#Potions exams

[braveclementine]

Chapter 28

Warnings: Mentions of love making, 18+ readers only

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

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𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖞 things that Umbridge needed to take care of after Fred and George had left. For one thing, upstairs was a very large swamp that they had created themselves. Umbridge had tried to get rid of it with no success and neither Flitwick nor McGonagall seemed very eager to try it out themselves.

Then there were the broom shaped holes in Umbridge's office door. Filch had replaced the door and Harry's broom was moved down into a dungeon to be guarded by a security troll. Bloody waste of time in my opinion.

There were also rebellious students who seemed to be trying to out-do each other for the vacant position of trouble-makers-in-chief. A niffler was put in Umbridge's office. The office was ripped apart, looking for shiny things and when Umbridge entered the room, the niffler leapt upon her hand to get to her shiny rings.

There were also dungbombs and stink pellets dropped in the corridors and people were producing bubble-head charms on themselves before going out so that they didn't have to breathe in the foul air.

Filch was now always prowling the corridors with a whip in his hand. The Inquisitorial Squad was attempting to help him as nearly every student had turned into a troublemaker but weird things were starting to happen to them. For instance, I knew for a fact that Lee was the one who had given Pansy Parkinson (much to Hermione's delight) antlers so that she had to miss a whole day of classes.

I had my art pad out frequently now, drawing everything. I had done two drawings of Pany Parkinson and her antlers and had posted it on a wall in the Great Hall so that everyone who came down to breakfast the next morning laughed at it. Pansy was extremely angry, and attempted to set it on fire. I'd put an protective spell on it however and the spell rebounded, catching her robes on fire. Professor Snape gave me a legitimate detention for that one. And then he'd punished me and I had been unable to sit down without wincing for two days.

No regrets though.

And of course, there were the Skiving Snackboxes. They were only used during Umbridge's class of course. Us students told her that we had Umbridge-itis and I spent a half hour in her class, striding up the aisles of the desk, trying hard not to laugh and telling the students in my class about it.

"A very dangerous disease of course." I said, walking past Susan who had her face in her hands, laughing hysterically. I had to pause carefully in between sentences as I was close to bursting into laughter myself. "Umbridge-itis has four different symptoms: Fainting, vomiting, dangerously high fevers, and bloody noses. The best way to avoid these symptoms is to stay far away from an Umbridge. An Umbridge," I stated, now walking past Ernie, Justin, and Zacharias who had tears of laughter in their eyes. "Is something that looks like a midgit and only wears pink. Looks a bit like a human toad and has a false, sweet voice."

Needless to say, Umbridge was not as amused as the students and I got three weeks worth of detention. However, the story of what I'd said spread throughout the school and soon, everyone was telling her that they had Umbridge-itis. I was also awarded twenty points to Hufflepuff by Professor McGonagall for performing a simple vanishing spell.

But no one, and I mean no one, caused more trouble than Peeves. He upended tables, shattered vases, knocked over statues, burst out of blackboards, shut Mrs. Norris up in a suit of armor twice, juggled burning torches over heads of screaming students, toppled neatly stacked parchment out of windows, flooded the second floor by pulled the taps off the handles in the bathroom, dropped a bag of tarantulas in the Great Hall during breakfast and whenever he was bored, spent hours floating above Umbridge and blowing loud raspberries every time she spoke, making the kids collapse into giggles.

The staff did absolutely nothing to help her- except Filch. Harry, Susan, and I were standing in a corridor, watching peeves unscrew a crystal chandelier, and then watched as Professor McGonagall walked by. "It unscrews the other way." she muttered, walking on and the three of us looked at each other in amazement and laughed. Then we hit the floor as the chandelier crashed, sending bits of crystal, metal, and glass our way.

Of course, it wasn't all fun and games. Umbridge was finding anything to put me in detention for- though at this point, I was really starting to deserve it. I'd created fliers about Umbridge-itis, posting them on the boards and walls and had neat little stacks of brochures for people to read. She'd told Filch to whip me whenever he saw me, so I'd taken to avoiding him as much as possible. I did have a couple whip marks on my back though, when I didn't watch out carefully enough. I wasn't the only one either- Filch seemed especially vindictive towards the Gryffindors.

Severus was a bit enraged about me being so proactive against her. "You're going to get hurt." He said as we were laying in bed after we'd finished making love. "And I mean really hurt- not cutting words into your hand or whip marks. . ." his fingers traced over a fading scar. He'd done some magic so that they wouldn't be permanent.

"I'm going to be fine." I said, smiling up at him and then kissing his cheek. "Besides, this is fun."

