n(she/her)

alright, Weasley, impress me

i like it best when it’s pink

y/n(she/her) is Nymphadora Tonks younger sister and she's also a metamorphmagus and this makes Fred really interested in her

they don’t deserve you, you know

y/n(she/her) came from a family of Gryffindors but she ended up in Slytherin and her family hates her for it, but throughout all her time at Hogwarts Fred has always been there for her

don’t get used to it

i wouldn’t let you get in trouble

i'll be here when you come back

during their firework show, when they leave, Fred quickly stops and goes over to y/n(she/her) and finally admits to how much he loves her

someday

Bill and Fleur are getting married and having their wedding and the entire time all Fred can think about is the wedding being his and y/n(she/her)'s

i love that you draw me

what’s this?

y/n(she/her) has been hiding from Fred that she still sleeps with her lovey stuffed animal

i don’t like sharing

Fred Weasley and slytherin!y/n(she/her) have a secret little situationship going on

there, see? i’m a natural at this

y/n(she/her) gets a new piercing and Fred is helping her clean it and accidentally hits it and hurts her

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️angst▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

you promised, remember?

y/n (she/her) finds Fred after the battle of Hogwarts

second chances

after Fred’s near-death experience in the Battle of Hogwarts, y/n(she/her) struggles with the fear of losing him again

it hurts

Umbridge performs the cruciartus curse on y/n(she/her) to torture her into telling her where her dad, Sirius Black, is

you’re going to be a dad, Fred…

[mosquego359]

𖤐One Kiss and A Quidditch Match — Chapter 4: Beauxbatons and Durmstrang𖤐

Prologue (recommended to read)

Chapter 3 (previous)

Pair: Cedric Diggory x Male Slytherin Reader

Word count: 2.7K words

Summary of the book: You and Cedric Diggory hate each other. It has always been this way. But everything changes one night when you kiss each other at a party. Now, it seems you can’t escape each other — from being partnered up in Herbology for an important project to having to help Cedric during the Triwizard Tournament.

Summary of the chapter: Two weeks after you became partners with Cedric, Hogwart's Rival Schools arrive.

Notes: Please comment anything I should change to improve this. Also, I am not British so I am not 100% sure how to correctly write people from the UK. Also, Wix is the gender neutral term for witch and wizard and, like in the books Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are a school with mixed genders. This is the video I'm basing for the guests' introduction.

Content warning: One curse word. It's also a bit fruity.

!PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION OR CREDITS TO ME!

...

Around a week or two later, you decided to hang out more with Alistair. Your judgy grudge against him had dimmed to a slight annoyance, and the two of you agreed to not bring it up.

It was now the 30th of October, and Hogwarts’ rival schools, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were to arrive in the evening. You personally hadn’t given the Triwizard Tournament much though for you were too young to participate and not keen on putting your life in dangerous situations.

The rest of your friends, however — particularly Alistair and Ziggy — were buzzing with anticipation.

And that was how you, Brian and Ziggy’s friend — whom you found out was named Roman Conyngham — silently watched Ziggy and Alistair passionately fantasise about the Triwizard Tournament.

Their conversation buzzed around the air of the grand Dining Hall, a complex and complicated interaction that caused you to zone out from boredom. Your eyes strayed from any of the boys you were with and to Elsie, Winnie and Destiny, sitting together at the Hufflepuff table.

Your mind shifted to the day you and Cedric became partners. 

After class, you watched as Elsie rapidly marched away from the classroom, Destiny by her side. You swore you saw her glance back at you before finally disappearing into the corridor.

At lunchtime, you swiftly devoured your meal, curious yet concerned for Elsie. She was often serious, and that meant what she would tell you was something important. It was probably rather personal since, if it wasn’t, she would have informed you on the spot.

You craned your neck to see if she was still in the great hall — which she was not — before heading to the library with a goodbye from Brian and Winnie. 

It wasn’t hard finding Elsie; she was pacing by a window at the corner of the library — your usual studying spot.

“Elsie?” You said softly to grab her attention.

Her head snapped up, and — with a furrow in your brow — you noticed a stressed look in her golden eyes. She gestured for you to come closer, simultaneously looking around for any snooping students.

“(Name),” she paused, nervously playing with her hair, “It’s about the party…”

You nodded carefully as curious thoughts circled your mind. Was this about Alistair?

“You see, after the whole…fiasco with Campbell,” Elsie cringed, “I went to the drink table since I was looking for Winnie. And I may have taken a couple too many shots. So I was drunk when I finally found Winnie. Stay with me on this, alright?”

You arched a brow. This was about her? Was there drama between them you didn’t know of? If so, why had they been so friendly with one another since the party? Sure, they seemed a bit off at some points, but you didn’t think too much of it.

Elsie glanced nervously to the side, “Winnie agreed to tell you. Please don’t say anything to Alistair, (Name). We’re telling Brian later.”

“You can trust me.” You promised, ��Take your time.”

Tugging her brown curls, Elsie stayed silent momentarily, staring at your eyes. You saw how hesitant she was about the conversation and mentally applauded her for opening up to you. She inhaled a big breath, “I kissed Winnie.”

“So, Alistair, how do you feel with your little sis getting along with your ex?” Ziggy asked, snapping you out of your daze.

Alistair shrugged but looked visibly uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat as he replied, “Eh, don’t care much for it. I mean, Winnie can do whatever; I don’t control her life.” He puffed his fringe out of his face.

Ziggy and Roman shared a look, and the former responded in mild disbelief, “Yeah, of course.”

Personally, you were glad that they were all finally getting along, but a small pang of jealousy shot into your heart when you recalled barely talking to them for the entire day. In DADA, they had moved their seats to the back where Destiny sat, and you barely saw them in Herbology because of your project with Cedric Diggory.

Professor Sprout had given you a different room to work in, and when you came out covered in cuts and bruises from the Snargaluff, your class would joke that you were physically fighting.

For example, earlier that day, the Snargaluff was particularly peeved and somehow tangled you and Cedric in its bulky vines. You felt embarrassed to say that Professor Sprout had to rescue you from its grasp.

Needless to say, you felt triumphant when Cedric had to hobble to the nurse to get his scratches checked. Apparently, the Snargaluff’s vines had squeezed his leg so hard it turned blue, thus causing him to get healed. You, on the other hand, felt fine despite an ache in your core and a few scrapes from being compressed by the plant.

You admitted that you felt an odd pang of pity seeing your usually all-powerful rival limp out of the class like a fragile bird. You weren't used to seeing his vulnerable side.

Hands-on your cheek, you glanced over to where he was sitting with his friends. He was laughing, his perfect pearly smile gleaming charmingly. You felt as if some of the girls you knew thought of him as a fairy prince with those gorgeous grey eyes and soft-looking brown hair.

The last time you saw him was in the hallway, walking to his next class, which you believed to be his Transfiguration class. His leg was still in a cast, but he looked to be trying to apply some weight to it with the help of his mates and a mutual friend of yours — Chunhua Chang, also known as Cho.

A wave of warmth subconsciously flooded your heart at the thought of him recovering from the incident. You were honestly glad of his healing and smiled when you noticed he was recounting something to his friends. He was so…

Wait, what were you thinking? 

You shook your head, and despite no one being able to hear your thoughts, your neck grew warm in embarrassment. Sure, you were mildly aware of your attraction to boys, but there was no way you liked Cedric Diggory of all people.

You felt a nudge from your right, “You doing okay, man? Your face looks a bit red,” Roman asked in concern. Sometimes, you were glad most of the other students were ignorant of your odd condition.

“I’m alright, thank you for your worry, Roman,” You smiled calmly at him, and he shrugged.

“Did you see the chariot outside?” you heard a 4th Year student to your left ask her friend with excitement, “Today is the day the foreign students arrive!”

Her friend giggled, “Ahh! Do you think there’ll be any cute boys?”

“Obviously,” the first girl huffed, “French boys are hot.”

“What about those at Durmstrang?”

“Don’t even think about it, Emily! I heard they are troublemakers. Apparently they’ve been cheating at the Triwizard Tournament for years. I doubt any good guys go to that dreadful place.”

You turn away from their conversation, feeling rather awkward listening to a bunch of children for information regarding Hogwarts’ rival schools. Luckily for you, Ziggy and Alistair were now gushing about the games. 

“Hey, Brains, do you think the new schools will arrive soon, I’m starting to get hella impatient,” Alistair huffed and nudged Brian, who was snoozing off. You stifled a laugh at his confused expression.

“Huh?” He asked, and you swore you saw drool trickling down his chin.

“When will we get introduced to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang?” You rephrased Alistair’s question, leading forward curiously.

“So you were listening!” Ziggy jumped in.

Brian ignored him and frowned, “Well, I expect Dumbledore to give us a speech any minute now. I believe he is waiting for the rest of the students to settle in their seats. Surely he won’t make us sit here impatiently for long.”

You craned your neck to the entrances of the Great Hall, noting not a single student in sight seemed to be trickling in. Everyone was here so why wasn’t Dumbledore doing anything.

As if your thoughts were a trigger, the old headmaster stood up from his chair, and, like a magnet, attracted the attention of all the students. Despite your dislike for him because of how he favoured Gryffindor and detested Slytherin, you admitted he was rather excellent at drawing everyone’s eyes to him.

“Well now that we’re all settled in and sorted, I’d like to make an announcement.” Dumbledore commenced. The door to the main entrance cracked open and Filch scrambled over to the headmaster as he continued, causing a few students — including yourself — to chuckle at his silly run, “This castle will not only be your home this year, but home to some very special guests as well.”

The old man paused to listen to what Filch had to say. He nodded carefully, whispering something in his ear before continuing his speech. “You see, Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event: The Triwizard Tournament.” You glanced at the Hufflepuff table, seeing how Cedric’s friends were teasing him and the way he smiled in mild embarrassment. A pang of jealousy shot through your heart. It wasn’t fair that he got to compete, and you weren’t. You were just as powerful, perhaps even more. 

“Now, for those of you who do not know, the Triwizard Tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. For each school, a single student is chosen to compete. Now, let me be clear, if chosen, you stand alone. And trust me when I say these contests are not for the faint-hearted, but more on that later. For now, please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies and men of the Beauxbatons academy of magic and their headmistress: Madame Maxime!”

The doors of the main entrance slid open, and a bunch of students your age strutted in, perfectly in sync and classical music played as they walked.

They were all dressed in a similar fashion: a silky, baby blue uniform with an elegant poncho and small hat. The girls wore skirts over lights while the few boys wore tight-fitting pants that totally did not make you stare at their asses. 

You heard Alistair whistle when they passed. The girl's repressed smiles at his flirtatious move. 

At some point in the song, they extended their arms with a very flowy movement, making you realise they were dancing. They then separated themselves into two groups and lined up in a v formation in front of the students.

A tall woman dressed in furs and leopard prints walked after her students. She had to be at least 2.5 meters if not more. You assumed she was the headmistress, Madam Maxime, as you and many others gaped at her. 

Ziggy and you shared a look, and he mouthed, “She’s humongous.”

In front of her, two students performed a gymnastic choreography, elegantly bowed to their headmistress and finally stepped into the lines their fellow students were placed in. 

Hogwarts erupted into applause, and a few wix even stood up. However, you spotted many girls in the room with disapproving looks on their faces.

Dumbledore carefully took Madame Maxime’s hand and placed a respectful kiss on it. He then walked a bit higher up on the steps and quickly silenced the crowd with his hands.

Alistair whispered to your group with a smirk, “Did you see the pretty blonde one?”  But he was quickly hushed by a few people to his left.

Your eyes scanned the Beauxbaton girls until you spotted one of the girls who bowed to Madame Maxime next to the Hufflepuff table. Her hair was a golden blonde, wrapped in a ponytail, and the front curled around her jaw like a perfect ribbon, framing her glowing face. Even at a distance, you could tell she was stunning.

“And now, our friends from the north!” Dumbledore boomed, grabbing your attention, “Please great proud sons and daughters of Durmstrang and their headmaster Igor Karkaroff.”

A more sombre music started playing along with drums. A band of mostly boys marched in, occasionally hitting their staff on the group and shouting on time with the music. They stuck their staffs forward and twirled them, performing a simple yet powerful choreography as they neared the front with the Beauxbaton students, who had moved to the sides next to the wall.

Suddenly, they rushed forward, and two of them executed a series of somersaults and gymnastics, breakdancing their way where the Beauxbatons students once were while the others placed themselves in a v shape.

Two men entered the Great Hall, and you heard Ziggy and Alistair gasp, and Roman whispering, “Is it really him?”. This caused you to recognise one of those faces as the famous Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum. 

You assumed the mean-looking man in white behind him was the headmaster Igor Karkaroff. You finally noticed a smaller man trailing them, dressed in grey.

The two students who breakdanced blew fire from their wands like dragons, controlling it to make it resemble a phoenix, giving the other students a little spectacle.

When the fire disappeared, they rapidly lined themselves up with the others, making way for Karkaroff and Hogwarts erupted in applause. The Beauxbatons students clapped respectfully.

The headmaster of Durmstrang walked up to Dumbledore, who spread his arms wide in greeting, and they both hugged each other, patting each other on the back in a friendly manner.

Once Karkaroff had moved to the side, Dumbledore cleared his throat to grab the student’s attention from the attractive Beauxbaton candidates, the gymnasts from Durmstrang and Krum.

“Please, please, take a seat, you all, make yourselves at home,” Dumbledore smiled at the crowd of guests. The students shared a look before ultimately choosing their tables. Luckily for you, Durmstrang had chosen the Slytherin one and had settled into their seats. Krum sat next to Alistair and across from Ziggy, who both started shifting in their seats in excitement.

But before they could say anything, Dumbledore spoke.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, ghosts, and — most particularly — guests. I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.” You heard a snicker from the Ravenclaw table and rolled your eyes at the disrespect.

“The Tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast,” Dumbledore continued, “I now invite you all to eat, drink and make yourselves at home!”

Through the meal, Viktor Krum, Ziggy and Alistair started having a conversation while you and your two other friends talked quietly amongst yourself.

Brian and Roman were rather alike: calm and collected, introverted and you found out Roman was a top student in most of his classes. At first, it confused you since you never saw him until he mentioned being in Year 7.

“You gotta have someone to control that energetic idiot,” he shrugged when you asked him about being friends with Ziggy.

Speaking of him, he and Alistair were gushing over Krum, whom you noticed was rather unresponsive. It wasn’t until the Quidditch player glanced at his peers and shifted in his seat that you realised he didn’t like the attention. You felt pity; he was worldwide famous and yet never enjoyed the attention.

At the end of the meal, Dumbledore brought in something called the Goblet of Fire and when he started speaking of signing up for the Triwizard Tournament, you tuned out, a jealous hole forming in your heart. 

Like Alistair, you wanted to participate, but in contrast, you were too young. You recalled the Weasley twins complaining about it in the hallway earlier that day, and despite your indifference to them, you couldn’t help but relate.

Your eyes drifted away from the headmaster to the Hufflepuff table, first to your girl friends, then to Cedric Diggory. To your surprise, he was already staring. Since you were competitive, you instinctively kept your eyes on him until he turned away.

Slowly, you faced the front again. You felt heat rushing to your cheeks and neck for the second time tonight. Your hands were cold, so you pressed them to where your skin felt warm.

Merlin’s Beard, what was happening to you?

...

Chapter 5

[slaymybreathaway]

WASTELAND BABY! (Chapter Two)

Chapter List Masterlist Prev. Chapter

Word Count: 3k

Contents: cursing, mentions of catcalling and misogyny, some sibling slagging, intense pining and FLUFFF

September 1994 ○ The Great Hall

-----------------------------------------

As the last 1st year student to be sorted made his way over to the Ravenclaw table, Dumbledore stood up out of his seat to the podium. "Now that everyone is settled... I have an announcement to make,"

Over on the gryffindoor table, y/n slept with her head resting on her crossed arms. After being up since 7am and not being able to sleep all last night, she couldn't keep her eyes open. Neville, who was sitting beside her, gently tried to shake her awake.

"Here, Longbottom that's no use. If death eaters bombed the school, she'd sleep through it," Seamus laughed from across the table, from where he was sitting between Dean and Ron. He took a couple of Fun Snaps out of his robe pocket and threw them down on the table, exploding beside his sister's ear.

Y/n woke up in shock, her heart racing at the loud noise that disrupted her sleep. As she took in her surroundings and noticed that half the table had turned their heads at the sound of the loud noise, her face turned a deep shade of red.

She gave her brother a hard kick to the shin under the table, which turned his raucous laughter into a shout of pain.

Y/n smirked at this as she turned to listen to the headmaster.

"This castle will not only be your home this year, but home to some very special guests as well," Dumbledore spoke to all of the students. "You see, this year Hogwarts has been chosen to host the Triwizard Tournament"

Excited chatter spread across the whole room as Dumbledore explained the event. Every triwizard champion in history became rich and famous afrer winning the tournament, and every student wondered if it would be them this time round.

"What'd you think the chances of me winning are?" Ron asked, to no one in particular. While the whole group resisted the urge to laugh, Y/n took it upon herself to answer him.

"About as the same probability of me getting picked as quiddich captain," she shrugged. It was no secret that her athletic skills were very limited. The only time you'd ever catch Y/n Finnegan running was if Voldemort himself was chasing her.

No one heard her joke, however, because as she spoke the doors of the great hall swung open to reveal about a hundred girls dressed in baby blue school uniforms. They moved, in a way that could only be compared to floating, down the middle of the great hall, gracefully greeting the crowd every few paces.

Every single one of the girls was breath-takingly beautiful, the kind of looks that would make you insecure. This observation clearly wasn't missed by all of the boys in the room, who were entranced by the scene infront of them. Sounds of over-the-top clapping and obnoxious whistling filled the air as the boys showed their appreciation to their schools' new guests. Even Neville had stood up to get a better look what was going on, the palms of his hands turning red from all of the clapping.

Y/n, Hermione and Ginny shared a look of uncomfortable disgust. It seemed all of the girls seated at the house tables were feeling the same thing, as they clapped quietly from where they sat, unable to meet the eyes of their male peers once they sat down.

After greeting Madam Maxine, the headmistress of Beauxbatons, Dumbledore returned to his place behind the gold podium at the front of the hall. "And now... our friends from the North. Please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang and their headmaster, Igor Karakoff,"

The doors of the great hall swung open once more to reveal a crowd of boys dressed in a brown uniforms, their hair tightly cropped to their scalp. They marched down the centre of the great hall, doing tricks with the wooden staffs they held in their hands.

Y/n elbowed Hermione in the side and shot her a smile as she recognised the face of the final Durmstrang student to walk in, Victor Krum. At the Quiddich World Cup, the girls realised that they both found him quite attractive.

"Look y/n, it's your fella," Seamus smirked over the shoulder at his sister, knowing what her opinions were about the Bulgarian seeker. The only reply that he recieved was his sister's two fingers in the air, telling him to fuck off.

Neville turned to face her, eyebrows raised. "Your fella?" He shot her a joking smile.

"Don't mind him, I don't know what he's on about," Y/n replied, before shooting Seamus a dirty look. She really didn't want the whole of Hogwarts to know about her celebrity crush.

○

Y/n lay in bed, staring at the leather-strapped watch that adorned her wrist. All of the other girls in her dorm had fallen asleep hours before and now it was just her that remained awake. She watched the thin, second hand tick slowly forth until it met both of the other hands at 12. Midnight.

Slowly, the girl pulled back her duvet and sat up, trying her best not to wake Lynott who was curled up asleep on the end of her bed. She laced up her black Doc Martens over her fluffy socks, and pulled a dark green hoodie, embroidered with the crest of her local quiddich team, Kenmare Krestals.

Y/n crept out of her dorm room, making sure not step on the creaky floorboards that she had memorised the location of sometime between then and first year. Just as she was about to head down the stairs the common room, she stopped herself and turned around, walking down the corridor to the section with the 3rd year girls' dorms.

She opened one of the doors just enough for her to enter, the light from her wand illuminating the floor as she quietly snuck over to the bed that her best friend peacefully slept in.

Ginny's red hair was splayed across the pillow, limbs tangled in the red and gold duvet. Her mouth hung slightly open, releasing light snores that circled the, otherwise silent, room.

Y/n smiled to herself, she knew that Ginny would be the one to fall asleep. She shook the girl lightly to try and wake her "Gin?" "Ginny wake up, it's midnight,"

The red-headed girl stirred and slowly opened her eyes, jumping in fright when she saw y/n standing over her in the darkness, looking a bit like the grim reaper. "What're you doing here?"

"You fall asleep every year," she chuckled lowly before throwing Ginny the knitted jumper that was laying ontop of her trunk. "It's midnight, c'mon,"

At those words Ginny quickly got out of bed in a rush. "Shit already? I swear it was just lights out?" she whispered.

Ginny quickly pulled on a pair of socks and runners, not bothering to tie the laces as she tucked them down the sides. She then tugged the jumper over her head and rolled up the sleeves to make it fit. It was one of George's old Christmas jumpers, but she got away with wearing it since they had the same first inital.

"Let's go, they're probably waiting for us," y/n spoke. They followed the light from their wands as they made their way out of the dormitories, trying to be as quiet as possible to not wake McGonagall, who's quarters were located at the end of the hallway.

As the girls reached the common room they spotted Neville, sitting on one of the couches as he waited for them. He lay back comfortably, his eyes closed as he listened to the music playing from the earphones connected to his walkman.

Y/n smiled, a plan hatching in her head. She knew that Neville wouldn't be able to hear them if they were quiet. She turned to Ginny and put a finger to her lips, letting her know what she was about to do.

She then snuck up behind the sofa where the boy was sitting and hopped over the back, landing beside him. "Boo" she laughed, watching his scared expression slowly turn to a relieved smile.

Neville saw someone appear to the right of him and his heart dropped, thinking someone had caught him out of bed past lights-out. When he saw it was just y/n, he couldn't help but grin at her playfullness and his heart skipped a beat once more. "Hi, I was waiting on you," he replied shyly.

Y/n flung her legs over his lap, and crossed her arms behind her head. "Yeah I know, but I had to wake up this lazy bitch," she nodded towards Ginny with a playful smile.

"Shut up, I'm awake now aren't I?" She responded, from where she was leaning against the back of the sofa, with an over-exaggerated eye roll.

Neville filled with intense embarrasment once he realised that Ginny had been there all along. He was greatly thankful for the dim firelight that disugiused how deeply he blushed when y/n sat next to him. If he wanted this crush to remain a secret, he would have to get better at hiding it.

"We should go. Luna's probably up at the tower already," Ginny pointed out. Y/n agreed and sat up, taking her legs off of Neville's lap.

The trio left the Gryffindor common room and manoeuvred their way to the other side of the castle, checking around every corner to make sure there was np sight of Filch and Mrs. Norris. Eventually, they found themselves climbing the spiral staircase which led to the astronomy tower.

Ginny was right, Luna was already at the top when they got there, looking up at the night sky. Four mugs of tea rested on the safety railing beside her, steam visible in the cold Autumn air. Without turning around, she greeted them all "Hi guys,"

The past few years, the four of them created the tradition of coming up to the astronomy tower at midnight whenever they came back from a school break. It started when Luna had read that there was going to be a meteor shower that night, so the other three went up to watch it with her. Last year, the house elves had realised what they were doing and started to leave tea up there for them.

They all stood beside their blonde haired friend and followed her gaze up to look at the bright cresent moon, surrounding by thousands of stars dotted across the sky. It always seemed that the stars shined brighter while they were at Hogwarts, which probably had something to do with all the magic around the school's grounds.

The group drank their tea and stared up into the sky in a comfortable silence. None of them ever seemed to feel the need to fill quiet moments with small talk, they were more than happy to just enjoy each others presence.

Luna was the first to speak. "We aren't the only one's doing this, you know"

"Hmm? What do you mean?" Neville asked, turning to face the blonde-haired girl. The space between his eyebrows creased in confusion.

"Doing this, looking at the stars." She replied, a smile making it's way onto her face. "I bet that there are other people doing exactly the same thing as we are,"

Y/n considered it for a moment, she had never taken the time to think about how every person saw the same sky at night, counted the same stars. It was comforting to her, in a weird extistential way.

"Yeah, but we are way cooler than those other people," Ginny joked. The others let out silent laughs, which were visible in the frosty air.

○

The group were sat down on the edge of the astronomy tower, their legs dangling off the side. The only thing stopping them from falling off was a metal bar. A cold breeze blew past them, making Ginny shiver and pull her arms around her chest. "Guys, I think I might head back to bed. It's freezing out here,"

Luna nodded in agreement. "I'll come with you, Ginny. I need to return these to the kitchen and thank the house elves," she collected the empty tea mugs into her arms. "Are you two coming aswell?"

Y/n shook her head and put up her hood, to shield her neck from the chilling air of the Scottish highlands. "I think I might stay for a while. I'm not quite ready for bed yet,"

Immediately after she finished her scentance, Neville started to speak. "Y-yeah, me too. I think I'll stay here with y/n" he crossed his arms and nodded, as if it was the best idea in the world.

"Okay" Luna smiled. She hugged both of her friends and walked over to the stairs, her footsteps not even making a sound on the stone floor.

Ginny lingered for a minute longer. She shot Neville a look, in silent question of his odd behaviour, before saying goodbye and disappearing down the spiral staircase with Luna.

Once they had watched their friends fully leave, the pair turned back to look at the view infront of them. From the height that they sat at, they could see everything: the forbidden forest, the black lake, the mountains and even the lights of Hogsmede village in the distance.

"Thanks," y/n spoke. The word cut through the silence, so crisp that they  could almost see it written out in the air infront of them.

"For what?" Neville asked. As far as he remembered, he didn't do anything to deserve a thanking.

"For staying out here with me" she shrugged, turning to look at boy best friend. His overgrown hair moved with the breeze, but it didn't do anything to hide the smile that grew on his face.

Neville turned to face the girl he had been infatuated with for the last month. Before he returned to school he had hoped his feelings were just on account of Summer lonliness, but they haven't gone away, quite the opposite acctually...

"Anytime"

And he didn't mind it one bit.

The pair of them stared at eachother, studying the changes that had occured in the face of the other over the summer.  Y/n noticed that Neville had lost a lot of that child-like roundness to his face, his features slowly sculpting into structure. Neville noticed that y/n had gained a couple of new freckles along her forehead and nose, representing her days spent on the beaches back home in Kerry.

As if they were in sync, both of them looked up at the same time making unexpected eye contact. They were unable to look away, like a deer in headlights knowing it will be killed by a massive lorry if it doesn't move off of the motorway.

Y/n broke first, clearing her throat as she looked down. She could feel her face heating up and hoped she could excuse it on the cold. As her eyes scanned back up, the headphones resting around Neville's neck caught her attention.

"Um- whatchu listening to?" She asked, desperate to change the topic of conversation.

"Here," Neville took the headphones from around his neck, placing them over y/n's ears before pressing play on the walkman clipped to the waistband of his blue striped pyjama bottoms. He watched as her face grew into a massive grin when she recognised the song playing.

"Is this this the mixtape I made you?!" She asked, hearing the last verse of The Waterboys' 'The Whole Of The Moon' through the little orange foam ear pieces.

Neville nodded, "I've been listening to it ever since you gave it to me... it's the only tape I have," he shrugged sheepishly, still flustered from the previous encounter.

Y/n thought for a moment before standing up, dragging Neville onto his feet also. She rewinded the tape back to the start of the song and unplugged the headphones, letting the song's opening drums and keyboard riff flood the top of the Astronomy Tower.

Noticing the look of confusion on the boy infront of her's face, Y/n took both of his hands in hers and started moving them forwards and backwards as she she swayed her hips to the rhythm. She couldn't help but sing as the lyrics began:

I pictured a rainbow

You held it in your hands

I had flashes

But you saw the plans

Neville smiled, she geniunely had such a pretty voice. Once he got into the song he began to sway to the beat.

I wandered out of the world for years

But you just stayed in your room

Neville twirled y/n around and heard and her joyus laughter filled his head. As the next line of the song came in, he joined in with her,

I saw the cresent

You saw the whole of the moon

He had to admit, he wasn't much of a singer but it was hard not to sing along in that moment... which was cut short by a loud shout coming from the outside of the tower.

"WHO'S UP THERE! WHICH ONE OF YOU LITTLE BUGGERS IS OUT OF BED!" The scraggly voice that could only belong to Filch shouted up the tower.

"Fuck!"

NEXT CHAPTER

Taglist (comment to be added): @divinestarling @bookhoe33 @whotfskai @pursuedbyamemoryy @zippyskitty @gia999 @warrenluvr @h3ll0k1ttyl0v3r @emstar07 @the-sander-fander @carlslactationstation @the-deamus-kid @trickvsterpotter @elemental-of‐magic @regsg18

[justtwotired]

Regulus Black coffee shop AU

It was stupid, Merlin why did it all have to be this way? Maybe he shouldn't do it... no he had to, he was the only one that knew and no one would believe him... a death eater.

Walking trough the muggle village, Regulus was having a war with himself and really wondering what to do with the information he had been walking around with for about a year now, probably longer.

He finally graduated Hogwarts about two months ago and was now trying to escape his parents for a while, having grown really sick of them and their mindset.

His eyes fell on a small coffee shop on the corner of the street and after a bit of hesitation, he decided to head inside, having some Muggle money in his pockets anyway.

When he walked inside, a small bell that hung at the door made a dinging sound. There where a few customers but no one behind the counter.

Suddenly a girl stumbled out of a door which Regulus assumed let to the kitchen. "Well to bad, I'm not getting ze groceries either, I did it yesterday, zo that will be a you problem, Amber!" The girl said to someone still on the other side of the door.

Her eyes fell on Regulus who was awkwardly standing there and she smiled. "Oh, 'ello there, 'ow can I 'elp you?" She smiled, Regulus noticed she had a French accent. He blinked at her for a moment, she was absolutely beautiful, but he quickly scolded himself mentally.

"Oh, Uhm, could I have a coffee?" He asked and she nodded. "Yes, of course, just a normal coffee?" She questioned. "Yes, just black, no sugar no milk." He nodded. "Alright, and your name?" She looked up at him.

"Regulus." He said and she smiled and wrote it down. "That's R-e-g-u-l-u-s? Like the star?" She spelled and he nodded. "Yeah." He said, a bit amused, yet hiding it from the girl.

"Alright, take a seat, I'll call you when it's done." She said and walked to the espresso machine. He went to sit down and just looked around, mostly at her. She also helped two girls that came in and sat down two tables away from him.

She was incredibly beautiful, it was almost unnatural, though he didn't want to stare, not wanting to look like a creep.

"Regulus!" She called his name and he stood up, walking over to get his coffee, muttering a quick thanks before walking back to his seat and sitting down.

After a while, he stood up and walked over to the counter, putting the empty cup in the trash. "Can I pay?" He asked and she smiled at him. "Yes of course, that will be 2 pounds please." She said and he fished in his pocket and handed her the money.

"All good, thank you, have a great day." She gave him a genuine smile and he nodded and left.

A few days later, Regulus found himself back again. She looked up at the sound of the bell as she had been leaning against the counter, a book in her hand.

"Goodmorning." Greeted and he gave a small nod. "One black coffee, please." He said and she nodded. "Coming right up, Regulus, was it?" She smiled his eyebrows rose slightly and she quickly cast her eyes down. "Yes." He just said and she smiled, he couldn't help but give her the smallest smile back.

He sat down at the same table he sat at the first time and listened as she made the coffee. "Regulus!" He heard his name and stood up, getting the coffee. "Thanks." He said and she gave him a small smile.

She watched as he sat back down and then went into the kitchens with a big smile. "Oh god, what happened for you to have such a big smile on your face?" Amber, her best friend, asked. "You know that one cute guy I talked about Monday?" She asked and Amber nodded.

"Yeah, you mean 'the pretty boy' as you called him?" She asked and was met with nods and smiles. "Yes! 'e is back, sitting at the same spot by the window." She said.

"Oh, please, Y/n, don't let it be like the last one, he was a complete asshole." She said as she stood up to check the boy out. "Well- zis one's cute, but 'e doesn't show much emotion." She shrugged and Amber gave her a look and they walked out together.

There, Amber looked at the boy sitting by the window, silently sipping his coffee. "Okay, maybe you are right." She said as she looked away again. Luckily just in time as Regulus looked over to see what they where up to.

Not much later, he came up to pay and Y/n helped him. He smiled at her when he left and she felt butterflies in her stomach.

Regulus found himself at the shop at least two times a week, he had eventually figured out that the girl was the owner and was running things mostly on her own but had three other employees and worked on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. The first two always alone.

"Black coffee?" She smiled when he came in and he nodded, trying his best not to smile. "Yeah." He said. "And I suppose it's still Regulus?" She let out a small giggle at her own joke. He couldn't help but smile. "Yes, still Regulus."

She smiled as she wrote the name down on the cup, even though she would remember anyway. "And what about you?" He asked, surprised at his own boldness. "Hm?" She hummed and looked up. "What's your name?" He tilted his head to the side slightly.

"Oh, it's Y/n." She told him and then put the cup down. "This'll come right up." She said and he nodded and sat down at his usual seat.

It went as always, she called his name, he went to get it, drank it while reading or thinking and then came up to pay.

The next time he went, she smiled and already grabbed a cup, putting his name down. "Morning." She greeted. "Goodmorning." He said and sat at the chair at the counter and her eyebrows rose. "New place?" She asked as the coffee poured into the cup.

He smiled at her, it was the best smile she had seen so far and she felt her stomach flutter. "I'd like to get to know the person always so kind to get my coffee ready." He said and she smiled, biting her lip slightly and turned away as she grabbed to coffee and gave it to him.

"I am always in for a little chat." She said, sitting on the other side of the counter in front of him. "So, you're from France?" He asked and she nodded. "Yes, what gave it away?" Questioned seeming s bit surprised.

"The accent, and I heard you mention it to your friend once." He said. "You where eavesdropping on our conversation?" Asked narrowing her eyes. "I- what, no no, uh- I uh..." he stammered.

She chuckled. "I'm joking, it is quite alright, it is 'ard to miss, but I really wanted a coffee shop like this and was a bit done with my parents zo I moved here." She shrugged.

"And you? Are you from around 'ere?" She asked and he nodded. "I live in a neighbourhood nearby, quite boring really." He shrugged. "I'd love the be as bold and run away from home." He sighed and she laughed.

"Difficult parents, also?" She asked and he nodded. "Yeah, it was a bit better when my brother was there, but he ran away years ago, I haven't spoken much to him since." He admitted. "Why don't you run away? When I did it felt amazing." She tried to encourage.

"I can't, it's just- it's difficult." He sighed. "I understand, but 'ey, you can always sit 'ere and be away from them." She smiled and he looked at her, them locking eyes. "Exactly what I've been doing, it's a really nice place you have here." He looked around and she gave him the biggest smile.

"Yes! I know right! I love it so much, I can't believe this dream finally came true!" She seemed so happy as she said it, it was almost contagious and he felt a weird feeling in his stomach, he had never felt it before.

The bell dinged and a man with a suit walked in, seemingly in a hurry.

"You, lady, I need one coffee and a latte." He pointed at her and she rose her eyebrows. "Sure, takeaway?" She asked and he rolled his eyes. "Obviously." He said and she smiled, though Regulus saw how annoyed she was.

"Alright, and on what name?" She asked politely. "None of your business, now hurry up, I need to go." He said and she sighed, just staring the coffee machine.

She was steaming the milk and put it in a large cup, then waited, staring at it. "What are you doing, hurry up! You're just standing there." He complained.

"I have to wait for the milk to be ready." She said and he slammed a fist on the counter. "I don't care, hurry up!" He said and her head snapped towards him.

"Listen 'ere, I am just doing my job, so either you stand zere and shut the fuck up or you leave my shop right now because I do not tolerate zis bad behaviour you 'ave, zo what iz it? Keep acting like a child or be an actual grown up?" She snapped at him with a strong French accent and his mouth hung opened for a moment looking like he wanted to say something, but he stepped back with his jaw clenched.

She finished the coffee and put it in front of him. "That will be 4,75." She said in a bitter voice. He gave her the money and then stomped out.

"Muggles." Regulus muttered when he had left. "What?" She seemed shocked and he quickly shook his head. "Nothing."

He continued to come and sit at the counter multiple times a week, but he just couldn't get that feeling out of him, he had no idea what it was.

One evening, he still saw the lights on and went inside. "Are you still open?" He asked and she looked up. "I already closed, but come in if you want." She invited and he walked in with a smile.

