#Harry Potter fanfiction

[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

[nemesyaaa]

ughhhhj i love charlie content so bad !!! dont care about smut without plot, give me the man already !! this is fabulous 😋😋‼️ need this weasley right now bc he's sooo (need a whole minute to find my words again). all the weasley family 🤓✊🏿

“Then how have we never met? I’d certainly remember you.” His smirk grew into a soft smile. “What a grave error on my part.”

he's a gentleman 🥴 He knows how to talk

He smiled and scooped you up by the meat of your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist so your skirt pushed up over your hips. “Then I’ll fuck you as often as ya’ like.” He turned and dropped you onto some kind of work bench, sending the papers and junk flying with a sweep of his arm.

what a devoted king plsssss, i love him sm

“Fuck ‘em,” he muttered, nipping at your collarbones. His hands gripped your thighs with dizzying strength, the same hands that handled massive, fire-breathing beasts, and spread you open for his hungry gaze. “Seven fucking hells,” he breathed, running his hands down your inner thighs. “You’re perfect.”

endless orgasms with him pls. fix me, cure me, heal me 😫

“And such pretty sounds.” He rolled up his shirt sleeve with his free hand, exposing the muscles and veins along his thick forearm. Slowly, he slipped his middle finger inside of you, large enough to stretch you slightly.

im gonna dive into the charlie x reader tags for a moment

Best Friends Brother ⊹ . + °

| Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

summary: You are Fred & George’s best friend, and meet their mysterious older brother, Charlie, at a product launch at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

cw: MDNI 18+ smut with basically zero plot. charlie has an absolutely filthy mouth. no war (or light war? idk, everyone is alive)

an: this was supposed to be a casual hook up when I initally planned it, but the dick was so good they fell in love ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

part two | masterlist

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Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes had a line around the building, hopeful witches and wizards desperate to get a glimpse of the Weasley twin’s newest product. You strolled past them in your mini dress and tights, more than a little chuffed by their jealous glares.

The doors were locked, blocked off with enchanted rope, but when Fred spotted you through the window, he ran to unlock the doors.

“Y/n! I’m so glad you could make it. Georgie, looks who’s here!” Fred slung an arm over your shoulders and ushered you into the store. It was the cleanest you’d ever seen it, with streamers and lights strung everywhere, and a long table loaded with food and drink.

“Y/n!” George shouted, popping up from behind the register. Both of them were dressed in freshly pressed brown suits, looking exceptionally dapper. He came aroud the counter and pulled you into a hug. “Thanks for coming out.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you grinned up at them, pride filling your chest. You’d been close with the twins for years, a friendship that started in school and only grew in adulthood, since you worked a few doors down at Honeydukes.

“Come, you have to meet our family!” They ushered you upstairs, where a dozen or so people waited, several faces were familiar, some were not.

“You remember Harry, Ron, and Ginny,” George said, and you greeted them all with a wave.

“And our parents, Molly and Arthur,” Fred continued.

“Oh, y/n! How lovely to see you!” Molly cooed, pulling you into a rib-cracking hug. “My, what a beautiful young lady you’ve grown into.” She pinched you cheek, and heat scorched your face.

“And this is our older brother’s Percy, Charlie, and Bill. And Bill’s wife, Fleur.”

You turned to the trio of men hovering by the bookcases, and nearly tripped over your heels. Percy, you remembered from school, Fleur as well, and Bill was too busy gazing down at her blonde head to glance your way. But Charlie. He stared straight through you, his dark eyes swallowing you whole.

“Pleasure,” Charlie said, his voice honeyed and deep. He was shorter that Percy beside him, but muscular enough that the maroon blazer he wore seemed a little stretched at the shoulders. His white button down shirt beneath it was tailored perfectly to fit across his wide chest and taper at his defined waist. Freckles kissed his cheeks and forehead, his skin a shade tanner than his siblings, though he shared their ginger hair, mid-length and wavy.

“Hello,” you managed, giving him a small smile. But before you could engage further, George whisked you away.

“It’s tiiiime!” Fred shouted, waving his wand, and the doors burst open.

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As the event raged on, you found yourself drawn to Charlie’s orbit, watching as he mingled with guests and chatted with his family. He seemed to draw a lot of attention, what with his rugged good looks and the fact that he was a dragon trainer. It seemed everyone wanted a sliver of Charlie Weasley’s attention.

So you admired him from a far, and tried to help Fred and George as best you could.

You chatted with customers, explaining the new product the best you could, but you kept feeling the tug of someone’s attention at the nape of your neck, distracting you. When the customer finally moved on, you glanced towards the direction of the feeling, and caught Charlie watching you over the rim of his fire whiskey, ignoring the gentleman attempting to talk to him entirely.

The air froze in your lungs, you heart tripping over itself. His gaze was scorching, and if looks could burn…you were certain your clothes would be rendered to ash.

Desire pooled in your lower belly, heating your blood to an uncomfortable degree. Your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears, you missed George approach.

“Hey, y/n, enjoying yourself?” He asked, offering you a glass of champagne with a candy snitch floating in it.

You accepted with a smile. “I am, thank you. You guys have done an incredible job.”

George beamed, clinking your glasses together before loping off to sell to another customer.

“So, how long have you known my brothers?” A low voice murmured in your ear, and you whirled around, nearly spilling champagne all over Charlie’s front. He caught your elbow with a steady hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Easy, love,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“Oh, uh, f-five years? I think,” you stuttered, looking anywhere but his smoldering eyes.

“Then how have we never met? I’d certainly remember you.”

You shrugged a shoulder, taking what you hoped was a casual sip of wine. “Seems you haven’t been paying much attention,” you teased, finally meeting his eyes.

His smirk grew into a soft smile. “What a grave error on my part.”

“Are you in town for the event, or…?” You could feel heat climbing up your neck, but you willed yourself to keep a level head. You knew how to flirt, had done so with plenty of blokes in your time, but none as handsome and disarming as Charlie.

“I thought so, but evidently the Gods had other ideas.”

You knees nearly buckled. “Like?” You coyly tilted your head, allowing your eyes to trail across his broad shoulders, down his chest. Was this guy seriously flirting with you? You knew you weren’t unattractive, but Charlie was…phew.

“Like…” He flushed a little, betraying his suave demeanor, and your heart slipped a little further into his hands. “Meeting the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Ever?” You teased, pulling your lower lip between your teeth.

“In this life and probably the next.” He took a sip of his whiskey, letting his eyes wander over you the same way yours did him. And based on the way they darkened, his pupils widening just a fraction, he liked what he saw as much as you did.

“Does that line always work for you?”

“Well, considering I’ve never tried it, why don’t you tell me?”

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Charlie slammed the door shut behind you before crowding you against it, his lips colliding with yours. He tasted like whiskey and pumpkin, with a tinge of cigarette smoke that went straight to your head, and you eagerly tangled your tongue with his, pushing his blazer off his shoulders.

“Colloportus,” he murmured against your mouth, and you heard the lock schick into place. He shrugged his blazer off, tossing it somewhere in the dark storage closet, and his hands were on you again, one sliding into your hair, the other on your lower back, drawing you closer.

“Charlie?” You gasped as his lips traveled down your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, his short beard a rough contrast to the suppleness of his kiss.

“Yeah, honey?” he panted, lifting his head to meet your eyes.

“I don’t usually…” you trailed off, nerves suddenly closing your throat.

His hand slid from your hair to cup your cheek, his callouses rough against your heated skin. “Me neither,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. “We can do whatever you want, love. I’ll take you to the nicest restaurant in London, or on Dragon-back to the Swiss Alps, or on a cruise ship to the Americas—”

You cut him off with a kiss, throwing your arms around his neck. “And if I want you to fuck me?” you said between pecks, tugging at the roots of his hair.

He smiled and scooped you up by the meat of your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist so your skirt pushed up over your hips. “Then I’ll fuck you as often as ya’ like.” He turned and dropped you onto some kind of work bench, sending the papers and junk flying with a sweep of his arm.

“The twin’s are going to be pissed,” you giggled, leaning back onto the wood so he could continue his previous assault on your neck.

“Fuck ‘em,” he muttered, nipping at your collarbones. His hands gripped your thighs with dizzying strength, the same hands that handled massive, fire-breathing beasts, and spread you open for his hungry gaze. “Seven fucking hells,” he breathed, running his hands down your inner thighs. “You’re perfect.”

In a swift motion, he ripped your tights at the seam, the sound sending a pulse of arousal to your already dripping pussy, a sharp gasp forcing it’s way from your throat. His fingers glided over your wet panties, so delicate compared to the force he’d used heartbeat before.

Your hips lifted slightly, chasing his gentle touch. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this desperate for someone to touch you, your entire body tuned to his every breath, every twitch of his muscles. He looked so fucking good leaning over you, his previously tidy shirt rumpled, his hair in copper waves around his face, his lips a little red from your fevered kisses.

With his ring finger, her drew your panties to the side, his middle fingers gliding through your slit and circling your clit twice. “Already so wet for me, honey. What did I do to deserve such a warm welcome?” he purred, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your forehead.

Your brain couldn’t formulate a response, his touch mind-numbing. Pleasure radiated form his fingers, syrupy and languid, with none of the frenetic energy from before. A moan slipped past your lips, your eyes fluttering closed as he coaxed your pussy to bloom for him.

“And such pretty sounds.” He rolled up his shirt sleeve with his free hand, exposing the muscles and veins along his thick forearm. Slowly, he slipped his middle finger inside of you, large enough to stretch you slightly.

“Fuck, Charlie,” you whined, raising yourself onto your elbows so you could watch him play with you.

“I suppose I shouldn’t stretch this out too long, someone might come looking for us,” he mused. “But I could spend a fucking eternity spoiling this greedy little pussy.” He slipped another finger into you channel, pumping them a few times just to feel your cunt suck him back in. “Would you like that, love?” He tilted your chin up with his free hand, an unspoken request for an answer.

“Y-yes, Charlie. Please,” you panted, stretching up to steal a quick peck. He deepened the kiss, shifting his weight to press you back down onto the desk as his tongue flirted with yours. His hand picked up the pace, fucking you steadily as he devoured your mouth, teeth skating along your swollen flesh before sucking lightly on your tongue.

You don’t know what God blessed him with such a skilled tongue, but you needed to make an offering in thanks stat.

But since you couldn’t do that…

“Charlie?” You asked, reaching around to touch his wrist between your legs.

He immediately stopped, withdrawing his hand completely. “What’s wrong?” He searched your face for signs of discomfort, his brows drawn together.

You pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek before sliding off the desk. He watched you, confused and concerned, then you lowered yourself to your knees and his jaw went slack.

“Honey, you don’t have to—”

“Please, Charlie?” You batted your lashes up at him, tugging lightly on his belt.

“Merlin’s fucking—I can’t say no to you when you look at me like that, sweetheart.”

“Then don’t,” you teased, undoing his belt and zipper. You could see the outline of his cock against his black boxers, thick and throbbing as you glided your fingers over it.

He sucked in a breath, gripping the edge of the table with one of his hands. Encouraged, you dragged the flat of your tongue over the fabric, feeling the heat of him, the wetness collecting by the swollen head.

“I must have died in the dragon pit and gone to heaven. My god, woman,” he rasped, running his fingers through his hair to keep it from blocking the sight.

You giggled, licking a few more stripes before reaching up to free him. His cock sprung out, veiny and flushed pink. And, to your absolute shock and delight, even his cock was freckled.

“You have the prettiest cock I’ve ever seen,” you praised, and his cheeks flushed pink. You laved your tongue along the thickest vein, earning a throaty groan. You sucked the head into your mouth, lapping up the precum pearling from his slit.

Charlie’s head fell back, one of his hands sliding into your hair. He didn’t add any pressure, just held you as you started to suck him, moving a little further down each time. You wrapped your hand around the base, there was no way you’d fit the entire thing in your mouth, and started pumping him, matching the motions with your mouth. His skin was like velvet, soft and smooth, and you loved feeling him pulse against your tongue with every dip of your head.

“You are too damn good at that. So fucking pretty swallowing my cock.” His thumb stroked your cheek while he gazed down at you, stars in his eyes. “You like sucking me off, honey?”

You nodded as best you could, flicking your tongue at the groove just beneath the head. His hips lurched forward, a grunt escaping through his teeth.

“Fuck, sorry, love. I’m trying to stay still for ya’, but feels so fucking good.”

You reached up and guided his hand into your hair, then used it to push your head down, giving him the best puppy dog eyes you could muster.

He smirked, his hand fisting in your hair. “Whatever you say, gorgeous.” He started moving your head along his shaft, rocking his hips in time with the movements. He went easy at first, but as drool began to track down your chin, your eyes rolling back in bliss, he picked up the pace. But he only fucked your mouth for a few, punishing strokes before lifting you off of him. He slammed his mouth to yours, a harsh, hungry kiss that had you seeing stars.

You whined in protest, but he shushed you by lifting you into the air and setting you on the table once more.

“If you thought I wasn’t going to fuck you, you’re mad,” he gruffed, dragging the hot head of his cock through your pussy lips. “That is, if you still want me to?”

“Yes, fuck, now, Charlie. Please.” You spread your legs a little wider for him,

“Anything for you, love.” He leaned down and kissed you again, sliding his cock into your depths at the same time. The feeling of being filled by him bordered on divine, silken and hot. He was stretching you just enough to leave you with that delicious ache between your legs. You moaned into each other’s mouths, the sounds caught up by his tongue parting your lips and caressing yours.

He drew his hips back, agonizingly slow, letting you feel every inch of one another, before he slammed back in, knocking the air from your lungs. It seemed he was at the end of his control, his grip on your hips bruising as he fucked you hard, jostling the desk beneath you and making the shelves along the walls rock.

“Fuck, Charlie. Feels so good,” you cried, trying and failing to keep yourself quiet as he railed you, every thrust like a lightning strike of pleasure through your body.

“Yeah? You take my cock so well, baby. Wet little pussy squeezing the life outta’ me,” he groaned, his hair tickling your face. “So good f’me, honey. Like you were made for me.”

Your muscles tightened, veering closer and closer to your peak, his praise sending little pulses of bliss your clit.

“You like being praised, baby? Hearing how perfect you are for me? Fuck, I can feel how much you like that, squeezing me so hard.” His hand slipped between you, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing tight circles over you puffy clit. “Come for me, y/n. I know you can. I want to feel you fall apart around me. That’s a good girl—”

Your cry drowned out his praise as your peak crashed over you, visceral and exquisite. The world vanished, blown apart by the burst of starlight in your chest as you came for him. Pulses of pleasure made your body shake and buck, your eyes squeezing shut as he fucked you through it.

“That’s it, honey. Such a good fucking girl. Merlin, you’re gonna make me come.” He rested on his forearms, braced on either side of your head, hitting an entirely new angle as you came back into your body.

“Charlie,” you whimpered, clinging to him. ”I’ve got ya’, love. Don’t worry. Just a little longer—fuck.” A strangled groan broke from his throat and you felt his cock swell, then kick against your walls, the first hot stream of release painting your insides.

He rested his head on your shoulder as he muscles trembled, his hips pressed flush to yours. You wrapped you arms around his shoulders, still weak from that soul-shaking orgasm. His lips passed over your shoulder, your clavicle, up your neck, before finally ghosting of your lips, soft and breathless.

You remained like that for longer than you probably should have, enraptured with one another. You'd been complete strangers a few hours ago, but this wasn't a hook up akin to a one night stand. This was the reunification of two beings, the re-raveling of a soul tie.

“Y/n,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, your temple. “Y/n, y/n, y/n…” He held you like he'd die if he let go.

“Charlie,” you exhaled, nuzzling behind his ear.

“Can I take you to Romania with me?” He whispered, a joke, you presumed, but there was no humor in his voice.

“I've never seen a dragon before—”

The door knob jiggled, and someone pressed against it, the wood groaning.

“Shit.” Charlie jumped backwards, scrambling to right your dress and smooth your hair.

“Hey, Freddie! This doors locked for some reason.”

“Charlie, your dick,” you snickered while he wiped away a smudge of your lipstick.

“Fuck, right.”

“Alohamor—”

“COLLOPORTUS,” Charlie barked out, snatching his wand from his boot.

“Charlie?” George called, knocking on the door.

Charlie tucked you behind him and undid the spell, peeking the door open. “If you say another word, you're dragon food,” he growled, and you had to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing.

“You got a girl in there, mate?” George asked, and you could hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“George,” Charlie warned.

“Fine, fine. You've got ten minutes before I actually need to get in there.” George knocked once more then strode away, his footsteps disappearing down the hall.

Charlie sagged against the door, exhaling. “I'm sorry, love,” he said, turning to you.

You pecked his cheek. “Don't be sorry, that was the best lay of my life.” You tried to reassure him, despite the curdling sadness in your chest.

A shy smile broke through his serious expression. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “I can only imagine how good it would be when we had all the time in the world,” you murmured against his ear, a shiver rolling down his spine. It was better to leave it like this, flirty, casual, than with whatever…that was.

“I mean, we’ve got ten minutes…”

You patted his chest and slipped out of the door, finding George waiting at the end of the hall, arms crossed.

His jaw dropped. “Y/n!”

Charlie ran out behind you. “I swear to God, George—”

“Are all Weasley's this dramatic?” You closed George's mouth with a finger under his chin.

“Where did—when did—how?” George stuttered, looking back and forth between the two of you.

Charlie smirked, shrugging back on his blazer. “I'll explain when you're older,” Charlie teased. “Would you like a drink, y/n?”

“I'd love one.“ You threaded your arm through his, and together returned to the party.

> Part Two

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Thanks for reading!

If you enjoyed, please check out my published work here.

Much love,

Allie

[marauroon]

𝟏 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟎𝟎 — 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑. (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬)

james takes your cold shoulder to heart, and the rest of the boys scramble to find ways to bring him back to normal.

eventual james x fem!reader | 6.4k | series masterlist.

main masterlist.

CW | characters are 15/16, reader and lily hold grudges, marauders map creation, the boys become animagi but it’s not pretty, graphic body descriptions for the transformation, james sulks a lot, snape gets bullied and also calls lily a slur

The castle feels colder this year.

Not in temperature—though the Scottish Highlands aren’t exactly tropical—but in atmosphere. Or maybe that’s just how it feels to you as you and Lily step through the entrance to Hogwarts, robes brushing your ankles, the sound of the train’s whistle still ringing in your ears.