He groaned but said nothing more on the subject, running his fingers absentmindedly up and down my thigh before he finally fell asleep.

There was one last Quidditch match coming up which was Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin. I asked Severus in a teasing voice about who he hoped would win. He made an incoherent noise and ran his lips over my breasts. I supposed it was answer enough.

The Slytherin and Hufflepuff tensions were high and I noticed that I seemed to have an extraordinary amount of homework for Defense Against the Dark Arts class and no homework for any other class- including potions.

The day of the Quidditch match, our nerves had reached a certain height. I was pacing back and forth, my firebolt standing up by the door.

"We're going to win this." I said in a small voice, looking at everyone. "We are the best team here. And. . . and we're going to do this, not to show Umbridge, but to honor Cedric's memory."

"This one's for Cedric." Malcolm said in a strong voice.

"For Cedric." We all said.

We all stood up, holding our brooms over our shoulder. We walked onto the pitch, all stony faced. I shook hands with a replacement Captain for Montague who was still in the hospital. He was crying to crush my fingers but I didn't react. I remained emotionless.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle and we all flew upwards. Draco was keeping on my tail and I was doing my best to ignore him. I kept my eyes open, scanning for the snitch as I continued to fly around. Heidi scored.

"Give it up Kane!" Draco hissed somewhere to my right. "You can't win this and you know it. Cedirc couldn't have won this either. . ."

So he was going to tell me about Cedric now, was he? I dove. Draco rushed after me and I kept my eyes determinedly on a spot on the pitch. Draco was concentrating on where I was looking, not realizing that I was actually feinting. At the very last second before I was going to crash, I pulled up neatly. Draco on the other hand, crashed, and I sped back up, grinning victoriously.

"And Kane uses Krum's signature move Wronski Feint against Slytherin's seeker. Nice play Elizabeth!" Lee shouted from the speakers box. He wasn't being as fun as before- mostly because Fred and George had left. I winked at him as I sped by.

I was high enough that I could see Harry, Hermione, and Ron with Hagrid by his hut, going into the forest. I dodged a bludger and took off south. We were up forty points. I saw the snitch on the other side of the pitch and I streaked towards it. Draco was back on his broom zooming after me.

Suddenly, one of the Slytherin Chasers slammed into me from the ride side and I slipped off the broom. I tightened my legs so that I was hanging fifty feet in the air by my legs. There were screams and gasps from the crowd as I let go with my legs, throwing a hand up to catch the broom and then pulled myself up and taking off again.

The snitch had been lost, Draco had been gloating to much to catch it. I was thankful for that of course. Malcolm took a bludger to the stomach at that moment and was out of the game. Heidi and Zacharias immediately started scoring goal after goal with a furious intensity that was unrivaled. Our beaters were fiercely knocking Slytherins off their brooms too.

I dodged another bludger and then caught sight of the snitch. It was almost like fate, darting in front of Umbridge's effing nose. (Not literally, just close by the teacher's stand).

Draco was on the other side of the field and I zoomed towards the teacher stands, grinning. Umbridge fell back in fear, perhaps thinking I was attacking her, and I grabbed the snitch, holding it up triumphantly.

Lee was laughing at Umbridge and I grabbed the microphone and shouted into it, "That- was for Cedric!" And then I raced back to the ground where the other Hufflepuff team members flew down to meet me and we were all hugging. I was so joyful that I couldn't stop smiling. We were all smiling and half of us were crying too. We'd won the Cup! Hufflepuff hadn't won the cup in forever since Slytherin had had it nearly nine years in a row until Gryffindor had won two years ago.

The other Hufflepuffs were streaming out onto the Quidditch grounds, jumping and down in excitement. We were pushed up to where Professor Umbridge was waiting with the Quidditch Cup. She looked so pissed at having to give me the Quidditch Cup. It was trembling in her hands and I held out my hand for it.

She gritted her teeth and then Professor Sprout took it from her hands and handed it to me. "I'm glad such a worthy team got the Cup Miss Kane." She was beaming, looking extremely happy. I grinned back. Professor Umbridge looked like she had eaten a lemon. Severus looked quite proud too, hiding it in his eyes where only I could see it.

We headed back to the castle as a team. I saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione standing by the doors. They smiled as I passed by, waving the Quidditch Cup up.

Back in the Hufflepuff Common room, we threw a party with food, drinks, and dancing. It was very much like the party that Gryffindor had thrown when they'd won the cup.

We had a picture of Cedric on a desk with candles around him like an altar. This win was for Cedric. Around one in the morning everyone went to bed. I stayed up a little later, looking at Cedric's photo and picked it up in my hands.