"Busy day?" He asked and she nodded. "Yeah, I 'ad to call in Amber at one point because it was to much for me alone." She told him. "But we 'andled it, I missed you this week, normally you are 'ere Monday." She said as she put some clean plates in a cupboard.

"Yeah, I was... busy." He said, remembering the death eater meeting he had attended, already sick at what there had been shared about some Muggle families.

"I see, you want a coffee?" She said as she already grabbed a cup. "Oh, sure." He nodded and sat down at the counter.

She made it and set it down next to her for a moment, wanting to grab a spoon but she accidentally knocked the cup over.

"Oh, Merlin!" She said and quickly put it up and grabbed a dish cloth. "Excuse me?" Regulus' eyes widened at her words. She looked over at him. "Oh, sorry, I will make you a new one." She said.

"No, not that, what did you just say?" He asked and she seemed to process and then it hit her. She put a hand over her mouth. "Oh Merlin." She said as she realised. "Wait no- shit." She murmured.

"Sorry, I don't know why I say that." She said and kept sweeping the counter.

"Tell me, Y/n, what is your partronus?" He dared to ask and her mouth fell open as she stared at him in shock. "A butterfly." She said and he let out a small laugh in surprise. "I wasn't expecting such a turn of events." He chuckled.

"BeauxBatons?" He asked and she nodded. "Hogwarts?" She asked him and he nodded. "Yeah, Slytherin, if you where wondering." He said and she chuckled. "Doesn't surprise me one bit." She said.

"When I tell you that you are no doubt a hufflepuff." He said and she giggled. "My friends at school told me the same." She admitted.

"Tell me, Y/n, do you have Veela blood?" He asked and she nodded. "Yes, how'd you know?" She asked and looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. "It explains why you're so incredibly beautiful." He said and she blushed as she kept wiping the already clean counter.

"Are you flustered?" He teased and the blush grew. "Shut it." She mumbled making him grin.

[simplyfandomish]

Imagine you’re at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament...

Simplyfandomish’s Masterlist

Words: 2189

Warnings: None! 

Fandom: Harry Potter

A great hush came over the student body of Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry when the great Headmaster Dumbledore raised his hands over his large golden podium and became to speak with a booming voice. “Now that we're all settled in and sorted, I'd like to make an announcement.”

The students - minus the First Years - all glanced at each other. With how the school years have been with the arrival of The Boy Who Lived, who knows what warning, rules, and regulations the Headmaster was going to say. 

The Weasley unashamedly stared at Harry with knowing eyes and smirks. 

Harry ignored their eyes. 

“This castle will not only be your home this year, but home to some very special guests as well. You see Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event: The Triwizard tournament!” 

Murmurs and excited whispers bounced off the stone walls of the Great Hall at the news. “Now for those of you who do not know, the Triwizard tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests, but for the first time ever the Ministry of Magic has granted acceptance for a fourth school to be entered!”

More excited chatter erupted across the four houses. 

“What school could it be?” 

“There’s only five other schools outside of the European continent.”

“Maybe the school in Japan?”

“I hope it’s Castelobruxo! I love Brazilian food!”

Dumbledore hushed the students again. 

“From each school a single contestant is selected to compete. Now let me be clear, if chosen you stand alone, and trust me when I say these contests are not for the faint hearted, but more of that later.” 

The room turned ominous at his decree. But many continued to vibrate in excitement for the tournament. 

In particular, a pale blonde boy in green robes puffed his chest out in pride. His cronies grinned at him. 

“Let us begin introductions, shall we?” Dumbledore smiled widely as he waved his hands towards the large wooden doors of the Great Hall. “Please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies and gentlemen of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and their headmistress Madame Maxime!”

The large doors burst open as a group of girls in blue silk uniforms pranced in a triangular form. As they made their way down the center aisle they sighed dramatically and leaned to the sides of the lined dinner tables. To add to the show, the females released a swarm of blue butterflies as they made it halfway down the hall. 

Some of the female students of Hogwarts watched the Beauxbatons girls with distaste and jealousy and elbowed the drooling boys sitting next to them. 

“They’re all veelas! Of course they’re all staring at them like pieces of meat.” Angela Johnson of Gryffindor huffed. She made a face when the blonde girl leading the parade of butterflies and sighs smiled in a knowing way. 

Other than the drooling attention the boys gave the girls, all attention went to the large woman that made her way down the aisle. She was large, and that word was not taken lightly! She was at least a good three feet taller than their half-giant gamekeeper, Hagrid.

“Blimey, that's one big woman.” A student whispered as they watched Madame Maxine walk by.

After the ladies finished their entrance, the male students of Beauxbatons school sauntered in. They mimicked the same ballet arms, hops, and sways as their female colleagues, but with less sighing.

This time it was the male student body of Hogwarts that had to elbow the females out of their stupors.  

A pair of Ravenclaw girls fanned themselves and held onto each other for support. 

A Slytherin girl actually fell off the bench when a handsome raven haired student winked at her. 

“You were saying?” Lee Jordan of Gryffindor teased Angela after he elbowed her. 

As the school’s last pizazz to their entrance was a young blonde girl in a pink and white leotard. She did an impressive show of acrobatics and a ribbon dance down the aisle, before ending in an impressive flip beside the same blonde that led the pack. They looked similar - Sisters, perhaps. The French school bowed in perfect synchrony after their performance - The Entire Hogwarts student body climbed to their feet in applause and whistled. 

“Encore!” Someone yelled from the crowd. 

Professor McGonagall shook her head in disappointment. 

Dumbeldore greeted the giant Headmistress and showed her to her seat at the professor table. He turned back to his students. “And now our friends from the North, please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang and their high master Igor Karkaroff!” 

These boys were the exact opposite of the Beauxbatons’ boys - they were large and rugged, with a more mountain man appearance rather than the delicate, pretty princely types of Beauxbatons. 

They all wore red blood uniforms with variously colored fur coats, making them even more intimidating; All marched into the Hall with heavy wooden staffs that they banged and stabbed into the floor like war drums. Sparks erupted from the ends of their staffs, before the students turned and began a choreographed fight with their staffs.   

“Blimey it’s him!” Ronald Weasley of Gryffindor swooned as he spotted his role model (and man crush). “Viktor Krum!” 

The legendary Quidditch Seeker marched beside the Durmstrag headmaster, both wearing fierce, intimidating looks. 

To finish their entrance, a boy blew fire to create a fire dragon to swirl around their High Master to further their intimidation tactics.

 The two headmasters greeted each other with a pat on the back and a small smile, before they separated and Dumbledore went back to his podium. “And now for our final and our most special guest, our friends from across the pond, from Salem, Massachusetts: Quendrum Academy and their Headmistress Agatha Hallewell!” he gestured towards the doors again, but nothing happened. 

Brows furrows and mutters of confusion erupted throughout the Great Hall. Some students rose to their feet to spy anything out of the ordinary. 

Suddenly, the floating candles in the Great Hall dimmed slowly, almost becoming extinguished, and fog began to seep from the fireplaces. 

Students of Ravenclaw and Slytherin Houses inched away from the fireplaces beside them. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students stood instead to see the fireplaces. 

Screams erupted when the fog sparked and large green flames erupted in the hearths. 

Students and teachers feared the worst. Was someone Flooing in?? 

Cackles and jeers then erupted throughout the Great Hall, but still no one was seen-! 

The large doors of the Great Hall finally burst open, nearly ripping the hinges out of the stone and a brigade of shadowed figures with pointy hats on brooms soared in the room. 

Some of the witches from Quendrum Academy messed with the students, even the foreign ones. They grabbed their uniform hats, pulled on robe hoods, and snagged food from people’s plates. Students ducked and yelped to avoid getting a face full of broomstick straw. 

The witches cackled as they messed up the Beauxbatons’ perfect hairstyles with their reckless flying. 

The other bunches of witches simply high-fived some students or used their wands to rain down gold sparkles. 

The new First Year students especially loved the sparkle showers. 

A group of five soared into the hall in a ‘V’ formation, keeping ranks as they circled the entire interior of the Hall before flying low to the ground. Four of the witches flipped back as the leading female came to an abrupt halt in front of the Headmaster and floated in front of the pedestal. 

“Agatha, lovely to see you again.” Dumbledore greeted with a warm smile. 

The Headmistress smirked underneath her large witches hat. “A pleasure it is indeed, Albus.” She grinned widely. She was tall and thin with a perfect face and salt-and-pepper gray hair. Her blue eyes twinkled as she hopped off the broomstick and waved her wand to brighten the room again. “My girls and I are honored for you to have us.” At her words, her students floated down from the high ceilings and landed on the floor, benches, and tabletops. 

With normal light returned, the audience could see the entire Quendrum student body. They all wore black and gold uniforms with long cloaks pinned around their necks with golden brooches of the school insignia in the front. They all wore classic witch hats with large brims and tall points, but all were vastly different from the other. All were decorated in wild, different ways. 

One girl had cobwebs with a live spider hanging off the brim of her hat (the little spier did a small curtsy), while another girl wore a pastel colored hat with clumps of colorful flowers and lots and lots of lace. Another girl had a leather hat with intricate cloth patterns sewn into the fabric, two large golden thunderbird feathers and tiny colorful beaded charms swayed with every movement she made. 

Half of the Gryffindor table gawked up at the young witch that nearly stepped in the bowl of mashed potatoes upon landing. You chuckled in embarrassment, “Sorry about that.” 

Harry couldn’t help but stare at the pretty witch. The details of your face were delicately illuminated by the small balls of fire that floated within the small glass spheres that hung around the brim of her hat. 

“Girls!” Mistress Hallewell called out. 

The students of Quendrum fell in line and made their way up the center aisle. 

Chuckles erupted when a witch in a terrarium themed hat slipped on a spoon and landed roughly on the bench.

The little frog housed within the pointed glass top jostled in its wood and mossy home and croaked in annoyance. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She lifted a hand up and gently rubbed the glass to soothe her poor familiar.

Neville and other Gryffindors gawked at the terrarium the witch wore. Neville’s friends were positive he had just fallen in love right then and there. 

Ironic since a witch in a bright pink hat with red roses, glittery hearts, and dove wings helped the witch with the frog to her feet.  

You snickered at your friend as you carefully stepped down off the dining table, jumping when your free hand was grabbed and you met bright green eyes that shimmered like emeralds. 

“T-Thank you.” You nodded in gratitude as the pretty boy helped you off the table and onto the floor. 

Harry’s friends smirked and grinned up at their friend at the interaction. The twins elbowed and smacked each other as they couldn't believe their eyes. 

Harry James Potter?? Having game with a pretty foreign witch?? Who knew??

Harry knew exactly what he had done, but did he care that his friends were going to chew him out and rip him apart tonight in teases and jests? Not one bit! 

Not when his emerald green eyes stared into your illuminated (e/c) eyes. 

The little glass spheres chimed and twinkled like fairies with every as you stood back on the ground. 

“C’mon, (Y/n).” The same pink hat witch with hearts walked past with the frog witch. She also smirked at the interaction. 

Your little love bubble popped and you remembered where you were. “Uhh t-thanks again.” You couldn’t fight the rush of butterflies that filled your stomach and your face expressed those feelings. 

Harry nodded with a small smile - still star struck. 

As you joined your covenant, Harry slinked back into his seat, but his eyes never tore from you. 

Not even when Ron, the twins, or any of his other friends grinned at him. 

At least his female friends made their curiosity and excitement less obvious. 

“Now that we’ve all been introduced, let’s give our foreign friends a proper Hogwarts welcome!” Dumbledore whipped out his wand and flicked it, golden words appeared from the air and a small pointer bounced on the words as the Hogwarts student body began their performance. 

“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts, teach us something please. Whether we be old and bald, or young with scabby knees our heads could do with filling with some interesting stuff.”

The foreign schools all had different reactions when the students began to sing. 

Beauxbatons was gathered on the right side of the hall and exchanged pathetic looks with one another. 

Durmstrang stood in the center and kept their usual unamused stone faces, however some fought off smirks and snorts. 

 “For now they're bare and full of air, dead flies and bits of fluff, do teach us things worth knowing.” Students didn’t know the words - or purposefulyl sung the wrong - others were incredibly off key and off beat. from somehwere in teh ocean of Hogwarts students someone sang it like funeral march. 

Quendrum was gathered on the left and weren’t afraid to hide their expressions. Some danced in a goofy way, others stood expressionless or grinned and chuckled. 

Harry flushed in embarrassment when his eyes met yours again; His arms were raised in the air to sway along with his colleagues as they sang. 

You covered your mouth to hide your giggles, but Harry loved the way your cheeks rose and eyes squinted with your grin. 

“Bring back what we've forgot! Just do your best! We'll do the rest and learn until our brains all rot!”

Harry ducked his head when Ron and Lee wrapped their arms around his shoulders and began to rock him back and forth to the beat. You laughed again. 

[myrachondria]

The Durmstrang Champion - Chapter 3

(Ominis Gaunt x f!OC, Sebastian Sallow x f!MC)

☆view my bookcase here!☆

◇view Layla's character sheet here!◇

Summary - The Triwizard Tournament Champions are announced, mentors are chosen, and Layla has an interesting conversation with her brother

Warnings - none for this chapter!

Notes - whenever someone is speaking in Hindi, the font will be blue, also i wrote and rewrote this chapter 3 times lmao. I'm still working on the other half so I decided to split it. I also changed Emily, the MC's, name to "MC" so it's one less name to remember. BUCKLE UP for the next chapter, it's gonna be a funny one. I'll try to get it out ASAP.

Word Count - 2.1K

Chapter 2 here

The Great Hall hummed with anticipation, the atmosphere charged with excitement as the time for the selection of the Triwizard Champions approached. All eyes were fixed on the centerpiece of the hall, the majestic Goblet of Fire, its flames flickering with an enticing allure. The Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts students alike held their breath, eagerly awaiting the announcement that would determine the champions. At the podium stood Headmaster Black, his eyes shimmering with anticipation. He cleared his throat, commanding the attention of the gathered students. "Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests, the moment has come to unveil the three champions who will proudly represent their respective schools in the Triwizard Tournament. Let the selection commence!"

The air crackled with tension as the Goblet of Fire suddenly erupted in a burst of flames, causing every individual to lean forward in anticipation. Amidst the fiery display, a single piece of parchment shot out from the goblet and floated towards Headmaster Black. He caught it in mid-air, his hands moving with practiced grace, and unfolded the parchment with a flourish.

"The first champion," Headmaster Black declared, his voice resounding throughout the hall, "chosen by the Goblet of Fire, is none other than Vincent Girard from Beauxbatons Academy!"

A thunderous applause erupted from the Beauxbatons students as Vincent Girard, a striking figure with his tall stature and flowing platinum blond hair, made his way towards the stage. With a confident grin, he executed a graceful bow, basking in the admiration from the crowd that surrounded him.

In an instant, the Goblet of Fire propelled yet another piece of parchment into the air, causing a ripple of anticipation to sweep through the hall. Headmaster Black unfolded the parchment slowly, deliberately, before announcing, "The second champion, selected by the Goblet of Fire, to represent Hogwarts is Sebastian Sallow!"

A mixture of applause and murmurs filled the air as Sebastian, his lips curved in a self-assured smile, rose from his seat. Each step he took towards the stage exuded confidence, as if he were savoring the attention. A smug glance cast in the direction of his fellow students only fueled their awe and envy.

As Sebastian made his way towards the stage, Layla, Rani, Sonia, and Cassie leaned in closer together, their eyes widened with shock, their whispers too hushed to be discerned by anyone else. So engrossed were they in their conversation that they almost missed the next announcement.

Once again, the Goblet blazed to life, casting a luminous glow across the Great Hall. Headmaster Black reached out, his hand swiftly seizing the parchment that emerged from the mystical flames. "And lastly," he began, his voice commanding attention, "the final Triwizard Tournament Champion, hailing from Durmstrang Institute, is Layla Ansari!"

A hush fell over the Great Hall as Layla, rose from her seat. Dark, determined eyes sparkled as she made her way towards the stage. The students from Durmstrang cheered, clapped, and stomped their feet in support, while a handful of Hogwarts and Beauxbatons students joined in the celebration.

As the three champions stood united on the stage, Headmaster Black addressed them. "Congratulations, champions! You have been chosen to represent your schools in the Triwizard Tournament, a formidable and perilous competition that lies ahead. May the finest witch or wizard emerge victorious."

Once again, the hall erupted in a chorus of applause, the air pulsating with energy. Layla and Vincent exchanged nods of mutual respect, acknowledging the challenging path that lay ahead, while Sebastian, unable to resist, offered Layla a sly smirk, relishing in their newfound rivalry. The stage was set, and the Triwizard Tournament was poised to begin, an exhilarating journey that would test their skills, courage, and forge unexpected alliances.

As the students erupted in cheer and the champions prepared themselves for the trials that awaited, little did they know that this tournament would not only push the boundaries of their capabilities but also ignite rivalries and unravel mysteries that would shape their destinies.

After the grand feast, Headmaster Black led the three Champions to his office for a private meeting to delve deeper into the tournament rules and select their mentors. Vincent, the Beauxbatons student, wasted no time in choosing his mentor. He opted for Professor Hugo Renard, their esteemed Defense Against the Dark Arts and Dueling instructor. A letter was promptly penned by his Headmaster, dispatching it via owl to ensure Professor Renard's arrival by Monday.

Now, it was Sebastian's turn to make his decision. He pondered for a moment, weighing his options. Initially, he considered choosing Professor Hecat, but he ultimately settled on Professor Sharp. Sebastian knew that Professor Sharp, a former Auror and potions expert, would be an invaluable asset to have as a mentor. 

Headmaster Black summoned Professor Sharp, who promptly arrived a few minutes later. He was informed of Sebastian's request to be his mentor, and Professor Sharp agreed. 

Finally, it was Layla's turn to select her mentor. Her gaze briefly shifted to the Durmstrang Headmistress, and then she spoke. "Sarah Nightshade," she said, sounding more like a question than a statement. However, seeing the look on Headmistress Petrova’s face she swiftly regained her composure, her tone firm as she repeated herself, "I select Sarah Nightshade."

Headmaster Black paused, momentarily taken aback. "Is Miss Nightshade a new Durmstrang Professor? The name is unfamiliar to me," he inquired.

"No, she is not a Professor," Headmistress Petrova replied.

"You are aware that it is strongly encouraged for the mentors to be Professors."

"I am well aware. However, I do not believe Miss Nightshade would pose a disadvantage to the other champions. She is only two years older than Miss Ansari, lacking a distinguished career as an Auror or a similar background. Moreover, she has not received a conventional education from a formal institution. If anything, I believe Miss Ansari is the one at a disadvantage," Headmistress Petrova countered.

"Very well," Headmaster Black conceded. He called upon Professor Sharp and Professor Renard, as well as both Headmasters, to engage in a brief discussion. After a few moments of deliberation, they collectively agreed that Layla's chosen mentor would not grant an unfair advantage, considering the mentor's background.

Headmaster Black granted Headmistress Petrova permission to send the owl to Miss Nightshade. However, Headmistress Petrova had a surprising response. "I don't believe that will be necessary. I believe Miss Ansari has already sent for her. Isn't that correct?" she asked, directing her gaze towards Layla.

Layla nodded.

Sebastian watched the interactions between the Durmstrang Headmistress, Professor Black, and Layla. Something didn’t quite sit right with him. Why had she already selected and called for her mentor? How did she know that she would be the one selected? I definitely saw other Durmstrang students enter their names. And shy did she choose someone so young and inexperienced?

As the three Champions were dismissed from the meeting, Sebastian playfully bumped his shoulder into Layla's. She glanced up at him, and he couldn't help but flash a mischievous smile. "I guess we'll be seeing a lot more of each other, huh?" he remarked, his voice laced with flirtatious undertones.

"I suppose so," Layla replied, her voice firm, and… cold?

A couple days later, Sebastian got ready to meet up with Imelda at the Quidditch pitch. She had held tryouts this weekend for the newly opened Seeker position, and he wanted to know who she had picked, if anyonet. As he approached the pitch with MC and Ominis, he saw Imelda speaking to a certain group of four girls who seemed to be everywhere.

“Hello, Imelda. Have you finally selected a new seeker?” Ominis asked.

"No," she sighed in frustration. "None of them were up to par. I've been trying to persuade Layla to join us all morning. She' not a bad seeker."

“Not a ‘bad seeker’? That's high praise coming from you, Imelda," Ominis chuckled.

"Is she... allowed to join the Slytherin team?" Sebastian questioned, puzzled.

“No,” Layla responded.

“Not as of right now,” Imelda corrected her. “But I sure can try to convince Professor Black to allow it.”

"It doesn't matter, Layla's parents won't allow her to play Quidditch," Rani interjected with a flat tone. “They’re very… particular… in how they do everything.”

“Exactly. She has other… extracurricular activities, that she prefers” Sonia added playfully.

"What kind of extracurricular activities?" Sebastian asked with a raised eyebrow, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"Well, here comes an example," Sonia announced with a wide smile.

"Well, here comes an example," Sonia announced with a wide smile. Sebastian turned his attention in the direction Sonia pointed, spotting two men approaching the group. They were only a few years older than him and wore Auror uniforms, albeit slightly different from what he had seen before. He guessed one of them to be Layla's family member, likely her brother judging by their striking resemblance.

As the two men approached, his assumption was confirmed. One of them was her older brother, and the other was his partner, Louis. Layla’s brother, Khalid, introduced himself to everyone and made some small talk. He stepped a couple of steps aside and spoke to his sister in a soft tone, a little too quiet for Sebastian to hear what they were discussing.

MC also noticed that the two men’s uniform differed from the usual Auror uniform she had seen. She asked about the uniform, and it was Louis who answered her.

“We’re aurors but we work in a specific department. We are assigned to capture high profile criminals. We are allowed to bring them in dead or alive, by any means necessary,” Louis said with what was probably the thickest French accent MC had heard. “After you graduate you have to go through a year long, very intensive training processes as well as pass multiple psychological tests to ensure you would be a good fit for the department.” Louis kept glancing over to Layla as he spoke.

 Sebastian noticed how Louis watched Layla when she spoke to her brother. There was definitely something going on. As Khalid turned back to Louis and spoke to him, something regarding a case they were working on, Sonia spoke up.

"Hey, Khalid. I was wondering, how would you feel if Layla and Louis got married?" Sonia asked, her voice laced with mischief. Before anyone could react, Layla shoved Sonia sideways, causing her to collide with Rani, who then pushed Sonia forward into Khalid.

Khalid spun around, his annoyance evident on his face. He placed his hands on Sonia's shoulders and gently pushed her back a few steps.

"What did she mean by that?" Khalid demanded, his tone suspicious.

“How am I supposed to know? She’s a stupid girl so she asks stupid questions,” Layla responded with annoyance, shooting a brief glance at Sonia to signal her to keep quiet.

"I-It's actually true," Sonia stammered nervously. "I am fairly dumb. My parents even say that to me all of the time. They always praise my sisters for being the smart ones. Sometimes, I even forget where I am. On our way to Hogwarts, I completely blanked and forgot where we were going, and-"

Khalid raised his hand, cutting her off. He rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Enough." He motioned for Layla to follow him, indicating they needed to speak privately.

Layla and Khalid distanced themselves, creating some space between them and the rest of the group.

"She wasn't chosen?"

"Evidently not."

"Why?"

She looked at him annoyed. “How would I know?”

"Well, did she even participate in the selection? Or did she decide not to enter at all, leading to someone else being chosen?" Khalid pressed some more.

“I don’t know. I’ll find out.”

“Okay. Mama and baba are asking.”

Khalid started to walk back to the group, but Layla grabbed his arm.

“One more thing…”

“What?”

“Those three are everywhere. I don’t know if they’re following me or it’s just a coincidence.”

“What are their names?”

“Sebastian Sallow, MC, Ominis Gaunt. Oh, and Amara Hawthorne.”

"Okay. I'll deal with it."

"Not like that. I just... want to know more about them."

"Fine."

Sebastian's eyes remained fixed on Layla and her brother, observing their hushed conversation with growing curiosity. It seemed like a serious conversation. They approached the group once they were done and just as fast as they came, Khalid and Louis were gone. Sebastian couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to their conversation than meets the eye.

Tag List - @imaslytherpuff @flowered-bicycles @celestialsky1993 @avadakadabra93

[santaasi]

obviously blind

pairing: james potter x bsf!fem!reader

summary: for years, james potter thought he was chasing love. sirius black knew better — he’d been holding it all along.

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love, james calls reader love, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 11.3k

a/n: it was probably the longest idea to write and edit. i rewrote every moment a bunch of times trying to bring it all to perfection. therefore, this time I hope more than ever that you will like it and you will support me with a like, comment or reblog. have a nice time reading this work! love u <3

ᯓ★ now playing…

slaves – footprints

You left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

Would you promise me you'll never let me go

November 15, 1971 My dear best friend, Hogwarts is brilliant! You should see the castle; it’s massive, with these moving staircases that sometimes take you to places you didn’t even mean to go! I tried to get to Charms class last week and ended up in the Trophy Room instead. Sirius says it’s part of the fun, and I’m starting to agree. Speaking of fun, I made a new friend! His name’s Sirius Black, and he’s a bit of a troublemaker like me. Don’t tell Mum, but we might’ve let some Filibuster’s Fireworks off in the Great Hall during lunch. The teachers were furious, but the look on their faces was worth it. How’s Beauxbatons? Is it true your castle is magical in a totally different way? Sirius said something about unicorns roaming the grounds. Is that real? Write me everything—I want to know what it’s like over there. Hope you’re having as much fun as I am.  Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WAS UTTERLY SPENT. Not the charming, rakish kind of spent he might brag about after a late night of mischief, but truly, completely, soul-drainingly done. The journey to the Potter family cottage, which should have been a brisk jaunt, had turned into a Herculean trial. Blame the snowstorm that had swept through magical London like some vengeful Norse curse, burying everything in its path under heaps of frosty misery.

It started with a delayed train — no, not delayed, imprisoned. Sirius and James were already aboard when the announcement came, trapping them in a stuffy carriage surrounded by loudly complaining wizards and at least one crying baby. And because the universe clearly found Sirius’ misery entertaining, the train came to a jolting halt halfway to their destination, snow packing the tracks so thickly that it took hours of magical clearing before they moved again.

When they finally arrived at the station, they discovered that Mr. Potter, their much-needed savior with a warm car and a better attitude than either of them, had been delayed at work. Thus, Sirius and James were left to trudge through the snow-laden countryside, dragging their trunks behind them, with James’ endless chatter about Lily Evans ringing in Sirius’ ears like a persistent curse.

“Her smile, Padfoot,” James had sighed dreamily at least seventeen times, his glasses fogging up as if even thinking about Lily caused them to malfunction. “And the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating—”

By the sixteenth sigh, Sirius had been sorely tempted to shove a fistful of snow into James’ face. By the seventeenth, he was mentally composing a list of Unforgivable Curses and ranking them by efficiency. Yet, even as he grumbled under his breath, Sirius couldn’t bring himself to abandon the trek. The Potters were the closest thing he had to a family, and spending Christmas anywhere else — no matter how dire the journey — was unthinkable.

When they finally reached the Potter home, Sirius didn’t so much step inside as collapse into it. He shoved the front door open with the dramatic flair of a man escaping death itself and sprawled across the polished wooden floor like a martyr for his own cause. His trunk fell beside him with a satisfying thud.

“Home at last,” he groaned, voice muffled against the rug. “Tell me, Prongs, do they serve last rites before cinnamon rolls, or do we skip straight to the feast?”

The cottage, of course, was as warm and welcoming as Sirius remembered. Strings of fairy lights twinkled across the beams, casting a cozy glow of red, gold, and green. A holly wreath hung crookedly on the wall — lil’James’ handiwork, no doubt — and the scent of pine mingled with the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon, butter, and something sweet. Sirius’ stomach growled audibly.

“Oi, shut it, you ungrateful mutt,” James shot back with a grin, though Sirius could see his friend’s eyes darting toward the kitchen. “You’re embarrassing us in front of the wreath.”

James hadn’t even set his trunk down before a figure appeared in the doorway.

At first, Sirius barely registered her presence. He was too busy muttering about the injustice of underage magic restrictions. But then — oh, then — she stepped fully into view.

A girl.

Not just any girl, but you.

You moved with a kind of quiet confidence that Sirius instantly clocked, your steps unhurried, your presence undeniable. The golden glow of the fairy lights danced across your hair, giving it a shimmer that seemed almost unreal. You were wrapped in a deep blue jumper — Sirius realized this after a moment’s brain lag — and your cheeks were rosy, likely from the heat of the kitchen.

You carried a tray of steaming cinnamon rolls, the scent of melted sugar and spice trailing after you like some kind of domestic enchantment. Sirius’ mouth went dry, and for the first time in years, he was at a loss for words.

“Well,” he managed after a beat, hauling himself upright and trying for a semblance of decorum. “Now I see why you were so keen to come home, Prongs. You’ve got cinnamon-roll-bearing angels dropping out of the sky.”

You laughed, soft and melodic, the sound so unguarded it seemed to wrap the room in warmth. Sirius couldn’t help but notice the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts inviting and mysterious.

“Hello to you too, Sirius,” you said, your voice carrying a familiarity that made his ears perk up.

Sirius blinked. Wait. Of course. This wasn’t some celestial being summoned to his rescue; this was James’ childhood best friend. The one James had vaguely mentioned — just a handful of times over the years, always in passing and with a strange softness that Sirius hadn’t thought to question before.

And yet, here you were. In the flesh. Standing in the middle of the Potters’ living room with a tray of baked goods and a smile that Sirius suspected had the power to stop traffic.

“Well, well, Jamie-boy,” Sirius drawled, nudging James with his elbow and watching his friend with amused curiosity. “You never told me the famous cinnamon-roll angel was also — what’s the word? Ah, yes — real.”

You raised an eyebrow at Sirius’ antics, though your smile didn’t falter. Instead, you glanced toward James, who looked like he’d been hit with a Confundus Charm.

Sirius smirked. “James, mate, you alright? You’ve gone all... slack-jawed.”

But James wasn’t paying him any attention. His hazel eyes were locked on you, wide and brimming with something Sirius couldn’t quite place. He watched as James' gaze traced over the streak of flour smudged on your cheek, the stray strands of hair escaping from your ponytail, and the red apron dusted with flour and cinnamon.

Sirius almost snorted aloud. This was the James Potter who couldn’t shut up about Lily Evans — the boy who spent half his waking hours plotting ways to win her over. And yet, here he was, staring at you like you’d just descended from the heavens.

“Jamie,” you said softly, setting the tray down on the nearby table.

It was just one word, but the way you said it — warm, tender, and utterly unguarded — sent a jolt through Sirius.

Before he could process what was happening, James crossed the room in a few long strides and swept you into his arms. You squealed in surprise, and the sound was pure delight, echoing off the walls.

Sirius blinked, startled. The way James held you — hands firm on your waist, his head dipping into the crook of your neck — wasn’t friendly, not by a long shot. Sirius had known James since he was eleven years old, had seen him charm and flirt with half of Hogwarts, but he had never seen this.

“Missed me, Jamie?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his unruly hair with the kind of ease that spoke of years of familiarity.

“Always,” James murmured, so quietly Sirius barely caught it.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

He glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to explain this baffling scene, but it was just him, James, and you, wrapped up in some intimate little bubble that made Sirius feel like an intruder.

James murmured something into your shoulder — too soft for Sirius to catch — and you laughed, your voice light and unrestrained. The sound pulled James’ head up, and Sirius couldn’t miss the way his eyes traced your face with a kind of devotion Sirius had only read about in sappy romance novels.

It was then that the memories began to click into place. The scattered mentions over the years, the odd tone James always took when he talked about you. “She’s not like anyone else, Padfoot. She just gets it.” Or that one summer when James had come back to Hogwarts looking utterly miserable and wouldn’t explain why. Sirius had teased him about it for weeks, thinking it was Lily-related. But now, seeing the way James looked at you...

“Wait a minute,” Sirius blurted, his grin widening as realization dawned. “You’re the one. The one he’s always sneaking off to write letters to, the one he’s all secretive about.”

James shot him a glare, his cheeks burning bright red.

“Padfoot—”

“—the one who sent him that hideous scarf last Christmas!” Sirius continued, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I knew there had to be someone. Prongs doesn’t just get that moony-eyed look over just anyone.”

You laughed again, covering your face with your hands, while James muttered something about strangling Sirius later.

Before Sirius could needle him further, the kitchen door creaked open, and Euphemia Potter swept into the room. She was radiant as always, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her dark hair streaked with silver. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw James.

“There’s my boy!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug before he could even attempt to protest.

“Hi, Mum,” James mumbled, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

Euphemia pulled back, cupping his face in her hands as though memorizing every detail. “It’s been too long, Jamie. Too long. You’re far too skinny — have you been eating properly at school? And what have you done with your hair?”

James groaned, though his smile was fond.

Then her eyes fell on Sirius, and the warmth in her expression grew tenfold.

“Sirius, my dear,” she said, moving toward him with open arms. “I’m so glad you’re home, too.”

Sirius froze for a moment, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this — the genuine affection, the way Euphemia made him feel like he belonged.

When her arms wrapped around him, the embrace firm and filled with love, Sirius felt an odd lump form in his throat. He couldn’t help but think of his own mother’s cold, perfunctory hugs, her disdainful gaze, and the way her affection always felt like a transaction.

“You’ve grown even handsomer,” Euphemia said, pulling back to study him. “Fleamont’s going to be jealous.”

Sirius managed a crooked grin, the lump in his throat still stubbornly there. “That’s the goal, Mrs. Potter. Keep him on his toes.”

Euphemia laughed, her eyes twinkling, before cupping his cheek briefly. “You’re family now, Sirius. Never forget that.”

Satisfied, Euphemia turned her attention to you. Her face softened even more, and she reached out to squeeze your hands. “Oh, there you are, dear. I was wondering where my helper had gone. The mince pies won’t bake themselves, you know”

You shot James a quick, playful glance before following Euphemia toward the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” you said, your smile lingering. 

As Mrs. Potter ushered you toward the door to finish the pies, Sirius remained rooted to the spot. The warmth from her hug lingered, and for a fleeting moment, he thought of how lucky James was to have parents like that — and how lucky he was to have stumbled into their lives.

James watched you leave, his gaze following you until you were out of sight. Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mate,” he said, clapping James on the shoulder. “You’re a goner.”

James huffed, shoving him away, but the goofy grin on his face was impossible to hide.

And Sirius? Sirius couldn’t wait to see how this played out.

July 2, 1973 My Love, Summer’s only just started, and I can’t wait to see you. Mum’s already planning another one of her “legendary” tea parties, which means she’ll fuss over you endlessly. You’ll smile politely and charm her like always, and she’ll end up spoiling you with biscuits to take back to Beauxbatons. I’ve got so much to tell you. Sirius and I found this secret passageway that leads straight to Hogsmeade. We’ve been practicing spells to make it even harder for Filch to find us. Remus is shaking his head, but I think he secretly loves our schemes. Oh, and Lily—she’s still brilliant. She’s got the most incredible laugh. But you, my love, I bet your laugh would still outshine hers any day.

Do you still walk in those Beauxbatons gardens at sunset? I can imagine you there, glowing in the soft light. It suits you. Write me back quickly, won’t you? The days are always better when I hear from you. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK HAD ALWAYS KNOWN JAMES POTTER WAS A TACTILE PERSON. James spoke fluently in the language of touch — claps on the back that lingered just a second too long, overly enthusiastic shoulder bumps that almost knocked you off your feet, and the occasional arm slung around your shoulders like he was staking a claim. But this? This was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just the way James touched you. It was the way he seemed to orbit you, like some lovesick moon drawn to its planet. Wherever you were, James was never far behind — hovering, grinning, completely and utterly besotted without even realizing it. And for someone so allegedly brilliant, he was astoundingly stupid about it.

Sirius noticed it within minutes of their arrival at the Potter cottage for the holidays. As the snow settled outside, so did James — right beside you, always beside you. If you were arranging the flowers Euphemia had insisted on, James was there offering suggestions like he’d suddenly become an expert on floral arrangements. If you were curled up in the drawing room with a book, James was sprawled across the nearest sofa, pretending to read but actually just watching you out of the corner of his eye like some hopeless romantic idiot in a badly written Muggle novel.

Sirius had been rolling his eyes so much, they were practically stuck in the back of his head.

THE SECOND MORNING WAS WHEN THINGS REALLY CLICKED. Sirius had woken up earlier than usual — a rare and uncomfortable event for him. He had no plans to do anything productive, of course, but the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway intrigued him. Padding out of his room, he peeked around the corner just in time to see James sneaking toward the kitchen.