She’s beside you, jaw set and green eyes hardened in a way that’s unfamiliar. There’s no soft laughter from her as you pass by the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, no excited chatter about what classes you’ll share or which teachers will be the worst. The summer did little to smooth things over. If anything, it just hardened the memory.

The memory of that day.

You can still feel it sometimes—the hot rush of humiliation crawling up your neck, the stunned silence of the courtyard erupting into laughter, the sickening feeling of hatred when you realised the Marauders had planned the whole thing.

And James Potter—James bloody Potter—had laughed the loudest.

You can still remember the way his smirk faltered, just slightly, when you met his eyes through the crowd. Just a flicker of hesitation, not nearly enough to mean anything.

And Severus—he hadn’t even checked on you or Lily. Had just gathered his things, shoved past, and disappeared without a word. As if you were strangers. As if you hadn’t defended him through everything, stood by him through the stares and the whispers and the accusations. That had hurt almost more than the prank itself.

Now, back at school, you can feel the ghosts of that moment hanging over you like a stormcloud. People stare a bit too long. The Marauders laugh a bit too loudly. And Severus Snape? He barely looks your way.

“Still no word from him?” you ask Lily as you head toward Gryffindor Tower.

She doesn’t answer at first. Her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag.

“No,” she says finally. “Not all summer.”

You don’t have to ask who she means.

You try to be angry on her behalf, and part of you is. But there’s another part that aches quietly. For the way he used to sit with you in the library, dark eyes flicking over potion texts while he muttered about new brewing methods. For the way he used to smirk when you caught him scribbling notes about you and Lily in the margins of his books. That Severus is gone now.

And maybe he never really existed.

—

James hasn’t made eye contact with you once since the start-of-term feast.

It’s been a week.

You’ve seen him, obviously. Hard not to. He’s still surrounded by Sirius and Peter and Remus at every meal, still has that same tousled hair and the same lazy slouch in his chair. But something’s…off. His usual grinning entrances into the Great Hall are now subdued, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes scanning the room like he’s looking for someone and hoping they won’t be there.

You.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying it, at least a little. Watching the arrogant king of Gryffindor stumble down from his throne.

You breeze past him in the corridor one morning on your way to Charms. He opens his mouth—maybe to say something, maybe not—but you don’t even glance his way. Lily follows your lead, nose in the air.

“Alright,” you hear Sirius mutter behind you, “this is getting ridiculous. James, either talk to her or get over it. You’re acting like a bloody widow,”

“She hates me,” James says, voice low. “She’s not even mad. She’s just done. I dunno what’s worse,”

You smile to yourself, just slightly. Good.

—

Up in the Gryffindor dormitory, James lies flat on his back on his bed, arm flung over his face. The ceiling above him is cracked in one corner. He’s counted it eleven times already this morning.

Peter sits cross-legged at the foot of his bed, munching on a Chocolate Frog, eyes darting between the cards and James like he’s trying to decide which is more interesting.

“You could write her a letter,” Peter suggests, voice sticky with sugar.

James groans. “Right. To my mortal enemy, Sorry I dumped potion slime all over your head while I was trying to humiliate your best friend’s other best friend. Let’s start over?”

Peter winces. “Maybe…leave that bit out,”

“She wouldn’t read it anyway,”

Peter shrugs. “She used to laugh at your jokes. Remember? Even the stupid ones,”

James doesn’t answer. Of course he remembers. He remembers everything.

He remembers the way you used to sit in the common room with your legs tucked under you, books open on your lap, tongue between your teeth while you annotated the margins. He remembers how you used to call him “Potter” with that infuriating mix of fondness and disdain that made his heart beat faster every time.

He remembers the look in your eyes when the prank went wrong.

The fury. The betrayal.

James had thought he was being clever. That if he embarrassed Snape enough in front of the whole school, he’d finally back off. But the spell had ricocheted. The charm had caught your robe instead. He still sees the greenish film spreading across your chest like a bruise. Still hears the goat-bleat echoing in the courtyard, followed by laughter.

His laughter.

He hates himself for it.

—

You, on the other hand, have compartmentalised. Perfectly. Efficiently.

James Potter is a chapter closed and buried. Along with the rest of the Marauders.

You sit in the common room now with Lily, the two of you pretending to focus on your Transfiguration homework. Your quill taps idly against the parchment as Lily doodles swirls in the margins of her notes.

“Do you think he regrets it?” she asks suddenly, so quietly you barely hear.

You look up. “Who?”

She doesn’t need to answer.

You sigh, then shrug. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean anything.”

Lily nods slowly. “Still doesn’t explain why Sev’s ignoring us.”

You flinch slightly at the name. Sev. It feels wrong now. Like it belongs to someone else. A memory.

“Because he’s a coward,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Lily’s mouth tightens, but she doesn’t disagree.

You both sit in silence after that. The only sound is the crackle of the fire and the distant chatter of younger students. Across the room, James walks in, Sirius at his side. They’re laughing about something, but James glances your way out of instinct.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.

Lily does, though. Just briefly. You see her shoulders tense.

“They’ve got no idea what it’s like,” she mutters. “To be mocked for something you can’t change. To have your friends abandon you,”

You nod. Your chest is tight.

You’ve stopped expecting apologies.

—

You notice the change almost immediately.

For weeks, James Potter had been sulking through classes like a ghost, his usual antics replaced by a quiet brooding that honestly would’ve been refreshing if it weren’t so pitiful. He stopped hexing quills to fly out of people’s hands during lectures. Stopped charming the stairs to vanish underneath unsuspecting Slytherins. Even his hair seemed less windswept—as if it too had given up.

You’d assumed he’d stay that way, at least for the rest of the term.

But then, he started whispering again.

Not to you, of course. But to Sirius, and Remus, and Peter—heads huddled close together during meals, parchment slipped between sleeves, expressions ranging from mischievous to manic. It wasn’t like before, when they were preparing to flood the Potions corridor with foam or levitate someone’s trousers during Charms. This was different. Focused. Secretive.

You tried not to care.

Lily, however, did care—if only because it meant the boys were creeping around the library more than usual, and the library was her sanctuary.

You catch them one Tuesday evening, seated behind a massive stack of spell theory books in the far corner. You and Lily had claimed the table next to theirs an hour earlier, mid-revision session for Transfiguration.

At first, you barely noticed them.

Then Peter’s voice piped up, too excited for library etiquette: “What about the Infiltrators? Sounds mysterious,”

You and Lily exchanged a look.

Sirius’s voice followed, a drawling whisper. “That sounds like a weird disease, Pete,”

You peeked around the side of the bookshelf. James had his feet propped on the table, quill balanced between his teeth, a large sheet of parchment stretched in front of him and several open books littered around them.

You catch part of the title of one: Obscure Etymologies for the Crafting of Secret Societies.

Lily rolled her eyes hard enough that it was practically audible.

You nudged her with your foot and leaned in to whisper, “Should we tell Madam Pince they’re desecrating her precious archives?”

“I’d rather let her catch them herself. She’ll have them in body bags,”

From the boys’ table came another suggestion—Remus, this time: “What about The Cartographers?”

James let out a noise that was either a scoff or a dying bird.

“Sounds like we do geography homework for fun,”

You tuned them out after that. Or tried to.

Lily muttered something about “bloody egos,” and you bit your tongue to keep from laughing.

—

The name came to them at some point. Whatever they were using it for.

You heard it floating through the common room one night, spoken with reverence and entirely too much smug satisfaction.

“The Marauders,” James said, as if the words were dipped in gold.

You didn’t even have to look up from your essay to picture the smirk on his face.

“Marauders,” Sirius echoed, testing the syllables like a fine wine.

Peter clapped once. “It sounds cool, right? Like, sneaky but heroic

They kept repeating it over the next few days—dropping it casually in conversation, testing how it felt in different tones. “The Marauders are on the case!” “A Marauder never reveals his secrets.” “Marauders strike again!”

You were ready to strangle the next person who said it.

—

To their credit, the Marauders were quieter during first term.

Still obnoxious, still immature, but... less destructive. The chaos was channeled, somehow. It wasn’t hard to guess why.

You’d seen flashes of it: Sirius sneaking down the hallway with a blank bit of parchment that shimmered slightly when light hit it wrong. Peter nicking ink bottles from Slughorn’s storage cupboard. James with his head bent over notebooks, muttering complex layering spells to himself under his breath. Remus dragging obscure books from the Restricted Section with quiet urgency.

You didn’t know what they were building, but it had consumed them.

—

Down in the boys’ dormitory, the table between their beds had turned into a miniature workshop. Spells layered over spells, charms that blinked with gold threads, parchment that wouldn’t burn, ink that shimmered under moonlight.

“It’s going to work,” James said one night, eyes gleaming as he tapped his wand to the corner of the map. The ink curled outward like a vine, sketching the curve of a hallway before fading into nothing. “We just have to link the tracking enchantment.”

Remus looked skeptical. “Easier said than done. We need an anchor charm. Something alive, but unobtrusive,”

“A fly?” Peter offered.

Sirius shook his head. “Too small. What if it gets squashed?”

James grinned. “What about... our own magical signatures?”

Remus blinked. “You want to bind our magic to the map?”

“Only a little bit,” James said quickly. “Not like... dangerous amounts. Just enough to trace the field,”

Peter chewed his lip. “Is that even possible?”

James shrugged. “We’ll find out,”

—

It became their mission. Their purpose.

James Potter, who’d spent the start of term a sulking husk of his former self, was suddenly alive again. Energised. He woke up early to test linking spells. Stayed up late reading enchantment theory. He stopped doodling hearts with your initials in the margins of his notes, which honestly, you were thrilled about. And annoyed. But mostly thrilled.

Even Sirius, who never took anything seriously, became laser-focused.

“You’ve got to see this part,” he said to Peter one night, pointing at a new feature he’d scribbled in—secret passages that didn’t exist on the school’s official floorplans. “We can get to Honeydukes without stepping foot outside,”

Remus muttered, “Just what we need—more sugar-induced psychosis,”

“Says you, Remus,” Sirius said. “You eat more chocolate than the rest of us combined,”

Remus hesitated, then smiled. “Yeah, so what?”

—

Meanwhile, you and Lily continued your crusade of ignoring them with all the dignity of queens holding court above a gaggle of jester-boys.

Every time you caught them sneaking past curfew or darting behind tapestries, you gave Lily a look that said they’re up to something. And every time, she gave you one right back that said don’t you dare get involved.

You didn’t plan to. Honestly. You had better things to do.

Like pass your O.W.L.s. Like figure out whether or not Severus Snape was officially dead to you (you were leaning yes). Like convincing Lily that “Slug Club” was just code for “favouritism with snacks.”

Still, you couldn’t help the curiosity that crept in. The Marauders were quiet. Too quiet. And whatever they were building down in their dormitory was clearly working, because they hadn’t been caught out after curfew once since term began.

One night in the common room, Lily leaned over her Arithmancy chart and muttered, “Whatever they’re doing, they’re getting good at it.”

You frowned. “And somehow, I hate them more for it.”

—

In the boys’ dorm, James beamed at the glowing outline of the final blueprint. He tapped the parchment twice, and the lines shimmered with silver.

“We solemnly swear that we are up to no good.”

The ink shifted.

Names appeared on the parchment in miniature script, dotting across the halls of Hogwarts. Tiny footprints trailed behind each one. Students in the library. Peeves floating near the Astronomy Tower. Filch in the dungeons. Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing.

And four tiny dots in Gryffindor Tower.

Peter stared. “It’s working,”

Remus whispered, “It’s really working,”

Sirius whooped, grabbing James by the shoulders. “You bloody genius! We’re legends!”

And in the corner of the parchment, four names bloomed in curling letters.

Messrs. Lupin, Pettigrew, Black, and Potter, purveyors of aids to magical mischief-makers…

“...are proud to present,” James whispered. “The Marauder’s Map,”

Sirius grinned, and Peter threw his arms in the air like they’d just won the Quidditch Cup.

Remus just sat back, watching them, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

“We did it,” he said quietly. “No more guesswork. No more getting caught,”

“No more fun getting ruined by bloody rules,” Sirius said.

James stared down at the parchment, the gold-glinting trails of names and rooms. For the first time in months, he felt right. Like he had direction. Like he was moving forward.

He thought of you. The way your eyes had hardened that day in the courtyard. The way you hadn’t looked at him in weeks.

He couldn’t fix what he’d done.

But at least now, he was building something that mattered.

—

Christmas came and went, bringing snow-dusted corridors, hot butterbeer in the common room, and an awkward quiet between you and everyone who wasn’t Lily.

James was gone for the break, whisked away to his parents’ stately manor for two weeks of holiday cheer and quiet sulking. Sirius had joined him, which wasn’t a surprise. Remus returned home to his mother’s cottage near the forest. Peter went somewhere with too many cousins.

You stayed at Hogwarts. So did Lily.

It wasn’t so bad. The castle was emptier, the air colder, the stars clearer at night. You and Lily took long walks through the frost-bitten greenhouses, played chess by the fire, avoided talking about them. It was the kind of peace Hogwarts rarely offered. It helped. A little.

But when the new term started, James came back... off.

Not angry. Not loud. Just—flat.

Even the others noticed.

“You alright, mate?” Peter asked the second night back, poking James with the tip of a Sugar Quill.

James gave a one-shouldered shrug and kept scribbling in the corner of the nearly-finished map. “Fine,”

But his eyes weren’t lit up like they had been in October. The Marauder’s Map was nearly complete—ink shimmering with spells layered so thick they practically pulsed when touched. They had built something brilliant, yes. But now it was done. The project that had distracted James from his guilt, from you, from everything... was suddenly over.

And he looked lost again.

—

Remus brought it up during one of their late-night meetings in the dormitory.

“He’s spiralling,” he said, glancing at James, who had fallen asleep at his desk with parchment stuck to his cheek.

Sirius nodded grimly. “Needs something new to obsess over. Something big,”

Peter, nibbling on a licorice wand, frowned. “We can’t just keep inventing stuff forever,”

Sirius looked thoughtful. “What if we didn’t invent something new?”

Remus raised a brow. “Do not say what I think you’re about to say,”

“I mean, come on—” Sirius leaned in, lowering his voice. “What if we finally did it?”

“...Did what?” Peter blinked.

“The Animagus transformation.”

The silence that followed was immediate and electric.

They’d talked about it for years. Since second year, really, when they’d first pieced together Remus’s secret. They weren’t stupid—not with the strange disappearances each month, the hospital wing visits, the sudden excuses. And once he’d finally told them, the reaction had been unanimous.

We want to help.

Not just in words, but in action. If Remus turned into something terrifying every full moon, then they would too. That had been the plan. It was just that... the process was terrifying, incredibly dangerous, and strictly illegal. Even Slughorn wouldn’t touch it. They’d promised they’d wait—until they were smarter, stronger, more careful.

But maybe waiting had become an excuse.

Sirius cleared his throat. “We’ve done our research. We know every step.”

Remus sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “Are you serious?”

“Always. Literally,”

Peter frowned. “It’s dangerous.”

“It’s badass,” Sirius corrected.

James stirred then, head still on the parchment. He blinked up at them blearily. “What’s badass?”

Sirius looked him square in the eyes. “We’re going to become Animagi.”

For a moment, James just stared. Then—something sparked in his eyes. The first real light since before the holidays.

“You’re serious?” he asked.

“That’s my name alright,” Sirius wiggled his eyebrows. “You guys really just keep handing me that joke,”

Peter groaned. “Every time.”

But James was smiling—really smiling—for the first time in weeks.

And just like that, the Marauders had a new mission.

—

They started the process immediately.

The first step? Keeping a Mandrake leaf in your mouth for an entire month. That meant from full moon to full moon, no swallowing, no spitting it out—not even during meals. If the leaf was lost, the whole process had to start again.

It was unpleasant, to say the least.

James nearly swallowed his on day three after Sirius made a joke during breakfast. Peter dropped his in the sink while brushing his teeth. Sirius almost sneezed his into his cauldron during Potions. Still, they persisted.

And the strangest part? The castle noticed.

Not the professors—not really. But the students did. The Marauders were quiet.

They stopped arguing in the corridors. Stopped loudly mocking Filch. They were—god forbid—well-behaved.

You noticed immediately.

“They’re up to something,” you said flatly as you watched them walk silently into Transfiguration one morning.

Lily glanced up from her notes. “They haven’t pranked anyone in weeks.”

“Exactly.”

Peter coughed and immediately turned red. James flicked a finger at his sleeve and whispered something that sounded suspiciously like a warning. They slid into their seats, saying nothing.

You and Lily shared a look.

“I don’t trust it,” you muttered.

—

Over the next few weeks, the boys carried out the enchantments meticulously.

They followed every instruction in the old Animagus guides they’d managed to find (and smuggle) from the Restricted Section.

First came the potion.

After the Mandrake leaf, they had to spit it into a crystal phial under the full moon’s light. Then came the ingredients: one of their own hairs, a silver teaspoon of untouched dew, and the chrysalis of a Death's-head Hawk Moth.

Tracking all of that down was... not easy.

Sirius broke into Greenhouse Seven. James used the map to avoid Filch while collecting dew before dawn. Peter found the moths in the attic. Remus handled the potion prep. It took weeks. They hid the phials under loose floorboards, dark closets, enchanted drawers—anything safe and undisturbed.

Miraculously, the first attempt actually worked.

Each of them had a phial filled with a swirling, dark red liquid. Their magic—ancient and wild—had started to settle.

But there was still more to do.

—

For the transformation to succeed, they had to wait for a lightning storm.

Which meant more waiting. Waiting and chanting.

Every morning at sunrise, and every evening at sunset, they placed their wands over their hearts and whispered the same incantation.

Amato Animo Animato Animagus.

Again. And again. And again.

Some days it felt like nothing.

Some days it felt like everything.

James was the first to feel it—the strange flutter beneath his wand. A second heartbeat.

“Felt it last night,” he whispered one evening. “Faint. Like... something was waking up.”

Remus nodded. “That’s good. That’s how you know it’s working,”

“Do we tell anyone?” Peter asked.

Sirius looked scandalised. “Tell people we’re illegally transforming into animals? Absolutely not.”

James smiled faintly. “This is for us.”

And it was.

—

You, meanwhile, grew increasingly suspicious.