His smiling face grinned back at me and winked. I smiled weakly. "I miss you." I said, tears coming to my eyes. "A lot." I guess I was wishing the photo would talk back- sometimes they did. But Cedric's photo wasn't charmed that way and he just beamed up at me and then gave me a thumbs up.

I put the photo back down on the table and pulled out some parchment.

We won the Quidditch Cup Dad. Guess I'm not a bad Captain after all. I think Cedric would be proud- the win was for him.

I didn't write anything else. I turned into a cat, picking the note up in my mouth and headed out so that I could go spend the night with Severus.

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I went outside to study.

"We have a lot to tell you." Ron said as we sat down.

"I already know." I said, taking out my Transfiguration book. "Hagrid brought back his baby brother Grawp and wants us to teach him English."

"Pretty much." Hermione said.

"Bloody hell." I muttered. "Do you know how dangerous that is? I swear this more dangerous than Norbert or Aragog."

"He hasn't been sacked yet." Ron pointed out.

"But he will be." I muttered and then sighed, "I suppose we'll have to, won't we?"

"We did promise." Hermione said reluctantly.

I sighed. "Well, we'll deal with it when the time comes then" and I opened up my Transfiguration book and started to read.

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"𝕳𝖔𝖜 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 d'you think you're doing a day?" Ernie demanded me as I entered the common room a few days later.

I looked at him amused. "About six or seven."

"I'm doing eight." Ernie said, puffing out his chest and I rolled my eyes. "Eight or nine. I'm getting an hour in before breakfast every day. Eight's my average. I can do ten on a good weekend day. I did nine and-"

"Ernie." I said, amused. "You know you're going to do fine, right? Calm down."

"You don't seem stressed at all!" Susan said grumpily from a chair near the unlit fireplace.

"Of course I'm stressed." I said shrugging my shoulders. "I just don't show it." Right, more like I got all my stress out at night with Severus.

"I'm going to fail!" Hannah said hysterically, her eyes glazed over, staring blankly at the potions textbook in front of her.

"Calm down Hannah." I said, smiling. "You're going to do fine, just keep your head and don't freak out, alright?"

"Eliza!" Rose called from across the common room and I left the others to go to her.

"What's up Rose?" I asked, sitting down with her and her first-year friends.

"Will you help me with my lessons?" She asked, her tiny hands holding our her textbook.

"Of course!" I said brightly, taking the book from her and testing her on the different terms, definitions, and incantations. I also helped her with practicals, practicing the spells of my own first-year exams which had consisted of dancing pineapples and pretty snuffboxes.

I was also still trying to get Harry to close his mind for Occlumency but he was not improving. I was starting to get nervous. If I didn't get him to close his mind then what could happen? I knew what could happen- Harry could get lured somewhere.

I had to confiscate multiple different products that were being sold by the older students to the fifth-years before they were bought. I knew a majority of them were fake and some of them were dangerous. For example, dragon claw would boost your brain, but having to much exposure to the item could actually make you stupider than you really were.

During Herbology, Professor Sprout had the Hufflepuffs stay back and handed out exam schedules and details of the procedures.

"As you can see, your O.W.L.s are spread over two successive weeks. You will sit the theory exams in the mornings and the practice in the afternoons. Your practical Astronomy examination will, of course, take place at night. Now," She said, looking around the greenhouse, "I must warn you that the most stringent Anti-Cheating Charms have been applied to your examination papers. Auto-Answer Quills are banned from the examination hall, as are Remembrall's, Detachable Cribbing Cuffs, and Self-Correcting Ink. Every year, I am afraid to say, seems to harbor at least one student who thinks that he or she can get around the Wizarding Examinations Authority's rules. I can only hope that will not be anybody in Hufflepuff. Our new- headmistress- has asked the Heads of House to tell their students that cheating will be punished most severely- because, of course, your examination results will reflect upon the- headmistress's- new takeover at the school. . . However, instead of potentially risking your futures to destroy her career, it would be better advised to do your best."

Ernie shot his hand up into the air and Professor Sprout called on him, "When should we expect our results?"

"Some time in July." I answered without thinking and then blushed and said, "Sorry Professor!" The class laughed.

"It's quite fine Miss Kane. Yes, some time in July your exam results will come out Mr. Macmillan."

All houses would be taking the tests together instead of separately. Of course, times would vary once it got to the elective classes. But for every student, the written Charms exam was on Monday.

At Dinner, Hermione kept diving into her bag to check another fact in a book instead of eating.