Naturally, Sirius followed. He found James standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up like some kind of domestic god, arranging breakfast with the precision of someone preparing an offering to Merlin himself. There was a plate of toast with cream cheese and thinly sliced avocado, a bowl of berries that looked like they’d been picked by woodland elves, and a steaming cup of coffee. The smell alone was enough to make Sirius reconsider his usual disdain for mornings.

“Fancy,” Sirius said, leaning lazily against the doorframe, voice still scratchy from sleep.

James jumped slightly but recovered quickly, flashing Sirius a sheepish grin. “Morning, Pads. Coffee’s on the counter.”

Sirius eyed the tray suspiciously. “Is this for you, or is it for your favorite person in the world aka me?”

James’s ears turned pink. “It’s for her,” he admitted, almost bashfully, like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes crafting the most meticulous breakfast Sirius had ever seen.

“Of course it is,” Sirius muttered with a smirk, grabbing a mug for himself. “You realize this is bordering on embarrassing, yeah?”

James shot him a look, but before he could respond, you appeared in the doorway, still looking half-asleep. Your hair was mussed, and the oversized jumper you’d borrowed from James was slipping off one shoulder, but you somehow managed to look effortlessly radiant. Sirius rolled his eyes again.

“Morning, love,” James said, his voice soft and warm in a way Sirius had never heard before.

“Morning, Jamie,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you shuffled into the kitchen.

James practically tripped over himself to hand you the coffee. Sirius watched, amused, as James’s fingers brushed yours in the exchange, his entire face lighting up like someone had cast Lumos Maxima directly on it.

You took a long sip of the coffee, humming in contentment. “Perfect, as always,” you murmured, looking up at James with a sleepy smile that could have melted a Dementor.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Sirius nearly choked on his coffee. He wasn’t sure what was more painful — the nauseating sweetness of the moment or the fact that neither of you seemed to realize how completely ridiculous you were.

“Right, well, I’ll just... leave you two to it,” Sirius said, waving his mug in mock surrender as he backed out of the room. “Try not to get married while I’m gone.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” James called after him, but the way his voice wavered slightly betrayed his embarrassment.

By the time Sirius reached the living room, Euphemia and Fleamont were already seated by the fireplace, exchanging knowing glances like they’d seen this coming a mile away.

“Is he making her breakfast again?” Euphemia asked with a smile that was far too pleased for Sirius’s liking.

“Every detail,” Sirius confirmed, sinking into an armchair. “I’m starting to think he’s auditioning for Witch Weekly’s ‘Most Devoted Boyfriend’ feature.”

“Don’t tease him too much,” Euphemia said with a chuckle. “He’s just like his father was with me.”

“Merlin, it’s contagious,” Sirius groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “If I start acting like that, someone put me out of my misery.”

But even as he joked, Sirius couldn’t help but smile. Because for all his teasing, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that James was hopelessly gone for you. And judging by the way you looked at him, Sirius had a feeling the feeling was mutual — even if neither of you was bright enough to figure it out.

AND THEN THERE WERE THE SMALL, INTIMATE TOUCHES SIRIUS COULDN’T IGNORE, no matter how much he wanted to. James’s hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through a doorway, like you might somehow lose your way without him. The way his fingers traced lazy patterns on your knee under the dinner table, as though the contact grounded him. Or how he’d tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just long enough to make Sirius roll his eyes and fight back a gag.

It was maddening to watch, really. Not because Sirius minded the affection — no, James deserved a bit of softness in his life, and you were undeniably good for him. It was maddening because you were both so oblivious. James was a goner, sure, but you weren’t far behind. Every time you leaned into his touch, smiled up at him like he hung the stars, or called him Jamie in that soft, teasing tone, it was like watching two wizards tiptoe around a cauldron, waiting for it to explode.

One evening, as the three of you lounged in the living room, the dynamic was on full display. The Potters had insisted on a family movie night — Euphemia’s idea, of course, because family time was important. Sirius couldn’t say no to the fire roaring in the hearth, the massive bowl of popcorn, and the ridiculous Muggle Christmas film flickering on the screen. But as the minutes passed, he started to regret not escaping upstairs.

James had situated himself squarely in the middle of the sofa, with you tucked neatly under his arm. His hand played absently with the ends of your hair, fingers twisting the strands like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. You had your legs curled beneath you, leaning into him with the kind of comfort Sirius had only ever seen in old couples who had been together for decades. James pressed a kiss to your temple, murmuring something Sirius couldn’t quite catch.

It was unbearable.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Sirius interrupted, launching a piece of popcorn at James. It hit him square in the forehead, a small but satisfying victory. “Some of us are trying to watch the movie without choking on all this sap.”

You burst into laughter, sitting up just enough to toss a handful of popcorn back at him. “You’re just jealous, Black.”

“Jealous? Me?” Sirius placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Of what, exactly? Watching James Potter transform into a human puddle before my very eyes? No thanks. I’ll pass.”

James didn’t even flinch. He just grinned, looking every bit the lovesick fool he was. “You’ll get it one day, Pads,” he said with infuriating calm.

Sirius snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. “Right. Because what I’m really missing in my life is the chance to turn into that.” He gestured at the two of you with a dramatic wave of his hand.

But despite his teasing, Sirius couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. James, the arrogant, Quidditch-obsessed, devil-may-care prankster he’d known all his life, was utterly, completely, hopelessly in love. And the worst — or perhaps best — part? He didn’t even seem to realize it.

BY THE END OF THESE COUPLE OF DAYS VACK AT THE POTTER COTTAGE, SIRIUS KNEW. James Potter wasn’t in love with Lily Evans — not really, not anymore and maybe not ever. He was in love with you. It wasn’t in the dramatic declarations Sirius had once teased James about making to Lily. No, this was quieter, deeper. It was in the way James’s gaze softened whenever you spoke, like he couldn’t believe you were real. In the way his hand always seemed to find yours, even when there was no need for it. And in the way his entire being lit up when you smiled at him.

And you? You weren’t much better. You laughed at his terrible jokes, poked fun at him with an ease Sirius envied, and looked at James like he was the center of the universe. It was so obvious it made Sirius want to scream.

“This isn’t normal, you know,” Sirius said later that night, cornering James in the kitchen as he made tea.

“What’s not normal?” James asked, far too casually for Sirius’s liking.

“You and her. You’re not just friends. Stop pretending you are.”

James frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “We are just friends. She’s my best mate, Pads. You know that.”

Sirius laughed, loud and sharp, shaking his head. “Oh, Prongsie. You’re an idiot.”

“Am not,” James shot back, but there was a flicker of doubt in his voice.

Sirius leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “If you’re just friends, then I’m a unicorn. Face it, Potter — you’re in love.”

James opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then you walked into the room, yawning and looking for all the world like you belonged there. James’s expression softened immediately, his gaze lingering on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Sirius didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to.

Because James Potter was already lost, and for once, Sirius didn’t mind watching his best mate fall.

March 30, 1975

My Love, It’s been ages since your last letter, and I miss you like mad. Exams are coming up, and I’m hopeless at concentrating without your words to keep me sane. The Marauders are in full swing, though—our latest adventure involved sneaking a swamp into one of the corridors. Filch is still grumbling about it. I told you before how Lily has the most beautiful laugh, right? Well, I think she might finally be warming up to me. I’m playing it cool, but honestly, every time she looks at me, I feel like a kid with a new broomstick. And yet... you’re still the one I write to when I want to share everything. Funny, isn’t it? How’s the ballet going? I remember you mentioned your school recital. I wish I could see you dance. You’d be like a dream on stage, graceful and bright. Maybe one day. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WASN’T ONE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE — not the kind spun into poetry or whispered in secret corners of libraries. Sweet words, fleeting touches, long glances… all of it sounded like an elaborate prank. A fantasy created by people who hadn’t tasted the bitterness of the world.

How could anyone believe in love when raised in a house where affection was a weapon and the family motto might as well have been stab first, smile later? The Black family had given Sirius many things: wealth, privilege, and a last name dripping in infamy. But love? That was a foreign concept, spoken in a dialect he’d never been taught.

And yet, Sirius Black — child of darkness and rebellion — had found light. That light had a name: James Potter. From the moment James had barreled into Sirius’s life, grinning like the sun itself, everything had shifted. James had yanked him out of the shadows and dragged him into a world Sirius didn’t know existed — a world filled with warmth, laughter, and actual hugs.

It wasn’t just James, though. It was the whole bloody Potter family. Euphemia and Fleamont were like characters out of a Muggle holiday film. Euphemia, with her soft, unrelenting affection, had made it her personal mission to drown Sirius in love and sweaters. Fleamont’s laughter could fill a room, a deep, belly-shaking sound that warmed Sirius from the inside out. Together, they moved through the world as though their love was an unshakable force, a steady undercurrent in every shared look and word.

“Darling,” Fleamont would call from across the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a newspaper in hand.

“Yes, Fleamont?” Euphemia would reply, her smile soft and teasing as she stirred whatever heavenly dish she was making.

Never by name. Always darling.

Still, if love like that was rare, James bloody Potter seemed hell-bent on stumbling into it without even realizing.

James and you had been dancing around each other for years, so oblivious it was borderline painful. Sirius sometimes wondered if you two were practicing for a comedy sketch, the way you acted like best mates while exuding the kind of tension that could make a Dementor blush. If Sirius had a Galleon for every time James looked at you like you were the only person in the room, he could have bought his own Quidditch team by now. And he's only been watching you for a couple of days.

IT WAS THE FOURT DAY OF HIS CHRISTMAS STAY AT THE POTTER HOME, and the dynamic was impossible to ignore. You and James were practically inseparable, moving through the house like two planets caught in the same orbit. You helped Euphemia with the decorations while James carried boxes of ornaments up from the cellar, always hovering nearby like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away.

“You know,” Sirius said, leaning casually against the doorway, “most people don’t need to supervise someone hanging tinsel.”

James didn’t even glance back. “She’s not most people, Pads.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For Merlin’s sake, just marry her already.”

James froze, an ornament dangling from his hand. “What are you on about? We’re just friends.”

“Sure, and I’m a Muggle,” Sirius shot back, rolling his eyes.

You, blissfully unaware of the conversation, turned from where you were perched on a stepstool. “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Nothing,” James said quickly, his cheeks tinged pink. “Sirius is just being Sirius.”

“That’s never good,” you teased, smirking at Sirius.

“Oi! I’ll have you know I’m delightful company.” Sirius crossed his arms, feigning offense. “But if you’re not careful, pretty, you’ll end up trapped in Potter’s web of undying devotion.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping down from the stool. “Potter’s web of what now?”

James shot Sirius a warning glare, but Sirius just grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just that James here is—”

“Hungry!” James interrupted, loudly and awkwardly. “Right, Pads? Didn’t you say you were starving?”

Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head as James practically shoved him out of the room. “Subtle as ever, Prongs.”

From Sirius’s vantage point, it was painfully obvious. James was hopelessly, stupidly in love with you. And you? You weren’t much better. The way you smiled at him, teased him, trusted him without question — it was all the evidence Sirius needed. And yet, you were both blissfully, idiotically unaware.

One evening, as Sirius sprawled on the sofa in the Potters’ living room, he couldn’t help but notice the way you and James interacted. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, rifling through a box of Christmas decorations Euphemia had set out.

“Jamie, hand me the gold bauble,” you said, tossing him a quick glance over your shoulder.

James, who had been half-heartedly untangling a string of lights, immediately perked up. “Which one?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “The one in your hand, genius.”

James laughed, tossing it gently toward you. It missed entirely, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.

“Good aim, Prongs,” Sirius drawled from his spot on the couch. “Truly inspiring.”

“Shut it, Padfoot,” James shot back, but his grin never faltered. He turned to you, sheepish. “Sorry, love.”

Love. Sirius didn’t miss the way the word slipped out so naturally, like James had been saying it his whole life. And he definitely didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed as you ducked your head, pretending to focus on the decorations.

LATER THAT EVENING, SIRIUS FOUND HIMSELF LAYING ON THE SOFA IN THE LIVING ROOM AGAIN (it probably was his favorite place in the house by now), a book abandoned on his chest as he watched Euphemia and Fleamont dancing in the kitchen once, a slow, swaying movement that didn’t match the upbeat Muggle music crackling from the wireless. Euphemia had rested her head on Fleamont’s chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was the only place in the world she belonged. It wasn’t dramatic or flashy — just simple and unshakable. And it made Sirius ache in ways he didn’t understand.

And a moment later they were in the same kitchen, preparing tea and laughing softly as they worked.

“Darling, pass me the sugar, would you?” Fleamont said, his voice warm and affectionate.

Euphemia handed him the sugar bowl without looking up, her smile soft. “Here you go, darlin'.”

It was the kind of exchange that Sirius might have mocked once. But now, as he watched the way Fleamont leaned in to kiss Euphemia’s cheek, or how she swatted him away with a laugh when he tried to sneak a biscuit, he felt something unfamiliar tugging at his chest.

“They’re sickeningly sweet, aren’t they?”

Sirius turned to see you standing in the doorway, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands.

“They are,” he admitted, sitting up and motioning for you to join him. “But it’s sort of... nice. In a vomit-inducing way.”

You laughed, settling beside him. “I think it’s lovely. They’re so in tune with each other, you know? Like they’ve been dancing to the same song for decades.”

Sirius tilted his head, watching you as you spoke. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want that? The whole ‘dancing to the same song’ thing?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your mug. “I don’t know. I suppose it would be nice, but... I’m not sure it’s in the cards for me.”

Sirius frowned. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “Because my dance partner’s too busy tripping over his own feet to notice I’m right here.”

Sirius stared at you, his mind racing. Did you mean James? Surely you meant James. But before he could say anything, James walked in, ruffling his hair like he always did.

“Alright, what are you two plotting?”

“World domination,” Sirius replied without missing a beat. “Want in?”

James grinned, flopping onto the sofa and immediately throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Always.”

Sirius watched as you leaned into James, your head resting against his shoulder. James turned to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded.

And that’s when Sirius knew — again, because he seemed to be realizing this every ten minutes — just how much trouble you two were in.

DAYS LATER, SIRIUS WAS STANDING BY THE WINDOW OF THE POTTER COTTAGE, a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. The world outside was a vision of winter — snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, the trees bowed under its weight, and the air held a sharp, crystalline stillness. Inside, the house was alive with warmth: the crackle of the fire, the gentle hum of Euphemia’s humming, and Fleamont’s cheerful banter as he set up a chessboard by the hearth.

But Sirius wasn’t watching any of that. His attention was fixed on the two figures trudging down the snow-covered path just beyond the window.

You and James walked side by side, your mittened hands brushing against each other with the kind of unconscious familiarity that spoke volumes. The path ahead glittered in the weak afternoon sun, the frost catching the light like scattered diamonds. Clouds of breath curled into the frosty air as you laughed at something James said, the sound clear and bright, even from a distance.

Sirius couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He saw everything in the way James turned his head toward you, his face lit with the sort of joy that was impossible to fake.

Then it happened — your foot slipped on a patch of hidden ice. Sirius’s grip on his mug tightened for half a heartbeat, but James was already there. His hand shot out, steadying you before you could fall, as if the world might crumble if he didn’t catch you in time.

“Careful there, love,” James said, his voice carrying easily through the crisp winter air.

You laughed, brushing snow from your coat as your cheeks turned pink — not just from the cold, Sirius was sure. “You’d think I’d have learned how to walk by now.”

James grinned, tugging you a little closer to his side. “Good thing you’ve got me.”

“Good thing indeed,” you replied, your eyes crinkling at the corners, your voice soft and full of affection.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, James reached out to brush a stray snowflake from your hair. His fingers lingered for just a moment, his expression open and unguarded, filled with something so pure that Sirius had to look away for a second.

It wasn’t the first time Sirius had seen that look on James’s face. It was the same quiet, awestruck gaze he’d noticed a thousand times when James thought no one was watching. But seeing it now, against the backdrop of snow and laughter, it struck Sirius like a Bludger to the chest.

That’s how Fleamont looked at Euphemia, Sirius realized. He’d seen it that very morning, when Euphemia had walked into the kitchen with a sleepy smile and Fleamont had paused mid-sentence, his face lighting up as if she were the sunrise itself.

Sirius took a long sip of his hot chocolate, the sweetness of it sharp against the lump forming in his throat. He muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips, “Never by name. Always love.”

“What are you smiling about, Sirius?” Euphemia’s voice broke the quiet, warm and curious. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

He turned, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Oh, nothing, Mrs. P. Just watching James make a right fool of himself in the snow. Again.”

Euphemia chuckled, stepping closer to peer out the window. Her gaze softened as she spotted you and James, now engaged in some sort of playful shoving match, James clearly letting you win.

“Hopeless,” Sirius added, shaking his head.

“Like father, like son,” Euphemia said with a knowing smile.

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the scene outside. Sirius’s gaze lingered on James’s hand as it rested on your shoulder, the ease of the gesture speaking louder than words.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Sirius allowed himself to believe. Not just in the love he saw in James’s face or the easy affection between Fleamont and Euphemia. But in the idea that maybe—just maybe—love wasn’t the cruel, twisted thing his family had tried to make him believe.

Maybe love, real love, was something entirely different.

November 27, 1976

My Jamie, Winter has settled over Beauxbatons, and the mountains are kissed with snow. I wish you could see how the frost sparkles on the trees. I think of you often, imagining the mischief you’re up to at Hogwarts. I heard you’re Quidditch Captain now — congratulations! I can already picture you soaring through the air, the wind in your hair and that unstoppable grin. You were born to lead, Jamie, and I’m so proud of you. Your mum wrote me again last week. She’s sent another scarf, this one in Gryffindor colors. She says it’ll keep me close to you. It does, in a way — I wrap it around myself when I miss you most. Do you think of me as much as I think of you? You’re my constant, my warmth on the coldest days. Soon it’ll be Christmas, and we’ll have the stars and endless nights to talk about everything. Until then, stay safe, my Jamie. Forever yours, Love

THE CHRISTMAS CHAOS AT THE POTTER HOUSE STARTED BEFORE SIRIUS EVEN HAD A CHANCE TO GRUMBLE ABOUT THE HOUR. The sun wasn’t up yet, but Fleamont Potter most certainly was, barreling into James’s room with the energy of a man half his age. Before Sirius could properly complain — or hide under the covers — he and James were unceremoniously hauled to the garage. Their mission? Assembling the absurdly large Christmas table that Euphemia insisted on every year.

Sirius swore under his breath, wrestling with the oversized wooden monstrosity. “You know,” he grumbled, glaring at James, “if your parents had just gone for a nice, normal-sized table, we wouldn’t be out here freezing our—”

“Language, Sirius!” Fleamont interrupted cheerfully, though there was a definite glint of amusement in his eyes.

Sirius rolled his eyes but complied, though only because Euphemia’s kitchen smelled like heaven, and he was determined to earn his way to a plate of whatever was roasting in the oven.

Inside, the house was a picture of festive perfection: holly strung along the bannisters, twinkling fairy lights glowing softly in the corners, and a wireless by the fireplace playing carols just loud enough to make Sirius hum along when no one was listening. Euphemia’s soft laughter echoed from the kitchen, mingling with yours as the two of you prepared a feast fit for kings — or in this case, a house full of Marauders.

And James? Well, James wasn’t himself.

Sirius noticed it almost immediately. His best mate was usually a hurricane of enthusiasm during the holidays, cracking jokes, sneaking sweets from the kitchen, and generally making a nuisance of himself. But today, James kept glancing toward the kitchen like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home.

The idiot was besotted.

Every time your laughter drifted into the room, James’s head whipped around like he was under some sort of spell. If you so much as said his name, he’d stop mid-sentence, his eyes lighting up like the Christmas tree in the corner. Sirius would’ve teased him mercilessly if it weren’t so... obvious. Painfully, ridiculously obvious.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN JAMES AND FLEAMONT HAD VANISHED TO THE GARAGE — probably to charm something they had no business charming — Sirius found himself tasked with tidying up James’s room. He grumbled the whole time, of course. Cleaning wasn’t his style, and James’s room was a disaster zone: Quidditch magazines spilling off the desk, parchment crumpled in corners, and socks scattered in ways that defied the laws of physics.

“Honestly, Prongs,” Sirius muttered, holding up a suspiciously stiff sock with the tips of his fingers. “How are you supposed to woo Evans — or anyone, for that matter — when your room smells like the wrong end of a hippogriff?”

As he moved to clear a particularly cluttered shelf, a box caught his eye. It was tucked in the far corner, partially hidden behind an old textbook. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Anything stashed away like that was bound to be interesting. With a mischievous grin, he reached for it, only for the entire thing to tumble off the shelf, spilling its contents across the floor.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, crouching to pick up the mess. His hand froze mid-reach when he realized what had fallen out: letters. Dozens of them, bundled in ribbons of various colors.

Sirius sat back on his heels, eyeing the pile. His curiosity, as always, got the better of him. With a glance at the door to ensure James wasn’t about to barge in, he grabbed the nearest stack and plopped himself onto the bed, cross-legged and grinning like a kid about to open a box of Zonko’s best tricks.

The first letter he unfolded smelled faintly of vanilla. Your scent, Sirius realized, and his grin faltered for just a moment.

October 7, 1971 Beauxbatons is so different from Hogwarts. The professors here are so strict, James, sometimes it feels like I’m being watched all the time! I miss the feeling of freedom you must have at Hogwarts, even if you’re always getting into trouble with Sirius. Do you ever just wish you could escape the rules and run wild?

Sirius chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting. “Trouble? Me? Never,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

But as he reread the letter, a strange tightness settled in his chest. The way you wrote about Hogwarts — it wasn’t just about the school. It was about James. Even miles away, you saw him as something larger than life, as the embodiment of freedom and adventure.

And James? The idiot probably thought you were just being polite.

February 21, 1971 Sirius sounds like a bit of a handful, but I bet he’s hilarious. I think I’d like him, even if he does cause chaos. You all sound like you’re constantly up to something, but I imagine you get into trouble a lot, don’t you? Anyway, I’d love to hear more about his pranks— I’m sure you and him must make a great team!

Sirius barked a laugh. “A handful? Pretty, you have no idea.”

Still, the words struck a chord. He could see it so clearly now: the way you’d woven yourself into James’s world with every playful question and teasing remark. You weren’t just curious about his adventures; you wanted to be a part of them, to understand the boy behind the Quidditch bravado and the wild schemes.

Then came the letters about Lily.

March 25, 1973 James, you always talk about Lily, and I think it’s sweet that you have such admiration for her. I bet she doesn’t even know how much you like her. She sounds like she’d be really hard to win over, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just don’t forget to have fun along the way, yeah?

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s saggy pants, Prongs, how thick can you be?”

He could almost picture you writing those words, the careful balance between encouragement and self-sacrifice. Even as you pushed James toward Lily, your letters were saturated with love — pure, unguarded, and heartbreakingly unspoken.

It was infuriating. How could two people so obviously meant for each other be so oblivious?

By the time Sirius reached the later letters, the humor had drained from his face.

December 5, 1974 Your mum sent me another gift! She’s so sweet, and I can’t believe how kind she is to me. It always makes me feel so loved. You know, when I’m away from you, it’s like I’m missing something... like the best part of my day. I never want to take our friendship for granted.

The parchment crinkled slightly as Sirius’s grip tightened. That wasn’t just gratitude — it was devotion, raw and aching. The kind of love that didn’t need fireworks or grand declarations because it was already woven into every moment, every memory.

And James? Sirius shook his head, a pang of frustration mixing with pity. James had spent years chasing the idea of love, blind to the fact that he already had it.

The final letter undid him.

December 12, 1975 I was thinking about you today, and how you’ve always been there for me — whether it was listening to me complain about the Beauxbatons professors or laughing with me when I’m in a bad mood. You’re always there, and I think that’s why I trust you more than anyone else. You’ll never know how much that means to me, Jamie.

Sirius closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. You didn’t just see James; you knew him. The real James — the boy who laughed too loudly, who lived for Quidditch, who couldn’t resist a good prank. You loved James, not the idealized version he tried to be for Lily or anyone else.

Sirius exhaled sharply, folding the letter with a reverence he didn’t usually bother with. His heart ached — not for himself, but for you, for James, for the years you’d both spent dancing around the truth.

“Merlin, you’re both idiots,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now. 

Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it further into disarray, his mind replaying what he’d just uncovered. The letters — those bloody letters — had been the key. Now everything fell into place: James’s barely-there smiles over the past few days, the way his gaze lingered when you entered the room, the softness in his laugh when you said something clever. James Potter, his brash, unrelenting, wildfire of a best friend, was utterly transformed around you.

Balanced. Grounded. Sincere.

It was unbearably obvious now, as if someone had pulled back the curtain.

And yet, the idiot still had Lily Evans’s picture on his bedside table in his dorm.

Sirius’s gaze fell on the stack of letters once more, neatly tied with a ribbons that seemed far too delicate for James’s usual chaos. He could have left it alone, let James figure things out in his own thick-headed way — but that wasn’t Sirius Black’s style. If there was one thing he’d learned from years of pranks, broken curfews, and bending the rules until they snapped, it was this: sometimes people needed a push, even if it stung a little.

Sirius exhaled and leaned back against the headboard, the letters still in hand. "You're a fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. Oh, the look on James’s face when he confronted him — it would be priceless. Sirius wasn’t one for sentiment, but for you? For James? Maybe, just maybe, he’d make an exception.

The door creaked open, and James stumbled into the room, his steps heavy with exhaustion. Sirius watched as his best friend all but collapsed into the armchair by the bookcase, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He looked like he’d been wrestling dragons all day — or, more likely, his dad’s endless list of chores.

But there was something else, too. A tension in his jaw, a restless energy that practically vibrated off him. Sirius could see it plain as day: James hadn’t seen her all day, and it was driving him mad. She was so close — just a staircase or two away — and yet untouchable.

Sirius cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, Prongs, is this why you’ve been obsessing over the owl schedule for years? Didn’t peg you as the secret pen-pal type.”

James’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing in confusion. They darted to the bed, where the stack of letters lay exposed, and then to the shelf where the box had clearly been moved. He froze for a second before letting out a long, resigned sigh.

“Pads,” James said, his voice low and uneven, heavy with an edge Sirius rarely heard. “It’s not cool to read someone else’s letters.”

The room seemed to still, the words settling into the air like dust, soft but laden with weight. James’s eyes — those unmistakable hazel orbs that always held a spark of mischief — were guarded now, a flicker of something raw and unspoken behind them.

Sirius leaned forward, a grin stretching across his face like the blade of a knife, sharp and unapologetic. “Not cool,” he echoed, his voice laced with mockery, “is keeping this from me for six bloody years. Care to explain, or should I guess?”

James flinched, the tension in his shoulders visible even through the soft knit of his jumper. He moved toward the bed with the slow, deliberate steps of someone walking a tightrope, balancing the fragile threads of anger and restraint. The dim light of the room cast long shadows over his frame, making him seem taller, older — more vulnerable.

He reached for one of the letters, his hand hesitating for the briefest moment before his fingers curled around the parchment. His thumb brushed over the faded ink, tracing the loops of her handwriting like a blind man reading Braille. The edges of the letter were frayed, softened by years of touch, and as he lifted it to his face, Sirius caught the faintest smile tugging at James’s lips.

It was a small, private thing, that smile. Reverent. It wasn’t the boyish grin Sirius knew so well, the one James wielded like a weapon to charm or disarm. No, this was different — softer, as though the mere act of holding the letter in his hand brought James closer to something sacred.

Sirius felt his chest tighten. He’d seen James in every possible state — triumphant on the Quidditch pitch, livid after a prank gone wrong, devastated when the world seemed too heavy — but this? This was new. This was James Potter unguarded.

“She’s different, isn’t she?” Sirius said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

James didn’t look up. He sat on the edge of the bed, sorting the letters with a precision that bordered on ritual. Each movement was deliberate, his fingers careful not to smudge the ink or crease the paper. Sirius had never seen him handle anything with such care — not his broomstick, not his glasses, not even the Marauder’s Map.

“It’s not what you think,” James murmured, but the words lacked conviction, as though he knew they’d crumble under scrutiny.

Sirius scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exasperated snort. “Not what I think? Mate, I think you’re in love with her and too much of an idiot to admit it. Am I wrong?”

James froze mid-motion, the ribbon he was tying slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move — just stared at the letters as if they might answer for him.

“She’s…” He trailed off, his voice barely audible. “She’s different, Pads. She’s… everything.”

There it was. The confession, raw and trembling in the space between them. Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression unusually serious.

“Yeah,” Sirius said softly. “She is. And that’s exactly why you’re a bloody idiot for pretending she’s not.”

James let out a bitter laugh, the sound low and fractured. He raked a hand through his already-messy hair, his movements frenetic, as though he were trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain. “It’s not that simple.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Sirius shot back, his tone sharp but not cruel. “I’ve watched you for years, Prongs. You talk about Evans like she’s some kind of bloody trophy, but her? You look at her like she’s the air you breathe. Like without her, you’d suffocate. And you’re sitting here telling me it’s complicated?”

James’s laugh turned hollow, empty. “Lily’s… safe. She’s who I’m supposed to want. She’s not my bloody childhood best friend.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Sirius said nothing. Then, he barked out a laugh, loud and biting.

“Safe?” he repeated, incredulous. “Since when have you ever played it safe, James Potter? Love’s not supposed to be safe. It’s messy, terrifying, and completely bloody worth it. Or are you seriously telling me you’d rather be ‘safe’ than happy?”

James looked up at him then, and Sirius’s breath caught. His best friend’s hazel eyes, usually so full of fire and mischief, were red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.

“Do you think…” James’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Do you think she feels the same?”

Sirius’s grin returned, slow and wolfish. “Mate, judging by these letters? She’s just as much of an idiot in love as you are.”

For a moment, James didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. And then, like a dam breaking, he laughed — a shaky, unsteady sound that grew louder, freer, until it filled the room.

“What do I do?” James asked, his voice raw and trembling with vulnerability.

Sirius stood, crossing the room to clap a hand on James’s shoulder. “You start by telling her everything. No more hiding. No more pretending. You owe her — and yourself — more than that.”

James nodded slowly, the faintest glimmer of determination flickering in his eyes. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Sirius said, smirking. “I’m always right.”

As James reached for the letters, carefully tucking them back into their box, Sirius watched him with a rare sense of pride. This wasn’t just James Potter, the fearless Quidditch captain, the prankster extraordinaire. This was James Potter, a boy on the cusp of something extraordinary.

And for once, Sirius Black wasn’t just causing chaos — he was helping someone find their way through it.

THE SNOW OUTSIDE FELL IN HEAVY, DELIBERATE FLAKES, BLANKETING THE WORLD IN A SOFT, UNBROKEN QUIET. Sirius stood on the second-floor landing of the Potter home, a mug of hot coffee cradled in his hands. The rich aroma mingled with the faint scent of pine and cinnamon wafting from the decorated tree below. The whole house seemed to hum with a kind of warmth that Sirius rarely allowed himself to imagine, let alone experience.

From his vantage point, he had a perfect view of the living room below. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, casting golden shadows across the walls. Mr. Potter sat on the sofa with an arm draped around Mrs. Potter, the two of them cocooned under a soft plaid blanket. A book rested on Fleamont’s lap as he read aloud, his voice low and steady. Euphemia’s head rested against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed in serene contentment. Every so often, she’d smile at something he read or reach up to adjust her husband’s glasses, her touch so light and familiar it made Sirius’s chest ache with longing — not jealousy, but something softer. A wistfulness for this kind of unshakable bond.

But his gaze didn’t linger on the Potters for long. It drifted to the corner of the room, where the Christmas tree’s twinkling lights bathed two figures in a kaleidoscope of warm colors. You and James sat on the floor amidst the chaos of torn wrapping paper and open boxes. The morning’s gifts had already been exchanged, but it seemed James had saved something special for last.

Even from here, Sirius could see the faint nervousness in his best friend’s posture. James wasn’t one to fidget, yet his hands moved restlessly, smoothing invisible creases on his trousers, brushing imaginary dust from the tree skirt. His eyes, though, were unwavering as they watched you. You were cross-legged on the fluffy white rug, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulder as you picked idly at a ribbon. Sirius noticed how your gaze lingered on James, curious and full of quiet affection.

James leaned closer, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable lilt of mischief. “One of the owls was late,” he said, holding up a slightly weathered envelope. The parchment looked a little worse for wear, its edges crumpled as if it had been handled too often. “It dropped this off this morning… asked me to give it to the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you reached for the envelope. “Still using that line, are you, Potter?”

“Can you blame me? It’s worked wonders so far.” His grin was cocky, but Sirius saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he handed it over.

You rolled your eyes, but the way you bit your lip betrayed your own anticipation. Turning the envelope over in your hands, you ran your fingers along the black-inked scrawl of your name before carefully breaking the seal. Sirius leaned forward slightly, his coffee forgotten as he watched the scene unfold.

The moment the letter emerged, the air seemed to shift. Your eyes darted across the page, your expression softening with each word. Sirius could see the precise moment the meaning settled in — the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your shoulders tensed, then relaxed, as if letting the weight of something long unspoken sink in. James’s hand rested on your knee, his thumb moving in small, nervous circles.

“Love?” James’s voice was barely above a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away. He was watching you as though the world rested on your reaction, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around yours. “You’re awfully quiet. Should I be worried? Say something. Anything.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, even as a tear slipped down your cheek, catching the light like a tiny diamond. James froze, his face paling slightly.

“Hey, hey, no…” His voice cracked. “Don’t cry. If it’s rubbish, just say so and we can forget it. Burn it, even.” He laughed nervously, though it sounded forced. “I’ll… I’ll pretend it never happened.”

That’s when you looked up, meeting his gaze with eyes so full of emotion it made Sirius’s breath hitch even from across the room. You didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached out, cupping James’s face in your hands. He stilled under your touch, his wide-eyed surprise melting into something softer as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss Sirius might have teased him about — not fiery or impulsive. It was quiet, deliberate, and full of a tenderness that made Sirius feel like an intruder, even though he couldn’t look away. James’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though you might slip away if he let go.

Sirius smiled to himself, feeling a rare swell of pride. James had always been the heart of their little group, the one who wore his feelings openly. And now, here he was, finding a kind of love that Sirius knew would anchor him forever.

A sharp click shattered the moment, and both of you turned your heads to find Sirius standing at the bottom of the stairs, a wide grin plastered across his face as he waved a freshly developed photo in the air.

“Perfect!” he announced, shaking the picture. “This one’s going in the family album. And when my godchildren ask how their parents got together, I’ll tell them Uncle Sirius orchestrated the whole thing.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against James’s shoulder, while James groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “You’re a menace, Pads,” he said, though his voice held no bite.

“A charming menace,” Sirius replied, retreating toward the couch where the elder Potters were watching the scene unfold with amused smiles.

“Everything alright, dear?” Euphemia asked, her eyes twinkling with affection as she glanced between you and James.

James nodded, his hand still firmly clasping yours. “Yeah, Mum. Everything’s perfect.”

Mrs. Potter’s smile widened, and she reached over to pat your hand. “Welcome to the family, my dear. Though, truth be told, you’ve always been part of it.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED IN A GOLDEN HAZE OF LAUGHTER AND WARMTH. Euphemia roped you into helping her in the kitchen, insisting you learn the secret to her mulled wine. Sirius watched from the doorway, sipping his coffee and grinning as you tried to follow her directions, only for James to sneak in and steal a taste from the pot, earning himself a playful swat on the arm.

By evening, the fire burned low, and the snow outside had blanketed the world in an even deeper hush. Sirius sat in his favorite armchair, a blanket draped over his legs as he watched the scene before him. You and James were curled up together on the rug, a cozy tangle of limbs as you whispered to each other, your laughter soft and unguarded. The Potters sat nearby, sharing quiet conversation, their hands intertwined.

For a moment, Sirius closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the room and the sounds of contentment wash over him. He thought of his own childhood Christmases — cold, sterile affairs devoid of joy. And then he thought of this… the home James had built, not just for himself but for everyone he cared about. It was the kind of love Sirius had always believed was out of reach. Until now.

“Merry Christmas, Prongs,” he murmured, raising his empty mug in a toast to his best friend.

James glanced up, catching his eye. “Merry Christmas, Pads,” he replied, his grin soft but unmistakably James.

James had turned to you, his hand cradling your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his arm.

"Merry Christmas, love," James murmured, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that made Sirius’s chest tighten.