They skipped breakfast. Showed up late to class. Never spoke to anyone except themselves.

“Okay,” you said to Lily one morning as the boys disappeared out the portrait hole before the sun had even properly risen. “I need to know what they’re doing,”

Lily yawned. “Still think they’re just inventing some new prank,”

“It’s too quiet. That’s not their style,”

“I’m not saying I care,” Lily said, tying her hair up in a ribbon, “but if they blow up another corridor and we’re caught in the crossfire, I will personally hex James Potter into the next century,”

You smiled. “Can I help?”

“Absolutely,”

But no matter how carefully you watched them, they gave away nothing.

Whatever the Marauders were doing—it was secret, strange, and somehow important.

And James Potter? He looked... alive again.

—

In the boys’ dorm that night, lightning lit the windows.

A storm had finally come.

James stood, heart pounding, phial in hand.

Remus lit the candles. Sirius double-checked the warding spells on the door. Peter wrung his hands, nervously glancing between his friends.

James took a deep breath and uncorked the bottle.

The potion shimmered. Glowed.

Now or never.

He raised his wand. Placed it over his chest.

“Amato Animo Animato Animagus.”

Then he drank.

His transformation wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t smooth. It was raw. Violent.

One moment, he was standing there with his wand pressed to his heart, eyes wide and wild as he muttered the final incantation. The next, he was writhing, collapsing onto his knees, a horrible crunch of bone and crack of skin echoing through the dormitory.

Sirius would later joke it sounded like he was turning inside-out.

And in a way, he was.

You don’t just shift into something else—you become it. Your magic burns through every nerve, rewriting you, reshaping you.

James’s fingers broke and bent backwards, elongating into thick, sinewy legs. His face tore forward—muscle grinding against bone—as antlers exploded from his skull. He cried out, a ragged, animal sound that made Peter reel back in horror.

But then it was done.

Where James had been, now stood a stag. Tall, sleek, and trembling.

It took a minute before any of the others moved.

Sirius whispered, “Bloody hell.”

And the stag turned his head toward them—eyes still so James, full of wonder and disbelief and pain.

It wasn’t easy, turning back either. James collapsed the moment he was human again, soaked in sweat and shaking from head to toe, teeth chattering.

But he was smiling.

“It works,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “It bloody works,”

Sirius went next.

His transformation wasn’t elegant either—but it was quicker.

He was determined not to scream like James had. But his pride cracked the moment his spine snapped into something long and low and his limbs folded in on themselves. His shout echoed across the dormitory walls as his body shrank, shoulders popping out of their sockets, then back in at impossible angles.

Peter had to look away. Even Remus winced.

When it was over, a large black dog stood panting on the floor—eyes too bright, still feral around the edges.

The dog wagged its tail twice before immediately slipping on the rug and bashing into the nightstand.

Remus snorted. “Still Sirius, then,”

It took longer for Sirius to change back. His concentration kept slipping. But eventually, he returned—flat on his back, grinning madly.

“That was mental.”

“Are you okay?” James asked.

“I think I dislocated something.”

“What?”

“Is there a joint in your spine?”

They laughed, exhausted.

Peter was next.

He hesitated.

He wasn’t brave like James, or fearless like Sirius. He was... Peter. The one they always pulled along, dragged into plans with too many moving pieces and too many ways to fail.

But he wanted this. Needed it.

So he drank the potion. He said the words.

And then he screamed.

His transformation was somehow worse than the others. His body crumpled in on itself—shrinking, folding, compressing. His bones cracked—so loud Sirius thought something had broken permanently. His nose disappeared entirely. Fingers curled into paws. His spine snapped in three separate places.

Then he was gone.

And in his place sat a small, twitching, frightened rat.

He stayed like that for a while. Peter’s magic was... weaker. But they waited. Helped him. Coached him through the terror and the pain.

When he finally returned, he was crying.

But he was one of them.

“You did it, mate,” James said, voice gentle. “You did it.”

Peter hiccuped and nodded, wiping at his eyes with trembling hands.

—

They sat together in silence after that, each of them bruised and aching and wide-eyed.

Four friends.

Four animals.

“Well,” Sirius said eventually, “now we need names,”

James perked up instantly. “Obviously.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Sirius sat up straighter, despite his spine still crackling ominously. “We have to name ourselves. This is important.”

“Like code names?” Peter asked, voice still shaky.

Sirius nodded. “Exactly,”

“Right,” James said, rubbing at his antler-bruised head. “Let’s think. We need names that fit our forms,”

Sirius looked smug. “I want to be Padfoot.”

Everyone turned to him.

“...Padfoot?” Remus repeated.

Sirius shrugged. “It’s cool. Stealthy. I’m a dog, I pad around. Padfoot.”

James snorted. “Okay, sure.”

“Then I want to be Prongs,” James said without hesitation. “Because, you know—”

“The antlers,” Remus said flatly.

James beamed. “Exactly.”

Peter fidgeted. “I don’t have any names,”

“Hmmm,” James hummed animatedly. “What about Wormtail?”

Sirius looked like he was about to make a joke, but stopped when he saw Peter’s expression.

“You know, because rat tails look like worms?”

Peter nodded. “I guess it fits,”

James clapped him on the back. “It fits. Wormtail it is,”

They looked at Remus then.

“Don’t think you’re escaping this,” Sirius said. “You’re Moony now.”

Remus blinked. “What? No—you lot are the Animagi. I didn’t transform,”

“Yeah,” James said, “but you’re the reason we did it,”

“And besides,” Sirius added, “you’ve been dealing with this moon thing your whole life. You’ve earned the name more than any of us,”

Remus opened his mouth to argue, then closed it.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Fine,” he said. “Moony, then.”

The Marauders were born that night—not just in name, but in purpose.

They weren’t just pranksters anymore. They were more.

They were a pack.

—

The next morning, you saw them at breakfast.

All four of them, sitting together, nursing mugs of tea with varying degrees of exhaustion on their faces.

James had a bandage on his wrist. Sirius flinched every time someone touched his shoulder. Peter kept blinking, like the sunlight was too much. Remus looked pale—but content.

You stared at them from your spot at the Gryffindor table, narrowing your eyes.

“What did they do?” you muttered.

Lily glanced up, then rolled her eyes. “Knowing them? Built a secret Quidditch pitch or something,”

You weren’t so sure.

There was something different about them.

Not just the injuries, not just the tired eyes. It was in the way they sat closer together. In the way they looked at each other—like they’d done something they weren’t ready to share with anyone else.

But whatever it was, they weren’t saying a word.

Sirius caught your eye across the room. Smirked. Raised his cup.

You gave him the flattest look imaginable in return.

And still—you couldn’t help the whisper of suspicion curling at the back of your mind.

Something had changed.

—

It was only a matter of time.

You felt it before you even saw it—James Potter, shoulders squared, eyes gleaming again, laughter back on his lips. That particular swagger in his step had returned, the one that always meant trouble was brewing somewhere nearby.

He was himself again. Or, at least, the version of himself that drove you absolutely mad.

The Animagus transformation had put a fire back in him, a sort of untouchable pride that shimmered beneath every word he spoke. Barely anyone in wizarding history had pulled it off, and he’d done it at fifteen.

So of course he thought he was invincible now.

You weren’t surprised when the prank came. Honestly, you’d been waiting for it—like watching a thundercloud slowly form and stretch across the sky.

Still, the sound of Severus’s yell was enough to twist something sharp in your chest.

You turned the corner just in time to see him hanging upside down in the middle of the courtyard, robes flapping over his head, pale legs flailing embarrassingly in the air. He was trying to reach his wand, which had fallen somewhere below—but he couldn’t grab it.

James was standing a few feet away, wand raised, grinning like the entire thing was some hilarious spectacle.

The worst part? People were laughing.

Not just the Marauders. Actual students. Fourth years. Sixth years. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws alike. Even a couple professors on the far end hadn’t noticed yet, or maybe they had and just didn’t want to intervene.

“Look at him!” Sirius was practically doubled over, clutching his sides. “He’s like a flobberworm caught on a hook—”

“Didn’t even have to cast a full charm,” James added. “He was halfway in the air before I finished the spell—”

“James!” Lily’s voice cut through the courtyard like a whip.

You saw his wand falter just slightly.

You were right behind her, the same tightness coiled in your gut as the last time—when they'd done this before, last year, with a laugh and a cruel joke and no thought to who got dragged down with it.

Severus might’ve distanced himself, but he’d been your friend. He’d been Lily’s. He’d sat next to you in every Herbology class and made dry comments that made you bite back a laugh. He’d whispered spells under his breath so you could double-check your pronunciation. He’d cared.

And now… he was this. This punchline.

“Put him down,” you snapped.

James hesitated. “Look, he—”

“Now.”

His smirk wavered. Just for a second. You saw it in his eyes—that moment of recognition, of guilt. Like last year was suddenly at the front of his mind again, bright and bloody. Like you standing there, furious and unamused, was enough to make him second-guess himself.

But before he could even lower his wand—

“I don’t need help from a Mudblood,” Severus spat from the air, voice heavy with venom, “or her stupid shadow.”

The silence was immediate.

Sharp. Cold.

The courtyard might as well have frozen over.

You felt Lily go still beside you.

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe. Not for a moment.

Your vision tunneled—eyes locked on Severus, who was still flailing a bit, but with far more hatred than fear now. His gaze was fixed on you and Lily, wild and narrowed. His face was red, twisted with something that looked like rage and shame and wounded pride all at once.

He meant it.

You blinked.

And whatever lingering thread of respect, of friendship, of understanding you’d been clinging to—snapped clean in two.

Lily didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

You grabbed her wrist, gently, and turned away.

You didn’t look back.

Not at James, not at Severus. Not at the crowd still watching, slowly beginning to murmur as the tension cracked and started to buzz.

You and Lily walked away, heads high.

But you could feel the weight of the moment settling like dust on your skin.

It wasn’t just about a prank anymore.

It hadn’t been for a while.

—

You sat with Lily by the lake later that afternoon, knees drawn up to your chest as you stared out at the grey water. The wind had picked up—cool and biting—and the trees across the shore swayed like they were whispering secrets between their branches.

Neither of you had spoken since leaving the courtyard.

Eventually, Lily broke the silence.

“I knew he was angry,” she said quietly. “I knew he was hurting. But I didn’t think he’d… say that.”

You didn’t respond.

She rubbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper, then quickly dropped her hand again like she was embarrassed.

“Thanks,” she added.

“For what?”

“For walking away. For not… for not making me say anything. I couldn’t.”

You nodded.

There wasn’t anything to say, really.

Severus had made his choice. And he’d made it loud enough for the whole school to hear.

—

James was standing frozen.

Severus had fallen the second his concentration broke—crumpling onto the cobblestones with a groan. He’d scrambled for his wand, muttered some ugly retort under his breath, and stormed off before anyone could stop him.

The crowd was still there, some people chuckling nervously, others pretending they hadn’t found any of it funny at all.

But James wasn’t laughing.

Not anymore.

He barely even noticed when Sirius tried to get his attention.

“Mate? Hello? Earth to Prongs?”

James flinched like someone had slapped him.

“That…” he muttered. “That wasn’t funny.”

Peter frowned. “Which part?”

“The whole thing, Wormtail!”

He spun on his heel and took off, legs moving before his brain had fully caught up with what he was doing.

—

You heard your name being called before you saw him.

He skidded to a stop by the tree line near the lake, breathless and flushed and looking more like a boy than you’d ever seen him.

“I just—wait—can I say something?” James asked, voice half a gasp, hands up like he was ready to get hexed.

You stared at him. Lily stayed seated.

He swallowed.

“I’m sorry.”

You didn’t say anything. Let him flail.

“I mean really sorry,” he went on. “Not like a passing, 'oops I was a dick’ sort of sorry, but—actual—I’ve been thinking about this all year sorry.”

You arched a brow.

He ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “I know you don’t want to hear it. And honestly, if I were you, I wouldn’t either. I was a complete arse last year. I didn’t think. I didn’t care what happened to you or Lily—I was just showing off.”

“Obviously,” you muttered.

“But I do care. I do,” he insisted. “And I should’ve said it before. I should’ve apologized last year, properly. Not just some joke or half-effort.”

Lily finally stood.

James blinked, like he hadn’t expected her to move.

“What Severus said,” he continued, turning to her, “was disgusting. There’s no excuse for it. I’m sorry that you had to hear that. And I promise—if I ever hear it again, from anyone, I’ll hex them until they can’t speak anymore.”

She didn’t reply, but she nodded stiffly.

James stepped back then, gaze flicking between the two of you.

“I’ll leave you alone now,” he said. “I get it. You don’t want anything to do with me. Or any of us. But I just—needed you to know I’m sorry.”

And then he turned and left, hands shoved into his pockets, head bowed slightly.

You and Lily stood in silence for a long time.

Eventually, you said, “He meant it, d’you think?”

Lily exhaled slowly. “I think he did.”

You looked out at the lake again. The wind had softened.

Nothing had been fixed.

But it was on the mend.

[eufezco]

MEETING THE MARAUDERS𓂃 𓈒 ❀

marauder!remus lupin x slytherin!fem!reader

synopsis – after spending a lot of time with remus and with his friends insisting on meeting you, he finally decides to invite you to spend an afternoon with them.

a/n – you can read it either as a continuation of the fourth year part of this fic but it isn't necessary because it also works as a one shot.

fluff.

you’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous.

remus had become a big part of your life, you even introduced him to your bowtruckle, a secret you had kept from everyone else, and he had treated it with nothing but kindness. now, he thought it was only fair to return the favor—to introduce you to his friends.

a small part of you was curious, but the other part of you, the one that had spent years being the odd one out, wasn’t sure if you could go through with it, not because you didn’t trust remus, but because people like his friends—popular, loud, charming—didn’t mix with people like you.

—i... i don't think this is a good idea, what if i don't fit in? —you asked the bowtruckle. you paced around your room, luckily your awful roommates were out, giving you the space to overthink in peace. —what if they think i’m not funny? or too quiet? what if they just —you sighed, pressing your palms against your face, —don’t like me?

the bowtruckle, entirely unimpressed by your spiral, drummed its tiny fingers against your wrist in quick, impatient taps, as if trying to snap you out of your overthinking. it chirped, as if telling you that everything was going to be alright, that remus was waiting for you, that he wanted you there with them, with him.

—easy for you to say, —you mumbled, adjusting your pocket so it could settle back in. —you’re effortlessly charming.

—i can't wait to meet her, remus, i bet she's super sweet, —lily said excitedly as she sat next to remus in the gryffindor common room.

—if she appears, —sirius added to make remus even more nervous.

—she will, —remus said with confidence, though a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. you weren’t the kind of person to throw yourself into new situations easily. he knew that. this was pushing you out of your comfort zone.

—yeah, of course she will, —james said with a smirk. —she can't miss this chance with our moony and we have to green light her.

—green light her? —remus couldn't believe what he was hearing.

—you thought we’d just let some wicked slytherin into your life without making sure she’s not, i don’t know, secretly plotting your demise? —sirius asked.

—and what if she’s not worthy of our dear, delicate remus? what if she can handle his brooding nature, his tragically poetic soul? —james added, pouting and pinching remus' cheeks.

—get off, —remus groaned, pushing james’ hands away.

peter laughed, —no, but they have a point. we just want to make sure she’s good enough for you, moony. you’ve been rejecting girls left and right for years, and now, suddenly, you’ve got someone special? we’re intrigued.

remus knew what peter meant by someone special and he wanted to brush off their teasing, to dismiss the idea that you were anything more than just a friend, but he couldn't say that you weren't someone special because you were, even if he couldn’t fully admit it yet.

—she's just a friend, —remus finally said, the words almost getting caught in his throat.

everyone waited for remus to say something more, or for someone to break the tension after what they'd just heard. james and sirius shared a look, lily bit her lip as she glanced between remus and the others, and peter raised his eyes from his book as if he had heard his friend tell the biggest lie in the world.

remus was annoyed by the sudden silence. —what? she's just a friend, —he repeated, like saying it enough times would make it true, like he was not only trying to convince his friends but also himself.

james nodded, —sure, mate.

in that moment, you knocked on the picture frame and remus stood up all of a sudden, so fast that lily barely had time to move her legs before he nearly tripped over them. james leaned back on the couch, elbowing sirius. —just a friend, huh?

remus ignored them, muttering something under his breath as he reached the portrait and pulled it open. you knocked three times, just as remus told you to. he wasn't allowed to tell you the gryffindor password, so this quiet signal was the best option. a part of you hoped he wouldn’t hear it, that you could leave before anyone noticed you were even there.

you still had time to turn around, to disappear and pretend this never happened. your pulse pounded in your ears, every muscle in your body tensed. you once were made for this—groups, attention, friendship that extended beyond hushed library corners and whispered conversations by the black lake—, but now you didn't know if you could take it.

then, the portrait swung open and remus stood there, looking at you like he knew exactly what you were thinking. he didn’t say anything at first, just studied you, like he was giving you one last chance to change your mind. but when you didn’t move, didn’t speak, he gave you a small smile.

—hi, —you said first, trying to act as if you weren't panicking inside.

—hey, —remus stepped aside to let you in. his eyes moved to the pocket on your slythetin shirt. —hey there, little one.

the bowtruckle peeked out, chirping softly at the familiar voice. it seemed completely at ease, unlike you, whose heart was pounding so hard you were sure remus could hear it. you stepped into the common room. it was nothing like slytherin's, you swore the warmth of the place not only radiated from the fireplace but from the people there, everyone seemed to exist in a kind of effortless friendship.

—don't get used to it, slytherin, you will have to return to your dungeon at some point, —sirius teased when he saw you analyzing the room.

remus looked at him in terror, that's how you were received? already kicking you out? he was going to apologize in behalf of his friend, how many times would he have to do that during the afternoon? but before he could say anything, you just shyly smiled.

—didn’t realize gryffindors were so territorial.

you fought to try and not to start shaking after saying that. you could handle teasing, you had been handling it all these years but no one made it in a friendly way. but with remus' friends, it felt lighter, even if you could still feel the weight of their attention on you. remus was surprised and a bit relieved that you had followed sirius's teasing with such ease. he expected maybe a little defensive, which he could've completely understand, but instead, you handled it just fine.

sirius grinned, clearly pleased that you weren’t intimidated. —oh, we are. especially when it comes to moony.

he extended his hand, an expectant look on his face, as if daring you to take it. you placed your hand in his, matching his energy as best you could.