"You really ought to eat Hermione or you're not going to be able to sleep tonight." Ron said, sticking another piece of steak into his mouth. I took a sip of pumpkin juice and then Hermione sat up and dropped her fork on her plate.

"Oh, my goodness. Is that them? Is that the examiners?" Hermione asked, so faint with anxiety she wasn't even Englishing properly.

"Are those the examiners?" I corrected her but while Harry chuckled, Hermione completely ignored me. Improper grammar annoyed the crap out of me.

"Shall we go and have a closer look?" Ron asked. We got up from our seats and hastened towards the entrance hall and we slowed down to walk behind the examiners.

"Journey was fine, journey was fine!" The little witch standing next to Umbridge was shouting. I supposed she was deaf. "Now, I haven't heard from Dumbledore lately!" And she peered around the hall excitedly. "No idea where he is, I suppose?"

"None at all." Umbridge said, shooting an ugly look at us but didn't bother saying anything. I supposed she wouldn't even insult a werewolf brat in front of the testing instructors. "But I daresay the Ministry of Magic will track him down soon enough. . ."

"I doubt it!" The tiny witch shouted, drawing looks from passing students. "not if Dumbledore doesn't want to be found! I should know. . . Examined him personally in Transfiguration and Charms when he did N.E.W.T.s. . . Did things with a wand I'd never seen before. . ."

So she was like one hundred and fifty years old then. Cause Dumbledore was like one hundred and twenty years (I would assume). Then I tried to think logically about how old he actually was and couldn't come up with a number. Yes, he had to be 113 cause he was born in 1881, so he was at least over 100. . . Good lord! Then how old was McGonagall? 75 years old?

I was reeling with these facts. Holy Crap, my Professors were so old. . . but you had to admire her. After all, McGonagall certainly didn't look 75 and she definitely didn't act like it either. Then again, Dumbledore didn't act like he was 113 either.

I spent Sunday night in Severus' room, reading my Charms book while he played absentmindedly with my hair and occasionally kissing me. When I finally laid the Charms book aside, he asked, "What did you look so shocked about when you came in?"

"I just realized today that Dumbledore is about 113 years old and Professor McGonagall is 75 years old." I said honestly, laying the book on his side table. "It just took me back a bit."

"I'm old too." Severus said softly and I thought I heard a note of sadness in his voice and I propped myself up on my elbows to look at him questioningly.

"No you're not." I argued. "You're nowhere near 75!"

"I'm in my thirties." He whispered. "That's double your age."

I gritted my teeth. "Don't play the pity game Severus. I love you and you're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with."

"Even if I die twenty years before you?" Severus asked and I realized that this conversation was going to more serious than I'd expected.

I sat up, letting the blankets fall from my naked body, extremely angry now. "You're regretting your decision, aren't you?"

"No!" He said quickly, sitting up too and I quickly looked away from his abs and just stared down. "I don't, Elizabeth. I'm sorry. I just don't want you to regret marrying someone as old as me."

"I don't regret a damn thing!" I said angrily.

Severus appraised me for a second and then I was so angry that I pushed him down on the bed and kissed him fiercely. There was an energy in me that I'd never felt before. I moved my lips down to his throat and bit, a bit harder than I meant to and he gasped.

He rolled over, slamming me down onto the bed and slid in so roughly that I gasped too. I dug my nails into his back as he moved faster and faster. I kept my mouth closed tight so that I didn't shriek. I wasn't in pain either, it felt so good. We were both breathing extremely hard, and small sounds escaped both our mouths. This. . . this was perfection.

His hands clutched at my body, his lips and teeth caressing my skin. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer to me. His hand traveled downwards, circling my clit, speeding up his hard, solid thrusts as I came over and over again.

There was something that I happened near the end too that had never happened before. It was nearly the highest point of our time together. His teeth bit me on the breast when it happened, it seemed like a jerk reaction. I wasn't entirely sure what had happened as I gasped, staring up at him.

He grinned, wiping away liquid from his chest. "Well I must've done really good to make you squirt love."

I blushed. "I- is that a good thing?"

Severus chuckled, pulling me close to his chest now that we were both cleaned up. He wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. "Of course love. It's a natural reaction."

With the reassurance that my body hadn't done anything wrong, I snuggled into him tightly and fell fast asleep.

When I woke up, I distracted myself by my nerves by observing the hickey on my breast now. "Sorry." Severus muttered sleepily, coming up behind me and observing us in the mirror. "You caught me by surprise."

I turned and saw he had one on his neck too and I touched it, "I meant that one." He grinned, kissing me on the lips. I saw the nail marks on his back then and I winced, "I didn't mean to do that though." I said, lightly touching the bruises. "Sorry."