"Merry Christmas, Jamie," you replied, resting your forehead against his.

Sirius chuckled, settling back into his chair, the warmth of the moment settling deep in his bones. The world outside might be cold and uncertain, but here, in this house, surrounded by love and laughter, everything felt exactly as it should be.

He thought about how James Potter had once given him the home and warmth he never had. And now, it seemed, Sirius Black had helped his best friend find his way home, too.

FROM THE ARCHIVE OF SIRIUS BLACK:

To my future, undoubtedly brilliant, devilishly handsome, and wildly talented nephews,

Listen up, you little rascals. You don’t know me yet, but let me make one thing very clear: I’m the reason you even exist. That’s right, your ridiculously perfect Uncle Sirius is the mastermind behind it all. Without my charm, wit, and expert meddling, your parents might still be doing the whole "will-they-won't-they" nonsense.

So, when you’re out there ruling the world, remember to thank yours truly. The coolest, suavest, and most humble uncle you'll ever have — Sirius Black. You're welcome.

December 25, 1976 My Love,   It’s Christmas, and the house is quiet now, the soft hum of the tree lights the only sound. I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at this parchment, trying to find words big enough for what I feel, but they don’t exist. Still, I need to try.   Love, I see it now—what I’ve been too blind to see all along. I’ve always thought of myself as brave, fearless even. But when it came to you, I was a coward. I didn’t want to risk losing you. You, who have been the brightest part of my life since the moment we met. You, who’ve filled every corner of my world with warmth and light, even when we were miles apart.   Every summer, when you stepped into my life again, it was like the sun breaking through a storm. You’d sit by the lake with that book you never quite finished because I was always distracting you. You’d laugh at my terrible jokes, your nose crinkling just so. And you’d hum when you thought no one was listening, always off-key but somehow more perfect than any melody I’ve ever heard.   I thought I was looking for the kind of love my parents have — their unshakable bond, the way they look at each other like the world begins and ends with them. And all this time, it was right here, under my nose. You were under my nose.   I think I was afraid, love. Afraid that if I let myself feel what’s always been there, I’d ruin us. That I’d lose the only person who’s ever truly known me, the only one who can look past the pranks, the bravado, and see me—the real me. But Sirius, being Sirius, knocked some sense into me. He said I’ve been acting like a fool, and for once, he’s right. Rereading our letters with him was like seeing my life laid out before me, and every line, every word pointed to you.   Even when you were far away, you were my everything. The letters you sent were more than ink on parchment; they were lifelines. When Hogwarts felt too big, too chaotic, you were the quiet in the storm. When I felt lost, you reminded me who I am. Do you know how many times I reread your words, just to feel close to you? I kept your letters in my trunk, hidden from the others like a secret treasure. Because that’s what you’ve always been — my treasure.   How could I have been so blind? How could I have wasted so much time thinking it was Lily I wanted when it’s always been you? I’ve spent so long chasing a dream when the real thing was right in front of me. I see it now, clearer than I’ve ever seen anything. You are my stars, my moon, my sun. You’re the laugh that makes everything brighter, the voice that feels like home.  

I love you. I love the way your handwriting gets messier when you’re excited. I love the way you argue with me over the silliest things just to see me smile. I love the way you hum when you’re nervous and how you always know exactly what to say to pull me out of my worst days. I love you.   I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I hope with everything in me that you do. And if you don’t, I’ll understand. Because having you in my life, even just as my friend, has been the greatest gift I could ever ask for. But if there’s even the smallest chance you might love me too, then I promise to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve you.   Merry Christmas, my love. You’ve been my greatest gift every day since I met you.   Forever yours,   Jamie

thankx for reading <3

god, this is my biggest work and I was so afraid to publish it, cause it seems to me that no one reads such long fics (I myself adore long fics).

and if you've finished reading this, thank u and I love you so much! I hope you enjoyed every part of it and I will be very glad if you leave a comment, because it seems to me that I have left all of myself in this work!

you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox. btw my requests are open so… make a wish :3                                

– your santi 🪐

masterlist

[gojofile]

geto suguru’s guide on fraternising with the enemy

summary: geto suguru has been your greatest rival since your first year at hogwarts, always outdoing you in class and always getting under your skin. when he’s picked as the hogwarts champion for the triwizard tournament instead of you, you think you couldn’t possibly hate him more—until he corners you one evening and asks for your help.

⇢ pairing: slytherin!geto suguru x gryffindor!fem!reader ⇢ contains: romance, angst, slowburn, academic rivals to lovers au, hogwarts au, profanity, dragons, injuries, fights about blood purity, mentions of underage drinking—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! ⇢ word count: 24.2k ⇢ playlist: the course of true love never did run smooth ⇢ note: big big thank you to @etherealyoungk for making this gorgeous banner! thank you for reading ♡ (read on ao3 here!)

The only thing worse than losing to Geto Suguru is being expected to smile about it.

When the Goblet of Fire coughs out the charred piece of parchment with his name written on it, it feels as though the entire Great Hall erupts around you. Hoots of excitement ricochet off the enchanted ceiling, mingling with groans of disapproval—chiefly from your housemates, who baulked at the audacity of a Slytherin representing Hogwarts. You, however, couldn’t join in either chorus. No, you sit frozen at the Gryffindor table, lips pressed tightly together in an attempt to keep your tears at bay.

Geto Suguru stands from his place among the Slytherins, shrugging off his best friend’s arm from around his shoulders. His head turns, and somehow, through the sea of cheering faces, his gaze locks onto yours. There is something almost incendiary in his look—smugness molded into a smile, something defiant in the tilt of his jaw. You grind your teeth, irritated.

Suguru is now the Hogwarts Champion, elevated above the rest of you. You are nothing more than the runner-up—a title no one cares enough about to utter aloud. 

“Hard luck,” Utahime, your friend and the Head Girl, murmurs beside you, her hand light as a feather on your shoulder. Her voice is low and kind, yet utterly ineffective against the disappointment you feel. You give her a tight, forced smile, though your silence only seems to amplify her sympathy.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Not after years of outpouring your soul into every spell and hex you learnt, every essay you wrote, every late night spent at the library. You had scraped, clawed, and bled for this chance, and somehow, despite all your efforts, Suguru had stepped in and robbed you blind. The betting pool Shoko and Mei Mei had organised suddenly feels cruel in hindsight. Everyone had bet on either you or Suguru—no one else had even come close to being a contender. 

Your hands tremble slightly as you push back from the bench. You barely register the names of the foreign champions—Aleksandar Ivanov of Durmstrang, Amélie DuPont of Beauxbatons. You don’t care. The Great Hall feels stifling, so you stand up abruptly and begin weaving your way towards the exit. 

The cool air of the corridor hits you like a balm, soothing the heat rising in your chest. You walk with no real destination, footsteps echoing faintly against the stone walls, until you reach one of the tall windows overlooking the grounds. Moonlight spills across the landscape, painting the Forbidden Forest with silver. You lean against the cold stone ledge, and inhale deeply.

The bitterness simmering in your chest refuses to ebb. You had wanted this so badly, had poured every ounce of effort into proving you were the best, not just to Hogwarts but to yourself. But, as always, Geto Suguru had swooped in and stolen it from you.

“Running away so soon?”

You don’t turn immediately. Instead, you close your eyes and inhale slowly once more. When you finally turn, Geto Suguru stands a few feet away, leaning against the wall. His black hair is tied back neatly, save for a loose strand that falls against his cheek. 

“I didn’t realise I needed your permission to leave,” you say coolly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“It’s not as much fun winning,” Suguru says, “if my competition isn’t around to see it.”

“Competition?” You scoff. “That implies we were on equal footing to begin with.”

His smile widens, and he takes a step closer. “You’re not giving up that easily, are you? I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave.”

You want to snap at him, say something cutting enough to wipe that stupid self-satisfied grin off his face, but the words stick in your throat. He’s insufferable, yes, but you know that’s exactly what he wants—to pull a reaction from you. And Merlin help you, he’s good at it.

“What do you want, Suguru?” you ask, exhaustion finally seeping into your tone. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating with the rest of your house?”

“Of course, but like I said, it’s no fun if my favourite rival isn’t around to see it.”

You bristle at his words. “Favourite rival? You were desperate to beat me, Suguru.”

“So were you,” he points out, and it takes all your self-restraint not to do something horrifically stupid like punch him in the face. “If I’m desperate, it only means you’re worth the effort.”

“Congratulations, Suguru,” you say hollowly. “You’ve won the Goblet’s favour. What do you want, a parade?”

“I want your help.” Suguru steps forward, his movements unhurried, his expression calculated.

You blink. “What?”

“You should be proud,” he says. “You were a close second.”

The words sting more than you would like to admit. You narrow your eyes at him. “Spare me your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” he replies. “It’s acknowledgment. You’re good. Maybe even better than me in some ways.”

You suck in a breath sharply, thrown off balance. This is not what you expected—not from Geto Suguru, at least. You ask warily, “Is this some sort of tactic to get me to like you?”

Your rival chuckles wryly. “No, but it’d be stupid to ignore the fact that you’re good. You wouldn’t have been the biggest threat to my name being called otherwise.”

His admission leaves you momentarily speechless, a rare occurrence when it comes to Geto Suguru. You can’t decide whether to feel insulted or flattered, so you settle for glaring at him instead. The torch light softens the planes of his face, casting a warm glow on his cheekbones and the edges of his smile. He infuriates you so much.

“Help me,” Suguru says again.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“I’m serious,” he says, folding his arms. “You’re as competitive as I am, and you hate losing. If anyone understands what’s at stake in this tournament, it’s you.”

“That’s a very pretty way of saying you want me to do your work for you,” you shoot back.

“I’m asking because I know you’re capable,” he presses on, ignoring your jab. “You think I haven’t noticed how good you are at strategising? Or how quick you are to spot weaknesses, whether it’s in a spell or a person?”

You stare at him, suspicious. It’s not the first time someone has acknowledged your abilities, but it’s the first time he’s done it. As much as you loathe to admit it, Suguru isn’t the type to hand out compliments lightly.

“You’re insane,” you say finally, shaking your head. “You want me to help you win the tournament I should have been chosen for?”

Suguru’s expression hardens. “I want you to push me,” he says. “To challenge me the way only you can. And when I win—because I will win—it’ll be as much your victory as it will be mine.”

You consider his words. A small, reckless part of you—the part that thrives on competition, on proving yourself—begins to wonder what it would be like to be a part of this, even from the sidelines. To have your brilliance tied to the triumph of something bigger than either of you.

“Fine,” you say, voice clipped. “But don’t think for a second that this makes us friends.”

“Of course not.” Suguru’s easy grin slips back in place. “Let’s meet at the library tomorrow after dinner. Don’t be late.” 

You don’t reply, merely walking past him and heading back into the Great Hall. Utahime is probably wondering where you vanished off to, and as much as you hate her sympathy, you don’t want to worry her, Shoko and Mei Mei just because you were a sore loser.

The fireplace in the Gryffindor common room crackles with a sort of joyousness you can’t be bothered to feel. Its warm glow dances across the walls, a merry flicker that feels utterly inappropriate given your current mood. The plush armchair you’ve claimed for the evening—one that’s usually a source of comfort—is perfect for brooding. You curl into yourself like a grumpy gargoyle, letting your misery seep into the cushions.

Laughter echoes off the walls—the other students are busy gossiping about the Triwizard Tournament. Discussions about the champions and the potential tasks all merge into one unintelligible blur. The Triwizard Tournament is a magical contest held between the three largest wizarding schools of Europe: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Durmstrang Institute, and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, with each school being represented by one champion, chosen by the infamous Goblet of Fire. The selected champions compete in three tasks—each designed to test the student’s magical ability, intelligence, and courage—and the winner gets to take home the Triwizard Cup.

The Durmstrang champion’s brute strength, the Beauxbatons champion’s unnatural grace—it all seems so irrelevant compared to the singular thought lodged in your mind like an annoying splinter: Geto Suguru is Hogwarts’ champion.

You’re still seething about it. Not only has he outdone you in classes year after year, he’s now claimed the one thing you truly wanted. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, the boy had the gall to corner you after dinner with a request that still makes your head spin.

You groan and bury your face in a pillow, muffling your frustration. The universe, it seems, has a cruel sense of humour.

“Still sulking, I see.”

You don’t have to look up to know it’s Shoko. She has an unnatural knack for finding you at your most pitiful moments. When you peek over the pillow, you see her leaning against the back of a sofa, her robes askew and her hair half-tied.

“Sulking is putting it lightly,” Mei Mei comments, her pale hair shimmering in the firelight. She takes a seat on the armrest of your chair. “I’d say this borders on full-fledged wallowing.”

You glare at both of them, hugging the pillow tighter. “Go away.”

“No,” says Shoko, simply.

Mei Mei leans in conspiratorially, resting her chin on her hand as she observes you. “Honestly, it’s not the end of the world. So you didn’t get selected—big fucking deal. There’s always next—oh.”

“Next time?” you snap, sitting up straight. “There isn’t a next time, Mei Mei. This was the last chance.”

“Exactly,” she quips with mock cheerfulness. “All the more reason for you to savour your second-place status. It’s a rare opportunity for someone as annoyingly competent as you.”

Before you can retort, Utahime appears, carrying a steaming cup of tea. She sets it down on the small table beside you and gives Mei Mei a pointed look. “Stop tormenting her,” she says, shooing the girl off the armrest.

Mei Mei sighs dramatically but moves to the nearby sofa, lounging on it with her legs hanging off the arm. “Sorry for trying to motivate her.”

“More like antagonising her,” Utahime mutters, taking Mei Mei’s vacated spot. She turns to you, her expression softening. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you admit. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” Shoko rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you lost to someone undeserving. Suguru is very competent. In fact, I’d say he’s as good as you.”

“Is that supposed to be helpful, Shoko?” Utahime hisses. She pats your hand comfortingly. “Ignore them. They’re just jealous that they weren’t even in the running.”

“Jealous? Hardly,” Shoko says. “Can you imagine studying for our N.E.W.T.s while having to worry about whether we’re going to survive these godforsaken tasks?” She shudders, the thought of the end-of-year exams enough to make her lips turn downwards.

You shake your head, exasperated, but her words bring a small smile to your face. Utahime—ever the observant one—notices, and squeezes your hand gently. “You’ll be alright. This doesn’t define you. You’re still brilliant, still one of the best witches Hogwarts has ever seen. And if Suguru doesn’t see that, then—”

“He does,” Shoko cuts in unexpectedly. She crosses her arms, her gaze flickering over to the fireplace. “Trust me, he knows exactly how good you are. Why do you think he asked for your help?”

You gape at her. “How did—”

“Satoru told me. He said Suguru left the Great Hall and didn’t celebrate with the rest because he was busy searching for you.”

You blink. You’d known Satoru, Suguru and Shoko had known each other since they were children—they all belonged to three of the most prominent Pureblood families in the Wizarding World—but you didn’t think they were that close. Evidently, you were wrong. 

But that’s one of the main reasons you’re so desperate to prove yourself. You’re a mere Muggleborn, a witch born to non-magical parents, and getting thrust into the magical world so quickly felt overwhelming. All of a sudden, you had an explanation for all the oddities that occurred when you were a child—teacups breaking even though you never touched them, books floating straight out of the bookshelf and into your hands—but it was clear that in the world of witches and wizards and strange creatures you’d only ever read about, you still had to claw your way to the top.

Geto Suguru, because of his privilege as a Pureblood, having grown up witnessing magic firsthand, was already one step ahead of you.

You despise him for it.

Shoko’s reminder of Suguru’s request makes irritation bubble up inside you all over again. “It’s not fair,” you say, fingers curling into the soft material of the cushion. “He doesn’t get to—he has no right to ask me for help after I worked so hard to get here.”

Utahime and Mei Mei stay silent, not willing to come to any conclusions, but Shoko’s gaze snaps to you, her eyes narrowing. “Are you saying Suguru doesn’t work hard either?”

“No, I’m—” You falter, the words getting lodged in your throat under Shoko’s unwavering stare. “I needed this. I needed to prove myself.”

Utahime squeezes your hand again. “If you really don’t want to, you could always say no.”

“Can I, though?” you ask, more to yourself than anyone else. “If I refuse, and he loses, I’ll think it’s my fault for not helping him. And if I help him, and he wins, I’ll have to live knowing I contributed to his victory.”

“Is that really so bad?” Mei Mei chimes in. “I’m not sure what exactly is going on here, but from what I can gather, it feels like Suguru is genuinely asking for your help because he thinks you’re the best person for the job.”

“Listen,” Utahime says, “whatever you decide, it doesn’t change anything about how smart you are, or how strong of a competition you were to him. You’re still one of the top students Hogwarts has ever seen, and one silly competition isn’t going to change that.”

You want to rebuke her words. The Triwizard Tournament isn’t just some silly competition; it’s the one way you thought you could prove that you belong in the magical world just like Suguru and Satoru and Shoko, and the rest of the Purebloods do. But Utahime’s gaze turns imploring, and you know Mei Mei and Shoko’s patience is running thin, so you muster up a smile.

“Thanks, Utahime,” you say gratefully. “I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

Shoko rolls her eyes, though not unkindly, and Mei Mei flashes you a grin. “Well, if we’re all done rescuing this one from her lonely little pity party, I’m ready to go to bed,” she says, stretching her arms above her head.

Utahime glances at you questioningly, so you tell her to go ahead and that you’ll come up to the dormitory in a few minutes. Shoko stays behind. When you meet her gaze, she’s already looking at you, brows furrowed in a small frown.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get in,” she says finally, “but don’t—don’t do something reckless or hurtful, okay?”

She turns around and strides up the staircase to the girls’ dormitory before you can ask her what she means by that. The common room is quieter now, the excitement of the champion selection having died down. You stare at the fire still crackling, and push down the sting of rejection that still hasn’t gone away completely.

Tomorrow, you’ll decide. Tomorrow you’ll see what exactly Geto Suguru, the newly-proclaimed Hogwarts champion, wants from you.

Geto Suguru is late. 

Are you surprised? Of course not. If there’s one thing he can be relied upon for, it’s his remarkable ability to waste your time. Still, knowing all this doesn’t make it any less irritating, especially when he was the one who sought you out in the first place.

The library is colder than usual, the stone walls and high ceilings doing little to trap the day’s residual warmth. You wrap your cloak tighter around yourself. At this rate, you’re starting to feel like a fool for agreeing to this. The library is otherwise deserted, as it usually is at this hour. It’s just you and the librarian, Madam Pince, as well as a trio of Durmstrang students who have no business being here. They stare at you every now and then, huddled together. Your cheeks burn; if Suguru doesn’t show up soon, you’ll have wasted the evening for nothing—and you’ll have the added humiliation of curious foreign students studying you like they’ve never seen another human being before.

The table before you is cluttered with blank parchment and unopened books, all untouched. The light from the sconces creates shadows that flicker and dance over them. Normally, the library is where you find peace. You can drown yourself in tomes about advanced charms or obscure potions, tuning out the noise of the castle. Tonight, however, the quietness grates on your nerves as you tap your quill against the tabletop impatiently.

The clock on the wall ticks. You glance at it for the fifth time in as many minutes, annoyed.

The doors creak open at last, and Geto Suguru finally strides in. His dark robes billow slightly as he walks. There’s a faint flush on his cheeks, and a stray lock of hair clings to his temple. He doesn’t look the least bit apologetic.

“You’re late,” you say, when he finally stops opposite you. You don’t bother keeping the accusation out of your tone.

Suguru slides into the seat opposite you, entirely unbothered. “I had things to do.”

“Like what? Admiring your own reflection?”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say, little lioness.” Before you can snap at him for the nickname, the Slytherin continues, “If you must know, I was hunting for something important.”

“More important than the meeting you asked for?” you retort, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I’d argue they’re related,” Suguru says, and before you can press him further, he pulls out a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket and spreads it out on the table.

You lean forward, your annoyance eclipsed by curiosity. The parchment is covered in messy, scrawled notes, and the handwriting is illegible in some places, but certain words stand out: fire, movement, creature.

Frowning, you ask, “What is this?”

“Information.”

“About?” you prompt, though you have a sinking suspicion on what it is.

“The first task.”

You blink. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since the champions were chosen. Geto Suguru works quickly, you must begrudgingly admit. “Where did you get this?”

“Snuck into the Headmaster’s office and nicked it from there,” he explains. “The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons champions already know, I’m sure.”

You nod. He’s right. The Triwizard Tournament is more than just a friendly competition between schools—it’s a way for each institution to gain power and prestige. It’s a matter of honour and pride, and a way to showcase each school’s magical prowess. There’s no doubt that the other champions are being helped by their respective school heads. 

“Won’t they notice it’s missing?” you ask, scanning the parchment once more.

Suguru scoffs. “Do you think I’m an amateur? I duplicated the original parchment and brought it.”

You clench your jaw, fingers tightening around your quill. The words swim before your eyes, forming a picture you don’t want to see. Fire, movement, a creature—there’s only one possible scenario, and your stomach churns at the thought.

“Dragons?” you ask, voice quieter now, tinged with unease.

“Possibly,” Suguru says. “But it could be something else. They might want to mix things up.”

“Like what?” you press. Different creatures run through your head, each more terrifying than the last. “Manticores? Chimaeras?”

“Too wild,” he muses. “They’d want something dangerous but controllable. Something they can contain.”

You frown, thoughts racing. “A griffin?”

“Unlikely,” your rival says, tapping his fingers on the table, “but not impossible.”

You sit back, arms crossed. Despite all these possibilities, Suguru doesn’t seem fazed. He leans back as well, mirroring your position, eyes flickering to the parchment he stole from the Headmaster’s office. How is he not afraid? Your heart rabbits at the thought. There’s less than a month for the first task to take place; you and Suguru will have to map out all the possible outcomes and prepare for the worst. In a way, you’re grateful—making a to-do list and crossing things off it one by one is one thing you can handle. The rest is up to Suguru, now.

“If it is dragons—or something similar—you’ll need to prepare for fire,” you begin. “A lot of it.”

“Go on.”

“You’ll need protective charms,” you say, scribbling it down on the blank piece of parchment in front of you. “And something to help with visibility. Smoke can be just as dangerous as fire if you can’t see what you’re doing.”

Suguru nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Good points. What else?”

You hesitate, studying him. For once, he seems genuinely interested in your input, not just humouring you. It’s disconcerting, seeing him so serious, so focused. “If it’s not dragons, or any other big creature,” you say cautiously, “then it could be something smaller but equally dangerous. Fire crabs, maybe. Or Blast-Ended Skrewts.”

“Creatures with coordinated attacks,” he murmurs, brows furrowing slightly. “That would be challenging.”

“And if it’s not a creature at all?” you add, mind spinning with possibilities. “What if it’s something more abstract, like a puzzle or an obstacle course involving fire?”

He considers this, shifting in his seat. “Then I’d need to think on my feet,” he says finally.

“You mean you’d need to rely on luck.” You scoff.

Suguru’s placid smirk returns, and you immediately regret opening your mouth. He glances at you, and says lightly, “Luck has served me well so far.”

“Overconfidence isn’t a strategy, Suguru.”

“Neither is pessimism,” he counters sharply.

You bristle at the remark but bite back the retort on your tongue. Arguing with him isn’t going get you anywhere, and despite your frustration, you know he needs your help. If he goes into the first task unprepared, it won’t be just his pride on the line—it’ll be Hogwarts’, too.

You sigh, dropping your quill into your inkpot. “Fine. If we’re doing this, then we’re doing it properly.”

He spreads his arms out, palms facing upwards. “Then there’s only one thing left to do. We have to find a place to practice.”

The Room of Requirement is something of a Hogwarts myth, the kind of thing that people will bring up in conversation only to sound far more interesting than they really are. It’s a concept shrouded in mystery, its existence neither confirmed nor denied, referenced only briefly in Hogwarts: A History as “a chamber of peculiar use, appearing only to those in great need”. 

For most students, the idea of a room that appears when one is in great need is nothing more than a charming story—like the rumours about the Bloody Baron’s long-lost treasure, or Peeves the poltergeist’s supposed alliance with the Slytherin Quidditch team.

Pacing up and down the seventh-floor corridor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach trolls ballet, you find yourself hoping—reluctantly—that this particular myth holds a grain of truth.

Mei Mei had mentioned it once, offhandedly, when discussing the lengths she’d go to for privacy. “The Room of Requirement,” she’d said. “It’s the kind of place that knows what you need before you do. A bit unnerving, if you ask me.” At the time, you’d rolled your eyes and dismissed it as Mei Mei being her usual cryptic self. But now, with Suguru expecting a place where you can practice in secret—away from prying eyes and endless questions—you find yourself clinging to the possibility of its existence.

You pause mid-step, glancing at the blank expanse of the stone wall. It looks as unremarkable as every other corridor in the castle. “Great need,” you mutter to yourself, feeling a bit foolish. “Right.”

You begin pacing again, focusing on what you need. Your footsteps echo faintly in the empty hall. I need a place to practice, you think. A place where no one will interrupt. A place with enough room to practice spellwork, with everything I need.

On your third pass, something shifts. The air around you seems to hum faintly, and the smooth stone wall ripples like water stirred by some invisible hand. A door begins to materialise, the brass handle gleaming slightly in the torch light. For a moment, you just stare, half-expecting it to vanish as suddenly as it appeared. But it doesn’t. It stands there, solid and tangible, as if it had been there all along and you’d just failed to notice.

Taking a deep breath, you grasp the handle and push the door open. The room that greets you is nothing short of extraordinary. 

It’s cavernous, the ceiling arching high above you like the vaulted nave of a cathedral. The walls are lined with shelves stocked with spellbooks, potions ingredients, and various magical artifacts. At the centre of the room, there’s an open space with a dueling platform. You take a tentative step inside. To the side, there is a row of practice dummies, some made of rusty metal and some made of scuffed wood. The door closes softly behind you, sealing you into this impossibly perfect place.

“Sweet Merlin,” you breathe out, marvelling.

You walk slowly around the room, taking it all in. The books on the shelves seem to shimmer faintly, their spines marked with titles like Defensive Charms for Advanced Duelists and The Art of Magical Adaptation. Some of the titles are ones you’ve come across on your rare trips to the Restricted Section of the library, while others are entirely unfamiliar.

Still, a part of you can’t shake the feeling that you’re trespassing. The room feels alive in a way the rest of the castle doesn’t, as though it’s watching you, waiting to see what you’ll do next.

You turn your attention to the dueling platform, running a hand over the smooth, polished wood. If Suguru has any hope of surviving the first task—and you’re still not entirely sure why you care if he does—this is where you’ll need to start.

The thought of working with him here, in this quiet, secretive space, stirs a complicated mix of emotions. Annoyance, of course—he’s insufferable—but also a grudging respect. Suguru may be arrogant, but he’s also skilled, and you can’t deny the challenge of matching wits with him.

You sigh, glancing towards the door. You’ll have to tell him about the Room of Requirement soon, but for now, you allow yourself a moment of quiet triumph.

The Room of Requirement is real, and you found it.

Geto Suguru is understandably skeptical about the Room of Requirement’s existence, but words fail him when you take him to the seventh-floor corridor and show him. His incredulity crumbles into quiet awe when the door takes shape in front of you both, and you can’t resist the smug grin that forms on your lips.

You push open the door, and, theatrically sweeping your arm out wide, say, “Ladies first.”

“How mature.” Suguru rolls his eyes but steps inside tentatively. His eyes widen when he scans the room, sees the bookshelves and the practice dummies and the dueling platform. A small scoff escapes his lips. “Wow. I can’t believe you found the Room of Requirement before me.”

“I’m sure being the Hogwarts champion means you’re always busy,” you comment, sarcasm dripping from your tone. 

The champions aren’t busy—not yet, at least—and a lull in the excitement about the tournament was brought about chiefly by the professors assigning copious amounts of homework and essays. You have an essay on the influence of tea leaf clumping on upcoming Quidditch matches for your Divination class due tomorrow, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Suguru scowls. “Forgive me for not wanting to waste my time on a wild goose chase.”

“I found the Room of Requirement, Geto. It’s hardly a goose chase if it exists, is it?”

“Tch. This was a fluke.”

“Are you going to continue debating about this room’s existence while we’re in the damn room, or are you going to actually practice?” You sniff disdainfully, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You want me to hex a practice dummy?” His smile returns, faint but just as mocking as ever. “How riveting.”

“No, actually,” you retort, your own lips curving upwards. You step onto the dueling platform and hold out your wand. “I want you to hex me.”

He falters, blinking at you owlishly. “You want me to—”

“Don’t get all worked up,” you interrupt. “It’s a practice duel, not a declaration of war.”

Suguru grins, teeth flashing in the dim light. He shrugs off his robes and leaves it in a heap on the floor. His tie is loose, and his shirt untucked, but he quickly ties his long hair up and clambers onto the platform, gripping his wand tightly. He steps back, adjusting his stance, and gestures for you to begin.

You don’t hesitate. “Expelliarmus!”

He deflects the spell easily, wand slicing through the air. “Protego.”

The red flash of your spell rebounds harmlessly off the invisible shield he conjured, and before you can regain your footing, he counters with a quick Stupefy. You barely dodge it. The jet of light whizzes past your shoulder and strikes the wall behind you.

Gritting your teeth, you flick your wand and say, “Incarcerous!”

The ropes that shoot from your wand nearly catch him, but Suguru is quicker. He steps aside neatly, his wand a blur as he attacks with a Disarming Charm. “Expelliarmus!”

Your wand flies out of your grip and straight into Suguru’s waiting hand. You huff, cheeks flushed with heat and sweat beading on your forehead. Glaring at him, you gesture for him to toss it back to you. He obliges, maddeningly proud, and not a single hair out of place.

“I didn’t realise I’d be dueling someone so… unprepared,” he taunts.

“You were just lucky,” you retort. You step back into position, determination to best him burning in your chest. “Again.”

For the second round, you’re more prepared. Spells fly back and forth, crackling through the air. Suguru is fast, but you’re clever, weaving around his attacks and shooting back with different sorts of jinxes.

“Confundo!” you shout, aiming directly at his chest. Suguru deflects it with a flourish, but his stance falters for a split second. You don’t waste the opportunity. “Rictusempra!” The Tickling Charm hits him squarely, and he lets out an undignified yelp, doubling over with laughter.

“Y-you—” He’s laughing too hard to finish the sentence, face red and eyes watering. Clutching his side, he tries to regain control.

You lower your wand, a victorious grin spreading across your face. “What’s the matter, Suguru? Ticklish?”

He glares at you through his laughter. With a flick of his wand, he casts Finite incantatem, the general counter-spell for any minor jinxes or hexes, straightening up and smoothing out his shirt. “Unnecessary.”

Your smile widens. “Oh, I don’t know about you, but I found this particularly amusing.”

“Resorting to petty jokes now, are we?” Still, you can sense the grudging respect in his tone. “Not bad, little lioness.”

“High praise, coming from a conniving snake,” you say, though the words lack their usual bite.

You enjoyed it, you realise. You enjoyed dueling with Geto Suguru, the one person who you’ve had it out for ever since you joined Hogwarts. Flopping onto the floor and catching your breath, the thrill of the duel doesn’t seem to wear off. Even Suguru fidgets with his wand, mouth set in a grim line. You tear your gaze away and stare at your own wand instead. There is something about being evenly matched with him, the way both of you anticipate each other’s next moves, the way you dodge and attack with equal strength.

“Same time tomorrow?” Suguru breaks the silence.

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah. Same time tomorrow.”

Geto Suguru’s face is on the front page of the Daily Prophet—Wizarding Britain’s newspaper— alongside Amélie DuPont of Beauxbatons and Aleksandar Ivanov of Durmstrang. The picture moves, as all photographs in the magical world do, with Amélie in the middle, tucking a strand of her silver-blond hair behind her ear while her light blue skirt billows slightly in the wind. Aleksandar is more serious, thick eyebrows set in a frown with his burly arms crossed over his chest.

In the centre is the bane of your existence himself. His long hair is half-down and pinned back. His robes are neat and pristine, the Slytherin crest and his Prefect badge gleaming. He twirls his wand between his fingers, lips curled upwards in a lazy smirk, though his eyes are as sharp as ever. The headline underneath the picture reads:

CHAMPIONS PREPARE FOR GLORY: INSIGHT FROM THE TRIWIZARD FRONTLINES

The Great Hall is noisy during breakfast, the smell of food and the cacophony of students eliminating all other senses. Your hand tightens around your fork and you stab at your eggs aggressively. Utahime takes the newspaper and flicks it open to the page with the Champions’ interviews.

“‘Hogwarts Champion, Geto Suguru’,” she begins to read aloud, “‘impresses everyone with his unparalleled spellwork and ability to stay calm under pressure.’”

Shoko, halfway through her toast, snorts. “Sounds like he wrote it himself.”

“‘When asked about his preparation for the first task’,” Utahime continues, “‘he credited his regimen to ‘careful planning and focused practice’.’” She pauses, raising an eyebrow at you. “Does that sound familiar?”

You refuse to rise to the bait, though your cheeks warm despite yourself. Two weeks of training in the Room of Requirement—of dodging his spells, practicing wandwork, and biting back your own irritation—have left their mark. 

Mei Mei, peering over Utahime’s shoulder, comments, “Oh, look. He also mentioned something about collaboration. About how it elevates one’s abilities.”

“How diplomatic of him,” you mutter. “He really loves the sound of his own voice, doesn’t he?”

“Talking about me again?”

You freeze, the unmistakable drawl sending a shiver of annoyance down your spine. Looking up slowly, you find Suguru himself standing opposite you, flanked by Gojo Satoru. “Morning, Gryffindors,” the latter greets cheerfully, blue eyes twinkling. Suguru, however, merely slides into the seat across from you, his dark eyes not leaving yours. You grab your goblet and take a sip of your pumpkin juice just to have something to do with your hands.

Satoru drops unceremoniously on the bench next to Shoko without invitation, snatching a piece of toast from her plate. “Merlin, it’s lively here.”

“Go away, Satoru,” his female friend replies. “Get your own toast.”

“Sharing is caring.” Satoru bites into the toast with gusto.

“I hope you choke on it,” Shoko says flatly.

Utahime mumbles an apology and leaves when the Head Boy, Nanami Kento, calls her over. They have to discuss something about the first Triwizard Tournament task that will be taking place the next day. Mei Mei escapes to the bathroom, leaving the four of you sitting by the Gryffindor table. It’s a sight in itself, really, because it’s rare for Slytherins to be mingling with Gryffindors so amicably. Yet, Shoko and Satoru remain oblivious to the stares as they continue to bicker over breakfast, while you shift uncomfortably.

Suguru’s eyes flick briefly to the half-folded Daily Prophet near your hand. “Enjoying the article?”

Your stomach twists. “I haven’t read it,” you lie, glaring down at your mutilated eggs.

“Shame. I was curious about what you thought.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap, though the heat crawling up the back of your neck betrays you. “Why would I waste my time reading about you?”

“You’re awfully defensive for someone who doesn’t care,” Suguru says.

“I don’t care.”

Satoru leans over. “Do you think they’ll hex each other before the first task? I’ve got ten Galleons on it.”

“Make it fifteen,” Shoko says, “and I’ll lend you my wand for the counter-curse.”

You glare at both of them, but Suguru’s voice draws your attention back. “Since you’re clearly not invested,” he says, tone light but eyes determined, “any advice for tomorrow?”

You blink. Of all the things you’d expected him to ask, it hadn’t been this. “Don’t get yourself killed,” you say bluntly.

He huffs out a soft laugh, shoulders shaking slightly. “Noted.”

“Well, this has been fun,” says Satoru, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. “But I think I’ve exhausted our dear Shoko’s hospitality.” He swipes her goblet and downs her pumpkin juice.

“Touch my plate again, and I’ll set your robes on fire,” Shoko warns.

With a laugh, Satoru ruffles her hair and saunters off, leaving you and Suguru alone in this tense, uncomfortable silence. “Good luck tomorrow,” you say finally, not meeting his gaze.

“Thanks,” he says, quieter than usual.

When he stands up to leave, you can’t help but feel a pang of unease. The first task is tomorrow, and while you would never admit it, you hope he comes out of it unscathed.

Dragons. Your hunch about the first task was right.

The cold November air is sharp as knives, cutting through the layers of your robes as you grip the railing of the stands surrounding the makeshift arena. Excitement and dread churns together in your stomach, though you’d die before admitting the latter. The stands are packed, students and professors bundled in thick scarves and gloves, all leaning forward eagerly to catch a glimpse of the champions. Amidst the black of the Hogwarts robes, there is also the pale blue of Beauxbatons and the dark red of Durmstrang. The excitement is palpable, everyone buzzing with anticipation for the first task. You find yourself crammed in between Utahime and Shoko.