—don't worry, he's the worst one out of all five, the rest of us are more normal, —james got up from his place on the couch and walked toward you, his signature smirk firmly in place. he also extended his hand and you shook it.

—yeah, i wouldn’t use the word normal to describe any of us… but we’re nice people, —peter added, also approaching you. you also shook his hand, with a small smile on his lips, entertained by them.

—for merlin's beard! you're here! —you heard a girl's voice say behind you, filled with excitement. you turned around just in time to see a redhead approaching, her green eyes bright with curiosity. before you could say anything, she wrapped her arms around you and your eyes widened in surprise.

in that moment, you realized just how long it had been since someone hugged you like this, like it was the most natural thing in the world. remus got a little scared because he knew you weren't used to people being as intense as lily, and for a second, he worried it might overwhelm you. but then, he watched as you slowly and hesitantly lifted your arms and hugged her back.

—i knew you'd come,— she said as she pulled back, holding your hands as if to confirm you were real. —they made it sound like you might run for the hills!

—we did not say that, —peter said.

—you implied it, —lily shot back with a knowing grin.

sirius, moved to sit on the couch as he smirked. —smart girl. she should have run.

you exhaled sharply, shaking your head. —believe me, i thought about it.

they all laughed but they knew that you were being serious.

remus should have been the one to lead the conversation, to make this easier for you. but he was too caught up in making sure nothing overwhelmed you, that no one said anything to make you second-guess being here. so it was james who took the lead instead.

—hmm, forgive lily, she's been dying to meet you, —james explained.

—yeah, remus talks about you all the time, how could i not?

in that moment, remus came back to reality, his ears and cheeks burning. you were unsure if you wanted to laugh or shrink into the floor. your heart pounded, not in fear, but in something close to warmth. if your bowtruckle didn’t have strict orders to not make an appearance, it would’ve already started chirping, betraying your secret because if remus talked about you… you were just as guilty. but thankfully, your tiny traitor stayed put.

—this is gonna be a fun evening, — sirius declared.

lily's lips parted to say something after she realized what she just said but, once again, james saved the situation.

—right, then! —he clapped his hands together. —since moony is too busy overthinking and evans is two seconds away from adopting you, i’ll be your official gryffindor tour guide for the evening. they can get the food and the drinks

lily rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, already pulling remus. —come on, moony, — she said. —we’ve got snack duty, apparently.

you nodded slowly, assuring remus that you'd be fine. then, once they left, you looked around the common room, there were so many things that it was hard to focus on just one. james noticed your distraction and nudged you lightly. —overwhelmed, are we?

—a bit, — you huffed a laugh and admitted, still glancing around.

—don’t worry, you’ll get used to it, —peter added.

—first, the fireplace, —james said, him and peter walked by your side around the common room to show you thing by thing. —you want warmth? you fight for a seat here. sirius practically lives on that couch.

—next, we have the best table for last-minute essay writing, —james gestured toward a large wooden table covered with at least three half-empty cups of tea.

—or for pretending to write essays while actually playing wizard’s chess, —peter added. —this is lily’s and your remus' preferred study spot. no one dares sit there when they're in one of their homework moods. but it’s been ages since remus last showed up here, hasn’t it, james? any idea why?

—oh, i wonder what could've possibly distracted him, —james added dramatically, stroking his chin like a detective solving a mystery. —could it be… a certain slytherin?

you felt the warmth rush to your cheeks as all eyes turned to you, their grins filled with mischief. in that moment, sirius appeared and threw his arm over your shoulder. you tensed for a second. first lily and now sirius. physical affection wasn't something you were used to but they were effortlessly casual about it, like this was just how things worked here.

—don’t worry, slytherin, —sirius said, smirking as he pulled you into his side like you’d been friends forever. his easygoing nature made it hard to feel uncomfortable. —we tease because we care. and because it’s fun. we know you're taking good care of our moony, you've even gotten him to enjoy herbology.

—leave her alone, —lily said, slipping between you and sirius.

remus and lily had just returned, bringing snacks and drinks, though it was remus carrying everything. lily, on the other hand, had hooked her arm through yours, gently tugging you away from sirius as if to physically shield you from any more teasing.

—i'll show you the rest of the common room, while they, —she shot a deadly glance to james, peter an remus, —go and help moony.

the three of them collectively let out a dramatic huff but moved to help remus with the rest of the snacks.

—they're too much, but you'll get used to them, —lily said as she guided you toward the next part of the common room. the wall was covered in moving photographs, some of past gryffindor students, others of current ones. —this is the unofficial gryffindor history wall, —lily explained. —you’ll find pictures of old quidditch teams, past hogwarts students and prank victims...

you stepped closer, eyes scanning the frames. there, in one of the more recent photographs, were remus, james, sirius, and peter, all together. you smiled a little. remus had that same soft expression, he was pushing his reading glasses up on his nose, clearly attempting to look composed for the picture but his friends were doing everything in their power to ruin that.

you felt lily nudge you softly, —saw something you like? —lily asked. your cheeks warmed slightly again, and you glanced at her, suddenly aware of how long you’d been staring. lily giggled and tightened her arm around yours as if silently telling you that everything was alright. —you two are adorable.

before you could attempt to defend yourself, a loud voice interrupted.

—oi! evans! stop stealing our slytherin!

lily rolled her eyes, annoyed because he wanted to spend more time alone with you. you two walked back to the fireplace where the four boys where. lily let go your arm and moved quickly to stop james from eating all her favorite snack. you lingered near the couches, suddenly unsure of where to sit. you weren’t sure of the unspoken rules there of who usually sat where.

—hey, —remus said from behind you. he held a magic chess in his hands, his warm brown eyes watching you carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort. —you okay? sorry my friends hoarded you. i apologize for them, but they mean well.

you nodded, —no need to apologize, i'm okay. they're fun.

remus gave you a small, relieved smile. —come sit with me.

you nodded again. you made your way over to the couch, and though it was only big enough for two, it was small enough that your leg brushed against his as you sat. lily and james shared a similar couch, just that she had her head resting on his legs. sirius had taken the armchair, with both of his legs hanging over the armrest. peter was sitting on the rug, his back against the space where sirius' legs were supposed to be hanging and a bowl of popcorn in his hands.

—why don't you tell us about yourself, slytherin?

you felt the sudden weight of their attention, all eyes now on you. it had been so long since anyone had been genuinely interested in what you had to say about yourself that you didn't even know where to start. the words felt stuck in your throat, and for a moment, you wondered if you should just retreat back into the comfortable silence you were used to.

you cleared your throat, trying to shake off the hesitation. you shifted slightly on the couch and remus moved his hand to rest on your leg, a subtle reminder that you were in a friendly space, with no judgment, no rush, just people who wanted to know you.

—what do you want to know? —you asked sirius back.

—your family. are they wizards? —peter asked before sirius could.

you shook your head. —no, i'm the only witch in my family.

—i'm also a muggle-born! —lily said, excited. james, sirius and peter told you that they were pure bloods and remus didn't need to tell you that he was a half-blood because you already knew that.

—what is your quidditch team?

—i don't... i don't really like quidditch.

the room fell silent for a moment. three pairs of eyes stared at you in various stages of shock, disbelief, and—on sirius’ part—betrayal. even lily blinked at you, surprised, though she didn’t look nearly as horrified as the boys did. you swallowed, waiting for an answer from them. did you say something wrong?

—you don’t like quidditch? —james repeated, as if the words physically pained him to say out loud. he placed a dramatic hand over his heart. —tell me you’re joking.

—i’m not, —you admitted with a small nervous smile. —i just never really got into it. i didn't grow up watching quidditch and i don't get along particularly well with the slytherin quidditch team.

—she has a point about the slytherin team, though, —lily chimed in, grabbing some gummies from the table. —they’re insufferable.

—moony, i can’t believe you brought us someone here someone who doesn’t like quidditch, —james complained loudly.

remus looked over at you with a small smile. —don’t listen to them. it’s not a requirement to like quidditch to be our friend.

—it should be, —sirius mumbled under his breath. lily threw him the gummy bear she had in her hand.

—what do you do for fun then? —peter asked, tilting his head curiously.

you hesitated for a moment, then answered, —i like reading.

you heard a collective huff coming from the other three boys and you couldn't help but giggle. remus had told you about they hated study time and the library, always trying to find ways to avoid it.

—see? brilliant hobby, —remus perked up immediately. —she also loves magical creatures.

sirius grinned. —careful, moony, sounds like you’ve met your perfect match.

you felt your face heat up at sirius’ words, although you didn't really understood his comment. out of the corner of your eye, you caught remus ducking his head slightly, suddenly very interested in adjusting his sweater sleeves.

—i think it’s great. magical creatures are fascinating. —lily said, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. she turned to you, her head still resting on james' legs, clearly eager to hear more. —what’s your favorite?

your thoughts drifted to the little creature you carried with you. the soft movement in your pocket reminded you of it—your bowtruckle, likely tucked in and sleeping by now. you ran a hand over your pocket, as if to reassure the tiny creature that it was still safe.

—well, —you started, your voice softer now as you spoke about something that was dear to you. —i think my favorite would have to be bowtruckles.

you saw the flicker of mischief appear on sirius' eyes when you mentioned bowtruckles and you knew he was going to ask you about it. that time at the beginning of the year when he and remus ran into you and saw your little friend.

—they're small, but they’re very clever. they’re experts at camouflaging themselves. but they’re also very loyal. if they trust you, they’ll protect you. i think that’s what I like the most about them.

for a moment, all of them looked at you closely, their expressions a mix of curiosity and surprise. you felt a slight knot form in your stomach as a wave of self-consciousness washed over you. had you said too much? overshared? remus, of course, was the first to offer a soft smile, his brown eyes warm and understanding.

—wow... that's so interesting, —james said. peter and lily hummed and nodded, agreeing with him. his eyes now softened with curiosity. —it’s... cool. you’ve got this whole different perspective on magic. i like it.

—you speak about bowtruckles as if you really know them, —sirius teased.

remus knew exactly what sirius was getting at. although remus already knew your bowtruckle, he also caught a glimpse of it on the train at the beginning of the year, no matter how much you had tried to act as if it had been nothing. —of course she knows them, —remus said smoothly, cutting sirius off before he could push further. —she just told you they're her favorites.

sirius rolled his eyes, —oh shut up, moony.

that nickname again. you'd been hearing it all evening. moony. it felt familiar on their tongues, effortless. you didn’t want to seem too nosy, but you finally couldn't hold it back. —i have to ask, what’s with the nickname? why moony?

the room fell silent for a brief moment. everyone else seemed to glance at remus. he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, as if trying to figure out how to explain it without revealing the truth. he wasn't ready for that yet. the mere thought of telling you made his stomach twist.

—in our first year at hogwarts, remus was so obsessed with astronomy, —james began, a nostalgic grin spreading across his face as if he was not telling the biggest lie ever, but he had to cover his friends back this time. he was sure that when remus was ready to tell you the truth, you’d understand. until then, this would have to do.

—yeah, he used to stay up all night with that bloody telescope of his, staring at the moon, —sirius added smoothly, catching on to james’ quick improvisation without hesitation.

—that's why we call him moony. he was obsessed, he knew more about the phases of the moon than any professor.

you hummed, nodding. it was odd. of all the time you'd spent with remus, he had never once mentioned his supposed passion for astronomy, nor the moon. you glanced at him, but he was focused on adjusting the chess pieces in front of him, as if willing himself not to look at you.

—i grew out of it, —remus said as if reading your mind.

—tragic, really, —james sighed, shaking his head. —all those sleepless nights, and for what? a nickname?

—enough about moony's past, —sirius said, —we’ve covered quidditch—disappointing answer, by the way. we’ve covered your special interests—very cool answer. what about dueling? potions? are you a secret prodigy in some terrifying slytherin skill?

you giggled, was he serious about this?

—have you ever cursed someone? —peter asked, leaning in a little, as if waiting for some grand confession.

james added. —yeah, i bet you know a ton of dark spells, don’t you?

—for merlin's beard! what are these questions? —remus exclaimed, rubbing his forehead as if trying to block out the absurdity of it all.

lily, equally horrified by the direction the conversation had taken, quickly stepped in. —do you play chess?

you let out a small laugh and nodded. sirius leaned back into the armchair with a pout.

—aw, no dark magic duels? no secret spells? —he teased.

—if you beat me at chess, we'll duel and i'll teach you some dark spells.

and sirius seemed satisfied because you two were the first ones to play. he wasted no time in making his first move, playing aggressively, clearly expecting you to struggle. but you didn't. with each move, you countered him easily. peter was the easiest to beat and james tried but just lasted a little longer than sirius. lily put up the best fight of them all, but after a long battle, she sighed, surrendering her king in resignation.

now, it was remus sitting on the floor in front of you, his legs crossed as he studied the board with quiet concentration. there was a little smile on his lips as he looked up at you, and you couldn’t help but smile back. the rest of them watched, a little amazed. there was something different about this match, something unspoken between you and remus as you played.

—they’re not even talking, —sirius whispered.

—they don’t need to, —lily murmured back, eyes flicking between the two of you.

james huffed, crossing his arms. —if they end up falling in love over a chessboard, i’m going to be so annoyed.

lily didn’t say anything else, but she could already see it. the way you and remus moved, the way you met each other’s gazes with soft smiles, the quiet ease between you—it was obvious. maybe not to the two of you just yet, but to everyone else in the room, it was as clear as day. the game ended in a draw, much to everyone's surprise. you extended your hand across the board to him, and remus took it with a light laugh.

the rest of the evening was just as great. you listened, content, as the group chatted about their various adventures, schoolwork, and the latest pranks they were planning for the next hogsmeade trip. you should come with us to hogsmeade the next time! lily said excited and they all agreed.

peter had taken your spot on the couch, leaving you and remus on the floor. your backs were leaning against the soft cushions. remus had hugged his legs to his chest, his knees drawn up as he rested his arms loosely around them. his attention on the group but his gaze drifting back to you every so often, as if checking in. every time your eyes met, there was that same unspoken connection, like a shared secret. you weren’t sure if he even realized he was doing it, but it made you feel seen in a way that was both comforting and... exciting.

it was comforting for him as well—seeing a happier look on your face, watching you laugh, relax, and get along so easily with his friends. their teasing had managed to break through your walls. maybe it was the way sirius had declared you not so bad for a slytherin. or the way james had groaned dramatically when you beat him, but still ruffled your hair like you were already one of them. maybe it was lily’s knowing looks, her quiet reassurances, or peter’s eager interest in your stories.

or maybe—just maybe—it was just remus.

because even now, as the conversation carried on around you, his presence beside you made you feel safe.

remus let go of his legs and one of his hands dropped to the floor right by yours. it wasn’t quite touching, but it was close enough that you could feel the warmth from his skin. you wondered if it was intentional. If he was testing the waters, seeing if you’d pull away. you didn’t. instead, your fingers twitched slightly, brushing against his just barely. it could have been an accident, a coincidence. but you knew it wasn’t when he turned his palm up, open—an invitation.

your fingers hesitated for only a moment before you moved your hand into his, your palm pressing lightly against his own as his fingers curled around yours. neither of you looked at each other, not directly. he kept his gaze ahead, pretending to listen to whatever his friends were saying, but you could see the small, pleased smile playing at the corner of his lips.

then, a soft chirping sound broke through the warmth of the moment. your bowtruckle, nestled in your pocket, had stirred, reminding you of something. your eyes went to the clock on the wall—it was late.

—oh, i should go, —you said interrupting the conversation as you stood from the floor, letting go remus' hands. every part of you wanted to stay just a little longer.

—i'll walk you to the dungeons, —remus stood up, brushing off his sweater as if the decision had already been made.

james smirked. —should we expect you back before sunrise, or…?

remus rolled his eyes as he grabbed his wand from the table. —hilarious. truly.

lily got up from the couch and went to hug you. this time you were ready to hug her back, —it’s been great meeting you, —she said as she pulled away, smiling. —i hope you join us again soon. in fact, i was planning to go over my potions homework tomorrow. maybe we can do it together?

—yeah, there’s also a quidditch match tomorrow. gryffindor versus hufflepuff. not the most exciting thing, but still worth watching. maybe when you and lily are done with your studying, you can join us, —james added.

you blinked, caught off guard by how easily they included you in her plans, —oh, yeah. that sounds nice, actually, —you admitted.

lily beamed. —perfect! i’ll save you a seat in the library. goodnight. and be careful, both of you.

peter offered a small wave and a genuine, goodnight, before turning back to the others. sirius, still lounging in the armchair, of course had to make the last joke of the evening, try not to hex our dear moony on the way down, yeah? we’re trusting you not to unleash one of your dark magic tricks on him. remus let out a sigh, shaking his head. you let out a little laugh with a goodbye sirius.

stepping out of the common room, you walked beside remus, your footsteps echoing slightly in the empty hallways, neither of you in a rush to reach your destination. his hands were tucked into the pockets of his pants, and you found yourself glancing at them more than once. after a moment, remus spoke, his voice softer now. —you fit in well with them.

you glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. —do i?

he nodded. —yeah. they definitely like you.

you let out a quiet chuckle, the sound almost nervous, as a strange sensation stirred in your chest, something you couldn’t quite decipher. —well, they don’t know me that well yet.

—they know enough, —he said simply.

the feeling in your chest was a mix of not having fit in with anyone for years and the satisfaction of finally finding people you were comfortable around. you almost wanted to ask what enough meant, would it be true what lily had said earlier, about how remus couldn't stop talking about you? the idea crossed your mind, making your stomach flutter. you weren’t sure if you could believe it. it felt safer to think that way, rather than consider the possibility that remus might actually think about you when you weren’t in the room.

but before you could ask him, remus gave a soft sigh, breaking the silence. —did you have fun?

you nodded, —so much fun. i didn’t expect it to be this… easy.

remus glanced over at you, his eyes softening in that familiar way they always did when he listened to you. he had a way of making you feel like what you said mattered, and that was something you weren’t used to.