"Don't worry, they'll be easy to cover up, this however-" he touched the hickey on his neck. "-that'll be a bit harder."

"Sorry." I repeated, not feeling all that sorry.

"You just need to learn to control yourself. You're just like a little kitten." he said mildly. I threw his shirt at him and pointed to the hickey on my breast.

"You're one to talk!"

He grinned, sweeping me into his arms to kiss my neck.

It was already eight-thirty and the exams started at nine-thirty and I needed to get up to the Great Hall for breakfast but Severus wasn't very keen to let me go. "It's to early, just stay here until your exams start." He mumbled, wrestling me back into bed.

I laughed as he kissed me repeatedly. "Sev, I need to eat!" And so he reluctantly let me up. I kissed him on the cheek and hurried up the stairs and into the Great Hall to eat.

I sat down at the Hufflepuff table and scarfed down a quick breakfast and then waited for the test to start. My heart was pounding and my nerves were being stretched thin. Oh I was going to fail. . . I was going to fail!

My heart settled down a bit once the exam started and I saw that the questions were a bit easier than I had thought they would be. I zoomed through them, knowing that I'd answered every single one of them correctly.

In the afternoon was the practical's for Charms where I made an eggcup do cartwheels and then levitated a wine glass. I had to perform the Color-change charm on a rat, trying to turn it orange, and then use the Growth Charm on a plant. Unfortunately, I think my rat was more golden than orange but it still looked orange enough I was sure I'd get most of my points.

I went to the library after that to study for Transfiguration. I figured that if all the tests- both written and practical- were like this I was going to get 'Outstandings' on everything. . . except Astronomy. That ticked me off. So I threw my Transfiguration book back in my bag and pulled out the Astronomy book.

I went back to the common room at nine, still studying Astronomy. The next day, the Transfiguration test went just easily as Charms. I was vanished my owl perfectly during practical's.

Then Herbology was on Wednesday and I planted the Fanged Geranium perfectly. Well, there was a smile nip on my ear but other than that, it couldn't have gone better.

Of course, I thought everything was going perfectly but I knew that I was probably going to fail everything if I thought like that. So, most of the time, I just doubted myself and tried to figure out all the things that I'd done wrong.

On Thursday, we had Defense Against the Dark Arts which I was sure went well. The most pleasing incident was doing all the jinxes, hexes, and counterspells perfectly in front of Umbitches nose. As expected, the fifth-years that hadn't been part of D.A. had a much harder time performing their spells. Some of them couldn't perform them at all, throwing panicked looks at Umbridge who was overseeing everything.

There was just the faintest of smiles on her lips when they did that. It made me want to accidentally miss the object in front of me and hex her instead.

I heard later that Harry got bonus points for producing a patronus. I was a bit disappointed that I hadn't had the chance to get bonus points but I figured it was no good crying over spilled milk. I focused even harder on Astronomy.

On Friday, Hermione and I went to Ancient Runes which I found was much more difficult than the other exams and immediately regretted not studying beforehand.

"How were the runes?" Ron asked as we came in through the Gryffindor portrait. Hermione wanted me to test her for Arithmancy.

"I mistranslated 'ehwaz'. It means 'partnership,' not 'defense', I mixed it up with 'eihwaz.' Hermione said. I was a bit surprised, I knew I hadn't missed that question at least. It had been one of the easier questions. Of course, the spellings were so similar for some of the runes that you had to re-read the questions a couple of times.

"Ah, well, that's only one mistake, isn't it, you'll still get-" Ron started stupidly.

"Oh shut up, it could be the one mistake that makes the difference between a pass and a fail. And what's more, someone's put another niffler in Umbridge's office, I don't know how they got it through that new window, but we just walked past there and Umbridge is shrieking her head off- by the sound of it, it tried to take a chunk out of her leg-"

"Good!" Harry and Ron said together but I shook my head.

"It is not good! She thinks it's Hagrid doing it, remember? And we do not want Hagrid chucked out!" Hermione said heatedly.

Harry looked out the window and then said, "He's teaching at the moment, she can't blame him."

"Oh, you're so naïve sometimes, Harry, you really think Umbridge will wait for proof?" Hermione said and seeming to forget that I was there to test her, she swept off for the girls' dormitory. I shook my head standing up.

"Such a lovely, sweet-tempered girl." Ron said fondly, pushing his queen forward on the chess board.

Potions was Monday and I studied for the exam Saturday and Sunday in Severus' room. I didn't leave the room except to eat and go to the bathroom. Of course, Severus was quite happy with this and helped me study between having some fun of his own. Sometimes he acted like such a teenager.