You swallow hard, keeping your eyes fixed on the arena below. The dragons are corralled in an enclosure just beyond the champions’ tent, their massive silhouettes casting long shadows on the frosted ground. Even from this distance, you can hear the occasional growl and the rustle of leathery wings.

“Dragons,” Utahime mutters, rubbing her gloved palms together worriedly. “How can they call this a school competition and then throw dragons at the students?”

“They’ve done it before,” Shoko drawls lazily, though her sharp eyes betray her worry. Satoru stands next to her, arms crossed over his chest and lips pressed into a grim line. You shiver; it’s bad enough that Shoko is worried, but seeing the normally cheerful Satoru so serious makes you anxious. “At least they’re not asking them to fight them barehanded,” she continues. “That would be more fun.”

“Shoko,” Utahime hisses, chiding. “Please stop.”

You don’t contribute to their conversation. Your gaze moves to the champions’ tent, barely visible through the enchanted mist that swirls over the field. Suguru is in there. You wonder how he’s preparing himself—he’s facing one of the most dangerous magical creatures alive, after all. The thought makes worry pool in your stomach.

From somewhere below, a voice booms across the field, magically amplified to reach every corner of the grounds. “Witches and wizards, welcome to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament!”

The crowd erupts into cheers. Utahime wrings her hands beside you, and the most you can manage is a weak clap.

“The task,” the announcer continues, “is as daring as it is dangerous. Each champion must retrieve a ring from the heart of the arena. But guarding the rings are some of the fiercest magical creatures alive—dragons!”

A collective gasp ripples through the crowd, followed by excited whispers. Utahime lets out a low groan. “They can’t be serious. This isn’t a tournament—it’s a death wish.”

Shoko shrugs. “They’ll be fine. Mostly. The Ministry of Magic wouldn’t let them die. Probably. They could get horribly maimed or injured, though.”

“Reassuring,” you mutter. You’ve been pretending to be indifferent for ages, but the truth is, you’re terrified for Suguru.

The announcer’s voice booms again. “Our champions will face their dragons one by one, drawn randomly to determine the order. The task is not merely about bravery, but also ingenuity, strategy, and magical skill. The ring holds a crucial clue to the next task—so it is imperative that they succeed!”

Your hands are numb against the railing, but you’re not sure if it’s because of the cold or because of something else entirely. The first task is madness—complete and utter madness. And yet, as the announcer’s voice booms again, calling out Suguru’s name, something in your chest curdles with a chill far worse than the cold.

“First, Geto Suguru, representing Hogwarts, will face the Hungarian Horntail!”

The sound is deafening. Cheers erupt from every corner of the stands, the Hogwarts students roaring loudest of all. Even the Slytherins, with their restrained, cold demeanour—the exception being Satoru, of course—cannot contain their pride. 

Geto Suguru steps into the arena, holding his wand loosely in one hand with the other tucked into the folds of his robes. His long hair is swept up into a tight knot. You can’t hear him over the noise, but you swear you see him mutter something under his breath.

The Hungarian Horntail is enormous. Even from a distance, its obsidian scales glint ominously, and its massive, bat-like wings shift restlessly as its amber eyes lock onto Suguru. The ring lies just beyond the dragon, perched atop a precarious pile of boulders. It gleams like a star, a tiny thing that’s almost not worth the effort, you think. But of course, Suguru is just like you, and pride comes before anything else. You’re sure he’s already thought of a dozen different ways to get past the beast—because it’s something you would do, as well.

The Horntail snorts, sending a plume of smoke spiraling into the air. The arena is silent now. Suguru takes his first step towards the dragon.

“Is he insane?” Utahime whispers, voice trembling. “Does he not see the size of that thing?”

“He does.” It’s Satoru’s first proper sentence this morning, and the assurance with which he says it alleviates some of your worry—though not by much. “He’s Suguru. He always knows exactly what he’s doing.”

You remain silent, not taking your eyes off him. He moves slowly, with the kind of deliberacy that makes it clear he’s prepared. No step is wasted, no motion is hurried. He’s in control—or at least, that’s what he wants everyone to think.

“Confringo!” The spell erupts from his wand, creating a fiery blast that hits the ground near the dragon’s massive claws. The Horntail snarls, tail lashing out and gouging deep scars into the earth. The Blasting Curse he used isn’t meant to hurt—it’s meant to provoke.

Suguru casts another spell, this time to conjure a dazzling array of shifting, flickering lights. The dragon’s attention is drawn to the display; it tilts his head and looks up, mesmerised. You clench your jaw. It’s a bold move, because dragons are intelligent, but their curiosity is a double-edged sword.

“He’s trying to confuse it,” Utahime murmurs, clutching the ends of her scarf. “That’s risky.”

Risky is an understatement, you think. Suguru doesn’t stop. He moves his wand, pointing it low, and you see him mouth a spell—Glacius. The ground beneath the dragon becomes a slick sheet of ice. The Horntail’s claws scrape against the surface, wings flaring out as it tries to balance itself.

But it recovers quickly—too quickly. With a guttural roar, the beast lunges towards him, jaws snapping. Your heart thuds in your chest, but Suguru dives out of the way and smacks hard into a large rock. He slumps against it, chest heaving with heavy breaths. You hear Utahime and Shoko gasp beside you, but it’s drowned out by the sound of your own blood rushing in your ears.

Get up, you want to say. Get up and get that bloody ring, Geto. It’s silly—of course he can’t hear you—but there’s a gash on his arm, and his robes have darkened with blood, and it feels like if you somehow think it, Suguru will make it happen. It’s a flimsy mindset, but you’ll take whatever shreds of comfort you can get.

The dragon charges towards him, nostrils flaring and eyes gleaming. Suguru scrambles to his feet, the ends of his robes frayed and face streaked with dirt. He lifts his wand and casts a Protego maxima, a shimmering shield that briefly halts the dragon’s fiery breath. The shield holds for just a moment, but it’s enough time for Suguru to reposition himself, his eyes darting towards the ring. 

“Come on,” you say under your breath, fingers tightening around the railing. 

“Lumos maxima!”

A burst of brilliant, blinding light shoots out of his wand, illuminating the arena. You let loose an exhale; he’s clearly learnt from the dragon’s reaction to light earlier. It’s a good strategy, you will admit. The Horntail lets out a snarl, massive eyes narrowing against the glare. It thrashes, swinging its tail wildly, but Suguru has already limped away. 

The dragon’s claws gouge into the earth once more, its bat-like wings flapping violently as it tries to shake off the distraction. Suguru uses the brief opening to dart closer, his focus entirely on the ring. His wand moves in a tight arc, and the light shifts into a pulsating sphere, hovering just beyond the Hungarian Horntail’s reach. It works. The orb of light draws the dragon’s attention away from Suguru.

“He’s using it as a decoy,” Shoko says, leaning forward.

“Smart move,” Satoru chimes in, hushed. 

His blue eyes glitter knowingly at you, though, and you turn away, feeling your cheeks heat up. Suguru must have told him about all the research you did about dragons and their different breeds, and how they’re not so different from cats—if you take out the fire-breath and the wings and the long tail, or the fact that they could eat a human alive in a heartbeat.

Suguru raises his wand again, muttering an incantation. A shimmering net of magical energy bursts forth, wrapping around the dragon’s front claws. The Horntail roars—but its movements are hindered enough to give him the opening he needs.

The ring glints in the faint sunlight, and with a quick Summoning Charm—Accio—it soars straight through the air to him.

The Horntail senses it immediately. With a furious roar, it pounces, its massive jaws snapping shut mere inches from Suguru’s outstretched hand. But Suguru is faster. With a final, desperate leap, he snatches the ring out of the air, landing hard on the frost-dusted ground. He rolls to his feet, the ring clutched tightly in his fist, and sprints towards the edge of the arena.

The Horntail thrashes behind him, but it’s too late. The magical barrier seals shut just as Suguru crosses the threshold. The dragon lets out a frustrated roar that echoes through the stands. The crowd erupts into cheers, the noise ringing in your ears. Hogwarts banners wave wildly in the air, and Satoru and Shoko let out a series of loud hoots, while you simply sigh, relieved.

“He did it,” Utahime breathes out.

“Of course he did.” Shoko beams proudly.

You don’t say anything. Your heart is still racing, your chest still tight. He did it. He passed the first Triwizard task.

Suguru hobbles past the stands, dark eyes scanning the crowd, one hand pressed to where the gash on his arm is. You curse yourself for feeling irrational—for wanting him to look at you. He does. His gaze lands on you, and he pauses for the shortest of moments. The corner of his mouth curls upwards in a small half-smile, and then he’s gone, disappearing into the tent where the champions will be tended to.

“He could’ve died,” Utahime mutters, shaking her head as the next champion is announced.

You glance back toward the arena, frosted fingers loosening their grip on the railing. The first task is over, but the dread in your stomach doesn’t subside. The dragons may be gone, but the Triwizard Tournament is far from over. 

The Room of Requirement glows faintly in the dim light of the lanterns it conjured up, their golden halos casting long, flickering shadows over the stacks of books and piles of scrolls you and Suguru pulled out of the bookshelves lining the walls. You sit cross-legged on a soft, velvet cushion on the floor. Suguru paces in front of you, the soles of his boots soft against the tile.

The ring, when Suguru gives it to you, is warm to the touch and made out of the same gold the wizarding world uses to shape Galleons out of. A part of the ring is flattened into a signet, engraved onto which are a collection of dots. They look like pockmarks on an otherwise smooth surface. You rub your thumb over them curiously.

“Look inside,” Suguru says. He picks at the ends of the bandage wrapped around his arm, restless and jittery. “There’s something written on the inside of the ring.”

Turning the ring over in your palm, you bring it close to your eyes and squint. The words are tiny, and, for all intents and purposes, make no sense to you whatsoever. The ring’s golden surface glints, the engraving on the signet catching the shifting light. You roll it between your fingers, the faint warmth oddly soothing, though Suguru’s squirrely pacing sets your nerves on edge.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” you snap, squinting at the letters once again. “It’s hard enough to focus without you stomping around like a restless Hippogriff.”

“I’m thinking,” Suguru retorts, though he halts mid-step and folds his arms across his chest. “Unlike you, who’s just staring at the thing as if it’ll start talking.”

“It might!” you fire back. “It’s magical, isn’t it? Who knows what sort of enchantments it’s got?”

“It’s a ring, not a bloody Howler. Let me see it again.”

Reluctantly, you pass it over, careful not to touch his injured hand. His fingers brush against yours anyway, and the warmth lingers annoyingly on your skin. Suguru holds the ring up to the lantern light, tilting it to study the dots engraved on the signet. 

“These dots look like they’re arranged deliberately,” he murmurs, tracing the marks. “They’re not random.”

“Well, obviously.” You roll your eyes. “The question is, what do they mean?”

He ignores you, dark eyes narrowing as he turns the ring over and studies the inscription. “‘Ego sum principium mundi et finis saeculorum’,” he reads aloud, the Latin rolling maddeningly smoothly off his tongue. “It sounds ominous.”

“It means something,” you say, leaning forward to snatch a book off the pile in front of you. It’s a dusty tome with Enigmatic Latin Phrases emblazoned on the cover, though you have a sinking suspicion it’s going to be less helpful than you hoped. “It has to. Why else would it be engraved on a magical artifact?”

Suguru plops down onto the cushion opposite you, sweeping away a bunch of scrolls. He places the ring on the ground in between you both. “If it’s a clue for the next task, then it has to be related to the Triwizard Tournament somehow. Something symbolic, maybe?”

“Brilliant deduction,” you deadpan, flipping through the pages of the book. “Didn’t realise you were such a scholar.”

“And I didn’t realise you were such a comedian,” he drawls. “Let’s focus. What do you think it means? The phrase—’I am the beginning of the world and the end of ages’. What does that sound like to you?”

You blink at him. “How did you translate that?”

“Studied Latin and French when I was kid,” he says smugly, in a manner that makes you want to deck him. Wonderful. Another aspect in which Suguru is already one step ahead of you, you think bitterly. “But that’s not the point,” he continues. “What do you think it could refer to?”

You look down, tapping your quill against the edge of the book. “It could be a reference to time,” you muse aloud. “The beginning and end… It's cyclical. Like a clock, or a calendar, maybe?”

“Or a journey,” Suguru adds, tilting his head. “Something that starts and ends with the same person. The champions?”

“Possibly. But it could also be something more abstract—like fear. Everyone’s afraid of something; it’s universal. The start and end of every challenge.”

Suguru picks up the ring again, running his thumb over the dots. “And this?” he says, gesturing to the engraving. “What if it’s pointing us somewhere? A location, maybe? Or a specific kind of task?”

You frown and lean closer. “The arrangement of the dots,” you say slowly, “looks… familiar. Like a pattern.”

“Like a constellation,” Suguru supplies. “You’re right. It’s got to be one.”

The conclusion settles over you both, but it doesn’t offer much clarity. You chew on the inside of your cheek, considering. “If it’s a constellation, then it’s symbolic, right? They all have stories tied to them—myths, legends.”

“Yeah, but which one?” Frustration creeps into his voice. “These dots could be anything. There’s no clear shape.”

“It could be something obscure,” you suggest. “Maybe even something specific to the wizarding world. I think we’ll have to make a trip to the Astronomy Tower some time soon, though.”

“Great,” says Suguru flatly. “So we’re supposed to decipher a constellation in a shape I’ve never seen and an inscription that sounds like it was prophesied by a second-rate Seer.”

“Better than wandering blindly into the second task. Though, knowing you, you’d probably manage to make it out alive. Cockroaches always do.”

He scowls, but his lips twitch upwards by the slightest. “And here I thought we were having a moment.”

“We weren’t,” you say immediately. The back of your neck prickles with heat.

Suguru rolls his eyes, though not with malice. He stretches his arms over his head. The action causes his shirt to ride up slightly; you avert your gaze quickly. “I’m starving.”

“What?”

“I’m hungry,” he repeats, standing up. “All this thinking has drained me. Fancy a trip to the kitchens?”

“It’s nearly midnight,” you point out—but your stomach growls faintly in agreement. “And I’m not sneaking around the castle because you can’t stop eating.”

“Suit yourself,” he says with a shrug, heading towards the door. “I bet the house-elves have made éclairs for tomorrow’s dinner.”

Well. You’ve always been weak to chocolate. Muttering a curse under your breath, you scramble to your feet and find yourself following him, the ring warm inside your pocket.

The Hogwarts kitchens are a marvel, a hidden oasis of warmth nestled beneath the castle’s chilly stone walls. Suguru finds the painting of a fruit bowl by the Hufflepuff common room, and tickles the pear. It lets out a loud giggle—you cringe, hoping Filch, the caretaker, and his evil pet cat, Mrs. Norris, are nowhere around. The pear transforms into a shiny brass door handle, and the moment the painting swings open, you’re met with a rush of buttery heat and the mingling aromas of chocolate, caramel, and freshly baked bread.

The kitchens are bustling with movement. House-elves dart about with a speed and efficiency that puts magic itself to shame. Pots clatter, ovens hum, and enchanted trays of golden pastries glide through the air. 

A small, wiry house-elf with parchment-like skin and eyes like twin garnets appears in a puff of flour and indignation, his thin arms folded over his chest. A neatly pressed tea towel with the Hogwarts crest embroidered on it covers his tiny body.

“Young master should not be here!” the elf scolds. “It is forbidden to disturb the kitchens so late at night!”

“Good evening to you too, Sukuna,” Suguru says smoothly, brushing past the house-elf and into the kitchen. He inspects a nearby tray of éclairs, plucking one up and sniffing it appreciatively.

Sukuna’s bat-like ears quiver, his expression contorting between outrage and resignation. “Master Geto always does this. Always sneaking in like a naughty student. Not even a little bit nice and polite like the young Hufflepuff miss who always comes to say hello.”

“That’s because I am a naughty student,” Suguru says cheerfully, winking raunchily at you; you huff and roll your eyes. He sinks his teeth into the éclair with a pleased hum. “And you, Sukuna, are a saint for indulging me.”

The elf huffs, though his cheeks flush slightly at the praise. His gaze shifts to you, eyes narrowing slightly. “And this one? Is this young miss also here to pilfer desserts?”

“I— what? No!” you sputter, though your stomach growls traitorously at the scent of chocolate and cream wafting from the éclairs. 

Suguru leans against the counter, lips tugged up in a smirk as he regards you. “Don’t be shy,” he says, gesturing towards the tray. “Sukuna won’t bite. Probably.”

“Only if asked nicely,” Sukuna mutters darkly, but he waves a hand, and another tray of éclairs floats down onto the counter as though by invitation.

Despite yourself, you reach for one. The pastry is warm, its golden shell yielding easily beneath your fingers. When you bite into it, the rich, velvety chocolate spills over your tongue deliciously.

“Good, isn’t it?” asks Suguru.

You hate that he’s right. “It’s passable,” you say, lifting your chin imperiously.

He barks out a laugh, brushing crumbs off his trousers. “Sure it is. That’s why you’re reaching for another one already.”

You glance down and curse under your breath. Grumbling, you take another bite of your éclair, determined to ignore the victorious glint in his eyes. Sukuna, meanwhile, seems torn between chastising you both and taking pride in your obvious enjoyment. In the end, he settles for clicking his tongue and vanishing to attend to an overflowing cauldron of treacle in the corner. The kitchen falls into companionable quiet, broken only by the distant clatter of utensils and the murmur of house-elves bustling about.

“So,” you say finally, licking a smear of chocolate off your thumb, “are éclairs your usual midnight snack, or is this just an excuse to avoid figuring out the second task?”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of eating and thinking at the same time.”

“You’re more a connoisseur of distractions. Very good at distracting yourself,” you say, without any real bite in your voice.

“Distractions are necessary,” he says lightly, gaze steady on your face. “Sometimes, stepping back helps you see things more clearly.”

You chew on that for a moment. “Fine. I’ll admit you have a point there. But the second task does seem to be rather interesting, don’t you think?”

He grins, teeth flashing in the light. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t think so.”

You roll your eyes, but a small part of you warms at the compliment. Across the room, Sukuna reappears with a teapot and two mismatched cups. He sets them down with a flourish.

“If young master and young miss insist on loitering, at least have tea,” the elf says, somehow managing to sound both fond and exasperated at the same time.

Suguru raises his half-eaten dessert in a mock toast. “To Sukuna, the real hero of the Triwizard Tournament.”

The house-elf grumbles something unintelligible, though you catch the faintest beginnings of a smile before he disappears again. 

“Are you always this insufferable?” you ask.

Suguru smirks, taking a small sip of tea. “Only with people who make it fun.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile of your own. For all his arrogance and sharp edges, there is something oddly disarming about Suguru like this—unguarded, his cutting wit tempered by the soft glow of the kitchen lights. The two of you sit in silence for a while, finishing off the tea and éclairs. The warmth of the kitchen seeps into your bones, making you feel drowsy and comfortable. Your eyelids feel heavy, and you wrap your arms around yourself.

“Alright,” Suguru says finally, setting his cup down with a clink. “Don’t fall asleep on me, little lioness.”

“‘m not falling asleep,” you mutter sleepily.

“I think we’re done for the day,” he says. “I’ll walk you back to the Gryffindor Tower.”

“I can walk back on my own.”

Suguru sighs, not unkindly. “I know.”

The Yule Ball is one of the highlights of the Triwizard Tournament—a night where students get the opportunity to dress up and dance, and indulge in the sort of revelries Hogwarts is usually so strict about. Utahime is convinced that some students will find a way to smuggle in Firewhiskey—wizarding alcohol—and is currently stressing out over how to regulate the intake of beverages of the students over a plate of hash browns and scrambled eggs. 

Nanami Kento, the Head Boy, is trying to diffuse a Situation that’s taking place at the Slytherin table. Some poor Hufflepuff girl (the captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, you later recognise) had the balls to ask out Fushiguro Toji, notorious womaniser and blood purity freak, as her date for the Yule Ball. You nearly drop your cutlery when he calls her a Mudblood—a slur meant for people like you, born to Muggle parents. Gritting your teeth angrily, you glare at the back of Fushiguro Toji’s head. What a nasty, vile excuse for a man.

The Situation is diffused when the girl passes out, a ball of yellow fabric clutched tightly in her hands. You have to give it to her; it takes serious guts to publicly ask out someone, though you wonder what sort of curse possessed her to ask Fushiguro, of all people.

“Absolute menace,” you mutter under your breath, stabbing your scrambled eggs with unnecessary force.

Mei Mei turns a page of Witch Weekly with a sigh. “Honestly, these pureblood types are so predictable. Such flair for cruelty, yet so unoriginal.”

“You’d think he’d at least come up with a creative insult,” Shoko adds dryly, her teacup balancing precariously on her saucer.

“Missed me, ladies?” Satoru, perpetually grinning like a Cheshire cat, plops himself onto the bench opposite you. His white-blond hair gleams under the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, and his tinted glasses perch at the end of his nose in a way that makes him look both ridiculous and infuriatingly charming.

Shoko’s reply is swift. “Not particularly.”

Mei Mei grunts out a greeting, and you merely smile politely at him. Utahime, still fretting over the logistics of conducting the Yule Ball, slides out of her seat in a hurry and mumbles something about finding Nanami so they can discuss things properly. 

“You wound me, Shoko,” Satoru says, clutching his chest theatrically. “Anyway, I’ve got a pressing matter to discuss.”

“Does it involve you somehow setting fire to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom again?” Mei Mei asks, not looking up from her magazine.

“That was one time,” Gojo replies, feigning outrage. “No, this is much more important. The Yule Ball. Who’s asking who? Gossip is flying around faster than a Nimbus 2000.”

Of course, wherever Gojo Satoru goes, Geto Suguru is bound to follow. He approaches your little group, dark hair tied back neatly, expression as composed as ever. He slides onto the bench beside you with a nod of thanks to Mei Mei, who moved her plate of toast to accommodate him.

“Talking about the Yule Ball, I presume?” Suguru asks, reaching for a slice of buttered bread.

“Of course we are,” Satoru says, leaning forward conspiratorially. “It’s the event of the year, Suguru. Surely someone’s asked you by now.”

Your fork pauses in mid-air. For some reason, you find yourself wanting to know the answer.

Suguru’s lips quirk upwards, the ghost of a smirk. “As a matter of fact, someone has.”

The table collectively turns to him. Shoko raises a curious brow. Even Mei Mei closes her magazine in favour of staring at Geto Suguru like he’s just sprouted a pair of antlers on his head.

“Details,” Satoru demands, grinning wide.

“She’s from Beauxbatons,” Suguru says. “Asked me yesterday afternoon. I said yes.”

A sharp pang blooms in your chest, prickly and unwelcome. You drop your gaze to your plate, pressing your lips together and willing yourself not to react. It doesn’t matter. You don’t care. Suguru could go with whoever he wanted. He isn’t your friend, and he certainly isn’t—no. Absolutely not.

“Leave it to you to snag a Beauxbatons girl,” Mei Mei comments. “They always go for the broody ones.”

Gojo snorts. “Broody? Suguru’s about as broody as a cauldron full of kittens.”

“Are we done analysing my date?” Suguru asks.

“Not even close,” Satoru says, but his attention soon shifts to Shoko attempting to balance her goblet of water on her saucer as well. Mei Mei picks up her copy of Witch Weekly once more and flips through the glossy pages.

You pick at your food, your knife scraping against your plate. The thought of Suguru dancing with some elegant Beauxbatons girl—someone undoubtedly beautiful and graceful and more poised than you could ever be—makes your stomach churn unpleasantly. The image of them laughing together, her delicate hand resting on his shoulder while his wraps around her waist, is as vivid as if it had been etched into your mind.

“You’re quiet,” Suguru murmurs, soft enough that the others can’t catch it.

“Just tired,” you lie, not meeting his gaze.

He doesn’t push further, but you feel his eyes linger on you for a moment longer before he returns to nibbling at his toast.

Shoving aside the annoying ache of jealousy, you straighten in your seat and force a pleasant expression on your face. Fine. If Suguru had a date, then so would you. Someone handsome. Someone confident. Someone who would make him think twice before flashing his perfectly polite little smile at you and your date.

“You know,” you begin, loud enough to draw the attention of your friends, “I think I’ll ask one of the Durmstrang boys.”

“Oh?” Shoko says, interest clearly piqued. “Got anyone in mind?”

“Not yet,” you admit, grabbing your goblet and swirling your pumpkin juice absentmindedly. “But there’s bound to be someone suitable. They’ve got that rugged, intimidating thing going on.”

Satoru bursts into laughter, nearly knocking over a plate of sausages. “Merlin help whatever poor bloke you’ve set your eyes on.”

You scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that you’re not exactly the type of person to swoon over a man that’s—what did you say it was?—rugged and intimidating.”

“Well, we’ll see,” you say, lifting your chin defiantly. “Maybe I’ll surprise you all.”

With that, you turn back to your half-finished breakfast, and Satoru launches into a dramatic recounting of his supposed rejection by a Ravenclaw—”Her loss, really”—and you don’t look at Suguru at all. Still, as the meal ends the Great Hall empties, your resolve falters. You can’t help but glance at Suguru one last time. He’s listening to something Satoru is saying, lips curving upwards in a smile.

The pang returns, sharp and insistent—but you ignore it. After all, there are plenty of Durmstrang boys to choose from. Surely one of them would do just fine.

There are many ways to get yourself a date for the Yule Ball. You’ve watched it happen over the last week: dramatic declarations of affection in the Great Hall, quiet notes slipped between textbooks, bashful confessions in various corners of the castle. But this? This is different. 

This is not the ideal method of asking someone out. Borderline stalking the Durmstrang champion because you saw him trudge through the snow towards the Black Lake—where the Durmstrang ship is docked—from the window of the Gryffindor common room is hardly what anybody would call dignified. Yet, here you are, braving the sharp, icy wind, and the crunch of snow underfoot, determined to follow through with your ill-conceived plan.

Your goal is straightforward, or so you tell yourself. Aleksandar Ivanov is a handsome man, someone impossible to ignore. His broad shoulders are draped in a thick, fur-lined coat that seems to defy the chill of Scottish winters, and his sleek, dark hair catches the fading light of the afternoon. He looks like something out of an old wizarding tale, that sort of unrealistic hero who was carved out of marble and brought to life.

Aleksandar Ivanov is not your type at all. 

No, this has nothing to do with the hulking Bulgarian himself, and everything to do with Geto Suguru.

You hate the way you felt when Suguru mentioned his date. You hate that the image of him dancing with someone else—that faceless girl draped in blue satin—feels like a thorn lodged deep in your chest. Most of all, you hate that you care. So, you’ve decided on a solution: The bold, handsome Durmstrang champion on your arm at the Yule Ball. That’ll show him.

Aleksandar’s strides are long, the dark fur of his coat fluttering slightly in the breeze. He’s alone, his hands tucked into his pockets. You can see the faint outline of the Durmstrang ship in the distance, its masts swaying gently as the lake ripples against the hull. The sight fills you with a sudden sense of urgency. If you don’t catch him now, you’ll lose your chance.

“Excuse me!” you call out, your voice carrying over the air. Aleksandar slows, then turns, his piercing green eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, you feel rooted to the spot, your carefully rehearsed words scattering like leaves to the wind.

“Yes?” he says. There’s a faint accent to his voice.

You force yourself to take a step closer, and then another, until you’re standing just a few feet away. “Good evening,” you say, forcing a smile. “Aleksandar, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching, though it doesn’t become a full smile. “And you are?”

You hesitate. Your name feels oddly small when you say it. The cold nips at your cheeks, and you resist the urge to shove your mittened hands into the pockets of your jacket.

“Well, then,” Aleksandar says, tilting his head slightly. “What can I do for you?”

“I…” You clear your throat, cursing the way your voice wavers. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to the Yule Ball with me.”

Aleksandar’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes—amusement, maybe, or curiosity. He takes a step closer, and you resist the urge to back away. “Interesting,” he says at last, drawing the word out. “You do know you’re not the first person to ask me to the Yule Ball, yes? You’re very beautiful, but why, exactly, would you want to go with me?”

Your cheeks flush with the heat at the sudden compliment, but your prepared responses—something about his reputation, his charm, his skill in the Tournament—suddenly feel hollow. You can’t tell him the truth, either, that this is about someone else. So you scramble for a suitable response.

“Well, you’re the Durmstrang champion,” you say, aiming for nonchalance but landing somewhere closer to desperation. “It seemed fitting.”

Aleksandar raises an eyebrow. “Fitting? Is that all?”

“Yes,” you lie, though your voice lacks conviction.

For a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches, broken only by the distant lapping of the lake’s waves against the shore. Then, to your surprise, Aleksandar smiles—not the cool, detached smirk you were expecting while he brutally rejects you, but something warmer, almost amused.

“Very well,” he agrees, his voice carrying a hint of humour. “I’ll be your date.”

“Really?” The word escapes before you can stop it, and you cringe at how eager you sound.

Aleksandar’s smile widens. “Yes, really. Though I must admit, I am curious about your true intentions.”

“My intentions?” you repeat, trying your best not to sound sheepish. “What do you mean?”

“You see,” he says, “my intentions with you are rather simple. Word travels fast around the castle, and I know you were the closest person to best the Hogwarts champion in claiming the title. Besides the fact that you are very pretty, I think it will also make my competitor waver a little, no?”

You bite your tongue. He’s right. Aleksandar Ivanov is more than just a pretty face and brute strength. He’s also cunning and intelligent. You’re certain he would be a Slytherin if he attended Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang Institute.

“And you,” he continues. “You don’t strike me as the type of person to make bold declarations for the sake of tradition. There is something else, isn’t there?”

The same thing as you, Ivanov. I want to see the Hogwarts champion waver, you think. Instead, you stiffen, and say, “There’s nothing.”

“Hm.” Aleksandar doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t press the issue. “Well, whatever your reasons, I look forward to the Ball. I trust you’ll make for an… interesting evening.”

You nod, too flustered to do anything else. “Of course.”

“Let’s match,” he says. “What are the colours of your… house, as they call it?”

“Scarlet and gold.”

“Wear a red dress. Until then, dovizhdane.” Aleksandar turns back towards the ship.

You blink, but manage a stiff nod before walking away. You’ve done it. You’ve secured a date for the Yule Ball. But why, despite everything, do you still wish it was Suguru you’d be meeting on the dance floor?

“Lupus,” you read aloud, from the book Celestial Phenomena And Their Meanings placed on your lap, “is a constellation that is associated with wolves in Greek and Roman mythology. The stars that now form the constellation Lupus used to be part of the Centaurus constellation. They represented a sacrificed animal impaled by the centaur, which was holding it toward the constellation Ara, or the altar.”

Suguru rolls the ring around in his palm, chin propped on his other hand, sitting cross-legged across from you. “Interesting,” he muses. “Anything else?”

The signet catches the light of the Room of Requirement, glinting golden. It wasn’t hard to map out the dots to pictures of constellations and figure out which of the star-clusters was engraved on the ring. The harder part, now, is trying to piece together what it could possibly mean, and how it is related to the Latin inscription on the inside of the ring.

You clear your throat and say, “It says it’s also connected to the founding of Rome and the story of Orpheus.”

He straightens up at that, dragging a hand through his hair. He’s left it loose for the evening, and it spills over his shoulders, long and soft. Your hand itches to smoothen out the top of his scalp, but you bite back the urge and internally scold yourself for being an irrational mess around him. 

“Can I have the book?” 

You wordlessly pass it to him, leaning back on your arms and stretching your legs out in front of you. The velvet cushion is downy to the touch, and warm under your fingertips. An enchanted fire crackles in the corner, preventing the chill from outside from creeping in.

“It could also represent King Lycaon of Arcadia, who was turned into a wolf by Zeus,” he reads, eyes roaming over the page curiously.

“The question is,” you press, “what does all this mean? Lupus—wolves in general, really—have always been associated with survival, but the myth says it was a sacrificial animal caught by the Centaur. What does that mean? How does this connect to the inscription inside the ring?”

Ego sum principium mundi et finis saeculorum. I am the beginning of the world and the end of ages.

“Some great sacrifice, perhaps?” Suguru’s brows furrow in that way they always do, pinched together when he’s thinking hard about something. “But what would we sacrifice?”

“The answer to the riddle?” you suggest.

“Which is, what, exactly?”

You grimace. “I’ve no clue. It could be anything.”

He hums, fingers tracing the signet of the ring. “I wonder,” he murmurs, “if this is a test of more than just knowledge. The Headmaster’s riddles are rarely based on facts alone. He likes to see what’s in people, not just what they know.”

“A moral riddle, then?” You raise your eyebrows, shifting slightly on the cushion. Leaning forward, you peer at the ring once more. The Latin inscription glints faintly, almost as if it’s daring you to unravel its secret. “It could be literal. A physical sacrifice. Or—” You pause, chewing your lip. “Or it could be metaphorical. Something symbolic. The myths about wolves and sacrifices aren’t just about death. They’re about transformation. Survival. Endings and beginnings.”

“Hm.” Suguru tilts his head, his dark hair shifting with the movement. His gaze shifts from the ring to you. “Transformation. That ties neatly with the inscription, doesn’t it? The beginning of the world and the end of ages… sounds rather apocalyptic, don’t you think?”

“Don’t start spinning doomsday theories. We have enough to worry about without you prophesying the end of the world.”

“Not the world. Something about the world.”

“Or… Maybe it does have something to do with sacrifice. An emotion attached to it, maybe?” The question is rhetoric, simply you tossing out whatever unrealistic theories you can come up with, but Suguru leans forward, interested.

“You mentioned fear last time,” he says. “I think that makes sense, but what would the second task be? Dementors? Do they expect us to know how to cast a Patronus Charm?”

“I don’t know, Suguru,” you say. Your shoulders slump, defeated. Your head spins with various possibilities, each more far fetched than the last. “This is annoying me.”

Suguru huffs out a soft laugh, shoulders shaking. “Tired already, little lioness?”

“Don’t call me that,” you grouse. 

“Noted.” He grins, all teeth and lips. You look away and ignore the way your pulse quickens. The sight of him like this—long limbs sprawled about, hair framing his face, his shirt creased and tie undone—makes your stomach flip in ways you don’t want to comprehend. “By the way, have you found yourself a date to the Yule Ball yet?”

You blink, disoriented by the sudden question. “Actually, I have,” you admit, face flushing with heat for no apparent reason. “Aleksandar Ivanov.”

“Ivanov?” Suguru’s voice trembles with something that sounds suspiciously close to disbelief. You want to crow with victory—this is what you had wanted, after all—but instead, all you feel is a strange sense of dread growing in your abdomen. “The Durmstrang champion?”

“Yes,” you say, lifting your chin slightly. “He’s… nice.”

“Nice?” Suguru scoffs. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

You glare at him. “What’s wrong with nice?”

“Nothing, if you’re describing a cup of tea or a particularly fluffy cat. But a date to the Yule Ball?” He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “Ivanov is—”

“What?” you interrupt, your irritation rising. “Handsome? Intelligent? Charismatic?”

“—a pompous peacock with an accent that makes people swoon for no good reason,” he finishes, his voice dripping with disdain.

You bristle, crossing your arms. “You already have a date to the Ball. I don’t see how it matters to you who I go with.”

“It doesn’t,” he says quickly. “I just didn’t take you for someone who falls for shiny boys from other schools.”

You bite back a retort, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of riling you up further. Instead, you turn your attention back to figuring out the constellation, rifling through the pages of another book you pick up from the stack in front of you. The silence stretches, and Suguru is the first to break it, tentatively.

“Did you hear about Nanami docking points from Slytherin? Twenty this time. All because of Toji and that Hufflepuff girl.”

Your stomach twists at the mention of Fushiguro. “He called her a Mudblood,” you say bluntly. “She fainted because of it.”

Suguru’s fingers curl into fists, his expression clouding. “Fushiguro’s an idiot, but docking points for something he said? That’s unfair.”

“It’s completely fair,” you say, anger rising in your chest. “He used a slur, Suguru. Against her. Against people like me—Mudbloods, as Fushiguro would say. So yes, I think Nanami was right to take points away.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and cold. Suguru says nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he sighs, shoulders slumping. “I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what?” you bite back, voice rising. “Didn’t mean to defend him? Didn’t mean to make excuses for someone who thinks people like me are lesser than him?”