—you know you hurt james' ego when you beat him at chess, right? especially in front of lily, —he said with a mischievous smile.

you chuckled. as you walked, the two of you chatted about the rest of the evening. only your laughter could be heard in the corridors of the castle. you watched as he pulled his hands out of his pockets, stretching his fingers slightly before letting them fall at his sides. if you were now the one reaching for it, would he let you?

you hesitated. maybe it was the late hour making you bold. your fingers twitched slightly, debating. testing. it would be so easy to just... let your fingers brush against his, to close the space between you. but before you could make a decision, the entrance to the slytherin dungeons came into view.

you swallowed, slowing your steps. too late.

—i’m glad you came tonight, —he said, his voice gentle. —it’s been nice, having you here.

for a moment, you just stood there, facing each other in the dim light of the castle corridor.

—thank you for inviting me, i had so much fun, —you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

remus nodded. a few seconds of silence stretched between you. he looked as if he wanted to say something more, something important, but the words never came. instead, he exhaled softly, rubbing the back of his neck.

—i... i should leave before filch finds us, —he finally said, his voice quieter now.

you gave a small chuckle. —yeah, wouldn’t want detention right when we have plans for tomorrow.

he stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle hug. you melted into it. he smelled faintly of old parchment, chocolate, and something distinctly him—something comforting. you still remembered the first time he hugged you. you hadn’t known what to do with yourself. physical affection had never come naturally to you, and for a long time, you had simply stood there, unmoving, unsure of how to reciprocate. but now? now, you fit against him effortlessly, as if this had always been meant to happen.

his arms tightened slightly, just for a second, as if he wanted to hold on a little longer. you felt his heartbeat, steady and calm, before he finally exhaled and slowly pulled away. but not completely. as he moved back, his cheek brushed against yours, and for the briefest moment, his lips ghosted over your skin.

your breath hitched. it was barely a touch, more of an accident than an intention, but it sent a rush of warmth through you.

remus stayed there, really close to your face. his hesitation was brief, but you caught it—the way his dark brown eyes moved to look at your lips. and then, before either of you could think too much about it, he moved. slowly, carefully, like he was giving you a chance to pull away, remus leaned in. his nose brushed against yours, your breaths mingled in the small space between you, and then he finally closed the distance.

his lips met yours, soft and unsure at first, but when you didn’t pull away, when instead you tilted your head just slightly to meet him better, he deepened the kiss. his hand, warm and steady, found its way to your cheek, his thumb tracing the edge of your jaw.

there was a knot in your stomach, tight and overwhelming. you had spent so long convincing yourself that this kind of intimacy wasn’t meant for you. your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his sweater as if afraid that the moment might slip away too soon. and maybe remus felt the same, because just before he pulled back, he kissed you again—just once, a little firmer, like he was making sure this was real.

you looked down, shy, and remus laughed.

—i should really leave now, —he murmured, though he made no move to step away.

—yeah, —you said softly, but neither of you moved.

the castle was quiet around you, the dim light casting long shadows on the stone walls. it felt like you were standing in a moment just outside of time. remus exhaled slowly, as if gathering the will to actually leave. then, in one last act of hesitation, he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

—goodnight, —he said against your skin.

you stood there for a moment after he left, your heart still racing, your lips still tingling. and then, with a quiet smile to yourself, you turned and made your way to the dungeons. as you walked, your bowtruckle peeked out of your pocket, tilting its tiny head before letting out a soft chirp.

—you should be sleeping, —you told it. your bowtruckle chirped again. you rolled your eyes but couldn't help the small laugh that escaped you. —did that really happened? oh, don’t look at me like that, —you whispered. —it was just a kiss, —the little creature let out another noise before scurrying back into the folds of your robes, apparently satisfied with whatever it had seen.

when remus returned to the common room, he found lily still there, waiting. she didn’t say anything at first, just raised an eyebrow as he walked in. he sighed, already knowing where this was going.

—don’t make this a bigger deal than it is, —remus said, his tone more vulnerable than any of them were used to hearing. he plopped down on the sofa beside lily as he ran his hands over his face.

lily’s smile softened as she watched him with a sympathy. she reached over to gently nudge his shoulder, offering him a quiet kind of support.

—i don’t know what’s going on, alright? it’s complicated, and i don’t want to screw it up.

lily nodded, because she understood, because she knew him well enough to recognize the fear behind his hesitation. —you won't, —she said.

he sighed, leaning back into the sofa, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace. his fingers twitched like he wanted to fidget with something, like he had too much energy left from the night despite how tired he suddenly felt.

—what do you think of her?

—she's great, i think you two make a great pair and i think that you’re overthinking again.

—am i? —he asked, glancing at her.

—yes. —she nudged his arm gently. —you like her, don’t you?

his silence was answer enough.

—and she clearly likes you too, —lily continued. —she wouldn’t have stayed so long tonight if she didn’t.

she stretched, suppressing a yawn as she got up from the couch. remus let out a slow breath, sinking into the couch. the memory of the kiss still vivid on his mind. —i kissed her, —he admitted, almost like he was still processing it himself. the words slipping out as if saying them aloud would make it feel less overwhelming. he wasn’t even sure if he was talking to lily or just to himself, still processing the fact that it had happened at all.

lily’s eyes widened, but she quickly hid her expression into something more composed. —and?

—and it was… nice.

lily rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her amusement. —nice? that’s all you’re giving me?

remus huffed a laugh, shaking his head. —fine. it was really nice. terrifying, but nice.

lily grinned. —well, i think she’s good for you, and i think you should let yourself be happy for once. —she leaned to kiss the top of remus' head as a good night. as she turned toward the stairs leading to the girls' dormitory, she threw one last glance over her shoulder. —and for what it is worth, i think you shouldn't let the boys know that you are, you know... exchanging saliva with her, —

—for merlin’s beard, lily! —he exclaimed, interrupting her incredulous. exchanging saliva was the grossest way she could have put it.

lily only laughed, clearly pleased with herself. —unless, of course, you want them to start planning the wedding.

she left him alone in the common room, the only sounds left being the faint crackling of the dying fire and the occasional creak of the old castle settling around him. but in his mind, he could still hear your soft laugh. it was strange, how easily you had slipped into their group, how natural it had felt to have you there. even stranger was the way he had let himself get so caught up in it all—the chess match, the quiet moments, the warmth of your hand brushing against his. and then, the kiss.

remus exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. he should go to bed. merlin help him, because he knew he was already in too deep.

[fullocoal]

Some best friend therapy ~ I love Pansy and Draco friendships in fanfics omph i feel like i don see them often enough. I didn't have time to finish up this sketch but please enjoy. Drawn with references

[rainydayathogwarts]

always the prefects bathroom - harry potter

summary: despite harry potter's presence in the prefects bathroom, you aren't stopped from taking a soothing bath wc: 1016 cw: making out, like super brief handjob it doesn't really count

You hadn’t expected the prefects’ bathroom to be occupied, hence the reason you were standing with a bag over your shoulder with your showering necessities. However, at the sight of Harry Potter in the giant, soapy tub with his head laid back on the cold tiles, you were immediately whining “Oh, come on!” Harry was instantly jumping up with a surprised noise, both hands immediately flying to make himself somewhat decent. Not that you could see his dick past all the bathtub’s soap, nor that you were looking.

“Who showers in here naked?” You immediately judged, gesturing to the vast bathroom “Everyone knows that Moaning Myrtle is the biggest perv.” You scoffed nonetheless, rolling your eyes and making your way out of the bathroom. “No, wait!” Your footsteps halted, and you curiously looked back towards the boy who lived. “Um, you can join. I won’t try anything weird.”

You watched wearily as he dragged his boxers into the tub, his movements telling you that he was putting them back on. You didn’t know whether to be disgusted or flattered, Bbut you weren’t about to waste an opportunity for a luxurious bath, even if it meant sharing it with Harry Potter. So you quickly stripped your clothes off, and Harry shamelessly drank in the sight of you in a bikini as you stepped into the tub.

Why did he think people showered in here naked?

The tub was big enough for you and Harry to sit on opposite sides with plenty of space between you, given how spacious the circular tub was, but you took a seat surprisingly close to Harry, watching his face for a moment before taking your book out of your bag and humming in satisfaction at the water’s warmth.

Harry cleared his throat before looking away from you and busied himself by staring at the stained glass windows of the bathroom. He couldn't help looking back at you though, watching as you flicked onto the neck page of your book, your soapy arms glistening as the sunlight hit you from the right angle, creating a rainbow of colours over your skin. “It’s a little difficult to focus when you’re staring so hard.” You put your book away to return Harry’s stare, a teasing smile on your lips.

“Sorry, I’m not quite used to sharing a bath with someone.” You hummed, raising an eyebrow at the bespectacled boy. “I’m sorry, is this too sexual for you?” Harry is quickly blushing at your comment, shaking his head at you and gulping thickly. You laughed, swimming closer to him in the bath’s shallow waters. “You’ve got soap on your glasses, by the way.” You stated, sitting back on your knees in front of him, which gave you more height in the tub.

Harry’s eyes were immediately drawn downwards to where your chest was barely peeking out of the water, the curve of your breasts in your bikini top catching his eyes. “Mhm, maybe Moaning Myrtle isn’t the only pervert around here.” Harry gasped at the comment, watching as you pulled your hair into a makeshift bun at the back of your head before letting it go again. How could you say something like that while looking so unbothered? “I didn’t mean to!” Harry cried, abruptly looking away from you. Your laughter had his head snapping in your direction instantly though, as you muttered. “Well, I don’t mind it so much when it’s a handsome man like yourself.”

Harry didn’t know what overtook him. Was it the fact that the pretty prefect everyone thirsted after was flirting with him? Was it the fact that you were giving him the tiniest bit of attention? Was it the fact that you were half naked in a bathtub with him? Well, whatever it was, it had him launching forward to press his lips against yours. He froze for a second, his earlier words ringing in his own head.

‘I won’t try anything weird.’ But did it really matter when you were pulling him closer to you and deepening the kiss?

The boy groaned, hands naturally settling on your hips and dragging you towards him until you were planted on his lap. You moaned softly into the kiss, hips dragging against Harry’s. He gasped, parting his lips to greet your tongue in his mouth. His tongue glided against yours harshly, fighting for a dominance you instantly acquired by snaking your hand into Harry’s hair and tugging softly.

Harry was instantly growing hard underneath you, but who could blame him when there was so little separating his cock from your greedy cunt, grinding down on him so desperately. “Please.” Harry muttered into the kiss. You giggled, hand trailing down to grasp the elastic band of his boxers before finally moving past, your fingers wrapping around his hard cock to tug on it once, twice.

But before you could pull your bikini bottoms down, the door rattled again as someone entered the bathroom. “It’s always the fucking prefects bathroom.” The person groaned, causing you to shoot away from the gryffindor boy in front of you, water splashing loudly around you. You cleared your throat, even as the person walked out of the bathroom, leaving you alone with Harry again.

Despite everything, you abruptly stood up, wrapping your towel around you as Harry stared at you with his jaw slack. “You know, I don’t sleep around with people I’m not dating.” But Harry almost let out a laugh at how incredulous that sounded when you were only seconds away from sinking onto his cock. Harry stood up, walking towards you and pulling your towel off your skin, leaving you in your bikini again. You gasped sharply as Harry tugged you back into the bath, letting out a squeal as the water crashed around you and Harry trapped you between his body and the edge of the bath tub.

“Okay,” he started, “So let’s say this is our third date, and tomorrow I’ll take you for a forth.” The boy didn’t hide his grin when you desperately pulled him back in for another kiss.

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin

[nastysnows-art]

[keepmycandleburning]

Bellamort fest week 11: Double Date by @crookshanksagentofowca!

Prompt: Bellamort and Lucissa double date

[m00neroni]

sirius: crushes are the worst

remus: I know! whenever i'm around mine, I always act stupid

sirius: pffffft you always act stupid

remus:

remus: please, don't think on that too hard

sirius, 3 years later: OOOOOOHHHHH!!!!

[acheronsociety]

✶ WHEN THE STARS REFUSE TO LIE

in which... you try to break up with your fuck budy, sirius black, but he's not ready to let you go just yet.

pairing: sirius black x slytherin f!reader word count: 1.6k content warning: angst ✶ fluff ✶ some cursing, and sirius's irresistible rock star charm

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 time Sirius Black kissed you, it was behind the tapestry of the third-floor corridor. He tasted like rebellion and danger, like the cigarettes he never admitted to smoking behind the Owlery. You were just supposed to be his alibi. A pureblood Slytherin to keep his mother’s mouth shut and her claws from shredding the life he built outside of 12 Grimmauld Place.

But you wore your emerald-green gown like it was armor forged in fire. You looked every bit the darling pureblood, but your smirk had razors tucked in the corners, and your laughter mocked the polished table settings and wine-stained hypocrisy of the Black family name.

You made the room your stage. And Sirius—Sirius couldn’t look away.

He should’ve known.

From that dinner onward, you were a secret. The kind he craved more than firewhiskey and freedom. Behind the pretense of Slytherin-Gryffindor enmity, you two unraveled rules and clothes alike in broom closets and forbidden corridors. You knew how to laugh just loud enough to get away with anything. You didn’t ask for promises. He never offered any.

But you ruined him anyway.

Because you didn’t need him.

And that scared him more than anything.

Now, it’s days after the final Quidditch match of the year. Gryffindor won. Sirius sent you a single line by enchanted parchment: Meet me. Usual place. Celebrate.

But you never came.

Not to the Whomping Willow. Not to the Astronomy Tower. Not to his bed with the charmed silencing spells. You disappeared like mist when the sun rose, and when he checked the Slytherin common room on his map, your dot was gone. 

You vanished. No note. No closure. The kind of silence that says more than shouting ever could. The kind of silence that makes Sirius Black get on his flying motorbike and cross counties to stand outside your window in Wiltshire.

You hear the purr of the engine before you see him.

Then a thud. Window latch. The scent of leather and wind.

He’s inside.

He lands in your room like he owns it—like the world is tilting and he’s the only one immune. His black boots sink into your velvet rug, fingers flexing by his sides, heavy rings glinting with every twitch. His jacket is half-unzipped, revealing a threadbare Muggle band tee, the hem riding up slightly to show a sliver of skin and a sharp hipbone marked with ink.

Sirius looks like sin made tangible. Hair mussed, jaw tight, eyes lined in sleep-deprived defiance.

He looks like trouble. He looks like yours.

And he looks livid.

You’re already standing. You don’t flinch, but your fingers curl into the bedpost behind you.

“Sirius.” you cut a quick glance to your bedroom’s closed door out of the habit of this little secret of yours. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He stalks forward a step. Stops. “You’re avoiding me.”

You lift your chin. “You noticed.”

His nostrils flare. “You didn’t show.”

Your arms cross, slow and deliberate. “You’ve got options. I assumed you wouldn’t be alone long.”

That lands. His jaw ticks. “Bloody hell, you think that’s what this was?”

You shrug, casual cruelty—a perfect Slytherin deflection. “Isn’t it?”

He moves again. This time close enough that your breath catches. “I didn’t sneak around Hogwarts for months, blowing off my friends, just to toss it aside.”

You tilt your head, defiant even when your heart is hammering. “You didn’t exactly make a declaration either.”

“I didn’t think I had to.”

You laugh once. “Right. Because we both knew the rules. No strings. No mess.”

He stares at you like he’s trying to memorize your lies. “I never bloody looked at anyone else.”

You raise an eyebrow, challenging. “Not even that Ravenclaw girl who keeps trailing behind you like a stray? The one Potter keeps pushing on you for stupid double dates?”

He steps in. Too close now. His voice drops. “She’s not you, Trouble.”

Your breath hitches at the adoration with each he mumbles the nickname. He sees it, and it makes him angrier.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you say, before he mentions to inch closer.

“Neither did I.”

He reaches up—like he might touch you—but stops, fisting his hand by his side instead. The restraint in him is louder than any outburst.

You take a step back toward your desk, creating space like it’s armor. “You hate everything I represent, remember?”

He follows, slowly. “Yes, I thought I did, yes.”

“Then why are you here?”

You watch Sirius’s hand run through his messy locks, his eyes burning with something between disbelief and frustration. “Because I’m not walking away just ‘cause you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” you snap.

“Yes, you sure as hell are.”

Your hands tighten around the edge of the desk. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, Black.”

“Well, I’m not trying ‘cause I know what fear looks like. I see it every time I look in the mirror.” His voice falters, then steels. “But I still showed up, didn’t I?”

You swallow, voice quieter. “You think I want to be some name your mother checks off her list?” 

“You’re not her fucking list! You’re the exception.”

You laugh, bitter and hard. Your locks tingle your cheeks as you shake your head softly. “You’re too good at this.”

“At what?”

“Making girls believe they’re the only one.”

Sirius exhales sharply, then crosses the room so fast you barely register it. His hands land on either side of you, bracing the desk behind you, caging you in. He doesn’t touch you. But you feel his heat. His tension. His goddamn truth.

“I’m not playing a role. Not with you.” he dives in search of your eyes as you refuse to look at him. It takes the tip of his nose to brush yours for him to finally reel you in. “Never with you.”

Your heart aches. But your pride clings.

“I need it to stop,” you grunt.

His throat works around something raw. “No.”

“Sirius—”

He leans in, forehead touching yours. “You think this is easy for me? You think I like that you’re the one person I can’t shut out of my head?”

You close your eyes.

“I hate that you’re the one thing I never meant to want,” he breathes and the warmth of it, lingering on your lips, makes you want to melt onto him. “But here I am, Trouble… Don’t do this to me.”

Your voice breaks as you inhale as much of him as possible. “I just– I can’t do this anymore, Sirius...”

His hands drop, but he doesn’t step back. “Then tell me it didn’t matter. That it meant nothing for you.”

You open your eyes. “Don’t make me lie.”

He looks at you like the war is already lost. But he’s not leaving the battlefield.

His hand comes to your jaw as he stares deeply into your eyes, much like he’s laying down the only weapon he has left. “Then fucking be with me.” His voice is tight, rough. “I don’t get why you’re trying to end this.”

You exhale drily, trying to pry your face out of his hold. Unsuccessfully, your fingers brush instead against your temple like you can wipe the thought away. “Because I don’t want to be a fucking anecdote, for fucks sake. Some story you tell your mates later—about the time you fooled around with the Slytherin girl, the pureblood exception.”

His brow furrows, deeply, painfully. You’re not even looking at him now, eyes flicking to the window like freedom might still be out there. “I’m tired,” you say, softer now. “Of being someone’s secret. Of pretending it doesn’t sting when I see the way they all fawn over you. I can’t do that anymore.”