Of course, his mood when he was teaching or in the presence of Gryffindors and his mood when he was with me was so different that I always had to take a moment and wonder if he was being controlled. He was always so cold in class, emotionless, almost cruel. . . and with me. . . well it was a totally different side that no one had ever seen. I doubted anyone had seen how sweet, loving, and kind he could be when he wanted to. Only I had ever seen that side of him. . . and perhaps, at one point, mum had seen it too.

The exam on Monday for Potions went well. The written exam was a bit difficult, but the brewing process was at a good difficulty level for our class.

Tuesday was Care of Magical Creatures and I was determined to do well just to show Professor Umbridge that Hagrid was a good teacher. Of course, I wondered why Hagrid even put up with being a teacher. Third-year, Draco had ruined his class with Buckbeak. Fourth-year, Rita Skeeter had written horrible stories about him, and now this year Umbridge was extremely close to sacking him.

The Care of Magical Creatures exam went well. First was to find the knarl hidden among hedgehogs. The trick was to use milk because knarls would spit furiously, thinking you were trying to give them poison. Then you had to handle a Bowtruckle correctly, then clean and care for a fire-crab without getting burned, and lastly provided a selection of food that would be given to a sick unicorn to help it get better. I privately thought it was the easiest exam I had taken. Well no, Third-year Care of Magical Creatures exam was the easiest one.

The Astronomy sitting exam was Wednesday morning. My studying all week for it had certainly paid off because for what felt like the first time, I knew the answers to the questions.

Divination was in the afternoon. I was supposed to look in the crystal ball, tell a prediction by tea leaves, and then read the palm of the examiner.

My crystal ball and tea-leaves went smoothly. For the crystal ball, I said that I was foreseeing Kingsley Shacklebolt becoming Minister of Magic in three years. For the tea leaves, I said that Professor Umbridge would be taken by a herd of Centaurs. For the palm reading, I had a bit of difficulty because I didn't really see anything about the future with my examiner and finished off saying that they were going to die in about twenty-four years.

I was starting to think I should drop the subject. I knew Ron and Harry were going to. I froze on the stairs however, and Ernie and Susan stopped walking, looking back at me curiously. "What'd you see?" Ernie asked quickly.

I was watching Hagrid being attacked tonight and Professor McGonagall trying to help him out. "Oh dear." I whispered.

"What is it?" Susan asked urgently.

"Umbridge is going to go after Hagrid tonight during our Astronomy exam." I whispered. "They're not going to sack him, they're going to try and arrest him."

"They can't do that!" Ernie said indignantly.

"Well they're going to." I said breathlessly. "I need. . . I need to figure out how to stop it, excuse me." I rushed past them, leaving them on the stairs and hurrying to Professor McGonagall's office.

I quickly recounted what I'd seen and said, "You really shouldn't go and save him, you'll get hurt!"

Professor McGonagall's face was stony. "I'm forewarned now Miss Kane. Just do well on your Astronomy exam, okay? I'd like you to get a perfect set of O.W.L.s."

I had no choice but to leave her office, feeling horrible. I did as she had instructed however and pulled out my astronomy book and compared it to a practice exam. My mind felt terribly numb and I took a quick nap in the Hufflepuff common room before dinner.

I headed up to the Astronomy tower with a sinking stomach and heavy feet. Ernie and Susan were walking with me, saying nothing, just watching my face. I got a telescope between Ernie and Hermione.

My hands were shaking as Professor Marchbanks started the exam. I looked through the telescope and quickly wrote down what I saw, drawing, and trying to keep in mind the things that Firenze, Sinistra, and Trelawney had taught me.

I was two-thirds of the way done when I looked down, writing a note on my parchment and saw Umbridge strolling across the ground, about five or six people following after her. I quickly looked through the telescope again, trying to ignore her. I saw Ernie give me the swiftest of looks and I shook my head slightly. Eighty percent done. Come on. . .

I heard the distant noise of a fist hammering on a door and my stomach lurched. Oh Merlin's beard. . . I could hear Fang barking like mad.

I pressed my eye to the telescope again, marking the position of Venus and labeling it on the map.

There, my map was done. I quickly doubled checked everything and then heard a distant roar from far away that rang all the way up to the Astronomy tower. I flinched. No, this constellation was drawn wrong. I shakily erased the little bit and then redid it.

"Try and concentrate, now, boys and girls." Professor Tofty said softly. I noticed Hermione was still staring down at Hagrid's cabin. "Ahem- twenty minutes to go." Hermione jerked back to her star chart.

There was a BANG from the grounds and people muttered "Ouch!" as they ducked out from underneath their telescopes.