“I’m not defending him,” Suguru snaps. “I just think punishing the whole house for someone else’s stupidity is unfair.”

“Unfair?” You laugh bitterly. “You want to talk about unfairness? Try walking around this castle knowing there are people who look at you and see something dirty. Try hearing that word every time you walk past a group of pureblooded Slytherins. Try knowing that despite everything you do, you will always, always be ousted by someone simply because they were born into the fucking wizarding world while you weren’t. But, of course, you wouldn’t know what that feels like, would you, you privileged ponce.”

Suguru flinches. You pick up your wand and cloak from the discarded heap on the floor and, anger still simmering in your chest, stride out of the Room of Requirement without a glance back.

As per custom, the selected champions must always enter the Yule Ball after everyone else. After days of gruelling ballroom dancing practice brought upon you and your housemates by your head of house, who did not want you to besmirch the Hogwarts name by acting like a “babbling, bumbling, band of baboons,” you like to think you’re quite the connoisseur of waltzing.

Aleksandar offers his arm to you, the dark red of his dress robes accentuating his cheekbones and eyes. Your own gown ripples with every movement, the deep crimson satin soft against your skin. 

You descend the staircase carefully—tripping because of your heels would be an embarrassment you don’t want to experience—and don’t look at Geto Suguru. You’re still furious at him, and you want absolutely nothing to do with him at all tonight.

“You look very beautiful,” the Durmstrang champion murmurs under his breath. “It is an honour to be with you.”

You laugh shakily. “Thank you. And likewise.”

He smiles without teeth. “I believe your champion is glaring at us.”

“Is that so?” You glance sideways at your date. “He should be paying attention to the pretty girl on his arm instead, don’t you think?”

Aleksandar opens his mouth to say something, but before he can reply, the doors to the Great Hall open, and a professor hurriedly begins ushering in the couples. 

Amélie, tall and graceful, with her long hair pinned into an elegant French braid, is the first to enter to a smattering of applause from the gathered students. Her peony-blue dress shimmers under the lights of the enchanted chandelier, and she walks with her head held high and her hand tucked into the crook of her date’s arm. Her date is a flustered Hufflepuff boy, someone you’ve seen around the corridors occasionally; he looks like he’s been struck by a Confundus Charm, what with the dazed look in his eyes. (You can’t blame him. The Beauxbatons champion is gorgeous.) 

Next, is Suguru. You stare at the back of his head while he leads his date into the Great Hall. His long, dark hair is tied back in a loose ponytail, held in place by an emerald green ribbon. His dress robes are the same colour, swishing around his knees with every step he takes. And, of course, there’s his date—the nameless, faceless Beauxbatons girl who matches his elegance and grace in every manner possible. You’ve heard her name being tossed around, but you refuse to acknowledge it. Jealousy is a fickle thing, and you are petty enough to succumb to it. They are the epitome of a perfect wizarding couple, you think; something in your mouth sours. The fact that you are still angry at Suguru does nothing to ease your mind.

You snap your gaze away as soon as they enter the Great Hall. Aleksandar nudges you gently, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Shall we?”

You nod, and he leads you forward. The Great Hall is breathtaking, even though you’d seen it earlier when helping Utahime with the decorations. The enchanted ceiling reflects a clear winter night sky, complete with gently falling snowflakes that vanish just before reaching the floor. The tables along the edges of the wall are laden with sweets and drinks. The floating candles that are normally present above your heads are nowhere to be seen, instead replaced with glittering chandeliers. A large space in the centre has been cleared for dancing, and a live wizarding orchestra has set up their instruments in the far corner.

The applause, as Aleksandar leads you out, feels distant, like a dull roar in the back of your head and you force a smile to your face. You can still see Suguru out of the corner of your eye, his emerald robes catching the light while he and his date glide further into the hall. He doesn’t look back, which is somehow worse than if he had.

You’re startled out of your thoughts when Aleksandar leans close to murmur, “You’ve gone quiet. Thinking about something?”

“Nothing important,” you reply quickly, flashing him a grin that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Good,” he says with a wry chuckle, “because I’d hate to think I made you lose interest already.”

The comment earns him a genuine laugh this time, albeit a small one. The Bulgarian seems pleased, though, and gently steers you towards the centre of the hall, where the champions are to open the first dance. The room is full of expectant eyes, students from all three schools whispering and staring. You spot a few familiar faces in the crowd—Shoko with Haibara, looking like they’ve been dragged into something way out of their depth; Nanami with the Hufflepuff girl he’d rescued from Fushiguro, a rare, happy smile on his face; Mei Mei and Utahime laughing at something by the dance floor. 

And, of course, there’s Satoru, leaning against the refreshments table with a goblet of pumpkin juice in his hand and a knowing smirk plastered on his face. He doesn’t look the least bit disgruntled about not having a date—a rare feat, considering how much of a drama queen he is. He catches your eye and wiggles his eyebrows at you, mouthing something indecipherable that you’re certain isn’t polite.

“Eyes up,” the Durmstrang champion says, low but not unkind. “You’re with me tonight.”

That’s right, you suppose. You are, so you shake your head and smile, turning to face him and resting your left hand on his shoulder. The orchestra strikes up a slow, elegant waltz, and Aleksandar’s hands find your waist.

The music swells, filling the enchanted hall with a lilting melody. Aleksandar guides you across the polished floor with a confidence that matches the proud poise of his bearing. For all your nerves, you fall into step easily, your waltzing practice smoothing out any initial awkwardness.

“You are good at this,” he murmurs, soft.

“I think I’m just very good at faking it,” you reply, glancing at the other couples. Suguru and his Beauxbatons date are near the centre of the hall, their movements seamless as if they’ve been dancing together for years. It’s a sight that would have been mesmerising—if it wasn’t so maddening in your eyes.

Aleksandar notices the flicker in your gaze but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he shifts closer, his hold steadying you as he turns you in a spin. The room blurs briefly, the crowd fading into a swirl of colours before you’re pulled back into his orbit.

“You’re distracted,” he says lightly, though there’s an edge of knowingness in his voice. “Is it the crowd? Or is it something else?”

You open your mouth to deny it but catch the quirk of his brow, the faint amusement in his expression. He knows. Of course, he knows. “I—”

“It seems your true intentions were not so different from mine, after all.” Aleksandar smiles, a quick flash of teeth. “I suppose I must try harder to ensure I have your full attention.”

Aleksandar’s green eyes hold a hint of mischief in them. You smile, despite yourself. The waltz continues, each musical note cascading into the next. Around you, students start filling up the empty spaces on the dance floor, twirling and gliding, some with excellent prowess, others with two left feet. Still, your mind lingers on Suguru. It’s infuriating, how he fills up the crevices in your head, his absence from your line of sight louder than the applause once the dance ends. 

The song draws to a close with a flourish. Aleksandar bows low to you; you return the gesture with a curtsey, your gown sweeping the floor. When you straighten up, he leans close to you, his voice low enough only for you to hear. “If you need an escape, just say the word. I’d be happy to whisk you away from… whatever it is that is troubling you. Consider it a favour.”

You laugh softly, his offer half-serious and wholly tempting. “Thank you, Aleksandar.”

Before you can say more, you catch Suguru moving from the corner of your eye. You glance up—and there he is. Geto Suguru, standing a few paces away with his date, his dark eyes locked on you in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t nod, doesn’t do anything except look, and it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

Aleksandar shifts, stepping just slightly closer, his hand brushing against yours. “Shall we get drinks?”

“Yes,” you say, far too quickly. “Let’s.”

You let Aleksandar lead you away, but you can’t shake the feeling of being watched, his gaze burning into your back long after you’ve disappeared into the crowd. Despite yourself, a small smile graces your lips when you spot Satoru, still lounging against the snacks table. He grins and waves when you catch his eye, and sets his goblet down when you and Aleksandar approach.

“Well, well,” Satoru drawls, ocean eyes roaming over your figure. “Impressive. I didn’t think you’d clean up this well.”

“At least I’m not a lone stag at a couple’s event,” you retort, smile widening despite yourself. Satoru does look rather dashing, however, clad in navy blue dress robes with golden curlicues embroidered all over. “Satoru, this is Aleksandar, as I’m sure you know. Aleksandar, this is my friend, Satoru.”

Aleksandar offers him a polite nod. “A pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard… Well, not much, actually. Though I imagine your reputation precedes you.”

Satoru snorts, unfazed. “Not much? Oh, I’m wounded. Surely the great Aleksandar Ivanov, Durmstrang’s star champion, has at least heard of my devastating good looks.” He flashes his most charming grin, but it only seems to amuse Aleksandar further.

“I’m afraid that hasn’t reached Durmstrang’s halls. Perhaps you should consider advertising.”

You stifle a laugh, glancing between them. “Don’t encourage him,” you say lightly, earning yourself an exaggerated pout from Satoru. “He already has a big enough head as it is.”

“That, I can believe.” The Bulgarian casts a sidelong glance at you.

“Smart guy,” Satoru muses. “I like him.”

“Anyway,” you cut in, cheeks warming. “We were just getting drinks.”

Satoru gestures dramatically to the table laden with butterbeer, pumpkin juice, and other sparkling drinks contained within golden goblets. “Help yourselves. And I would greatly appreciate it if neither of you told Utahime that all these drinks have been spiked with Firewhiskey by yours truly.” He points with his chin behind your shoulders to where Utahime is clumsily attempting to teach Mei Mei how to do the two-step.

Aleksandar grabs a goblet of something orange and fizzy, passing one to you before taking one for himself. It tastes sweet, and slightly sour, and it bubbles deliciously on your tongue before you swallow. The two of you bid farewell to Satoru and venture towards a quieter, more secluded spot. “This is nice, no?” he asks, and you hum in agreement.

“You’re quite popular tonight.”

You freeze, recognising the tone before you even begin to turn. Slowly, you glance over your shoulder to find Suguru standing a few feet away, his date nowhere to be seen. You hate how seeing him alone fills you with a twisted sense of triumph. His expression is carefully blank, unreadable, and for a moment the noise of the Great Hall fades away.

“I didn’t realise you were keeping track,” you reply evenly.

His lips curve slightly, not enough to be a smirk but enough to make your skin prickle. “Of course not. Just observing.”

You tilt your head, offering him a smile that borders on a grimace. “That’s very thoughtful of you. Maybe you should focus on your own date instead of mine, though.”

Aleksandar shifts beside you, but he remains silent. Suguru’s gaze flicks briefly to him before settling back on you. “She’s more than capable of taking care of herself. Besides, you seem to enjoy the attention.”

“I’m sorry—are you implying something?”

“Not at all.” Suguru steps closer, and, voice low, continues, “Just that you seem to be… compensating.”

The jab cuts deeper than you want to admit. “Compensating for what?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, letting the silence drag on long enough to make your stomach twist. “You tell me.”

Before you can respond, Aleksandar clears his throat, his green eyes darting in between you both. “I think I’ll grab another drink. Excuse me,” he says, and slips away with a polite nod.

“Great,” you mutter, glaring at Suguru. “Now you’ve scared off my date.”

“Oh, please. He’ll come back. He’s too invested in playing the perfect gentleman to leave you alone for too long.”

“And what about you? Where’s your date, Suguru? Or did she finally realise what an insufferable prat you are?”

His eyes narrow. “She’s fine. Unlike you, I don’t need to flaunt her to get a reaction.”

“What, in Merlin’s name, is your problem?” you hiss. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, a mix of anger and something else you don’t want to name.

“My problem?” he repeats, a dry laugh escaping his throat. “You, apparently. Always finding a way to needle at me.”

“You’re the one who came over here,” you shoot back. “If you have such an issue with me, why not stay on your side of the Great Hall?”

The Hogwarts champion’s gaze flickers briefly, something shuttering in his expression. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I just wanted to see how long you’d keep up the act.”

Your brows furrow; your patience is wearing thin. Placing your half-empty goblet on a nearby floating tray, you cross your arms over your chest. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“That guy,” he says, gesturing at Aleksandar’s retreating figure. “Pretending like you’re actually interested in him.”

You stare at him, your chest tightening at the implication. “Stop it,” you say quietly, steadily.

“Stop what?”

“Stop acting like you care,” you snap. “You made it perfectly clear earlier whose side you were on. Don’t act like you suddenly care about who I spend my time with.”

The mention of your earlier argument over Toji hangs heavy between you, and for a moment, Suguru looks away, jaw tightening. Really, you’re thankful Fushiguro isn’t anywhere near you both. Knowing him, you think he’s the sort of person who thrives off of attention, no matter whether it’s good or bad. He’d be elated to know that Hogwarts’ beloved champion and the school’s runner-up are locked in an argument over him—but it’s not really about Fushiguro Toji, is it?

“I don’t care,” he says finally, though his words lack conviction. “Maybe I just don’t like seeing you waste your time.”

“Funny,” you reply. “I could say the same about you.”

The words linger in the air, stubborn as static. Suguru’s eyebrows knit together, and he reaches out and grabs your wrist—not roughly, but firmly enough to send your pulse racing. “We’re not doing this here,” he says, through gritted teeth, pulling you towards the door.

“What are you—” you start, but he cuts you off with a brisk, “Just come with me.”

You inhale sharply, but follow him down the hallways and up the staircases. You know where he’s taking you before the door to the Room of Requirement even appears. Once inside, the door shuts with a soft click, leaving the two of you alone in the dimly-lit space. You pull your hand free, glaring at him.

“What the Hell is this about, Suguru?”

“You infuriate me,” he says, voice cutting and low and breathless. “You drive me fucking insane, did you know? I dislike you so much.”

You blink at him like he’s just sprouted another head. “What the fuck? How much did Satoru let you drink?”

“I’m not drunk,” he says, eyes narrowing. “I’m just angry—and jealous. I’m so envious, Merlin help me.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

A wry, sardonic chuckle escapes his throat. He lowers his head, strands of hair that spill out of the ribbon framing his face. “I don’t know.”

“You’re such a hypocrite.” You swallow around the lump that forms in your throat. Goosebumps erupt across your shoulders when a sudden cold draft of wind makes you shiver. “I hate you.”

He lifts his face, then, gaze resting on your lips. His mouth parts slightly, as though to say something, but no words come out. Instead, he takes a step closer, and it feels like the room shrinks around you with each inch of space he eliminates. “You hate me?” 

Your heart pounds as you glare up at him, refusing to yield. “I do,” you snap, though your voice wavers just slightly.

Suguru lets out a bitter laugh. “Liar,” he says, so quietly, it almost doesn’t register. His hand moves before you can think to react, cupping your jaw, fingers brushing along the sensitive skin behind your ear. His thumb skims your cheek. “You hate me so much, but you’re still here. You can walk away. I won’t stop you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You stay rooted in the spot, and your nails dig into your palms. “Shut up,” you whisper, though it sounds more like a plea than a command.

He doesn’t. Instead, his thumb moves lower, brushing along the corner of your mouth, lips turning up in a half-smirk when he sees the way your eyes flutter shut for the briefest of moments. “You’re flustered,” he notes, soft, “but you hate me, right?”

Something inside you snaps. With every ounce of venom you can muster, you repeat, “I do.”

And then you’re grabbing him by the front of his emerald green dress robes, yanking him down until your lips crash against his. It’s uncoordinated, a clashing of teeth and anger and frustration. Suguru freezes for half a second before he groans against your mouth, his hands sliding to your waist as he pulls you flush against him. 

It’s not gentle. His lips are rough, demanding, teeth scraping your bottom lip as if to punish you for every word you’ve ever said to rile him up. But you’re just as relentless, fingers tangling in his hair while you blindly undo the ribbon holding it in place, pulling sharply enough to draw a hiss from his throat. 

“You’re impossible,” you mutter against his mouth, breath coming out in short gasps.

“So are you,” he fires back. His lips trail down to your jaw, teeth grazing the skin there. “You drive me mad.”

You don’t bother replying, instead tugging his hair harder, forcing his mouth back to yours. His hands tighten on your waist, fingers digging into the silk of your dress as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. You’re barely aware of the way Suguru backs you up against the nearest wall, his body pressing against yours while his mouth moves hungrily against your own.

“Say it,” he murmurs against your lips, low but somehow pleading.

“Say what?” you breathe out, though you know exactly what he means.

“Say you don’t hate me,” he demands, the words said into your neck, teeth skating over your skin and making you shudder.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you bite back a gasp. “No,” you whisper defiantly.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes dark and wild, chest rising and falling heavily. “Liar,” he mutters again, before crashing his lips against yours and swallowing any further protests.

(Later, when you stir from sleep, your dress barely doing anything to shield you from the chill, the first thing you notice is Suguru beside you. His head rests against the stone floor, hair unbound and spilling like ink over the cold surface. You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you do know how you ended up so close, your hands almost touching.

When his eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep, neither of you speaks. He exhales softly, gaze dipping to where your fingers nearly meet, and though his lips don’t form the words, the apology is there. You know this because he hooks his little finger with yours, and squeezes.)

For the next month, you do the logical thing: You avoid Geto Suguru at all costs.

This, you’ve decided, is a perfectly reasonable course of action. A brilliant one, even. It takes careful planning—adjusting your usual routes between classes, lingering longer than necessary in the library, arriving at meals either too early, or too late—but you are nothing if not meticulous, and you refuse to let him and your feelings for him become an inconvenience. 

You do feel guilty, however, about not helping him out with the second task, but the way you see it, Suguru is more than intelligent enough to figure it out on his own. (You refuse to acknowledge the fact that you spend time trying to piece it out when you can’t sleep at night, staring up at the canopy of your four-poster bed.)

You’re doing quite well, really. Or, you would be, if not for your insufferable friends.

The courtyard is unusually lively today. The air hums with the lingering remnants of winter, crisp but pleasant beneath the afternoon sun. Students—both Hogwarts and not—lounge in clusters across the stone benches and patches of grass, basking in the rare moment of warmth. Laughter carries through the open space like birdsong.

You sit with your friends at one of the broader stone benches, a small pile of books and a stray Golden Snitch hovering in the air beside you (pilfered from the Quidditch supply closet by Slytherin’s star seeker, Gojo Satoru himself). It should be peaceful. It should be, but—

“You’re objectively wrong, and I refuse to entertain this nonsense any further.” Utahime crosses her arms, looking positively scandalised.

Satoru scoffs. “Utahime, be serious.”

“I am serious! You’re the one who sounds like an idiot.”

“I am an idiot,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “But at least I’m right.”

Shoko exhales slowly, pressing her fingers against her temples. “Merlin’s beard, what are you two even arguing about?”

“More importantly,” Mei Mei pipes up, swiping the Snitch from the air, “are we supposed to care?”

“Yes,” you say dryly, “if only to prevent them from tearing each other apart in the middle of the courtyard.”

Utahime turns to you, looking deeply affronted. “You agree with me, don’t you?”

“I don’t even know what the argument is about.”

Satoru gestures broadly with both palms. “I’m simply saying that if a Thestral and a Hippogriff were to fight, the Thestral would obviously win.”

Silence. You blink. “That’s what you’re arguing about?”

“First of all,” Utahime says, ignoring your incredulity, “that is completely wrong.”

“Oh, this will be good,” Satoru says, only a tad bit sarcastic. He sprawls onto a patch of dewy grass and leans back on his hands. “Do explain.”

“Hippogriffs are way more aggressive than Thestrals,” Utahime says. “And they have stronger beaks and claws. They’d win in a fight easily.”

“Thestrals literally eat meat,” Satoru argues. “They’re meant to take things down.”

“So do Hippogriffs!” Utahime points out. “Thestrals eat meat, but that doesn’t mean they’re fighters. They hunt only when necessary. They won’t even attack unless provoked.”

“Alright, but let’s say they were provoked—”

“By what, your stupidity?”

Satoru grins. “At least Thestrals don’t try to smite your face off because you bowed down to greet them at the wrong angle. Plus, they have the advantage of being invisible to everyone except those who’ve come face-to-face with death.”

Utahime makes a noise of frustration, and before you know it, the conversation has devolved into a full-blown debate. Mei Mei, ever the neutral one, watches with amusement, and Shoko starts taking sides. She and Utahime argue passionately in favour of Hippogriffs, citing their sheer power and aggression, while Satoru insists that Thestrals are stronger due to their skeletal structure and ability to take down large prey. You are promptly dragged into the discussion, despite having absolutely no opinion on the matter.

“It’s obviously a Hippogriff,” Utahime exclaims, gesturing wildly.

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” the only Slytherin in the group shoots back.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s insulting.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Honestly, this is the dumbest thing I’ve ever—”

“You agree with me, don’t you?” Satoru rounds on you, eyes gleaming. 

You exhale, immediately regretting being within earshot of this conversation. “What?”

“You agree that a Thestral would win.”

You narrow your eyes. “I never said that.”

“Yeah, but you will.”

You sigh defeatedly, looking to the others for support, but Utahime merely juts her chin out. “Suguru wouldn’t agree with you,” she says pointedly.

Satoru snorts. “Suguru would agree with whatever she—” he points to you— “says.”

And just like that, your world tilts. The conversation continues around you—more bickering, more laughter—but it all fades into a dull hum, a sort of background noise to the sudden rushing in your ears. Suguru would agree with whatever you say.

It’s absurd. It’s just Gojo Satoru being Gojo Satoru, throwing out careless words without stopping to think about them. But the worst part—the part that unsettles you the most—is that he might be right.

You think of the way Suguru used to argue with you, sharp-tongued and obstinate, yet never truly cruel. How he always listened, even when he pretended not to. How, more often than not, he did end up on your side, whether by reason or sheer inevitability.

You inhale sharply, hands curling into fists on your lap. You make no move to join back in on the conversation—because, really, what is there to say?

That you can still feel the ghost of his hands on your skin? That you can still taste the Butterbeer he’d had on the eve of the Yule Ball when he slotted his lips against yours? That his name has lodged itself between your ribs, stubborn as a curse? That your heart stutters at the mere thought of him; that you cannot—will not—let yourself dwell on what could be if you let go of your pride, and he relinquished his arrogance?

No, there’s nothing to say at all.

When you agreed to help Utahime rearrange the awards and plaques in the Trophy Room after classes, you certainly were not expecting her to lock you up in said room with one Geto Suguru. If it was any of your other friends—Shoko, Satoru—you would not have been very inclined to help out, but it was Utahime who asked, which is why you acquiesced. At least you can say, with utmost certainty, that sweet, loving Utahime Iori is not sweet or loving at all.

There’s a brief moment of silence as the heavy door slams shut behind you; you reach for your pocket instinctively to pull out your wand and cast Alohomora—the Unlocking Charm—and make your escape. Then, you belatedly realise that you’d left your wand in your dormitory after classes. Your fingers curl around nothing, and you feel rather stupid. 

Dust motes dance in the golden afternoon light, settling over gleaming plaques and silver trophies, their engravings telling stories of menial victories long past. The air smells like polish, but you hardly notice. Your pulse roars in your ears, loud enough to drown out all other sound but the one voice you had hoped to avoid indefinitely.

“Utahime,” you call through the door, voice strained but not yet desperate. “This isn’t funny.”

There’s no answer, save for the sound of retreating footsteps. You spin on your heel, fully prepared to ignore Suguru entirely until Utahime returns, but then he shifts—just the slightest movement, a tilt of his head, a shift of his weight from one foot to the other—and it’s as if some sort of invisible thread yanks you to him.

“I didn’t expect the Head Girl to actually agree to bring you here,” he says, voice low.

He looks tired. You hate that you notice.

His hair is loose, strands slipping over his shoulders, dark against the pale slope of his throat. His uniform is slightly disheveled—tie loosened, shirt rolled up to his elbows—but it’s his face that makes something in you twist uncomfortably. There are shadows beneath his eyes, bruised with exhaustion, and though his usual easy arrogance lingers in the set of his jaw, his shoulders are rigid, as though he’s bracing for impact.

You force yourself to turn away, to focus on the nearest plaque. The etched names are a blur as you try and fail to appear unaffected. Draconius Falmoy: Head Boy, 1869, it reads.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Suguru says. There is no accusation in his tone—just fact, cold and clear as glass.

You trace the name engraved on the plaque with a fingertip. “I’ve been busy.”

A humourless laugh. “Right. Too busy to even look at me?”

You clench your teeth. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” His voice sharpens, something brittle underlying it. “You haven’t spoken to me in a month. I don’t even know if you’d still acknowledge my existence if we weren’t locked in her together.”

You suck in a breath sharply, counting backward from ten in your head. You’ve spent weeks perfecting the art of pretending Suguru doesn’t exist; you’re not about to let him unravel it now. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” you manage to say, turning around to face him properly at last. “That I’m sorry? That I feel guilty?”

Suguru watches you, unreadable, dark eyes wrought with something you can’t name. “I didn’t ask for an apology.”

“No,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, “but you clearly want one.”

Something in his expression flickers—hurt, maybe, or something close to it—but it vanishes so quickly, you think you might have imagined it. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face.

“I don’t understand you,” he says finally. “You kissed me, and then you disappeared.”

Your stomach lurches. “It wasn’t—”

“What?” He steps forward, gaze locked on yours. “It wasn’t supposed to happen? It didn’t mean anything?”

You hesitate, because you know that’s what you should say. You should roll your eyes, scoff, tell him he’s being ridiculous and move on like the Yule Ball never happened. He takes another step forward, and he’s close, now—close enough that you catch the faint scent of parchment and cedarwood, familiar enough after all the weeks you’ve spent in the Room of Requirement with him. You should say, Of course it didn’t mean anything, Suguru, don’t be stupid, but the words stick in your throat, prickly and unyielding.

“Tell me it meant nothing, and I won’t bother you ever again,” he promises, soft, and somehow that’s worse.

You swallow hard. “Suguru—”

He shakes his head, a bitter smile curling at his lips. “Nevermind.” He turns away, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’re good at that, aren’t you? Pretending.”

 The words cut deeper than they should. You don’t respond, because what could you possibly say? That he’s right? That every morning, you tell yourself it was a mistake, that it didn’t matter, that you can keep pretending it never happened—only to feel his touch lingering on your skin like a phantom’s fingers?

No. You can’t say any of that. Instead, you press your lips together and say nothing.

The silence that follows is thick and heavy and suffocating. You don’t move. Neither does he. You count the seconds in your head, waiting for something—anything—to break this unbearable tension.

Then, at long last, a knock raps against the door. “Alright,” Utahime calls out, sounding far too smug for your liking. “I think you’ve suffered enough.”

The lock clicks. The door swings open. Suguru doesn’t spare you a glance as he strides past, his shoulder just barely brushing yours as he leaves. The Trophy Room suddenly feels too big, too quiet, and you’re left standing alone amidst the gleaming remnants of past victories, your heartbeat echoing loud in your ears. (You have the gnawing feeling that Draconius Falmoy, Head Boy of Hogwarts in 1869 would laugh at your predicament.)

“I’m sorry,” Utahime tells you, as you fall in step with her. “He kept asking me to help him find a way to talk to you—he even promised he would donate the thousand Galleons he gets as prize money for the Triwizard Tournament to St. Mungo’s Hospital of Magical Maladies and Injuries, if he wins.”

You don’t say anything, only look down at the stone floor of the corridor as you walk back to Gryffindor Tower. You can’t fault Utahime; she has always been extremely kind-hearted and gentle, and you know the idea of a donation to the wizarding hospital would sway her completely—especially considering the fact that it’s been her dream to become a Healer after she graduates Hogwarts.

“Are you mad at me?” she asks, after a beat.

“No,” you say, flashing her a small smile that you hope is convincing. Truthfully, you’re just mad at yourself.

The plan is simple: Bribe Geto Suguru with sweets and pray he doesn’t hex you on sight.

It’s not your most sophisticated scheme, nor your most dignified, but after an entire month of avoidance, and the disaster that was the Trophy Room incident, you’ve resigned yourself to desperate measures. You are doing this, not because you feel guilty, but because you had agreed to help him out with the Tournament, and you don’t want to feel like a shitty person for going back on your word. Regrettably, it is incredibly difficult to help someone when you can’t look them in the eye.

Aforementioned desperate measures include grilling Shoko for every last detail about Suguru’s favourite things. She doesn’t make it easy.

“You’re acting like you’re about to woo him,” she’d remarked, flipping idly through the pages of her Potions textbook and entirely uninterested in your plight.

“I’m not trying to woo him.”

“You’re learning all of his favourite things, buying him chocolates, agonising over the best way to give them to him—all on Valentine’s day, too. I’m certain that that’s called wooing.”

Your face had burned; it wasn’t your fault the organisers decided to conduct the second task only ten days before the holiday of love. “I’m apologising,” you’d insisted.

Shoko had hummed, but despite her incredulousness, she’d humoured you and rattled off a list of trivial details about Suguru’s preferences—his favourite tea (jasmine), his favourite book (something tedious and philosophical), the subjects he likes best (Charms and Transfiguration, though you knew this already). Most importantly, of course, the only Honeydukes chocolates he actually cares for: dark chocolate-covered honeycomb. (“But only from Honeydukes,” Shoko had warned. “He says the other ones taste like burnt sugar.”)

Which is how you find yourself in Hogsmeade, the wizarding village closest to Hogwarts, the morning air crisp and cold, clutching a small, carefully-wrapped box of sweets like your life depends on it. Hogsmeade is lively, bustling with students eager to escape the castle for the day. The scent of butterbeer and freshly-baked pastries wafts through the air. All around you, couples wander hand-in-hand, jumpers pulled tight around their bodies to ward off the early spring chill, and their laughter bright against the grey sky. Shopfronts are decorated in ridiculous shades of pink and red, hearts and flowers strung across windows in celebration of Valentine’s Day.

The sight makes you feel vaguely ill, because this is not a romantic gesture. (Then why does it feel like your heart is about to leap out of your throat every time you think of him?)

You don’t linger in Honeydukes—Hogsmeade’s best chocolatier—for longer than necessary, as much as the toasty warmth and aroma of cocoa makes you want to stay. Making quick work of purchasing the chocolates, you step back out onto the cobbled streets, heart hammering at the thought of what you’re about to do. 

It’s not that you’re nervous. Not really. It’s just that approaching Suguru after everything feels a bit like facing a sleeping dragon—you don’t know if he’ll tolerate your presence or scorch you on sight. Still, you have to try.

You find him standing outside The Three Broomsticks, a pub and restaurant owned by the friendly Madam Rosmerta. He is not alone; Satoru and a few Durmstrang students surround him. He looks relaxed, hands tucked into his pockets, but there’s something in his expression that wasn’t there before. The tiredness clings to him still, there in the worn-out slump of his shoulders. Guilt gnaws at your ribs.

You hesitate, watching him laugh at something Satoru says. Maybe this is stupid. Maybe he doesn’t care anymore. Maybe—

Suguru turns and sees you. You don’t think you’ve ever stood so still in your life.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. The noise of Hogsmeade fades into the background, muffled and distant, like the world has shrunk down to just the space between you. His expression is shuttered, brows knitted together in a frown.

Your fingers tighten around the box. You should leave. You should turn around, pretend you never saw him, and—

His gaze flickers to your hands. Oh, Merlin’s beard.

With a sharp inhale, you straighten your spine and march forward before you can change your mind. Satoru notices you first, perking up like a dog catching sight of a squirrel. “Hey, look who it is! Fancy seeing you over here.”

You ignore him and stop directly in front of Suguru. His eyes widen slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to actually approach him. You shove the box into his hands.

Suguru blinks, catching it before it can fall. “What—?”

“It’s an apology,” you mutter, staring at the ground. “Take it or leave it.”

He doesn’t say anything immediately. You wonder, vaguely, if you’ve made a horrible mistake. If he’ll laugh, or hand it back, or— “...Honeycomb?” he asks quietly.

“...Yeah.”

Something shifts in his eyes, something subtle and indecipherable. He stares at the box, fingers tightening around the edges. When he finally looks back at you, there’s something in his gaze that makes your breath hitch. 

You don’t wait to see what he does next. Instead, you turn on your heel and walk away, determined to ignore the pounding of your heart. 

You don’t look back. You don’t see the way he watches you go, either.

(That night, when you tentatively enter the Room of Requirement for the first time in what feels like forever, you find Suguru already there, sitting cross-legged on one of the cushions. The box of Honeydukes chocolates lies open on the ground in front of him. You drop down onto the cushion opposite him, and wordlessly, he pushes the box closer to you.)

The sky is pale, streaked with the last wisps of winter clouds, the sun still struggling to bring warmth to the February chill. It is not quite cold, not quite warm, that strange in-between where the air nips at exposed skin but doesn’t truly bite. The Quidditch pitch has been transformed. The stands are packed with students, banners waving in the light breeze, and an expectant hush hangs over the crowds, despite the murmur of conversation. 

The Black Lake gleams darkly in the distance, but the task does not take place in its depths. Instead, the champions stand in a row on the dewy grass of the Quidditch pitch, preparing for whatever horrors the second task of the Triwizard Tournament entails.

You already know what those horrors are. 

The riddle had taken a frustratingly long time to decode, to come up with a proper answer instead of a mere hunch. Ego sum prinicipium mundi et finis saeculorum; once the answer had clicked into place, it had seemed almost too simple. I am the beginning of the world and the end of ages. What was the first thing humans ever knew? What was the last thing they felt before death? 

Fear.

And so, the second task would force the champions to face their deepest fears, drawn from the constellations carved into the rings they had procured from the first task. It is an elegant, cruel bit of magic—one that ensures their struggles are uniquely personal.

From your place in the stands, you’re offered a clear view of the champions standing in the centre of the field, their expressions barely concealing their tension. Their rings glint in the light, the engraved constellations gleaming like ancient runes. Anticipation coats each of the champions like a second skin, shoulders stiff, hands clenched, magic thrumming in the air. You’d arrived earlier than your friends, so you sit alone, fingers curling into the hem of your robes.

In front of the champions is a large, dome-like structure that shimmers faintly with spells and charms. That is where the task will take place, hidden from the eyes of the over-eager audience to grant the champions some semblance of privacy while they complete the second task. 

You spot Suguru immediately. He stands with his back straight, arms crossed over his chest, face completely blank. His long hair is tied back loosely, a few strands slipping free and brushing against his cheeks. He does not fidget, does not shift from foot to foot like the other two, but there is a tightness to his stance, a rigidity in the way his shoulders refuse to relax.

A hush falls over the crowd as the first champion is announced to enter the dueling arena. Aleksandar Ivanov tries to hide his nervousness, but you can see the slight hesitation in his step and the way he grips his wand so tightly, his knuckles turn white. His ring bears the constellation Hydra, the many-headed serpent—a symbol of resilience, of something that cannot be easily destroyed. You wonder what he fears.

A glittering door begins to take shape, starting from the base of the dome. It creaks open, revealing a dark, yawning abyss beyond. Shadows slither across the ground, shifting and twisting, while the Boggart inside, enhanced by Tournament magic, begins to take form. 

Boggarts, as you’ve studied in your Defence Against the Dark Arts class, are amortal, shape-shifting non-beings that take on the form of its observer’s worst fear. Because of their shape-shifting ability, no one knows what a Boggart’s true shape is, as it changes form instantly upon encountering someone. The incantation used to banish a Boggart is simple—dispel the fear with amusement while casting Riddikulus. However, seeing as the Boggarts the champions must face are magically enhanced, you suspect a simple Boggart-Banishing Spell will not be enough. The thought alone is enough to fill your mind with worry.

Aleksandar steps into the darkness, the door vanishing behind him. The rules are simple: Each champion must navigate a maze of illusions, battle their own fears, and rescue the person chosen for them. The champion who succeeds in the shortest amount of time will earn the most points. An enchanted hourglass hovers in the air, grains of sand slipping through its neck to mark the passage of time.

You barely breathe as the minutes tick by, until Aleksandar finally emerges. His friend—the person he had to rescue—jogs out behind him, looking ashen but otherwise alright. It’s the Durmstrang champion whose face is drawn, whose hands are trembling. He is victorious—but shaken.

The Beauxbatons champion is next. Amélie takes longer than expected. She stumbles as she exits, her breath ragged, and her face streaked with something that might be tears. Her hands shake so violently that she can barely accept the glass of water being handed to her.

It is grueling. It is cruel.

And Suguru is yet to go.

You swallow hard as he steps forward, the light catching the gold of his ring, the constellation Lupus etched onto its surface. The wolf—strength, transformation. But strength does not mean the absence of fear.

He does not hesitate, moving towards the dome’s entrance. You can hear people whispering around you—students murmuring their predictions, placing their bets, trying to guess what exactly a boy like Geto Suguru could possibly fear. You grip the edge of your robes tightly.