He stays right there in front of you like an impassive wall. His gaze burning your temple, your cheek, your mouth. “So what—you want a boyfriend, is that it?”

You look at him, jaw tight. “I don’t need the label. But if you’re with me, you’re with me. No secrets. No side comments. No ‘it’s complicated’ when someone asks.”

Sirius blinks. Then he shrugs, all defiance and affection wrapped in a guy trying not to fall apart. “Okay. I’ll be your boyfriend. What else do you need?”

You slap his chest without thinking—open-palmed, not hard, but pointed. He bends back a second before straightening his spine and lets out a surprised chuckle.

“I’m fucking serious about this!” you snap, the words cracking on emotion. “You can’t just be—whatever—about it. I’m not going to be with someone who doesn’t... like me like me.”

Sirius grins now, not smug but almost awestruck. Like he’s never seen you like this. Like he’s never seen anyone like this. “In case you haven’t noticed yet, Trouble,” he murmurs, voice thick with affection, his ringed fingers tangling with your hair, “You’ve been walking me like a dog for months, and I haven’t even complained.”

You freeze.

Then shake your head slowly, lips trembling somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah.” He dives in close again, his other hand coming to brush your cheek. Gentle. Real. “But I’m your idiot. If you’ll let me be.”

For the first time since this started, you let yourself lean into him. To feel the weight of his body, not burning, not to seek a release from it, but tenderly. 

You whisper, eyes like a warning, “If we do this... it really stops being a secret.”

“Good,” he says, voice gravel. “Let it.”

Then his mouth crashes onto yours, and your knees almost buckle if it weren’t for his damn hands anchoring you in place.

© ACHERONSOCIETY, 2025. all rights reserved. do not steal, repost, translate and/or claim these work as your own.

[theosbae]

theo loves when u scratch his back

theo’s always been quiet in bed, low groans, shaky exhales, the occasional curse murmured against your skin. but when your nails drag down his back? that’s when you get a reaction.

his jaw clenches, a sharp hiss slipping through his teeth as he thrusts deeper, harder. “fuck—do that again.”

you do, digging your nails in just enough to leave faint red trails along his skin, and his head drops to your shoulder, breath hot against your neck.

“merlin—” his voice is rough, wrecked, and you feel the way his muscles tense beneath your touch, like he’s barely holding on. “you tryna kill me, sweetheart?”

you smile, pressing your lips to his temple. “you like it.”

he doesn’t deny it. just groans, shoving his face into the crook of your neck as he fucks into you, desperate, chasing that high.

and when he finally comes, his back is covered in thin, angry lines, evidence of just how good you made him feel. evidence he’ll still feel tomorrow. evidence he’ll want again and again.

[wittyandobsessed]

𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 ✓ Maybe soulmate au red string which connects you to your soulmate for snape and fem reader Reader is a new profesor for runes  Love st first sight for snape and reader doesn’t know she is in love with him until she asks why he makes her feel that way Fluff plz

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Severus Snape x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | none.

▸ Masterlist

𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱! 𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿!

Arriving at Hogwarts felt like stepping into a waking dream.

The moment you saw the castle in the distance, rising tall and proud against the darkening sky, you could hardly believe your eyes. Your heart raced with excitement as the massive stone towers came into view, their windows glowing with golden candlelight. The lake shimmered below, and the air smelled of autumn leaves and something faintly magical, like old books and starlight. It was more than you ever imagined. You still couldn’t believe your luck — you had been hired to teach Ancient Runes at the most prestigious school of magic in the world.

Of course, you were nervous. Who wouldn’t be? This was a huge step in your life. A new beginning. A whole new chapter opening up in front of you like the first page of a story you had always dreamed of reading — only now, you were the one living it. You’d packed your bags with trembling hands, rehearsed your introduction a dozen times, and double-checked your notes and lesson plans at least a hundred. But underneath the nerves, there was something else, something stronger — a bubbling excitement, a joy that lit up your chest like a lantern. You couldn’t wait to begin.

The moment your feet touched the ground just beyond the gates, two familiar figures stood waiting for you. Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall.

They were right where they said they’d be — just outside the grand entrance, where the stone steps led into the heart of the school. Dumbledore, with his long silver beard and eyes that twinkled like stars, greeted you with a warm, knowing smile. You’d met him a few weeks before during your interview. He had seemed kind, a little mysterious perhaps, but full of warmth and wisdom. Standing beside him was Professor McGonagall, her posture straight and her expression serious, but not cold. There was a quiet kindness in her eyes too — the kind that made you feel safe, even if she scared you just a little.

"Thank you again for accepting me into your school, Professor Dumbledore," you said, your voice soft with emotion as he began to guide you inside. “I’ve waited my whole life for this.”

He glanced at you sideways with a gentle smile.

“Ah, but perhaps this was always your destiny,” he said lightly. “It has a curious way of revealing itself… when the time is right.”

You weren’t entirely sure what he meant by that, but there was a spark in his gaze — like he knew something you didn’t. Something just out of reach.

You were about to ask him more, but then your attention drifted to your left hand — your heart’s hand. You looked down at your pinky finger and felt your breath catch in your throat. The red string was still there, tied gently, invisibly… yet somehow today, it looked clearer than ever. As if someone had wiped away the fog, and now you could see it shining, thin and delicate, but unmistakably real.

You didn’t know what it meant. You didn’t understand why it was more visible now, or why it made your chest tighten in a strange, restless way.

Everyone had heard the stories, of course — about the red string of fate. It was said that every person had one, tied around their finger, invisible to the eye but impossible to break. A string that connected you to your soulmate, no matter how far away they were. Few people ever saw theirs clearly. Fewer still ever found the person at the other end.

And yet… you couldn’t help but wonder.

Why now? Why here, at Hogwarts? Why today?

You touched the string gently, almost without meaning to, as if trying to feel the tug of it. And as the great doors of the castle opened before you, you felt it deep inside — something shifting, something beginning.

Your story was just getting started.

And maybe, just maybe… Fate had brought you home.

After you were shown around the castle — the winding corridors, the grand staircases that moved on their own, the countless portraits whispering secrets and watching your every step — your guide finally led you to your future classroom. The Ancient Runes room was tucked away in a quiet corner of the castle, near the top of one of the towers. It had a tall window overlooking the lake and bookshelves lining the walls, filled with dusty tomes and forgotten scrolls. You couldn’t wait to fill it with your own notes and warmth, to see your students sitting at the long wooden desks, eyes wide with curiosity. It already felt like yours.

But the tour wasn’t over. After giving you a few moments to take it all in, you were invited to the Great Hall.

As soon as the enormous doors creaked open, the sound of voices, laughter, and clinking silverware filled your ears. The four long house tables stretched from one end of the room to the other, filled with students enjoying their breakfast. Warm light from thousands of floating candles hovered above their heads, and the enchanted ceiling mirrored the sky outside — a soft morning blue scattered with pale clouds.

As you stepped into the room, the buzz of conversation shifted. Students started to turn their heads, some pausing mid-bite, others whispering to their neighbors. You heard the rustle of robes and the soft murmur of questions.

“Who’s that?”

“Is she a new teacher?”

“She’s young…”

You tried to keep your head high, your steps steady, but your palms were a little sweaty and your heart thumped faster than usual. You were used to speaking in front of people, but not like this. Not in front of them, in a place like this.

You walked toward the staff table, where all the professors sat high above the students, and found an empty seat at the end. 

Taking a quiet breath, you sat down and looked at the plate in front of you. It was already filled with steaming eggs, golden toast, and fresh fruit — the castle seemed to know just what you liked. You smiled softly to yourself, still amazed by the magic in every corner of this place.

As you reached out for your utensils, your eyes caught something you hadn’t expected to see again — the red string on your pinky finger.

It was there. Still tied gently around your skin. Only now, it glowed faintly in the warm light of the Great Hall, more visible than it had ever been before. It pulsed softly, like a heartbeat, and for a moment, you forgot about your food, your nerves, even the whispers around you.

Something was coming.

The massive doors at the end of the hall opened again with a deep creak.

A few professors entered, latecomers to breakfast. The students barely noticed, too busy talking and eating. But as you looked up, your eyes locked with someone’s across the hall — and everything stopped.

He froze the instant your gaze met his.

Professor Severus Snape.

His expression didn’t change — not outwardly — but something flickered behind his dark eyes. Something raw. Something shaken.

His breath caught in his throat. He felt it too.

The string on his own finger — the one he had long ignored, long dismissed as a myth or a joke played by fate — had tightened the moment he saw you. He didn’t dare look down to confirm what he already knew. He didn’t need to. He could feel it burning, glowing, pulling.

No. It couldn’t be.

It shouldn’t be.

He had made peace with the idea long ago, that he would never find his soulmate. How could he, after everything? His childhood had been bleak, filled with silence and pain. His youth, a series of bitter mistakes. He had chosen the wrong paths, spoken the wrong words, hurt the wrong people. He had done terrible things. Things that could never be undone.

He had believed, with full certainty, that the person at the end of his red string had either vanished, or simply never existed.

And yet… there you were. Standing at the opposite end of the Great Hall. The glow of the candles reflected softly in your eyes, and he couldn’t look away.

You, the new professor. You, with the red string wrapped gently around your pinky. You, glowing like a dream, unaware of the storm that had just awakened inside him.

You didn’t understand what was happening.

You sat there, your fork frozen halfway to your plate, the weight of something pressing down on your chest. You didn’t know how to name it. It wasn’t fear — though your hands trembled slightly. It wasn’t exactly excitement either, though your heart was beating fast, your cheeks warm. It was something different. Something strange and unfamiliar, like standing on the edge of a cliff, the wind pulling at your coat, and knowing you were about to fall… but not knowing where.

Since that first breakfast in the Great Hall, you hadn’t really spoken to Severus Snape.

Professor McGonagall had introduced you, of course — a quick, polite exchange of names and roles in one of the quieter hallways of the castle. He had barely looked at you then, giving only the smallest of nods before disappearing into the shadows of the corridor. After that, there were a few silent greetings — subtle nods when you crossed paths in the dungeons or passed each other between classes. But no conversations. No real words.

He kept his distance. Always.

At first, you told yourself it didn’t matter. You were busy settling in, building your lesson plans, getting to know the students and finding your place among the other professors. But even in the middle of all that… you felt it. That strange, invisible thread still pulsing softly between the two of you — quiet, but unbreakable.

Severus, on his end, was spiraling in silence.

He avoided you carefully, deliberately — like one wrong step could shatter the fragile wall he had built around himself. But inside, he was a storm. You fascinated him. Not just your presence, not just the soft glow of the red string he refused to look at, but you. Your voice when you taught, your laughter at meals, the way your eyes lit up when you talked to students or lost yourself in old books.

You were warm. Light. And it terrified him.

He had never believed someone like you could exist — let alone be his. The idea that fate had created a person, just for him, felt like a cruel joke. A mistake. He didn’t deserve something so beautiful, so kind, so full of life. After everything he had done… how could he?

And yet, the feeling only grew stronger with each passing day. He caught himself watching you from the corners of rooms, noticing the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were thinking, or how you always stayed a few minutes after class to answer every last question. He longed to learn more. He imagined what your voice might sound like when you spoke just to him, what stories you’d share if you trusted him enough.

But that voice inside — the one that had haunted him for years — kept whispering cruel truths.

She’ll see who you are. She’ll turn away. You’ll ruin it. You always ruin it.

So he stayed away.

You, on the other hand, didn’t know what to make of your feelings.

From the very beginning, you had felt drawn to him — like gravity. Every time you entered a room he was in, your eyes found him without meaning to. Every time you crossed paths, your pulse quickened. There was something about him you couldn’t explain, something you didn’t want to explain.

It wasn’t just the red string — although it glowed softly every time he was near, like a quiet reminder of a bond you hadn’t yet dared to claim. It was him.

The way he carried himself with quiet authority. The depth in his eyes, like they held entire galaxies of memories you wanted to uncover. His sharp wit in staff meetings. His calm, steady presence in the chaos of the castle. He was distant, yes. Cold, even. But not unkind. Not to you.

Some of the other professors noticed, too. They warned you gently, with knowing smiles or more serious frowns.

“Be careful with Snape,” one had whispered over tea.

“He’s not the easiest man to know,” another had added.

“Brilliant mind,” said a third, “but guarded. And not particularly friendly.”

They described him as cold. Harsh. Bitter. Maybe even cruel. But you didn’t see that.

You saw someone who had built high walls — not to push people away, but to protect something fragile inside. You saw intelligence, control, restraint. A deep silence that begged to be understood. He intrigued you. More than that… you wanted to understand him. You wanted to know him.

Some nights, when the castle was quiet and the students were in bed, you caught yourself imagining it — sitting beside him in the flickering candlelight, talking softly about your favorite books, or walking together through the snowy grounds in winter, sharing thoughts no one else had ever heard.

You didn’t know what this feeling was. You didn’t know what he felt.

But the thread between you shimmered all the same — and deep down, in the quiet corners of your heart, you hoped.

You hoped one day, he might reach out.

It happened one chilly afternoon, long after the students had returned to their common rooms, their laughter echoing down the stone corridors like distant bells. The sky outside was a dull grey, rain tapping gently against the windows of the staff room, where you sat cradling a warm cup of tea between your hands. You hadn’t meant to bring it up — not really — but the words had slipped out before you could stop them.

"I think… I need some advice."

Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout, who had been sitting by the fire chatting quietly about lesson plans and greenhouse repairs, turned their heads toward you with curiosity and a hint of concern.

McGonagall arched a brow. “Oh?”

You hesitated, staring into your cup. The steam curled softly toward your face. “It’s about… someone.”

That was all it took. With one quick glance between them, the two older witches shifted closer, their expressions softening into the kind of quiet attention that comes only with experience — the kind that said we’ve been there too.

“Go on, dear,” said Professor Sprout gently.

You took a breath. “It’s… Professor Snape.”

There was a pause. Not of shock, not of judgment — just a moment of surprise, quickly hidden.

“Well,” McGonagall said carefully, adjusting her glasses, “that is certainly… unexpected. But not impossible.”

Sprout tilted her head, curiosity lighting her face. “Have you spoken with him much?”

You shook your head. “Not really. He’s… distant. Reserved. We barely exchange more than a few words. But every time I see him, there’s this… feeling. It’s hard to explain. It’s like—” You glanced down at your hand. “The red string. It glows when he’s near. Brighter than ever.”

McGonagall straightened in her seat. Her voice, always calm and precise, now carried a quiet weight.

“Have you ever heard about soulmates?”

You nodded slowly. “Yes, of course. But I— I never really paid attention to it. I thought it was just a story. Something romantic people believed in. I never thought it would happen to me. It’s so rare that…” Your voice trailed off.

“Rare, yes,” Sprout agreed, her tone thoughtful. “But not impossible. And you said it shines more when he’s around?”

You nodded again, more hesitantly this time.

“Then maybe he’s…” she began.

“…my soulmate?” you finished, the words tasting strange on your tongue. Heavy. Unreal.

You stared at your hand again. The red thread shimmered faintly in the soft glow of the firelight. It wasn’t pulsing now, not like when he was near. But the memory of it was there, woven deep in your chest.

It couldn’t be… right?

You’d considered the possibility before, late at night, alone in your quarters, with the castle silent and the string humming against your skin. But saying it aloud — here, in the presence of two women who had known magic longer than you’d been alive — gave it a new shape. A new weight.

“I just…” you said quietly. “I can’t wrap my mind around it. Why me? Why him?”

McGonagall gave you a long look. “Soulmates aren’t always about ease, my dear. Sometimes they appear when we least expect them. Sometimes they come with sharp edges. They challenge us, not comfort us.”

Sprout nodded, her voice softer. “But they always change us. They make us see ourselves differently.”

You looked between them, heart fluttering like wings against your ribs. It was still too much to grasp. The idea that fate — real, powerful fate — had tied you to Severus Snape, the most guarded man in the castle… it didn’t feel real. It felt like a story told around a fireplace on stormy nights. And yet…

And yet your heart knew something your mind hadn’t caught up to.

You still didn’t know what he felt. You didn’t know if he saw the string, or if he even believed in it. Maybe he was fighting it. Maybe he was afraid.

But so were you.

Still, something inside you whispered — there’s a reason it shines when he’s near.

It was raining the next day. A quiet, steady drizzle that wrapped the castle in mist and made the stone floors cold beneath your feet. The kind of rain that made the world feel softer, quieter. Like it was holding its breath.

You had barely slept the night before.

After speaking with McGonagall and Professor Sprout, you’d wandered the corridors in the dark, thinking, feeling. And somewhere between the whispering portraits and the soft creak of ancient wood, you finally stopped fighting it.

You loved him.

It wasn’t sudden. It had grown slowly, secretly, blooming in the quiet moments — in every glance, every faint glow of the thread, every unspoken word. You loved him in the way you might love a forgotten book, full of secrets and sorrow, beautiful in its complexity. You didn’t know where the feeling had begun, but now that you had seen it for what it was, you couldn’t unsee it.

And so, heart trembling in your chest, you found yourself walking down into the dungeons just after the final bell.

The air was cool and still. The halls were empty, most students already heading to dinner. Your fingers clutched a folder — your excuse. Notes on curriculum, a list of students you both taught. Something safe, something that made sense.

You reached his door. It stood half-open, candlelight flickering from within.

You knocked gently.

His voice came after a pause, low and even. “Enter.”

You stepped inside.

The classroom smelled faintly of herbs and old parchment, with the lingering trace of something sharp and alchemical. He was behind his desk, packing away a few vials, his shoulders drawn tight beneath his black robes. He looked up when he saw you, surprised, but not unkindly.

“Professor,” you said, quietly.

“Miss…?” He straightened, blinking once. “Is something wrong?”

You gave a small, nervous smile, holding up the folder. “I thought we might… discuss some student progress. Curriculum overlaps. I didn’t want to interrupt during the day.”

He nodded slowly, his expression unreadable, and gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Very well.”

You sat down.

The silence between you was heavy — not cold, not tense exactly, but charged. Like the moment before lightning strikes. He sat across from you, hands folded, waiting. Watching.

You opened the folder, pretending to glance at the notes you already knew by heart. You could barely hear over the pounding of your heart.

“I lied,” you said suddenly, voice soft.