Hagrid's door had burst open now and there were red lights shooting towards him, they were trying to stun him.

"No!" Hermione and I cried together. I had the strangest urge to jump off the Astronomy tower the way that I had when Professor Quirrell had cornered me in my first-year and go and help Hagrid.

"My dears! This is an examination!" Professor Tofty said in a strangled voice but no one was looking at their charts anymore.

The voices were carrying all the way up to the Astronomy tower, "Be reasonable, Hagrid!"

"Reasonable be damned, yeh won' take me like this, Dawlish!" Hagrid shouted. I wondered if Kingsley was down there and I'd made up my mind.

There were screams as I jumped from the Astronomy tower. I had my wand out, my face set in grim determination. I waved my wand, stopping my fall and then landed on my feet and raced towards Hagrid's cabin. I saw light behind me and knew that Professor McGonagall had exited the castle.

"How dare you!" Professor McGonagall shouted, not seeing me to her left. "How dare you! Leave him alone! Alone, I say! On what grounds are you attacking him? He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such an attack!" Her wand was out, and blocked the stuns that were sent her way. But it was four different people and she stumbled back.

My wand was out and I sent stunning spells towards them with as much force as I could muster. I did notice that Kingsley was in the back, blending in nicely with the background. I pretended not to notice him. Why was everyone I loved turning out not to be the people I thought they were? Lupin was a coward, Kingsley was a monster, Sirius was a jerk, James was inconsiderate, and Lily had hated James.

And then, Professor McGonagall noticed me and was distracted enough that four stunning spells hit her. I felt horrible but continued to send my spells towards them.

"You're going to be expelled Kane!" Umbridge shouted at me. I noticed Kingsley was hesitating.

"COWARDS! RUDDY COWARDS! HAVE SOME O' THAT- AN' THAT-"

I was a bit surprised as Hagrid collapsed two of the attackers. Hagrid slung Fang's stunned body over his shoulders and hurried into the forest. Kingsley waved his wand and everyone collapsed except me and him. He hurried over to where I was standing and pushed me out of sight of the Astronomy Tower.

"What the hell are you doing down here?" He asked. I'd never seen Kingsley angry before. His accent mixed in with his words.

"Why the hell did you attack him?" I asked furiously. "You're supposed to be a good person!"

"I have a part to play, Elizabeth. I'm going to erase their memories. They need to forget that you were here. Your dad-"

"Yeah well my dad's never exactly who he's says he is either. Guess I should get used to the people I love being the people they aren't." I shoved his arm away and hurried over to where Professor McGonagall was. Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick were hurrying out of the castle now, Professor Sprout was emerging from the greenhouses.

"Get inside Miss Kane." Professor Flitwick said, for once his squeaky voice wasn't very cheerful. I stormed over to the Astronomy tower and used a propulsion charm to propel myself up, grabbing the edge of the tower and pulling myself up.

Parvati and Lavender were in tears, worried about Professor McGonagall. The Hufflepuffs were staring at me with shock. The examiners rebuked me for the crazy stunt that I had done. Remembering that Kingsley was going to erase the others memories down below, I performed the swiftest memory charm on the two examiners, removing only the scene of me jumping from the Astronomy tower. . . hopefully.

We all trooped down the stairs. Hermione was shaking with rage, though it was nothing compared to my anger. "That evil woman! Trying to sneak up on Hagrid in the dead of night!"

"She clearly wanted to avoid another scene like Trelawney's." Ernie said, squeezing into our group.

"Hagrid did well, didn't he?" Ron asked though he looked alarmed. "How come all the spells bounced off him?"

"His giant blood." I muttered.

"Poor Professor McGonagall. . ." Hermione said. "Four stunners straight in the chest and she's not exactly young, is she?"

I shook my head. "She'll be lucky if she's still alive by tomorrow morning."

"Dreadful, dreadful, well, I'm off to bed. . . 'Night, all. . . Elizabeth, aren't you coming?" Ernie asked pompously.

"I'll be back in a minute." I promised and hurried with Hermione, Harry, and Ron to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione's eyes were full of tears and I felt like crying myself.

We found that the commotion had awoken many people in the common room and now most of the group was up. Seamus and Dean had arrived ahead of us and had recounted the story in detail so there were many eyes on me and Lee said, "I heard you pulled some ninja warrior stunts Elizabeth?"

I smiled grimly and dropped it immediately.

"Why sack Hagrid now?" Angelina asked. "It's not like Trelawney, he's been teaching much better than usual this year!"