The door shimmers into existence before him, tall and forbidding. It creaks open slowly, revealing the same thing it has for the previous two champions—an abyss of darkness, shifting and coiling like smoke. He steps inside. The door disappears. The enchanted hourglass flips, grains of sand slipping through its narrow neck. You exhale, only then realising that you had held your breath.

The stands are still buzzing with conversation, but it is nothing more than a distant hum in your ears. Your entire focus is on the closed dome, on the way your heart beats faster than it should, as if your body already knows something your mind is yet to understand.

What is he afraid of? 

Suguru is not fearless—no one is—but he has always carried himself in a way that makes him seem like he is. Unshaken, unbothered, his composure held so effortlessly that it has always frustrated you in ways you dare not name. He stands with an arrogance that makes it hard to imagine him afraid of anything at all.

Still, you know that arrogance is a performance. A shield. Suguru hates appearing weak, more than anything else, so he deludes everyone else into thinking he is not. You had thought that the riddle that you had agonised over for weeks was cruel in itself, but this is worse. The waiting. The not-knowing.

Your stomach twists into impossible knots as the minutes drag on. Five minutes. Six. Eight. You count each grain of sand slipping down the hourglass. Ten minutes pass.

Twelve minutes, and then—

The door bursts open. Suguru steps into the light, and he is not alone. Your breath catches in your throat.

Gojo Satoru stumbles behind him, blinking against the sudden brightness. His white hair is disheveled, his expression more one of confusion than relief. He shakes Suguru off with a scowl, tugging his sleeve free from where Suguru’s fingers still grip the fabric.

“You didn’t have to drag me—” Satoru starts, but he stops as soon as he catches sight of Suguru’s face. His expression shifts; wariness replaces irritation, amusement slips away like a mask crumbling at the edges.

Suguru stands rigid, shoulders taut with unnatural tension. His face is stony, unreadable, perfectly blank in the way that only means he’s holding something back.

The hourglass stops. It has only been slightly less than thirteen minutes.

Geto Suguru is the fastest champion to finish the second task of the Triwizard Tournament.

The cheers begin, slow at first—someone in the stands starts shouting his name, then another, and another, until the entire pitch is filled with applause and hoots. You barely hear it.

Suguru is not okay.

He doesn’t acknowledge the cheering, doesn’t even react to it. His jaw is clenched so tightly that you can see the strain in his muscles. He isn’t even looking at Satoru anymore—his gaze is fixed somewhere beyond him, unfocused and distant.

Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, his eyes lift—and he sees you.

For a fleeting moment, something breaks in his expression. A flicker of something raw and fractured, a crack in the mask. He huffs quietly, tiredly, and he walks away without a word.

Your stomach sinks. Something is wrong.

You barely notice the way the crowd is still celebrating his victory, the way students are excitedly chatting about how he finished faster than anyone else, because of course he did—Geto Suguru is the strongest, after all.

(But strength does not mean the absence of fear.)

Your fingers tremble slightly as you watch his retreating figure. His posture is stiff, and his steps are too controlled. You should look away, should let him leave. You should accept that whatever happened inside that dome is his burden to carry.

But you can’t, because suddenly, all you can think of is the way he looked at you just now. Like he needed to see you; like you needed to see him.

And, well, it’s quite silly in retrospect, but it’s a realisation that settles over you quietly, as if it’s been there all along and you’ve just stupidly buried it underneath your own pride and arrogance: You don’t hate Geto Suguru at all.

“Go away,” Suguru says, stubborn as ever. He is propped up against a pillow on one of the beds in the Hospital Wing. An empty vial of Calming Draught is placed on the stand next to him, though you don’t mention it. Beside it, a half-empty box of Honeydukes chocolates.

“No,” you tell him, just as obstinate.

Suguru scowls. “I don’t want company.”

You ignore him, dragging a nearby chair closer to his bedside with an obnoxious scrape against the floor before sitting down. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the tall windows of the Hospital Wing, where the afternoon light spills golden over the Hogwarts grounds. His hair is slightly damp—most likely due to sweat—and the dark strands cling to his forehead.

“Are you hurt?” you ask, eyes flicking to the empty vial of Calming Draught.

He scoffs. “Wouldn’t be here if I was.”

“You are here.”

He sighs, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, as if trying to rub away whatever still lingers in his mind. “It’s just protocol. The Healers made me take a Calming Draught after the task, and apparently, that warrants a few hours of observation.”

You glance at him. He might not be physically injured, but there is something wrong, something unsettling in the way he carries himself. 

“You were in there only for thirteen minutes,” you say carefully. “That’s— That’s insane, actually.”

“I won, didn’t I?” he mutters.

“That’s not what I asked.”

He barks out a short laugh. “No. It isn’t.”

Silence, again. Suguru isn’t like this—not normally. He thrives in competition, in the thrill of battle, in the excitement of a challenge. He doesn’t dwell. He doesn’t let things linger like ghosts at the edges of his thoughts. But right now, it feels like he is being haunted.

“I saw your face when you came out,” you say, quieter this time. “You weren’t okay.”

His fingers curl into the sheets, gripping tightly. “It was just a Boggart.”

“A magically enhanced Boggart,” you remind him. “We don’t know how they worked, what they—”

“It’s over,” he snaps, cutting you off. “I’m done talking about it.”

You stare at him, waiting for him to meet your gaze, but he doesn’t. His shoulders are rigid—drawn tighter than they were before the task commenced—and his body is tense, as if he’s holding something in so tightly, it might crack him apart.

“...Was it Satoru?” you ask gently. “Is that what you—”

Suguru flinches, and somehow, that tells you enough. Your stomach twists. What did he see? Suguru and Satoru had come out of the dome together—Satoru unharmed, though clearly confused. The task had required him to rescue someone, and he’d done just that by saving his best friend. But what had he seen in there?

Suguru finally exhales, turning his head to you. “It was just a task,” he says. “And I won. That’s all that matters.”

“Stop pretending,” you say, voice sharper now. “I saw you after the task, and you weren’t fine. You still aren’t.”

Suguru narrows his eyes at you, but doesn’t respond. Instead, he looks away again, staring out the window like it might offer him some escape. You wait for some kind of acknowledgement, some crack in his carefully constructed walls. 

“I’m fine,” he says, but it’s too strained to be convincing. “It was just a stupid Boggart. It’s over.”

“No, it’s not,” you argue. “It’s obviously still bothering you, so just—just admit it. Tell me what happened, Suguru. I can try to help.”

He whips his head back toward you, eyebrows furrowed, patience wearing thin. “I don’t need to explain myself to you,” he snaps. “It’s over. I’m fine. End of story.”

You refuse to back down. “Don’t shut me out. I’m not going to just sit here and pretend I didn’t see the way you almost cracked when you came out of the dome!”

Suguru’s eyes flash with anger, his fingers curling into fists on his thighs. “I don’t need your pity, alright? So just drop it.”

“No, I can’t just drop it.” Your voice trembles with frustration. Why won’t he just listen? “I fucking care about you, and I can see it’s bothering you. What the Hell are you so afraid of?”

His entire body stiffens at your words. His gaze darts away again, and you know—you know—he’s trying to hold something back. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but then he shuts it again.

“I’m not afraid,” he mutters, but there’s a brittleness to his voice that betrays him. “I told you, I’m fine. It’s over. Stop pushing.”

“You’re lying. What is it? What did you see in there?”

Suguru glares at you, his chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. Then, in a sudden burst of frustration, he spits out the words that he’s been holding back for far too long. “It was you, alright?!”

You freeze. “...What?”

“It was you,” Suguru repeats harshly. “I saw you in there—but you weren’t you.” he falters, but the words keep coming. “You—your eyes—they were empty, like something had taken you and left nothing behind. I couldn’t reach you. You were just standing there. Gone.” He stops, swallowing hard, trying to reign in his emotions, but it’s too late.

Your mouth runs dry, your pulse racing as his words echo in your head.

Suguru turns away from you, but you can see the rigidness in his back. “I couldn’t—couldn’t bring you back. I tried, but you were just gone, and there was nothing I could do.” He inhales wearily. “Like a Dementor had sucked the soul out of you, and I couldn’t do anything about it because my Patronus Charm wouldn’t fucking work, and—”

Your mind whirls. You know his fear now. It’s not some grand disaster, some monstrous threat—it’s losing you. Losing you in some way that he can’t fix.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

For a long moment, you don’t speak. The only sound between you is the faint rustling of the Hospital Wing curtains shifting in the late afternoon breeze. Suguru’s chest rises and falls unsteadily. He refuses to look at you now, as if saying it out loud was already enough, as if giving his fear a form has made it real.

Of all the things you could have imagined, you’d never expected this. Suguru, who meets every challenge with an infuriating smirk, who stands unshaken even in the face of the impossible—he had been terrified. And it had been because of you.

You open your mouth, then close it. What do you even say to something like that?

Your heart aches at the way he’s withdrawn, curling in on himself as though he’s trying to make himself smaller. As though, now his secret has slipped, he’s bracing himself for whatever comes next.

So, instead of speaking, you move. Slowly, cautiously, you reach forward and wrap your arms around him.

Suguru stiffens immediately. His whole body goes tense under your touch, like he’s caught between the instinct to pull away and the desperate need to hold on. But then, after a beat of hesitation, he exhales shakily—and lets himself collapse into you.

It almost knocks the breath out of your lungs. His arms lock around you, tight—so impossibly tight that it almost hurts. He buries his face against your shoulder, and he grips onto you like he’s afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear; like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re real, that you’re here.

You don’t say anything. You just hold him.

His breathing is uneven, shallow at first, but gradually, as you rub slow circles into his back, it steadies. One of his hands curls into the fabric of your robes at your waist, clutching you like you’re a lifeline.

You feel him take a shuddering breath. “I know it wasn’t real,” he murmurs into your shoulder. “I know that. But it—fuck, it felt real.”

You nod, letting him press himself closer. “I know,” you whisper.

“I couldn’t do anything,” he admits. “I couldn’t do anything. I was right there, and you—you were just standing there, and I kept calling your name, but you didn’t even blink. And my Patronus—it wouldn’t work.” His grip on you tightens. “It wouldn’t fucking work.”

You don’t need him to explain why that matters. A Patronus is a partially-tangible positive energy force created from the caster’s happiest memories, either incorporeal as a burst of white mist, or corporeal—stronger than the incorporeal one—where it takes the form of an animal. It’s used to ward off Dark Magic—most commonly, creatures known as Dementors, which thrive off of negative emotions. The image of you, hollow, is what happens if a Dementor gets close enough to a person to perform the Dementor’s Kiss: Sucking the soul out of a person, leaving them a shell of their former selves. The Patronus Charm is complicated and difficult, so much so that most experienced wizards themselves struggle with casting it. 

You know how powerful Suguru’s magic is. The fact that, in his fear, he hadn’t managed to cast it—not even an incorporeal one— 

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “You would’ve saved me.”

He makes a sound at the back of his throat, something like a scoff. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” you say fiercely, protectively. “If that had been real, you would’ve found a way.”

Something in him seems to rupture in him at your words. His arms tighten just a fraction more before he finally—finally—relaxes against you. The tautness in his muscles begins to ease, his breathing growing softer, deeper. He still doesn’t let go, but it isn’t out of desperation. It’s something else now.

“I hate this,” he says, after a pause.

“Hate what?”

“That I had to see that.” He exhales against your skin. “That you had to hear all of this.”

You shake your head, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Suguru.”

He finally lifts his head. His face is guarded but tired—so tired. His eyes, dark as ink, roam over your face. You meet his gaze and let your hands move up, threading gently into his hair. “I don’t care that you’re afraid,” you say, softly. “I’m afraid, too.”

Suguru looks at you for a long time, unreadable. You wonder if he’s going to argue, if he’s going to brush you off, or deflect with sarcasm, the way both of you have been doing all this time. But he doesn’t.

Instead, his hand moves to your face. The touch is hesitant at first; his fingers ghost over your cheek, like he’s still trying to convince himself that you’re real. Then, his thumb brushes over your skin, slow and soft. You don’t dare to breathe.

His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up. “You’re still here,” he murmurs, so quietly that you almost miss it.

And then he kisses you.

It isn’t rushed. It isn’t desperate. It’s slow, reverent—like he’s memorising you, like he’s savouring the fact that you’re here, that you’re warm and breathing and safe in his arms.

Your fingers tighten in his hair as you press closer, melting into him while his lips move against yours. It’s gentle, but when you sigh softly into his mouth, he lets out a quiet groan and deepens the kiss. His hand cups the back of your head, his other arm winding around your waist to pull you closer.

(The door to the Hospital Wing swings open. 

“Oi, Geto, you decent— Oh, Merlin’s saggy balls—”

A loud, scandalised gasp echoes through the room, followed by Gojo Satoru’s unmistakable cackle. You barely have time to react, to get off Suguru’s lap, before he stiffens, head snapping towards the entrance. Standing in the doorway are Shoko and Satoru, both with varying expressions of shock and amusement.

“Oh, don’t stop on our account,” Satoru drawls, sporting a shit-eating grin. “This is way better than what we came here for.”

Shoko hums. “Yeah, I was expecting to find Suguru all sulky and brooding—not getting snogged to within an inch of his life.”

Suguru groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Kill me.”

You, on the other hand, are trying very hard not to combust. “Oh, sweet Merlin.”

Satoru dramatically clutches his chest. “My best friend, growing up so fast. Next thing I know, you’ll be writing poetry about her eyes, or something.”

Suguru, who absolutely has thought about writing poetry about your eyes (though he would rather die than admit it), scowls. “Shut up, Satoru.”

“Can’t. This is the highlight of my week.”

You groan, hiding your burning face in your hands. “I hate both of you.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Shoko coos. “Should we give them some privacy? Maybe light some candles to help them set the mood?”

Wordlessly, Suguru raises a hand and lifts up his middle finger.)

June brings summer hand-in-hand to the castle, and along with it, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. The days leading up to the third task are restless. The maze looms at the edges of the Quidditch Pitch, its towering hedges charmed to shift and writhe, concealing whatever dangers the tournament has yet to unveil. It is a final trial of wit and endurance, a labyrinth where victory lies at the centre.

You hate it.

“You’re scowling,” Suguru observes, watching you from his spot on the grass. He’s leaning back on his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him.

“You should be worried too,” you counter, plopping down next to him. “That thing is practically breathing.”

“And what would you have me do? Duel the shrubbery?”

You huff, glaring at the maze once more before turning back to him. “You’re taking this too lightly.”

He grins. “Because you’re worrying enough for the both of us.”

You reach over and flick his forehead. He lets out a dramatic groan, falling onto his back as though you’ve mortally wounded him. 

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, shaking your head, though you’re biting back a smile of your own. “How am I supposed to be stressed when you’re like this?”

“That’s the idea,” he muses, folding his arms behind his head. His dark hair spills over the grass, strands catching the sunlight. “I can’t have my little lioness fretting herself to an early grave.”

You smack his shoulder without hesitation. “Call me that again, and I’ll start rooting for the maze.”

Suguru barks out a laugh, turning his head to look at you properly. He’s smiling, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll be fine.”

You reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his. He squeezes once, gently, before tugging you closer. You let out a small oomph before sprawling onto the grass next to him. 

The sun dawdles in the horizon, stretching out the day for as long as it will go. You turn your head and brush your lips against his, content and happy. The third task waits, unseen and uncertain, but at least there is this.

Whether Geto Suguru emerges victorious or not—well. That’s insignificant, you think.

INTERESTED IN MORE? CHECK OUT THIS HEAD BOY!RAVENCLAW!NANAMI FIC SET IN THE SAME UNIVERSE BY @mahowaga!

⇢ a/n: if you read this entire thing, i’m giving you a big hug. this fic is so many things, but it is mainly a labour of love towards the fandom that first got me into writing and reading fanfiction at the wee age of eleven, and the fandom that currently occupies most of my tiny little brain. it is also the longest fic i have written till date, and i am proud of myself for it. this fic would not be possible were it not for my two best friends, @mahowaga & @admiringlove helping me out, letting me bounce ideas off of them, wracking our brains together to come up with the second task, and lurking on my google doc while i was writing, leaving comments that make me giggle even now. thank you for reading, and i hope you have a wonderful day!

[crescenthistory]

i'm at 10k for reggie and beauxbatons!reader... should maybe get a beta reader for this one

[junezsq]

nice to meet ya

harry james potter x fem!reader

summary: your first day after transferring to hogwarts is up to a good start when a certain black haired boy can't stop staring at you

warnings: none really? maybe first day nerves, does this count? lol

word count: 1.3k

a/n: maturing means realising harry is underrated in his own series. i was genuinely shocked by how few harry fics there are so decided to take matters into my own hands. here's the beginning to a whirlwind of a love story, enjoy! x

── ᵎᵎ ✦

before daring to enter the great hall of hogwarts for the first time you took a moment to observe the scene playing out in front of you. the grandeur of it all was slightly overwhelming — the enchanted ceiling stretching above like a sky full of clouds, the long tables brimming with students, and the shimmering candles floating in mid-air. a weird mix of excitement and nervousness started swirling around in your stomach.

starting as a third-year transfer, you were aware that the curious glances from some students, the quiet whispers of “new girl,” and the subtle judgment that often accompanies a fresh face were bound to follow you for the upcoming days — maybe even weeks. despite this, the warmth of the hall was undeniable. the voices of fellow students, the laughter, and clinking of cutlery, almost made it feel like home — even if it was a place you'd only just arrived at.

there was something magical about the space, something comforting, like a promise that this would soon be your place, too. the smells of the breakfast feast filled your senses, making your stomach growl.

you glanced down at the crimson and gold fabric of your tie, signifying the house you were sorted in only a moment earlier. your fingers brushed over the edges of the tie as you took a deep breath, feeling uncertainty rise, but you knew that if you'd linger too long, you would only feel more out of place.

with a quiet sigh, you tucked your hair behind your ears. you glanced at the gryffindor table, and after a brief hesitation you took the first step towards your future.

seated somewhere in the middle of the gryffindor table, harry, hermione, and ron were in the midst of their breakfast; the table was littered with plates of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon.

ron, toast in hand, glanced up from his plate, it was then that he noticed you walking through the massive doors leading to the great hall. "isn't that the new girl?" he asked through a mouthful of food, "i heard she just arrived this morning."

hermione, who was sat across the red haired, looked up in curiosity. “she’s a transfer, i think." she murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "i believe she used to go to beauxbatons."

ron tilted his head, watching you intently as you adjusted your tie. “do you think she’s... i dunno, nervous?” he asked. “this place is massive. i’d be proper lost if i was new here.” he glanced at harry, "i mean, we actually did get lost, remember, first year?"

harry, who was sat next to hermione and had been quietly eating, glanced at you as well. his eyes followed your movement as you slowly walked along the gryffindor table — obviously trying to find an empty spot — and his empathy kicked in with a brief tug of understanding. “it’s probably hard, starting a new school in the middle of the year,” he said quietly. “i wouldn’t want to be in her shoes.”

ron sighed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “i know i wouldn’t. wonder if she’s looking for somewhere to sit... we could—”

“ron, don’t be daft,” hermione cut in gently, though there was a kind smile on her face. “she’ll find her way. besides, she might not want to sit with us just yet.”

the red haired grumbled but nodded in agreement, and while he returned to their breakfast, harry couldn’t help but keep a sidelong glance on you, curious about what your story was.

as you made your way along the great hall, you felt the weight of a pair of eyes on you. when you looked around, trying to find who they belonged to, your own eventually fell on the boy with messy jet-black hair. you could sense the quiet curiosity in his look, the way his eyes lingered just a moment too long before flicking away.

your heart beat a little faster, and with a deep breath, you made a decision. instead of shying away, you slightly fastened your pace towards where they were sat.

meanwhile, across the hall, ron’s voice rang out loud enough for hermione and harry to hear, not having noticed you were now heading in their direction. “so, what d’you reckon happened with her sorting? she's in gryffindor judging by her tie.” he asked, taking a dramatic bite of a sausage.

hermione shot him a slightly exasperated look. “ron, you’re not still on about that, are you?”

ron, however, was already getting into his own theories, grinning widely. “what, i’m just saying! i bet the hat had a real hard time deciding where to put her. probably because she's already got a few years of school experience. it’s got to be tough.”

harry, still a little distracted by you, especially since you were now making your way toward them, gave his friend an absent minded nod.

ron continued, oblivious to harry’s distracted expression. “maybe it was, like, really close between gryffindor and slytherin. could you imagine? the sorting hat probably tried to put her in slytherin first, but she was like, ‘no way! no way am i going there.’ which i completely understand, by the way.”

hermione raised an eyebrow. “really, ron?”

ron leaned in slightly closer, “or maybe,” he said dramatically, “the sorting hat was just so impressed with her bravery that it just had to put her in gryffindor. It could’ve been like, ‘you’ve got the guts to stand up for yourself — gryffindor it is!’” he looked up at hermione, beaming as though he’d cracked the case.

at that moment, you had reached their table. ron looked up, finding hermione with her lips pressed together — as if she was trying to hold in her laughter — and harry whose focus had shifted to somewhere behind him. with his mouth still half full of food, ron's eyes widened in realization. “oh — she’s behind me isn't she?” he muttered to the others, a little stunned by how quickly the conversation had shifted from theory to reality.

"surprise." you gave a small, somewhat shy smile. “this is the gryffindor table, right?” you asked, your voice quiet but clear.

ron, still a little flustered, blinked at you, momentarily forgetting his elaborate sorting tale. “oh, yeah! yeah, it is. you’re the new girl, right?”

hermione gave ron a harsh glance before looking up at you, her expression suddenly kind, “you can sit with us,” she said warmly. “we’re all in gryffindor. i’m hermione, by the way.”

you were slightly taken aback at her kindness, but sat down next to ron either way. hermione motioned to her two friends, "this is harry, and ron."

"nice to meet you." you spoke softly, glancing at ron before letting your eyes fall on harry. the pair of eyes that had followed you earlier still had a sense of curiosity to them, and you couldn't help but stare at him as a small smile formed on his lips, "nice to meet you, too."

ron spoke with a grin, causing you to snap your attention away from the boy in front of you, “don’t mind my stories about the sorting hat. i tend to make them up as i go along.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at that, "you weren't too wrong, it told me it could sense my bravery the moment i stepped into dumbledore's office." you shrugged, grabbing a strawberry, "whatever that's supposed to mean?"

a mischievous grin crept upon your lips as ron looked at you with wide eyes. the tension in your shoulders seemed to ease just a little. maybe hogwarts wasn’t going to be so intimidating after all.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

SOUNDTRACK // nice to meet ya, niall horan

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

tu sais que je t'aime bien, non? p2

pair: Fred Weasley x reader requested by anonymous

can you do a pt 2 to tu sais que je could you do a pt 2 to t’aime bien, non? where they’re at the order, and she’s still learning English, and Sirius know English so he knows what she’s saying when she makes small comments, whether about someone or about Fred. And they talk a lot in French, and she’s glad she can talk ‘normally’. she grew up without a dad, or a good father figure and that’s what Sirius was to her. And Fred learning bits of French, mainly just flirty stuff 😂

masterlist | navigation | p1

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Y/N had grown used to the bustling activity at the Order of the Phoenix. Grimmauld Place was a stark contrast to the serene halls of Beauxbatons, but it had its own charm. It was chaotic and loud, with people constantly coming and going. But in all the noise, Y/N found comfort in small moments.

One of those moments was her time with Sirius Black.

Sirius had taken an immediate liking to Y/N. He was quick to realize that she wasn’t comfortable speaking English all the time, and when he found out she spoke French, he effortlessly switched languages. It was a relief to Y/N, who felt her shoulders relax every time they chatted in her native tongue.

“Comment tu vas aujourd'hui, Y/N?” Sirius asked one afternoon, as they sat in the kitchen with mugs of tea.

Y/N smiled, feeling at ease. “Je vais bien, merci. C’est agréable de parler en français.”

“Je comprends,” Sirius replied, his voice warm. “C’est bien d’avoir quelqu’un à qui parler aussi. Cette maison peut être un peu trop parfois.”

Y/N nodded, looking around at the dark walls of Grimmauld Place. It wasn’t just the house that could be overwhelming; it was everything—the war, the uncertainty, and the fact that she was so far from home. But Sirius made it feel less lonely. He’d become like a father to her, something she never really had growing up.

“Merci, Sirius. Tu es vraiment comme un père pour moi,” Y/N said softly, her voice full of emotion.

Sirius paused, his expression softening as he looked at her. “Et tu es comme une fille pour moi, Y/N. Je serai toujours là pour toi.”

The sincerity in his voice made her heart swell. It was nice to have someone who cared, who understood her without needing translation. She had Fred, of course, but there was something special about her bond with Sirius. He filled a void in her life she didn’t even know was there.

As the weeks went on, Y/N spent more and more time with Sirius, talking in French about anything and everything. They’d sit together during Order meetings, exchanging comments about the others in the room.

“Regarde Fred, il a l’air tellement concentré,” Y/N whispered one evening, watching Fred from across the room as he listened to Moody talk about the latest mission.

Sirius chuckled, leaning in closer. “Il est toujours concentré quand il s’agit de toi.”

Y/N blushed, trying to hide her smile. “Tu crois?”

“Je le sais,” Sirius replied with a knowing grin. “Il n’arrête pas de te regarder quand tu ne fais pas attention.”

Y/N felt a warm flutter in her chest. Fred had been learning bits of French too, mainly picking up on the flirty things she would say. He was getting better at it, though his accent was still terrible, which she found adorable.

One evening, after everyone else had gone to bed, Y/N and Fred were sitting together in the living room, the fire crackling softly in the fireplace. Y/N was reading, and Fred was leaning against her, pretending to read but mostly just watching her.

“Tu es belle ce soir,” Fred whispered in clumsy French, a proud smile on his face.

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re getting better, Fred.”

“I had a good teacher,” he said, grinning as he laced his fingers with hers.

Y/N leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Je t'aime, Fred,” she murmured, feeling bold.

Fred’s eyes sparkled, and he responded with a mischievous smile, “Je t'aime aussi, Y/N. Did I say that right?”

She nodded, giggling. “Perfectly.”

Fred puffed up his chest in mock pride. “Maybe I’ll become fluent in French just so I can understand all the lovely things you say about me.”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Y/N teased, bumping her shoulder against his.

Fred smirked, leaning in closer. “I’d like it even more if you kissed me again.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t resist. She leaned in, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. Fred deepened it, pulling her closer as they both melted into the moment.

When they finally pulled away, Y/N rested her head on Fred’s shoulder, feeling content.

“Fred,” she started, “I’m really glad you’re learning French.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Fred asked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Because it means you understand me better,” Y/N said softly. “And I like that.”

Fred squeezed her hand, his voice full of affection. “I like it too, Y/N. But you know, even if I don’t understand everything you say, I think I get the important stuff.”

Y/N looked up at him, her heart full. “What’s that?”

“How much you care about me,” Fred replied, his voice serious for once. “And how much I care about you.”

Y/N felt tears prick her eyes, but they were happy tears. She knew that even with the language barrier, their feelings were clear. Love didn’t need translation.

“Je t'aime, Fred,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper.

Fred kissed her forehead, his voice soft as he replied, “Je t'aime, Y/N.”

[mosquego359]

𖤐One Kiss and A Quidditch Match — Chapter 5: The First Task𖤐

Prologue (recommended to read)

Chapter 4 (previous)

Pair: Cedric Diggory x Male Slytherin Reader

Word count: 3K words

Summary of the book: You and Cedric Diggory hate each other. It has always been this way. But everything changes one night when you kiss each other at a party. Now, it seems you can’t escape each other — from being partnered up in Herbology for an important project to having to help Cedric during the Triwizard Tournament.

Summary of the chapter: You and Cedric get into an argument. The first task is a week later. A Professor (you and Cedric's number one shipper) wants to talk with you after it.

Notes: Please comment anything I should change to improve this. Also, I am not British so I am not 100% sure how to correctly write people from the UK. (I'm very sorry for the late ass update but motivation hates me)

Content warning: There is an argument and many swear words. Also, a homophobic slur.

!PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION OR CREDITS TO ME!

...

You were going to have a blast in Herbology.

Earlier that week, Cedric Diggory had been chosen as Hogwarts champion — which, because of your incredible luck, you were convinced was going to happen — and was required to bring honour to the school by winning the Triwizard Tournament.

For the past few days, he had to miss Herbology to attend interviews and get his wand checked, leaving you alone to take care of the Snargaluff, with the occasional aid from your teacher. Needless to say, you were struggling to handle the plant independently — not that you’d admit it if asked.

And today, Diggory was going to have his first Herbology class since he was elected as the champion, and you’d been dreading finally talking to him.

You bid goodbye to your mates to work in the oh-so-isolating room you shared with Diggory. Grabbing your Herbology coat, you pushed the door open, not surprised to see your rival already dressed in his equipment.

“Missed me, (Surname)?” he raised an eyebrow with a handsome, cocky smile, tracking you with his eyes as you dressed. You realised he was referring to the visible scars the Snargaluff had imprinted on you last class and sneered at him.

“Oh yes, absolutely, it was so boring without you to bother me,” you replied sarcastically, pulling your dragonhide gloves onto your nimble fingers and making your way next to him. You dropped your act quickly, “I’m so fucking happy this is the last day I have to deal with you.”

He huffed and crossed his arms, “I could say the same.”

After a short silence, you sighed, “Congratulations.”

“On what?” Diggory said, clearly knowing what you were felicitating him on.

You stayed silent, so he took that moment to ask you, “Did you put your name in?” 

You shook your head, and he let out a breathy laugh, “Seriously? Out of anyone, I would’ve expected you to try and find some sneaky way to be a champion. Wow. Were you that confident that I wasn’t going to be chosen?” He mocked.

“No. I’m just too young to participate.” You gritted your teeth, “Where’s Professor Sprout, she’s supposed to tell us how to finally kill this thing.”

“Are you seriously gonna change the subject? Are you embarrassed, (Surname)? Because I can guarantee even if you had put your name in, mine would have still popped out.” Diggory said presumptuously, a bit angry that you were suppressing your emotion, “I mean, just look at the wounds on your arms you got without me.”

That was your final straw. “You know what, Diggory? Yeah, sure. I can’t deal with this plant alone. You know why? Because I’m not fucking supposed to! The fact that I am able to stand my own against this Snargaluff without being sent to the infirmary proves my capability as a wizard.” 

Curious students had started trickling into your room, murmuring about you and Cedric’s argument. What was going on? Who was going to win? 

Diggory opened his mouth to retaliate, but you cut him off before he made a sound, “And if you want to argue that you’re so much more powerful than me, just look how you are in Quidditch. You think you’re a good flyer? Well, I’m better and I’ll bet I can beat you any fucking time of the week-”

“THEN WHY DID YOU QUIT?”

You recoiled at the volume of his voice. His face was red in anger and you could tell by the murmurs, whispers and gasps of the students that no one had seen him like this before.

It took you a moment to respond, for you hadn’t heard him raise his voice that loud before, either. You usually ended up punching him before he could.

But now, you were in class and a crowd of students were waiting for you to retaliate. They wanted answers to why you, the Slytherin’s star Quidditch player, quit just before you could ascend to the title of captain.

“Excuse me, pardon me, Miss Hilton.”

You turned your head when Professor Sprout squeezed through your classmates to get between you and Diggory. She ushered the other students out and once the door closed, she turned to the two of you.

“Now, what is the meaning of this?”

Both you and Diggory stood silently. The latter’s head hung in shame of not being capable of controlling his emotions. You knew him as a regularly calm individual, so you understood his disappointment in himself, but still feeling upset towards him, you couldn’t empathise.

Professor Sprout frowned at your soundless states before sighing, “You lads must be so stressed. How about you use this as a free block, I’ll handle the Snargaluff.”

Diggory’s head popped back up, “Won’t you get hurt?”

She chuckled, “I’ll be fine. Now go to the library or help out your classmates. If anyone asks, tell them I allowed it.”

You didn’t hesitate, walking into the room where everyone else was working, eager to escape Diggory’s presence, only to be met with every one of your peers eyeballing you as soon as the door opened.

You quickly shuffled next to your nearest friend — who just so happened to be Winnie. Around a week ago, she and Elsie had switched partners since she spoke better sign language than Winnie, who partnered up with Mary Rivers — the mute girl that you met going to the party.

“(Name)!” she hissed a bit too loud for your liking, “What happened in there? Are you in trouble? Where’s Diggory?” She grabbed your shoulders and shook you dramatically.

You nod towards the room you were in just before, “He’s still in there and no need to worry — nothing happened. Professor Sprout just told us we could take a break from working to help you out. She’ll take care of our plant for us.”

“Well in that case,” Elsie chimed in, “could you help us with our plant?” She gestured to where Mary was standing, carefully tending to some bite marks on her bleeding fingers. You rushed over and when you spotted the red rimming their Snargaluff’s maw, you realised what had caused those marks.

“You okay?” Mary nodded to your question, “Do you wanna sit out for a while and let Elsie and I take care of it?” She shook her head.

Elsie appeared behind you, leaning her head on your shoulder, “Hm, at the very least you should bandage up those wounds.” 

You noticed Mary silently sigh and walk over to where the Herbology med kit lay. It wasn’t uncommon that a student hurt themselves during a lesson — you dealt with poisonous and hostile plants constantly, especially in the later Years.

Compared to your larger, more vicious Snargaluff, Elsie’s and Mary’s was relatively easy to put down. 

Looking around the room, you noticed a few students struggling to get a hold of their plants, and only two other groups had finished; the first being Brian and Alistair and the second being a couple of Cedric Diggory’s friends with him standing between the two of them, carefully handling the fallen Snargaluff with a charming smile as if you hadn’t even fought.

“So,” Elsie said beside you, laying the Snargaluff down to not rip it, “Why did you quit Quidditch?”

“Didn’t I already tell you?” 

“No. But you told Winnie. And made up an excuse for Alistair — whom I still don’t forgive,” she added. “Listen, (Name), if it’s a touchy subject, I get it and you don’t have to say anything, but I really thought you trusted me more than that.”

You felt the back of your neck grow warm and pressed a cold hand on it to cool it down, “It’s not that… I just feel like my reason’s a stupid one.”

Elsie rolled her eyes, “Don’t treat me like Alistair. I’m not that judgemental.”

You took a deep breath. Apart from Winnie, you’d have to say you had the best relationship with Elsie. She knew most of the things that you told Winnie, but lately, you’d been keeping things from her, mainly about Cedric and the kiss.

“Well, I guess it was just something I couldn’t handle. All the stress and pressure to succeed. I already have that with my studies; I don’t need it in an activity I’ll never play again after graduation.” You looked away, “Quidditch won’t get me anywhere. That’s why I quit.”

Elsie was quiet for a moment, as conversations between the other students filled the silence, “I promise I won’t tell Alistair. Or Diggory.”

“Alrighty tighty!” Ziggy hooted, walking backwards towards where the first Triwizard Tournament task was to be, “Ladies and motherfucking gentlemen, are you ready to see our two champions, Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory, absolutely crush their opponents and winning the first challenge??”

Roman chuckled and shook his head in embarrassment, bringing his Slytherin scarf higher up his face. Alistair huffed, a clear expression of annoyance etched on his features.

Ziggy, noticing this, slowed his pace to match his friends, “What’s wrong, my man? You still pissed at not getting in?”

“Ha! As if,” Alistair snorted, puffing his burgundy hair out of his handsome face, “Diggory just pisses me off.”

“Oh don’t tell me you’re still mad at how he treated (Name) in Herbology,” Ramona Armstrong— Ziggy’s twin and Elsie’s roommate — jumped into the conversation, pushing the two boys apart, “It’s been forever ago, get over it. And it’s not even your battle.”

Earlier that day, at lunchtime, Ramona, Mary and Avery Hilton — the third member of their group — approached you and the rest of your gang, asking if they could tag along to sit alongside you during the games. You assumed this was because you were friends with their roommates, but you found them friendly enough, so everyone nodded in agreement to their proposal.

So there you were. A ten-person group loudly chatting as they approached the Triwizard Tournament’s arena somewhere in the forbidden forest.

Despite the rumours, the forest was calm and beautiful, so much so that you challenged the idea of it being dangerous. However, reminding yourself of what your parents told you about not judging things by their appearance, snapped you back into reality. This was a treacherous place. Danger lied in every bush. You had to be careful but admitted that the gnarly trees and whispering leaves felt less menacing with the teachers up ahead.

“I’m so friggin’ excited! Tina’s already waiting for us!” Winnie said, eagerly skipping alongside Elsie and yourself. Her curly hair was tied up in high pigtails, occasionally, brushing across your arms.