His brow furrowed slightly. “Pardon?”

“I mean—” You closed the folder. “I do have these notes. But it’s not why I came.”

His eyes searched yours, and in the dim light of the dungeon, they looked darker than ever. Deep. Endless.

You hesitated. “It’s about the string.”

The words hung in the air, fragile as breath.

Snape didn’t move. But you saw it — the smallest flicker of something in his eyes. Recognition. Fear. Hope.

“I’ve seen it since the day I arrived,” you continued, quietly. “It’s always there. Brighter when you're near. I didn’t understand it at first. I didn’t want to believe it. But now…”

You swallowed hard. “I think… I think you’re the other end of mine.”

A silence fell between you. He stared at you, as if unsure if he had heard correctly. As if the words had shaken something loose inside him he’d buried long ago.

Then, after a long, aching moment, his voice broke the stillness.

“I know.”

Just two words — but they made your heart stop.

He looked down, as if ashamed. As if the truth was too heavy to carry and yet too precious to ignore.

“I’ve known,” he said softly, “since the first moment I saw you in the Great Hall.”

He raised his hand then, slowly, almost cautiously — as though the movement itself might shatter the fragile reality between you — and turned it palm-up on the desk.

There it was. The red string. Glowing faintly in the candlelight, pulsing gently toward yours.

“I never expected…” he paused, voice barely above a whisper. “I never thought happiness was meant for me. I’ve made too many mistakes. Lost too much.”

His eyes met yours again, full of something unspoken. “But then you walked in… and I saw it. And I— I didn’t know what to do.”

You reached forward, breath catching, and gently placed your hand in his.

The moment your skin touched his, the strings glowed brighter — twisting around each other, wrapping gently, softly, like they had been waiting a lifetime to be whole.

The warmth of it bloomed through your chest, spreading outward until you felt like you could barely breathe from the sheer rightness of it. It was like a soft light had filled every corner of your soul — not loud or blinding, just there, steady and warm, chasing away the cold you hadn’t even realized you were carrying.

Snape didn’t speak right away. He just looked at your hands — your fingers loosely laced over his — and then up at you again, something unguarded flickering in his eyes. For the first time, you saw not the stern, guarded professor everyone whispered about… but the man behind the mask. The one who had lived through pain, through loneliness, and yet still sat here with you, letting you see him. Letting you in.

You both let out a breath at the same time. Nervous, soft laughter followed.

“Well,” you said with a small smile, “so much for pretending I was here about curriculum.”

A corner of his mouth twitched — almost a smile, but not quite. “Yes, I suspected your sudden interest in overlapping class schedules was… suspiciously enthusiastic.”

You laughed again, the sound light, and to your surprise, it drew a real smile from him. Small, rare, and genuine.

“Fate has a strange sense of humor,” you said.

“I’ve never found her particularly funny,” he replied dryly — but there was no bitterness in his voice. Only something… soft. Curious. Maybe even fond.

You both sat there for a while, not rushing to speak again, just existing in the quiet peace of shared understanding. There was no need to define it, not yet. No pressure. The red string still glowed gently where your fingers touched — not demanding, not loud. Just a quiet promise between you.

Finally, you whispered, “So… what do we do now?”

He looked at you, his thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles.

“We take our time,” he said. “We learn.”

You nodded, heart full. “I’d like that.”

He stood, hesitating only slightly before offering his hand to help you up. You took it without question. And when you stood beside him, you felt the shift — subtle, but certain. Like something had settled into place. Not perfect, not complete. But beginning.

You walked side by side out of the classroom, the quiet echo of your footsteps following you up the dungeon stairs. As you neared the main corridor, the scent of roasted vegetables and fresh bread drifted through the air, the faint sounds of laughter and clinking plates beckoning from the Great Hall.

You glanced at him, and to your surprise — and delight — he was already looking at you. A faint flush crept up his neck, and you smiled.

“No one’s going to believe it,” you teased gently.

He let out a quiet breath, almost a chuckle. “Let them wonder.”

The two of you reached the top of the stairs, and just before entering the Great Hall, you caught a glimpse of your hands — still close, your pinkies almost brushing. The strings shimmered softly between you, gently entwined. Not bright enough for everyone to see, not obvious. But there. Subtle and certain. A quiet magic.

You stepped into the light together.

And though neither of you said the words yet, your hearts already knew: This was the start of something beautiful.

▸ Everything

@alexxavicry

▸ Harry Potter

@stygianoir

[mentally-in-northern-italy]

a lover’s ruse — c.d. [1]

Summary: Your agonizing courtship and Cedric’s need to spite his ex are both ailments that have a very simple cure: a fake relationship, obviously.

Requested: read the request here

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x fem!gryffindor!reader

Word Count: 3.9K

A/N: I'm so sorry guys. This has been such a long time coming, I'm not sure people are even waiting for this anymore. But this is the first part and I'm thinking of turning it into a full-fledged series. Second part of the fic WILL be out as soon as I'm done exams.

—

The first few dates were bearable enough  — if you squinted hard and counted the silence as a virtue. 

The next few were nothing short of painstakingly harrowing. And that’s being kind.

This one, however? It made you seriously contemplate lunging over the walls of the Astronomy Tower and meeting Death, himself, halfway. Little else could offer greater reprieve, in your mind, from this. 

The setting should’ve been romantic, in theory. The night was still, but not stiflingly so, and the moonlight danced around the top of the Tower teasingly, doing little to illuminate the dark. If he stepped into a crevice where the light didn’t reach his face and you tuned him out just enough, you might even call the view beautiful. But, you soon found out – only a few dates in – no view could be described as such when you have Trevor Selwyn standing next to you.

Trevor Selwyn should’ve been a perfect match, in theory. An avid member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight –  there was little else that could prove more pertinent to families, like yours, with snobby ideals of purity and the measures necessary to maintain it, generation after generation – a Slytherin, an athlete (he doesn’t like mentioning that he’s a substitute player, on his best days), and a prefect. And, as you soon found out – only one date in – he’s also an utter and complete idiot.

So, you should’ve said no, in theory. Kicked and flailed your arms like a petulant child, screamed and wailed and protested when your parents when they proposed a courtship between the two of you. You should’ve told Trevor himself that he possessed the tact of a Cornish Pixie and the wit of the dimmest of trolls. But, as you soon found out (after the wailing episode) – absolutely zero dates in – Trevor is nothing but persistent and your parents anything but unwavering in their resolve. 

“I’ve met the Minister once,” he remarks out of nowhere as he looks off, off of the edge of the tower with all the regality of an acclaimed emperor. 

You hum in response. You haven’t said a word all night and he hasn’t noticed a thing.

“Granted, I was only two but I recall the Minister telling my father –”

“I think I should head back, actually,” you interrupt before the anecdote can truly begin. There are a few things you’ve learned about Trevor so far but none of them are as glaringly consequential as this: if he starts talking about his father, he won’t be able to stop. Escapades from Uagadou, his adventures in Egypt warding off curses and serpents and the magical scrolls of Machu Picchu –

“Oh,” he furrows his brow as if deep in thought and you almost laugh. That boy has never had a thought in his life. 

“I don’t want to be late for prefect patrols is all,” a faux sweet lilt to your voice doesn’t do much to subdue the frown on his face. 

He nods curtly. “I’ll walk you back.”

Your refusal is automatic. “I think I’ll mana–”

“It’s no problem,” he starts walking towards the stairs and you’re left with no choice but to follow.

On any other occasion, the walk would’ve taken mere minutes. The hallways would’ve been something theatrical, a soft fusion of candlelight and the streaming moonlight at this time of night. With Selwyn by your side, however, the minutes seemed like hours, and the candlelit corridors, usually golden and warm, felt like the dull glow of a waiting room. Your shoulders ached from how stiffly you held herself as each step echoed louder than the last, as if the castle itself was sighing in disappointment and disdain.

“I had an enjoyable time tonight,” Trevor started when you finally reached and you tried your utter best to hide the discomfort when his clammy hand reached for yours. He brought it to his lips and pressed a single kiss on it before you gave him a tight-lipped smile. You expect him to then turn and go, to walk back down to his own common room but he stays standing there, his face blank. 

“Me too,” you smile, in hopes that this was the confirmation he was after. Another lesson you’ve learned about the boy has been this: nothing else pleases him as much as validation does. 

He gives some semblance of a smile back. You blink. The next thing you know he has started to lean in and his eyes are fluttering shut and his slightly puckered lips are mere inches from yours now and the ridiculousness of it all proves too much to bear – you guffaw in the most obnoxious way possible. A mixture of anger and hurt crosses his face before he retreats and you’re unsure of how to recover.

“I’m so sorry,” you cover your mouth and try to stop the laughter. “I– I just thought of a funny joke. I’m so–”

“Fix your hair, would you? It looked atrocious today,” he quips quickly to gain control of the situation back. The last thing you’ve learned about the enigma that Selwyn is is this: his superiority cannot be challenged. If it is, he will try to establish it again – by insulting you in the most seemingly hurtful manner. 

It doesn’t quite have the desired effect. You snort at his attempt and suddenly the laughter has returned. He exhales once out of his nose as he turns to go but not before calling out, “I will pick you up at the same time tomorrow night. Don’t be late.” 

The laughter dwindles at the thought of enduring this again. “I’m busy tomorrow!” 

“Don’t be late,” he calls again. 

“Charming,” you hear someone call from behind you and you can tell who it is without having to turn and look at his annoyingly perfect face. His clever quips usually carry the extraordinary ability to irk you to no end but after the night you’ve had, they seem especially akin to knives on a chalkboard. 

You can picture Cedric Diggory’s earnest yet irritating smile he seems to wear at all times, the kind that makes his honey-coloured eyes crinkle in the slightest way at the edges with no difficulty. You can picture his perfectly ironed robes, clad with pins and awards he has won over the years and his hair that falls in place like dominoes. There’s only ever one way to describe him: pristine. Always. 

Though you’d never cared much to exalt him to the status of an academic rival, it’d be foolish to call him anything else. He had a way about him that reeked of complete and utter competence at everything, which indubitably invited a certain degree of resentment from everyone. You were no exception.

And not only did the universe seem keen on making an already-horrible night worse by scheduling him as your prefect patrols partner tonight, it also seemed quite keen on wanting to humiliate you in front of him. 

“The gossip that you are, Diggory,” you huff with biting sarcasm as you finally turn to face him. “Using your patrols as a way to spy on unsuspecting young lovers. Classy.” The break of his grin is almost blinding and you have to avert your gaze to avoid damage to your visual field.

“Nothing else entertains me these days as much as your courtship, I’m afraid,” he jests, slipping an easy hand into his pocket. “If you need more time together, I understand. I’m perfectly capable of completing the patrols on my own tonight.”

With your face aflame, you shoot him a look and begrudgingly start walking beside him, arms crossed tightly over your chest like a shield and footsteps hitting stone a bit too sharply. 

“How kind of you.” You say curtly and make it a point to walk a few steps ahead of him. He doesn’t seem particularly perturbed by it: he follows a few steps behind you, but the smugness radiating off of him envelops you nonetheless. 

“You can laugh, you know,” you say again after a moment of silence. You have long-since learned that the best way to avoid embarrassment is to submit to it. You’ve been courting Selwyn long enough to know it – sheepish smiles exchanged with classmates when he pecks you on the cheek in the hallways, mortified but apologetic grimaces whenever he tries to clasp your hand in his as he walks you to your common room after supper. Judgment – if it must be served – is best served plainly. Overtly. 

He shakes his head in amusement as he finally catches up and walks in step with you. “Now, why would I laugh? That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.” 

“That was humiliating,” you mutter under your breath before you can stop yourself. 

Cedric’s amused smile wavers as he glances at you with something you hope isn’t sympathy. And as much as you hate to say it, it wouldn’t be something you would put above him – for all the determined rebuttals and rivalries in class, Cedric has only ever been infuriatingly kind. “I think Selwyn might be a tad bit more humiliated than you, [Y/L/N].”

“Good. If he ever tries to kiss me again, I might hex him into oblivion and end up as a headline in the Daily Prophet.” 

His amusement returns and you’re glad. You’re not sure how to interact with him beyond the usual teasing remarks. “Would it be in bad taste to say that I'd quite want to see that?” His smile only grows when you roll your eyes. “Will you be doing that tomorrow night then? Shall I call the reporters?” 

You make a face. “You won’t be grinning that wide when I send a dementor after you from Azkaban, Diggory.”

“Send one after Selwyn. He’s in need of a good kiss.”

Your lips twitch at the joke and Cedric notices the slight movement. You press them together before a full-fledged smile can appear on your face and Cedric revels in it. “You’re not funny.”

“Yes, I’m sure Selwyn’s funnier,” Cedric teases. 

“Still not funny.” You take a few quicker steps to walk in front of him again, having had enough of his teasing for the night. 

He catches up again and has no particular difficulties keeping up, no matter how much you try to hasten your steps. “Forgive me for prying –”

“I won’t.”

“But, why Selwyn?” The question’s sincerity catches you off-guard.

“What?”

“I just mean – I find it hard to believe that you’re… devoid of options. So…why him?” He picks his words carefully, as if he’s weighing them in his mouth before letting them fall out. And perhaps it was due to the late hour or the undeniable warmth that Cedric’s eyes perpetually hold, but you actually considered giving him a sincere answer. 

“He’s–” you pause as you vow to yourself this would be the last display of vulnerability Cedric would be getting from you tonight. Your voice drops despite yourself, and you find your fingers fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. Something about Cedric’s quiet attention makes the truth feel heavier than usual. “He’s my parents’ choice. They want me to graduate with a prospect secured.”

His eyebrows wrinkle in confusion. “If a courtship is what you’re after, I’m sure you’d find better prospects in – pardon my bluntness – anyone else.” His teasing cadence has dropped altogether now and you wrinkle your own eyebrows in confusion as you consider the notion that Cedric might actually be trying to help you. 

“It doesn’t matter who–” you pause again. “I don’t plan on marrying him, Cedric.”

Cedric frowns. 

You go on, “I’m only ‘courting’ him until graduation to subdue my parents. I won’t marry him so it doesn’t matter who it is.” You squirm in guilt as Cedric stays frowning. “And I realize it’s cruel to string him along – I do – I just – I don’t know what else to do.” 

Cedric nods after a while – a slow, courteous nod that indicates he understands but wholly disagrees with whatever you’re saying. It’s a nod you’ve seen from him when he proposes a rebuttal to whatever alternate answer you’ve proposed in class, an alternate solution to a problem and admittedly, a much more pragmatic one.  He opens his mouth to voice it before the sound of giggles fill the empty hallways from around the corner.

You both exchange a prefectly look with each other, acknowledging the obvious student out of bed, awaiting a scolding for being out past curfew. Before you two can approach to see who it is, they turn the corner themselves.

“Evelyn,” Cedric breathes out in surprise as your gaze lands on the familiar brunette-haired girl in your year, her hands firmly clasped in Damien Avery’s, matching love-sick grins plastered on both faces and lipstick stains on the latter’s neck. With their hair dishevelled and robes askew, they blink in stunned silence.

You purse your lips as you look between the two, realization cresting at once. Though Cedric’s dating life was never a particular topic of interest, you immediately recognized the girl as his girlfriend, Evelyn Waters. 

Well, ex-girlfriend as of two weeks ago. 

“Ced,” his name falls from her smudged, lipstick-stained mouth softly, her eyes widening slightly. She hastily straightens out her robe and runs a hand through her hair. “I–”

Cedric clears his throat awkwardly as he shoots Avery a lingering glare. “It’s an hour past curfew–” He manages to get out, his voice unbelievably even. He keeps his eyes on Avery, not sparing Evelyn another glance. 

“I’m a prefect, Diggory. I think we’re fine,” Avery dismisses, stepping around him. He tugs at Evelyn’s hand.

Cedric steps in front of him again, towering over the shorter boy with ease. “Forty points from Slytherin,” he says simply, his eyes uncharacteristically stoic.

Avery scoffs and looks at Cedric in disbelief. “Yeah?” He sneers. “Are you going to take another forty for theft?” 

Cedric exhales heavily through his nose at the implication. The night air has suddenly chilled and the tension is so thick, it makes it hard to breathe.

“You know… considering…everything.” Avery smirks, gesturing subtly to Evelyn’s hand he still has clasped within his own. Evelyn watches the exchange silently.

“Considering everything, Avery,” you finally find your voice in the uncomfortable silence and step forward. “I’ll be taking another hundred points away from Slytherin for your misuse of prefect privileges. Expect to hear from Professor Snape tomorrow when I formally file a complaint.”

Avery turns to you, his goblin-green eyes staring into yours for a minute before he narrows them. “This isn’t your fight, [Y/L/N]. Stay out of it.”

“I think you,” you jab a hard finger at his chest, pushing him away slightly, “should stay out of the hallways after curfew. Now, if you’ll excuse us.” You grab Cedric’s arm and tear him away from the pair. 

He doesn’t protest when you begin to lead him down a random set of stairs to get away from the scene of the stiff confrontation. Cedric walks a few steps behind you wordlessly as you chance periodic glances to make sure he’s still following. After a few moments, you slow your gait so he can catch up with you.

“Hey,” you jostle him out of his thoughts which seemed to have permanently etched a furrow in his brows as he shuffled his feet across the stone floor.

He sighs, running a quick hand over his face and then stuffing it back into his pocket. “You didn’t have to enjoy that quite so much.”

You frown. “Enjoy what?”

“Do you not normally enjoy my humiliation?” He asks with a teasing lilt in his voice, but the humour stops short of his eyes. You can tell his mind is still stuck elsewhere, replaying that scene over and over. 

“I’m not a sadist like you,” you quip. 

He offers you a quick smile as if to confirm receipt of your well-intentioned humour, but doesn’t say much else. You walk in uneasy silence once again. 

“She’s an idiot,” you say finally. “Just– for the record.”

“Hm.” He smiles wryly again but his eyes hold a heaviness that you don’t like. You can tell the breakup took a greater toll on him than he has let on the past few weeks. And you’re not exactly sure why that weighs down on your heart.

“Seriously, Diggory,” you sigh. “She’s an idiot for breaking up with you and she’s an idiot for getting with Avery.”

He exhales a quiet laugh. “Yeah.” 