“Who’s Tina?” You asked.

“Um, Destiny, obviously,” Winnie said as if it were obvious, but seeing both yours and Elsie’s confused expression, she finally explained, “Destiny. Tina. Tiny. Tina. Get it?”

You and Elsie shared a look and the latter sighed, “Please just stick with Destiny.”

Winnie pouted but eventually got over it in a matter of seconds.

“(Name)!” Ziggy called for you, rushing to grab your bicep and dragging you to his conversation, “We can both agree that Potter’s not gonna fuck this up, right?”

“Oh please, Ziggs,” Ramona huffed, brushing her spiky red hair out of her face, “He’s just a kid. Sure, he’s “the Boy Who Lived” but dumb luck can only get him so far in life. Just admit it.”

“I agree with her,” Roman chimed in.

“I don’t care,” replied Ziggy sarcastically, before turning to you, “What about you, (Name)? What do you think?”

“Uh,” you hesitated. 

Luckily, Winnie pulled your arm, grabbing your attention, “Look! Look! There it is!”

You turned your head to where she was pointing and made out a stone wall in between the masses and masses of trees surrounding you. The professors near the front vanished into a relatively large entrance.

You and your group passed the archway, a few of them (notably Winnie) craning their neck to get a good look at the fancy architecture and carvings engraved on the walls. 

Since you were one of the first groups, you got to choose your seats first — which turned out to be somewhere in the middle-lower rows where you were facing smaller entrances — presumably where the champions would enter from. The arena was a large dome with thousands of seats for the three school’s students. Your keen eyes noticed the floor was actually a trap door and you wondered about the first challenge.

“Winnie! Elsie!” 

You turned to see Destiny White navigating the crowd settling in and embraced both girls in a warm hug. You noticed out of the corner of your eye Alistair shifting uncomfortably in his seat next to Brian.

Despite your support for the three girls’ growing friendship, you did feel rather uncomfortable with the tension between them and Alistair. You feared your friend group was splitting apart and dreaded being stuck in the middle of the confict.

As the rest of the three schools gathered into the humongous arena, you and Brian chatted and continued to do so even as Dumbledore gave his speech — not unlike most students. 

Similar to the majority of Slytherins, you held a certain disdain for the man. His obvious favouritism towards Gryffindor irritated you and his contempt towards Slytherin fueled the fire in your heart to win every year’s House Cup just to spite him and his efforts to prevent that from happening.

One by one, the Triwizard Tournament Champions were called to enter the arena. 

First was the man you dreaded seeing (despite his attractiveness): Cedric Diggory. Most Students hooted and cheered for the handsome contender, but you sulked in your seat — a mild reaction compared to Alistair full-on jumping out of his chair to boo and yell something a blast-ended skrewt and Diggory’s genitalia, but Brian quickly pulled him down to quiet him, scarred face flushed with second-hand embarrassment.

As Alistair seethed in his seat, you wondered why he took things so much more personally than you did with problems that weren’t his own.

For the next fifteen minutes, the crowd gasped, cheered and wailed at Cedric’s every mishap and close encounter with the dragon as he briskly evaded the beast’s attacks. He had transfigured a rock on the ground to be a dog and sent it out as a distraction — a smart move, you admitted to yourself quietly. However, the dragon changed its mind halfway about who to chase and Diggory had to run and dodge its attacks.

He got the egg with a couple of burns on his limbs — which caused him a few points in the grand total.

Next up was the gorgeous contender Fleur Delacour who caused over half of the students to cheer and hoot and whistle — you swore even a few of your friends joined in. 

The fierce Quidditch star Viktor Krum went before the final competitor Harry Potter. 

Overall, Krum and Potter were tied first while Diggory was second, meaning Delacour was placed last. On the way out of the arena, you and your friends — especially Alistair and Elsie — agreed that she should have scored higher since her spell was effective and the only problem was when her skirt caught fire. You theorised that the judges weren’t entertained enough by her performance and Ramona blamed it on sexism.

Your group chatted with one another, and, being one of the last students out of the gigantic stadium, you happened to leave at the same time as Fleur Delacour.

Her cheeks were red from crying and you noted that she was holding back tears. Her hair was a mess, strands sticking out from her once beautiful ponytail and spit flew from her mouth as she wallowed to Madame Maxime in rapid french.

“Damn,” muttered Alistair, who was walking next to you, “Even crying, she’s hot.”

You gave him a disgusted look, “What the fuck, Alistair?”

“What?” he asked.

“That’s so rude!” You scolded, “She’s bawling her eyes out because she lost a competition that is clearly important to her in front of our entire school alongside her peers and those at Durmstrang, and the only thing you can think about is whether or not she looks good or not while doing it?”

Alistair stared at you, dumbfounded. “Relax, weirdo, it’s just a harmless comment.”

“Harmless-?”

“Geez, you’re so sensitive. Why are you acting like one of those fags?”

Your mouth hung wide open at his words, and before you could retort, Elsie jumped in with rapid-fire insults. 

You deeply inhaled and walked ahead, past the rest of your friends staring at the argument. Delacour was out of sight — which was unfortunate since you wanted to compliment her on her performance — and everyone else was already inside the castle, so you walked alone, attempting to calm yourself.

Near the entrance stood Professor Sprout.

“Quite a spectacle, wasn’t it?” She smiled.

You scowled at her, the anger towards Alister being redirected towards the sweet woman, “I apologise, Professor, I’m not in the mood for a chat.” You pushed past her.

“Wait!” She grabbed your forearm.

You retained yourself from pulling away and turned to face her with a cold, dead expression and she recoiled from your sharp glare before coughing and composing herself.

“The second task!” Professor Sprout spluttered, “It has to do with an egg!”

“An egg?”

“An egg. I am aware that you enjoyed riddles and challenges and — well — as I suspect this egg contains the answer to something related to the second task, it made me think of you and your love for brain puzzles and — well—”

“Please just get to the point, Professor.” You cut her off, rubbing your forehead in annoyance, despite knowing how rude you seemed at the moment, “What do you want from me?”

Professor Sprout bristled, tentative, “I am aware that I’ve asked you to do multiple things you were uncomfortable with but I promise you, Mr. (Surname), this is the last time.”

You raised an eyebrow in confusion, “And that is.”

“Well,” she hesitated, “It has to do with a certain Cedric Diggory…”

...

Chapter 6

[rainydayathogwarts]

ᴍᴀʀᴀᴜᴅᴇʀꜱ ᴇʀᴀ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ˋ°•*⁀➷ navigation

꩜ smut ❀ fluff 𖤓 angsty/angry 𖤐 funny

ʀᴇᴍᴜꜱ ʟᴜᴘɪɴ

✩ can't take my eyes off you - The first time virgin!reader wants Remus to continue (❀꩜)

✩ precious, drunk boyfriend - In which Remus gets more drunk than ever and clings onto his girlfriend for dear life. (❀꩜)

✩ the rabbit hole - In which remus lupin has a way with all the ladies, even the popular girls (❀)

✩ teasing kisses - Basically just dry humping with bf!remus lupin (❀꩜)

✩ off limits - Remus can't help but like the one person who's off limits, but it seems like she likes him too... (part 1 \\ part 2) (❀𖤓)

✩ ground rules - Remus isn't used to someone challenging his dominance until he's paired with a fierce Slytherin for a project. (꩜)

✩ what about you? - despite having a whole fanbase of girls who want him as their boyfriend, remus is only interested in your opinion of him (❀)

potter!reader x remus secret relationship au (ft. jily) ✩ the beginning - How potter!reader and Remus end up together (❀) ✩ sirius scolds - When potter!reader and Remus aren't too careful about hiding their relationship, Sirius gives them a scolding... (𖤐) ✩ closed curtains and open doors -  Remus and potter!reader still aren’t careful enough in hiding their relationship from James (꩜𖤐) ✩ low waisted jeans - you don't realise you have bruises on your hips when putting on low waisted jeans, and your brother becomes protective over you (𖤐) ✩ the map - In which james gets suspicious about remus and his sister. marlene, sirius and lily cover up for them (𖤓𖤐) ✩ brief exposure - When James tries setting you and Remus up, Remus stirs up a lie to keep your secret safe for a little while longer (❀𖤐) ✩ a couple months later - Sirius finally reveals the truth to a knowing James (❀𖤓𖤐) ✩ two sides, one door - You go to James after Remus yells at you before a full moon (❀𖤓) ✩ occupied dorm - when Lily gets sick of the commotion in the common room, she is locked out of her dorm because you are occupying it (❀꩜𖤐)

ᴊᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇʀ

✩ how he reacts when you tell him you're in the mood (❀꩜)

✩ not drunk - In which reader is most definitely, not drunk (❀𖤐)

✩ jealousy, jealousy - You kiss Lucius to make James jealous since he was too slow at making the first move (𖤓)

✩ teaching James how to dance (𖤐)

✩ big, strong James Potter - James Potter is just a big softie with a praise kink and a girlfriend who feeds it (❀꩜)

✩ from now on - James gives you head for the first time and quickly gets addicted (❀꩜)

✩ lip combo - James watches you apply your lip combo and tries distracting you from your beloved lip gloss (❀𖤐)

✩ softening the blow - remus isn't the only one you and james accidentally expose your relationship to (❀𖤐)

✩ words by the fireplace - sleepy conversations with bf!james potter (❀)

ꜱɪʀɪᴜꜱ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ

✩ how he reacts when you're in the mood (꩜)

✩ when we were young - How Sirius and reader's relationship changed when she got sorted into slytherin and how they reconnected thanks to her current boyfriend. (꩜𖤓)

✩ the sniffles - Sirius takes care of gf!reader when she's sick (❀)

✩ ain't no sunshine when she's gone - Sirius can't help but be drawn to the young addition to the order of the Phoenix (❀꩜𖤓)

✩ fancy ride - Sirius gets jealous when you talk about your date with Evan so you put him in his place (❀꩜𖤓𖤐)

✩ productivity boost - When you offer to go for a walk to boost your productivity, Sirius decides he has better plans (❀꩜)

✩ love at first sight - lily's sister who goes to beauxbatons throws the party of the summer which sparks likely friendships, and an even likelier romance (❀)

✩ stolen kisses, pretty lies - sirius and his unlikely slytherin!gf hide away from the busy castle (❀)

✩ i think i've seen this film before - when sirius found out that bellatrix lestrange was having a daughter, he did everything in his power to protect her. he never met her until one day she showed up at his doorstep the same way he had at the potters. (❀𖤓)

✩ never ending song - when your parents divorce, you decide to move to london to finish your last year of school, and take your music career there with you. what happens when you meet another pureblood rebel named sirius black (❀𖤓)

ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜꜱ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ

✩ (Not so) Friendly competition - Sirius asks out Reggie's best friend, and he is so bothered by it that he has to finally tell her how he feels (❀𖤓)

sleeping beauty au! ✩ Sleeping beauty - reader stumbles into the common room after a long night of 'sleep'... the marauders try discovering who she spent the night with. (𖤐) ✩ charmed - you and regulus have more going on than just a one night stand (❀) ✩ infatuated - your relationship with regulus pulls him and one of your best friends, sirius black, closer together for the first time in years (❀)

ᴘᴏʟʏ!ᴍᴀʀᴀᴜᴅᴇʀꜱ

✩ necklace - The marauders love pulling on your new necklace to get your attention (❀𖤓)

✩ one of us - When the marauders find out you're an animagus, you're forced into the beginning of a friendship with them (❀𖤐)

✩ sirius's magazine - When sirius sneaks his porn magazine into james's backpack, it's almost inevitable for the boy to find it and caught a happy accident (꩜)

✩ come again? - A little blurb about the boys and reader with a thick accent! (❀𖤐)

✩ Sleeping beauty - reader stumbles into the common room after a long night of 'sleep'... the marauders try discovering who she spent the night with. (𖤐)

1 boyfriend, 3 perverts au! ✩ 1 boyfriend, 3 perverts - 'In which your bf loves giving you head... especially when he's high, and doesn't mind having friends around' (❀꩜) ✩ good manners - When your boyfriend's best friends barge into you having sex, you can't just say no to them (꩜𖤐) ✩ 1 boyfriend, 1 invitation, 2 interruptions - you're at a lit party in the common room, and remus knows it's that time of the night when you begin to get needy. but with the full moon just 24 hours away, he can't be the one to fulfil your needs (❀꩜) ✩ serial kisser - (focused on sirius x reader x bf!remus) - both you and remus have a confession to make to each other... except it's the same one? (❀𖤐)

[romanshomeonwattpad]

brother’s best mate | draco malfoy

pairings - draco malfoy/reader’s | brother’s best friend!au |

sypnosis : when your older brother's best friend finds out about your date with Diggory—he decides to give you a piece of his mind.

word count : 3.4k

warnings: smut, established siblings, weed, choking, pet names, minor girl fight, size kink, not proofread so sorry

authors note: the reader is 18 in high school and graduates in less than a few months!! no minors are sexual in this one-shot. draco is 19 and only one year older than the reader. this was fun to write but lowk got lazy at the end. hope you all enjoy its very smutty.

(Follow my Wattpad @romanshome for more Draco content)

© elliotsblunt 2022. do not repost, modify, or translate.

You walked alongside your class mate, Ginny Weasley—a fourth year just like you. A Gryffindor with fiery bright red hair and the personality of a lion, freckled marks littering her nose. She had been your newfound best friend, usually sticking within your own house which had been Slytherin up until recently.

Some drama that had occurred in third year, so you began to seek friendships from other houses as well. You never really cared, but your older brother insisted you hang out with your true kind. Whatever that meant.

Ginny paused as they strolled past the Great Hall. “Say, _ _—Oh!”

You felt someone run into you from behind, a brute force slamming into you full force. Your knees wobbled and collapsed as your palms shielded your face, stinging as they slapped the concrete floor. Blinking with wide eyes, your eyes snapped up to meet a pair of narrowed blue eyes.

“Parkinson,” Ginny called from behind you, storming past you. Your arm shot to reach for her wrist as you held her back. “Chill Gin, it’s cool.”

The dark haired girl smirked, crossing her thin arms over her chest, where her tits practically spilled out. You almost gagged at the sight as Pansy chuckled,

“Sorry, _ _. Didn’t see ya.”

“Bullshit!”

“She’s not even worth it. Come on,” You rolled your eyes, thankful Ginny had your back in the back of your mind. Pansy’s smirk faded as you spun around, reaching out and shoving you from behind. You fell forward once again, Ginny calling out your name as she kneeled beside you. Both of you send the laughing girl a glare.

“What is your problem?” You hissed, standing up on your feet. “I haven’t—“

“He broke up with me. Neville broke up with me—for you. You fucking cunt. And now, I’m going to beat you and that Gryffindor’s ass.”

Your brows knit together. Neville? But you hadn’t spoken to him in months, ever since last year. When he had broken up with you for Pansy Parkinson.

A smirk crept onto your lips, still on the ground. Her cheeks reddened at your next words, “Huh. Isn’t that ironic.”

“You bitch,” she gritted her teeth before slapping you across the face. Your eyes widened as you smiled in shock, not believing that this whore was fighting you over a man. When you had found out that Neville, who you dated for a solid two months, decided to cheat on you with Pansy Parkinson. The new, shiny exchange student from Beauxbaton Academy. She spoke French and was the only girl to show off cleavage.

She had been the talk of most of the boys in each house for months.

Apparently, the French liked to get down and under. Real quick. Half the boys went through her by the time summer rolled around. You remember your older brother mentioning her, saying if his best friend hadn’t fucked her before he graduated then he most definitely would have “tapped”. All he had earned from you was an eye roll.

“You crazy slag!” Ginny shouted, but before she could step in—a deep voice interrupted.

As you stood from the ground, picking up your book that you had dropped, you froze before quickly facing the voice. A warmness flourished in your chest as a familiar smirk was given to Pansy, by a blonde Slytherin that had graduated last year. Your brother, Alex , stood beside him, “Parkinson. Please don’t tell me your shoving my baby sis because of one of your personal wankers.“

Draco chuckled to himself, his head shaking before shoving his hands into his pockets. His hair had been combed to the side, a single strand falling over those piercing eyes of his. A black long sleeve tightened around his muscular back, a pair of black slacks to matched. You could almost smell his cologne from here.

“Can it, Waters,” she snapped at your brother, shifting her scowl into a smile when your sights landed on Draco.

“Draco—I didn’t know you were back. I would have looked for you.”

“Exactly why I didn’t,” he replied quietly, rubbing the back of his neck before clearing his throat.

Parkinson blushed a deep red, looking away from Draco. Ginny threw her a brow. “Didn’t you and Longbottom just break up?”

“Longbottom, Pans? The kid looks like a human piranha—bless his soul,” Alex chuckled, but you shook your head.

“No, he looks better. He got surgery.”

“No wa—!”

“Both of you shut up!” Pansy spat at both your brother and you, causing you all to just look at her with expecting looks. After her eyes swept back and forth across all of yours, she groaned before spinning around and stomping away. Alex tilted his head at her, “What’s with her?”

“Neville broke up with her for _ _,” Ginny replied, an knowing smile on her face as she nudged you. “But she happens to fancy someone else.”

“I would be mad to if a bloke that looked like that broke up—“

“Who?”

Your eyes found Draco’s. He was looking at you, with something new flickering in his eyes. His jaw was clenched as a soft smile played on his lips for you. Ginny nor Alex responded, waiting for you to respond.

“Urm, just some kid I met at a party.”

You were talking about Cedric Diggory. He was the golden boy of Hufflepuff, with those dreamy eyes and charming smile. Your heart soared whenever he passed you in the halls, sending you his specialty wink. You had to bite your lip to hold back a smile for the rest of the day, almost drawing blood. And last night, you had both texted non-stop.

Tonight you were supposed to meet him in Hogsmeade. Spring Break was coming up, which is why your brother had came in the first place. You always spent Spring Break with your brother—and Draco just always happened to be with him. They were inseparable. Ever since first year.

“You go out with him yet?” Draco asked another question, narrowing his eyes. His head tilted as he studied you.

“No.”

“But she’s meant to tonight,” Ginny added, throwing an arm around you. You threw her a stare but she wasn’t paying attention to you, sending heart eyes to Draco. She always a massive crush on him, and you were sure he knew. Especially when he sent her a boyish smile right now. “Thank you, Weasel. Though, you don’t look much like a weasel anymore.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear as Alex rolled his eyes. “Gross, bro. Don’t flirt with my baby sis’s friends, ight?”

Draco chuckled as you groaned, “Ginnyishelpingmepackokbye,” you rushed out before grabbing your giggling friend.

You stood outside your favorite restaurant in Hogsmeade—The Flying Dutchman. They had the best burgers in town, and you’re the one who actually proposed to come here when Cedric asked you out. Your brother, Draco, and you always came here for dinner when you rented out your hotel room. Like every Spring break. A faint smile wore on your lips at the memory as the spring breeze pressed warm kisses onto your flesh.

But as more time passed by, that smile began to fade. Cedric had been more than thirty minutes late.

Ginny texted her that about after an hour, you should call it quits. And so you kept checking your phone, tapping your glossy heel against the concrete of the sidewalk. Your heart banged on your rib cage as blood rushed to your ears. Everything was slightly muffled as embarrassment overcame you.

And when it hit nine o’clock, you began to walk to your hotel.

Anger coursed through your veins. How dare he asked you out then ghost you completely?

You pulled out your phone and sent him a few messages cursing him out before shoving it back into your purse. With glossy eyes, after about ten minutes, you had reached the hotel room you were to be having alone. Your brother and Draco would be sharing the next one over. Approaching the entrance, where green glass pillars cascaded over a tall, lavish building—you hummed as the cool air conditioning welcomed you.

“Welcome,” a faux customer service voice rung in your ear. Your eyes landed on the front desk attendant, a young man. “Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes. Under Waters.“

“The single queen bed with a walk in-closet?”

You blushed, “Yes.”

“Perfect. Will that be cash or credit.”

“It’s on file. I come like, every year,” you explained, and he nodded firmly before clicking his mouse a few times. He was short and chubby—hair receding slowly from the sides. You didn’t know that was possible. “Have you found it?”

“Yes. It went through and….perfect. You’re all set,” he bent over, opening a drawer and a pair of keys jingled in your ears. He pooped back up whilst kicking the drawer back closed—handing you your card and the wifi password. “This here is your room card for room number 67 as well as our wifi and password.”

“Thanks,” you sent him a smile before making your way inside. As always, the halls were the same. A green carpet with beige walls, random paintings everywhere. It smelled of old paper inside your room, a bed with red covers and white pillows rested on the large bed. A walk-in closet, as promised, was lodged in the corner next to the bathroom.

You decided to shower, still in a sour mood about being stood up. Taking off your makeup with a cleanser, you stripped off your clothes and hopped into the shower. Craving to feel the warm water soothe your tense muscles, you moaned as it happened moments later. Digging your vanilla shampoo into your roots, you used your net to scrub off the dirt and dead skin from your body.

After finding everything off, you wrapped a towel around your figure and opened the door to your bathroom. A scream tore from your throat at the sight of someone sitting on the corner of your bed.

“_ _. I’m high as fuck,” Draco ran a hand through his hair, a red hue glowing from his eyes. His eyelids hung low as he smiled lazily—flickering his gaze over to you. “Alex is passed out. He took too many edibles.”

You scoffed, “And I assume you were the more responsible one and maintained a decent amount of sobriety?”

“Big words, _ _. Big words for a little girl,” Draco taunted, your eyes rounding at his words. He had never seemed this laid back with you, always being the more poised and dignified out of him and your brother. Hair always slicked to the side, clothes looking tidy and clean cut. But his hair had been messy due to him running his fingers through the strands, and his black button up he had changed into had been unbuttoned halfway.

His gold chain glistened against his pale skin, your thighs clenching at the thought of it hanging in your face while he—

“How was the date?” He questioned, his eyes darkening. You gulped.

“He didn’t show.”

“What?” He rose his voice, standing up from his seat. You flinched at the intensity of his tone as his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you care so much?”

“Dammit, _ _,” he balled his fist, storming over to you. Your back hit the wall, clutching your towel to your body, as his palmed slammed against the wall and staid there. His scent of peppermint and marijuana, which led you to believe he had smoked instead of taking the edibles with your brother. His eyes swirled with a hidden emotion as breath fanned your lips. “Why can’t you just answer a simple question?” He scoffed,

“You never do what you’re told.”

“And you’re too high,” you mumbled, placing your hands on his chest to push him back. But he caught them, “Draco.”

“_ _,” He whispered, “I can’t watch you get heartbroken over these little fucking boys anymore.”

Your throat went dry. Had Draco liked you?

That didn’t make any sense. He had been the most popular boy at school. Him and your brothers were the two most crushed on guys at school, Draco running through a number of girls throughout his years. He always paid attention to you, never leaving you out. “What? You think it’s a coincidence that every dude you have a date with bails on you?”

Your eyes widen, “You’re the reason Cedric—?”

“Back when I was in Hogwarts,” he continued, his boyish smirk returning to his lips. “Looks like you don’t need my help in that department after all.”

He had been your brother’s best friend, and if you didn’t know any better, his high self just confessed to scaring off other guys to date you. Out of all the girls he could have had, tonight, it appeared he wanted you. And one thing about Draco Malfoy—

He always gets what he wants.

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as his piercing eyes bored into yours. His thumb reached out, shocking you, as it took place of your teeth. An animalistic look flashed in his eyes, “Relax, kid. It was a joke.”

“Don’t call me kid.”

Draco released a chuckle, taking a step back before shaking his head. He ran a large hand the lift his pale hair again, “Fuck. You’re Alex’s little sis,” he sighed, letting out sarcastic chuckles. “I’m turned on by my best friends sister.”

His words caught you by surprise. Your lips fell open in shock, eyes bulged and skin flushed. He tugged at his strands once more before muttering fuck it, turning around and walking straight towards you. You flinched say Draco grabbed your arm, pulling you into his chest before slamming his lips against yours.

They were smooth and plump, sucking on your own as his hand flew to your cheek. At first you hadn’t kissed back, in shock, but when his thumb began to rub the flesh of your face—you melted. Your lips fought against his as you completely surrendered to him.

His fingers found your hair, lightly tugging on the strands. A soft moan left your lips, causing him to hum, “You like when I pull your hair, little one?”

The nickname caused a shiver to run down your spine. A pool of wetness shot down your core, a pleasurable sensation overcoming you as he continued to kiss you. His scent overcame you as he spun the two of you around, laying you on the bed before crawling above you. His lips didn’t part from yours.

Pulling away, you panted as he observed you from above. Your hair had probably been a mess and completely damp. The towel wrapped around you had been the only thing separating you from the Slytherin above. His eyes were clouded with the drug, “You’re fuckin’ breathtakin.”

You blushed. You didn’t think you would ever hear him say that. Considering how much of a fan girl you used to be for him back in primary.

He dived down to close the gap between you two. “I wanna fuck you. Show you how it feels to cum around a grown dick like mine,” Draco breathlessly panted against her lips. His fingers dove to her towel, tossing to to the floor before looking down. His hair tickled her nose,

“Looks like every inch of you is perfect, _ _. Can’t wait to have you fall apart on my tongue.”

“Next time. I—want it now,” you breathed, craving to get fucked by Draco. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he grabbed one of your tits, popping it into his mouth before swirling his tongue around the bud. His eyes crossed at the taste, “Fuck, that feels so good.”

“YehBaby?” His voice was muddled by your mounds. You giggled as he founded the other one before doing the same. Your hips began to arch and he smirked,

“My horny little one,” he teased, sitting up straight. You chewed on your lower lip, clenching your thighs as his eyes staid on yours. Unzipping his slacks, he tossed them to the side along with his trousers before hooking his arms around your thighs. You shrieked as he yanked you to the edge, grabbing his cock, “You sure you can take it? A big dick like mine?”

You grabbed his bicep, which bulged under your hand. His arm had been twice the size of yours. Rubbing his swollen pink head against your clit, peering down at you. Your eyes widened up at him, all innocent like, pinching your nipples. His lips reached to kiss your feet before resting them both on his shoulders, “You sure about this, _ _? Because once I start, I can’t stop.”

“Please,” you pleaded, reaching for him. He chuckled before bending down, letting you wrap your arms around his neck. His thick cock began to slid into you, making you squeak his name, “Draco! Oh my—urgh.”

His red rimmed eyes looked down at you. As he inched deeper, the more your mouth dropped. He pecked your lips before moving more fluidly, more and more spikes of pleasure adding to your tummy. You weren’t a virgin—every guy you’ve been with always made you do all the work. So the fact that Draco had expertly began stroking his hard cock into your gushing pussy, you noticed more moans escaping you.

The blonde grunted, working half his cock inside. And then he pushed it all the way in, making both of you cry out in unison.

And then he chuckled darkly at your blissed out expression, a wicked smile curling onto his lips as he angled himself. His hips rammed into yours, holding your knees against him, as your tits jiggled before his eyes.

Cries and pleads babbled from your mouth.

“Yes! Please!”

“Draco—it feels too good.”

“My Merlin—I can’t—“

“Yeah?” He cooed, brutally snapping his hips against you. His thick head pushed into your walls, his abdomen rubbing against your puffy nub. With a tender voice, his hand flew to your throat, as he continued, “Just like that, little one? Move my hips like this?”

He gave her two harsh strokes, giving her a bruising kiss. Draco’s hair fell over his eyes as sweat glistened over his abs. Ring clad fingers snaked to your pussy, his thumb pressing circles into your clit. It began to pulse, meaning you were going to cum, making Draco raise his brows.

“It’s so warm, _ _. You gonna come on this dick?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, “Yes yes yes YES YES—“

Draco chuckled, kissing your lips to silence you. You came on his dick, being completely lost in the trance of your orgasm. It felt like a million glasses had broken in your ear, earth shattering before you as euphoria paused time. Never in your life had you came that hard.

And then he pulled out, sitting against the headrest on the bed. You sent him a look, still calming down from your high, as he tapped his thigh, “Come take a ride on this dick for me, baby.”

Without time to waste, you crawled over. He smiled at you evily as he guided you, “Sit with your back-good girl,” he instructed, making you face your back to his chest. He lifted your feet and stood them on his thighs, “I’m going to play with your pussy. Throw your arm around my neck and take this dick, that’s all you have to do. Okay little one? Can you handle that?”

To answer his question, you instantly grabbed his cock before sliding down. You cried out, “Ah!”

“That’s it. Juuuuuuust like that,” he shushed, rubbing three fingers on your swollen pussy. You jerked in his hold as he nipped at your ear, “I got you, baby. I got you.”

And with that he began rapidly thrusting up into your clenching pussy. You screamed out as his fingers fastened their pace, your back arching against his chest. Your arm shook as it clung to his neck, his lips attached to your nipple. The crude licking sounds edged you closer to your high.

His hand covered your entire stomach, “So tiny, baby. You like when I fuck this little pussy?”

Your tummy began to contract. Draco licked his fingers, tasting your juices, before rubbing them against your creaming pussy once again. Your brows rose in pleasure as a scream came from you, “I’m gonna—ah—“

“Come on,” he urged, “Come on come on come on—there it is! Just like that, _ _. Allll over my fucking dick.”

Your body twitched as you came on top of Draco. And when he felt your tight pussy gush around him, he grabbed you by your waist, prolonging your orgasm by animalistically rutting up into you. “Fuck, I’m gonna, fuck fuck fuck—“

“What the fuck?” Alex’s voice screamed in the air.

[motherearthlovesus]

theo nott & regulus black eiffel tower you in france

pairings: theodore nott x regulus black x reader

warnings: 18+, smut, praise, rough sex, double penetration, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (m. receiving), threesome, swallowing cum, being cummed on, bad italian & french

summary: on a alumni trip to beaubaxtons, seeing the eiffel tower sparks theo and regulus' imagination - based on this mini imagine

the eiffel tower glimmered in the fading sunset, enchanting a group of hogwarts students who stood mesmerized by the iconic structure. accompanying them was a handful of respected alumni, including, yourself, theodore nott and regulus black, and some other people you never knew very well in school. you had all volunteered to guide the students through their trip to beauxbatons due to the professors busy schedules.

theodore leaned against a nearby railing, a sly grin forming on his lips. regulus stood beside him, trying to ignore a group of fawning 6th-years.

“this view, it gives me an idea.” theo remarked to regulus

“what are you on about nott?” he snarked, walking away from the school girls

theodore's head jerked towards you and he raised a questioning eyebrow, smirking. regulus looked between you, theo and the eiffel tower, a grin immediately plastered his face.

"watch this" theo boasted.

the boys sauntered over to you, theo casually draping his arm around you. you know theo well enough to know that this was definitely cause for suspicion.

"ah sfarzosa, just the girl we want to see" theo threw a wink at regulus that went unnoticed by you. "we'll be stopping by your place later, we have trip admin do to tonight"

you raised an eyebrow, “trip admin? what trip admin?”

regulus chimed in, his expression teasing. “yeah, what trip admin? And doesn't someone needs to be on hallway duty to stop the kids from sneaking out”

“oh, longbottom can take care of that,” theo replied dismissively, waving a hand. “mcgonagall just called, she's making us do it. we’ll see you there at eight.” theo gabbled.

before you could say anything else, the boys had slipped away almost as instantaneously as they had appeared

"watch this" regulus mocked

"well you didn't bloody help!" theo retorted pushing regulus as far away as he could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

you were in the shower when you heard a knock at the door

"fuck" you muttered, quickly turning off the shower and jumping into a fluffy white hotel bathrobe, "how long was i in there?"

you raced to the door and glanced at the clock. 7:30.

you swung the door open and said remarked coldy "you're early!" without a moments hesitation

longbottom stood there flustered and staring at your chest. you looked down and concealed the small about of cleavage showing.

"oh longbottom, its like you've never seen boobs before"

he laughed it off in a way which did not inspire confidence in that fact, "i just came to ask why no body is on hallway duty"

suddenly, a manly hand clamped onto neville's soft shoulder, "that's because you're supposed to be on hallway duty, longbottom"

"oh, right" neville agreed and briskly walked off around the corner. clearly just wanting to leave the situation,

"poor longbottom looked like he was about to have a heart attack" theo feigned sympathy.

"you really should be more careful" regulus added as the boys squeezed past you, regulus shutting the door with his heel

“so, what’s this about admin duty?” you asked, crossing your arms skeptically.

“oh you know, just some itinerary and transport logistics,” theodore said smoothly, a charming smile plastered on his face “gotta keep the trip running smoothly.” he glanced over at Regulus, who was nodding along.

you arched an eyebrow, “really? because i just spoke with professor mcgonagall, and she told me that luna already handled the schedules.”

they glanced quickly at each other, smirked and both put their hands up in defeat.

"merdé" smirked regulus

"you caught us" theo added.

"we just wanted to spend some time with you, trésor"

"but can you blame us? paris is supposed to literally and figuarivley be one of the most magical places on the planet, so obviously we wanted to spend it with the brightest witch we know" theo said as he walked over to you and took your robe off your shoulder.

“you know, it’s not every day we’re in paris with a view like this,” theo hummed

“so, we were thinking we could celebrate by doing something special” regulus continued, stepping closer to untie your robe. you let it drop to the floor, leaving you standing there completely naked. the cool air blew in through the balcony door you forgot to close, causing your nipples to harden.

“pazzo, i can’t decide which view is more beautiful,” theo said, walking around to the side of the bed, his eyes gazing up and down your body.

"i can" regulus said as he bent you over the foot of the bed, he spanked your ass once on each cheek, admiring the view he chose. your breath caught as he suddenly slid his fingers up and down the entrance to your core.

“it seems she’s ready for us, theo” regulus teased lustfully.

“hold her there,” theo instructed, his voice low and sultry. he climbed onto the bed and knelt in front of you, positioning himself just inches away from your mouth.

“now, be a good girl and open up for me,” theo commanded softly, a smirk playing on his lips. with a nod of obedience, you opened your mouth, he caressed your face and he slid himself in. at the same time, regulus positioned himself behind you, teasingly running his tip along your slick core before roughly pushing inside. the dual sensations of pleasure made you gasp around theo, the sound vibrating against him, causing his eyes to darken with pleasure. your body shudders with arousal at being completely filled up.

“parfaite” regulus said, thrusting in deep and slow, his fingers digging into your hips. the rhythm was synced perfectly with theo’s movements, it was driving you crazy.

theo gripped your hair, pulling your head back so that your gaze to meet his as he pushed deeper into your mouth with slow, deliberate strokes. “così, proprio così” he moaned.

you had no idea what any of their words had meant—only that they dripped with hunger, and the way regulus’s voice began to fracture, made it clear you were driving him mad. whatever they was saying, it was exactly what you wanted to hear.

theo’s thumb pressed against your bottom lip, pulling it down just slightly as his gaze bored into yours "look at her,” he drawled, his tone full of smug pleasure. “look at how well she takes us both.” regulus' hips slammed into your ass at such a fast pace, that theo's dick was hitting the back of your throat with each stroke. the overwhelming rhythm between them was relentless—regulus’s rough, deep thrusts drove you forward onto theo until tears welled in your eyes and the pleasure became blinding. with a strangled moan muffled around theo, you came hard, your walls clenching desperately around regulus, pulling him even deeper. your legs threatened to give out, as a second wave of pleasure cam crashing over you.

"there it is,” regulus moaned in between thrusts, the praise curling around you like silk.

“now, sweetheart, be ready” theo said, his breath hitching and his cock twitching in your mouth.

he released himself in your mouth, you could taste the warmth and the salty sweetness of him as you swallowed. the scene sent regulus over the edge as at the next moment he pulled out and painted your back. the sensation sent shivers down your spine. regulus stood there for a moment panting before pulling out his wand.

"scourgify" he said pointing at your sticky back. theo pulled you up onto the bed and placed you down in the middle of it. regulus climbed into bed on the other side and brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek as his dark eyes studied you with a mix of admiration and mischief.

“you know, we really should do this more often,” he mused.

you smirked, “only if you earn it. you guys don't want me thinking you're easy, do you?”

"no we wouldn't" theo chuckled “how do we do that?”

"that's for you to figure out; i'm far too tired," you murmured, rolling into theo's arms. with regulus then curling up behind you, it felt as though you were floating, and your eyes fluttered shut, welcoming sleep.

reblogs & feedback are super appreciated <3

there was a million ways i could've ended this but i clearly chose the most boring way 😔😔😔😔 i didn't mean for this to be so long but writing threesomes is inherently more complicated, i think.

also if u spot any spelling or grammar mistakes pls lemme know im super sleepy xoxo