The heaviness still hung in the air despite your attempts at trying to provide Cedric an outlet to let out his frustration. You scoff internally at his staunch unwillingness to talk ill of anyone – not even his ex-girlfriend who moved on from him in a blink of an eye. You think again of Cedric’s genuine interest in your ‘Selwynian’ plight. You sigh once before shaking your head. Were you really about to help Cedric Diggory?

“You know what? You need to stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Acting like it doesn’t bother you,” you hit him lightly on the arm. “It bothers you, right?”

He holds your gaze for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Suppose it does.” He admits quietly.

“Do you want her back?” 

He frowns at the question. “What–”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he breathes out after a while and looks away, as if embarrassed at the confession. You can tell he’s fidgeting with his pockets nervously. 

“Then, make her jealous,” you say. “I saw how she was looking at you. She knows she made a mistake. But she won’t admit it because that’s not how it works. Make her jealous and she’ll have to admit it. It’ll get it out of her.”

He looks at you in amusement. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to help me or sabotage me.”

You scoff. “Accept the generosity before I change my mind.”

He shakes his head with a bitter smile, clicking his tongue against his teeth quietly. “That won’t work, anyway.”

“It will,” you assert. “Trust me, Diggory. It will.” 

He shakes his head again. “I don’t even know how to–”

“Date someone else,” you supply easily.

“I don’t like anyone else.”

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “No shit. We already established that you still like Evelyn.”

“So, I ask out a girl I’m not actually interested in?” He asks in disbelief, discomfort evident on his face. 

“Yeah,” you shrug. 

He frowns and pauses, glancing at you with confusion. “That’s cruel beyond belief, [Y/L/N].”

His admonition makes you pause, too. The familiarity of the proposal strikes you at once. It was exactly what you were doing – stringing along a clueless Selwyn until graduation and then breaking his heart without a second thought. The cruelty of it all had always been a nagging thought – but its noise had been distant and dull. It was now ringing in your ears however, your skewed perception of morality hitting you at once.

“It’s not– cruel.” You try to tell yourself, more than him. “It–”

“It’s heartless,” he says again, matter-of-factly. “This, and what you’re doing to Selwyn, by the way.” 

You sigh at his moral policing. You knew he was right, but Selwyn was a problem for another night. 

“Fine,” you relent. “How about a girl who agrees to be your fake girlfriend?” 

He scoffs lightly. “If that were so easy to find, wouldn’t you have gotten a fake boyfriend already?”

You both stop walking at the same time, your footsteps coming to a screeching halt simultaneously. It was almost as if Cedric’s words had materialized and turned into physical roadblocks. His gaze slowly turns to you, honey-brown eyes landing on yours, but you’re already watching him in stunned realization. 

“[Y/L/N] –” he begins thoughtfully.

“No. No. Absolutely not.” That look in his eyes — the one like he’s already decided. Like he’s already seen this through to the end. It makes you nervous in a way you can’t name. You start walking ahead of him rather quickly but he catches up to you with no difficulty once again. His long strides match your pace perfectly.

“This was your idea–” He tries to reason again, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing off the walls as he chases after you with a walking stride.

“My idea– was not for us to do that–” you huff out as you keep up the pace, unrelenting.

He finally catches up to you and reaches for your arm, his hand closing gently around your elbow. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt through you, halting your steps more effectively than his words ever could. “It makes sense.”

You blink, momentarily thrown. “No–” 

“You won’t have to be needlessly cruel just to keep a prospect around–”

“Cedric.”

“And I won’t have to heartlessly pretend to like a girl who doesn’t know I’m pretending,” his hands find your shoulders. “It makes sense. You know it does.”

“I won’t–”

“And no more nightly dates with Selwyn,” he interrupts. “No more dodging his kisses.” 

That finally shuts you up. You shake your head though you can’t find the words to protest anymore. Cedric decides to sweeten the deal further.

“No life sentence in Azkaban, either.”

“Shut up.”

His lips tug upwards slightly and your eyes can’t help but catch on the movement. You let your eyes roam over his face — annoyingly symmetrical, irritatingly warm — and suddenly it hits you how easy it would be to fall into this lie. How dangerously tempting it is to pretend.

“No one would even believe it,” you say weakly. “We hate each other.”

“You mean you hate me?” He smiles dryly. “Because I don’t recall ever hating you.”

You avert your eyes before you start tracing his smile lines again with your gaze. “I just mean– we’re always at each other’s throats.” 

“That makes it more believable, don’t you think?” 

You shake your head, closing your eyes. “It’s a bad idea–”

You don’t get to finish your sentence before a familiar owl flies overhead and perches itself on the ledge next to you, clutching a letter. It doesn’t take long for you to realize who it’s from – the intricate green envelope and Selwyn family crest catching your eye immediately.

Cedric raises an eyebrow as he holds back a smirk. You grumble under your breath before plucking the letter from the owl begrudgingly. 

“Aren’t you going to open it?” He questions as he stifles a smile.

“No,” you huff in annoyance. “He … sends these every night. A ‘goodnight poem’, he calls them.”

Cedric doesn’t say anything, his grin already revealing he knows what your next words will be. 

You glance at the letter again — Selwyn’s cursive looping like a snake about to bite. What were you even doing?

You sigh, knowing exactly what this meant. “Fine. Let’s do it.” You cast the ignition spell, watching the green wax seal curl into smoke. “Let’s date.”

He blinks. “Wait — really?”

 “Don’t make me change my mind.”

 His grin returns, slow and lopsided. “Pretend to date,” he corrects.

“What?”

“We’re pretending,” he says cheekily, your cheeks aflame at his teasing cadence. "Don’t fall in love with me, [Y/L/N].”  

With a determined roll of your eyes, you turn on your heel. “As if, Diggory.”

Second part coming soon!

[letssee2468]

I’ve been putting this series on hold for a while but I have time to read it now! so far so good 😊

𝟏 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟎𝟎 — 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 (𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧).

it’s your first year at hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, and aside from an initial minor setback, you’re settling in well.

eventual james x fem!reader | 2.7k | series masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n | caved and started writing that james project i was talking about, it’s gonna be seven parts (one for each year) with varying lengths, actually so looking forward to writing it

The platform is alive with noise and movement—students hugging their families goodbye, owls hooting from their cages, and the occasional burst of sparks from overenthusiastic wand-wavers.

You weave your way through the crowd, dragging your trunk behind you, and step onto the Hogwarts Express. The air inside is thick with chatter, compartments packed with first-years buzzing with excitement and older students catching up after the summer.

Finding a seat proves harder than expected. Nearly every compartment is full, and the ones that aren’t seem to have formed their own unspoken cliques already.

Eventually, you spot one that isn’t completely crammed—just four boys, sprawled across the seats, deep in conversation. You hesitate for only a moment before sliding open the door.

“Mind if I sit here?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

The boys glance at you, then at each other. One of them—messy dark hair, glasses—leans back slightly, clearly considering. Another, with neat brown hair and a slightly more polite expression, opens his mouth as if to say something, but before he can, the smallest of the group pipes up.

“Sorry, no room,” he says quickly.

You blink. There is room. Not loads, but definitely enough for one more. You glance at the seats again, then back at them, raising an eyebrow. They don’t budge. The dark-haired one with the glasses smirks slightly, as if waiting for you to argue.

You don’t bother. Rolling your eyes, you mutter, “Right. Fine,” and slide the door shut with a little more force than necessary.

Typical. First day and already off to a bad start.

Frustrated, you push on down the corridor, peering into compartments as you go. Most are even fuller than before, but finally, you spot a tiny sliver of space in one near the end of the carriage.

There’s a girl with vivid red hair sitting by the window, her nose buried in a thick textbook. The other seats are taken, but there’s just enough room to squeeze in if no one minds.

You knock lightly before sliding the door open. “Alright if I sit here?”

The red-haired girl looks up, blinking as if pulled from deep concentration. She takes in the full compartment, then shifts slightly to make room. “Yeah, go on,” she says, giving you a small smile.

Grateful, you heave your trunk into the overhead rack and drop into the seat beside her. For a moment, neither of you speak—she’s still absorbed in her book, and you take the chance to glance at the title. The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1.

“Bit of light reading?” you say, nodding at it.

She grins. “Something like that. Just wanted to get a head start,”

“Lucky you,” you reply. “I’ve barely even looked at mine,”

The girl laughs, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “I was just curious, really. I’ve been trying some of the wand movements at home, but obviously, nothing happens. My sister—“ She hesitates for half a second before continuing. “She’s not a witch, so she thinks I look ridiculous waving my wand around at empty air,”

You nod. “At least you’ve got the motions down. I still feel like I’m going to snap mine in half by accident,”

She laughs again. “Yeah, I keep checking mine’s still in one piece. I practised holding it so much over the summer I thought I’d wear it out before term even started,”

You smile, settling into your seat. Talking to her already feels easier than trying to force your way into a conversation with anyone else on the train. “So, are you Muggle-born, then?”

She nods. “Yeah. I only found out about all this last year, and it still feels… strange, I guess? But exciting. I just hope I don’t mess everything up,”

“You probably won’t. And if you do, at least you’ll have company. I reckon half the first-years are going to end up turning teapots into frogs by accident or something,”

Lily grins. “At least that would be impressive. I’m more worried about setting something on fire,”

“You and me both,” you say.

The train continues rattling along the tracks, the countryside rolling past the window in a blur of green. The chatter in the compartment swells and fades as conversations shift, but you and Lily keep talking.

It’s mostly about Hogwarts—what subjects you’re most excited for, which house you think you’ll end up in, whether the moving staircases are real or just a myth.

“I don’t really mind which house I’m in,” Lily says after a while, tapping her fingers idly on the cover of her book. “They all sound interesting in different ways,”

You nod. “Yeah. I just hope I don’t end up somewhere awful. Imagine getting stuck in the one house where everyone’s horrible,”

Lily wrinkles her nose. “That’d be the worst,” She pauses. “Do you have family that went to Hogwarts?”

“Yeah, a few,” you admit. “They keep telling me it’ll be the best years of my life, which is a lot of pressure, honestly,”

She grins. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,”

Before long, the train begins to slow, and the hum of conversation shifts as people start shuffling into their robes.

The compartment is suddenly full of movement—trunks being pulled down, nervous chatter about the Sorting Ceremony, the occasional lost toad being retrieved from beneath seats. You and Lily exchange a glance, the weight of what’s coming finally sinking in.

“Ready?” she asks.

“Not even slightly,” you admit.

She laughs. “Same. But I suppose it’s too late to turn back now,”

The train pulls to a stop, and the doors slide open. The night air is cool as you step onto the platform, taking in the towering figure of a man calling for first-years to follow him. The castle looms in the distance, its windows glowing against the dark sky.

Whatever happens next, it’s officially begun.

—

The excitement of arriving at Hogwarts is quickly overshadowed by the nerve-wracking experience of the Sorting Ceremony.

The Great Hall is a blur of candlelight, floating above the four long tables where the older students are already seated. The air is thick with anticipation, and the chatter of the first-years falls to a nervous hush. Above, the enchanted ceiling reflects the sky outside, dark and starry.

As the ceremony begins, one by one, students step forward to place the Sorting Hat on their heads.

You watch each person ahead of you, some eager, others visibly trembling. The Hat mutters something as it’s placed on their heads, then announces their house with a flourish.

Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin—the names echo in the hall, each one met with cheers and applause from the appropriate table.

Finally, the moment arrives. Your name is called, and your heart skips a beat. You make your way down the aisle, the eyes of hundreds of students on you, each of them silently judging or sizing you up.

You climb the steps to the platform, trying to ignore the way your knees feel like jelly. The Sorting Hat is waiting for you, perched on a stool.

You sit down, and it is placed gently on your head. The cool fabric brushes against your forehead, and for a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then the Hat speaks, its voice low and murmuring in your ear.

“Ah, I see... courage, certainly. And a desire to prove yourself... but a touch of caution too. You’re not afraid of a challenge, though, are you? I can sense a bit of ambition lurking in there, just under the surface...”

The Hat seems to deliberate, shifting slightly as it considers you. You can feel it probing your thoughts, weighing the choices. It’s as though your very soul is being laid bare, and the pressure of it almost makes you want to squirm.

“Hmm, yes... definitely brave, but with a clever streak. Yes, yes, I know where you belong...”

Please just say it already, you think desperately, trying to steady your breath.

The Sorting Hat finally calls out, “Gryffindor!”

Relief washes over you, and the sudden, overwhelming weight of your nerves lifts. You stand, giving a small smile to the cheers from the Gryffindor table. You know, deep down, that it was the right choice for you. The bravery, the will to stand up for what’s right—it makes sense.

But as you make your way to the table, your eyes flicker over to the group of four boys who had claimed there was no room for you on the train. They’re already sitting together, grinning broadly, clapping each other on the back as they welcome the new arrivals.

You catch their eyes as you sit down, and for a moment, they stare at you like they’re half-sure they’ve seen you before. Then one of them, the one with messy black hair and glasses, smirks and gives a half-hearted wave.

Great. Just my luck.

You roll your eyes, disgruntlement tugging at the corners of your mouth until you’re frowning. The boys are all in Gryffindor too. Of course they are.

The rest of the Sorting Ceremony passes in a blur. You hear the names of other students being called, but your focus is pulled back to the group as they laugh and joke amongst themselves.

Despite your earlier annoyance, you feel a twinge of curiosity about them. You wonder if they’ll always be this rowdy, or if it’s just first-year excitement.

Lily, sitting beside you, is grinning. “Well, we’re in the same house,” she says, nudging you lightly. “At least we’ll be able to stick together,”

You nod, feeling your earlier annoyance about the boys from the train fade. It’s not like you have much choice, anyway. But then again, it’s not the worst thing. Maybe there are worse things than being surrounded by a bunch of rowdy Gryffindors.

When the Sorting is finally over, the Headmaster stands, his voice booming through the hall. “Welcome, students, to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before we begin the feast, a few words—“ But the rest of his speech is drowned out by the mouthwatering smells of the food that suddenly appears on the tables.

The chatter picks up again, the tension from the Sorting easing as everyone eagerly grabs at their plates.

You’re too busy eyeing the vast spread of food before you to hear much of the rest of the speech, but you’re vaguely aware of the boys throwing a few half-hearted jests around the table, already in full swing.

—

The rest of your first year at Hogwarts passes in a blur, the excitement of arrival quickly replaced by the everyday hustle and bustle of student life.

At first, it’s overwhelming—everywhere you turn, something is new, something is strange. The moving staircases seem to change direction just when you think you know where you’re going, and the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall never stops being fascinating, no matter how many times you see it.

It takes time to get used to the constant hum of magic in the air, the eerie whispers of ghosts, and the strange ticking of clocks that seem to come from nowhere. And don’t even get started on the sheer number of subjects you have to juggle.

In the beginning, it feels like every lesson is a battle—Professor McGonagall’s Transfiguration lessons are a challenge, with all the wand flicking and concentration required, and you can’t seem to make heads or tails of the theory behind Charms. But slowly, everything starts to fall into place. You manage to keep up, and your confidence grows.

Friendships begin to form naturally. Your dorm mates, Marlene and Dorcas (along with Lily), are both easy to get along with, though they couldn’t be more different.

Marlene is loud, confident, and a bit of a daredevil, always getting you into minor trouble when she dares you to climb a tree in the middle of the night or sneak a peek into the Forbidden Forest.

Dorcas, on the other hand, is quieter and more thoughtful. She’s often seen with a book in hand, but she has an infectious laugh and a dry wit that makes you feel at ease around her. Both are easy to talk to, and by the end of the first few weeks, you all fall into a comfortable rhythm.

Your room, though small, is cozy. There’s a large window that overlooks the grounds, and at night, when the stars are visible, it’s easy to feel like you’re part of something bigger. You and Marlene have become particularly close, while Dorcas is often found deep in conversation with Lily, especially when the two of them start discussing spells and charms that they’ve been experimenting with.

The common room becomes a safe space for study sessions, late-night gossip, and the occasional nap.

Unfortunately, you also become all too familiar with the Gryffindor boys. You can’t seem to escape them—whether it’s Sirius Black’s voice echoing through the corridors as he cracks jokes, or James Potter’s comments about other students that walk by, they’re everywhere.

While they’re certainly fun to watch, and you do start to find their antics amusing in the end, you can’t shake the feeling that they’re never really serious about anything.

It’s in your first Potions lesson that you meet Severus Snape.

Professor Slughorn, who is strangely enthusiastic about everything, divides the class into groups of three, and you, Lily, and Severus end up paired together.

At first glance, Severus is a bit odd—he’s quiet, almost brooding, and his sharp, pale face seems like it belongs to someone much older. He doesn’t seem to mind being in the same group as you and Lily, but he also doesn’t offer much in the way of conversation. Instead, he focuses on the task at hand, muttering under his breath as he carefully measures ingredients.

But despite his aloofness, you find that you get along decently well. He’s not rude, just... reserved, and he’s clearly very good at Potions. When you and Lily struggle to get the potion just right, he offers a quiet suggestion or two, and the two of you exchange surprised looks when it works.

“You’re good at this,” you remark as the potion finally takes on the proper colour, a soft greenish hue that bubbles gently.

He looks at you, his dark eyes almost piercing. “I’ve been brewing since I was a kid,”

Lily glances up from her cauldron. “Really? That’s cool,”

He doesn’t answer her question directly but gives a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “I don’t have much else to do,” His tone is distant, and you sense there’s more to the answer, but you don’t press.

Despite his oddities, there’s something in Severus you can relate to—perhaps it’s the feeling of being an outsider, the awkwardness of trying to fit in while everyone else seems so confident. Still, you can’t help but feel that there’s a lot more lurking beneath the surface, and you find yourself wondering what makes him tick.

After that first Potions lesson, you, Lily, and Severus share a few more classes together—though it’s not like you’re all best friends. Severus stays to himself for the most part, but he’s never openly hostile, and you find that you can work together when needed. He has a strange intensity about him, but for the most part, you leave it at that.

As the year goes on, you find that your time at Hogwarts isn’t quite as eventful as you might have imagined. There are no dramatic moments, no life-changing revelations—just the slow, steady pace of school life. Yet, in a way, that’s comforting. There’s a certain rhythm to everything.

Hogwarts, for now, is just Hogwarts—a school that now served as your new home.

[potterhead0928]

DLAWF Outtake [twitter]

lea potter-winchester @ flowerpowerpotter

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>DW @ impala67

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