"Umbridge hates part-humans." Hermione said bitterly, sitting down in an arm chair. "She was always going to try and get Hagrid out. Look at Elizabeth- her father's a werewolf and Umbridge has been trying to take everything from her."

I wished people would stop always bringing me up.

"And she thought Hagrid was putting nifflers in her office." Katie piped up.

"Oh blimey." Lee said. "It's me's been putting the nifflers in her office, Fred and George left me a couple, I've been levitating them in through her window..."

"She'd have sacked him anyway, he was too close to Dumbledore." Dean pointed out.

"That's true." Harry said, sinking into an armchair.

"I just hope Professor McGonagall's all right." Lavender said tearfully. Everyones eyes flickered over to me.

"They carried her back up to the castle, we watched through the dormitory window." Colin said. "She didn't look very well. . ."

Everyones eyes were still on me and I sighed and closed my eyes. There, they were transporting her to St. Mungo's. . . she'd stay there all term. . . come back with a cane in hand. . . I opened my eyes, "She'll live. They're going to transport her to St. Mungo's in the morning. Madam Pomfrey says it's lucky she's not dead. She'll be back before the end of the year is out though. Oooh I hope Umbridge gets punished for this!"

Not likely though if everyone was like Kingsley.

I knew that it would be four in the morning before the common room cleared but I left anyways, hurrying to Professor Snape's bedroom. He was sitting up at his desk, doing something and slammed it down when he came in. "Oh, it's just you."

"I can come back." I mumbled sleepily. To be honest, I believed that if I went back to the Hufflepuff dorm I would probably fall asleep there.

"No." Severus said, standing up and coming over to turn off the light. "Come on sleepy head."

I lay there for a few moments, feeling absolutely horrible. Tears leaked out of my eyes and spilled over my cheeks. I shifted my head so that the tears wouldn't drop onto Severus' chest because I knew then he'd know I was crying.

"She's going to be okay." Severus said suddenly and I realized that he knew I was crying.

"I know." I said thickly. "I. . . I said some really horrible things to Kingsley though. . ."

"Yes, he pulled me aside and told me." Severus said lightly. "I'm not exactly sure what you're referring to though when you say your dad isn't who you thought he was."

I was silent for a moment and then said, "Nearly everyone I love. . . none of them are who I thought they were. Dad, Lupin- he's a coward. Kinsley's a monster. James was arrogant. Mum was decent but she hated James. . . it wasn't the romantic, love at first sight I thought it was. And Sirius is a jerk too."

Severus didn't speak for so long I nearly fell asleep and then he said so softly I barely caught his words, "You're wrong, you know."

"About what?" I asked, feeling snappish.

"Kingsley isn't a monster. He has a role to play. He can't just go against the Minister, he'd lose his job. I mean. . . what do you think I'm doing Elizabeth? I have to play two sides as well! And your dad, Lupin, I mean, he's not a coward. I don't even know where you got that idea-"

"He said it himself." I muttered. "Harry and I snuck into Umbridge's office. Harry wanted to speak to Sirius about James after he saw the -er- memory. He said he never believed he would feel sorry for you- he's not exactly proud of his -our- dad anymore. But Lupin. . . he said that he never had the guts to stand up to them and tell them to lay off you. And I saw it in the memory too. . . he did nothing, just like a coward." I finished this off extremely bitter.

"You know." Severus said lightly. "You're judging Remus, Sirius, James, and Lily all based on what you saw when they- we- were teenagers. Your dad isn't a coward, Lily really did... she really did love James. And James became less arrogant -towards others anyways- when he got older. I'd say Sirius is still a bit of a jerk, but that's a biased opinion."

I laughed weakly and said, "You're right, I know that I just. . ."

Severus kissed me and said, "Get some sleep. You have exams in the morning."

I squirmed until I was warm enough and comfortable enough, my head resting in the crook of his arm and I fell asleep quickly.

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

𝕳𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖈 was to be taken the next afternoon and I slept in so that I could be refreshed enough for the test. It was being held just slightly later than the other exams so that we could get an adequate amount of sleep since we'd had our practical astronomy last night. So instead of being held at nine-thirty, it was held at two o'clock. But I still had Magical Theory at one o'clock, whic I hadn't studied for as I had been to preoccupied with Astronomy.

A lot of the students looked tired when I went in for lunch around 12:17. I'd pretty much woken up 10 minutes before 12 o'clock- alone in the room because Severus had been teaching a second-year potions class.

I sat down at the Hufflepuff table and Susan, Ernie, and some of the other Hufflepuffs asked me what was going to happen to Professor McGonagall. I told them what I'd foreseen and told them to keep quiet about it.

I went into the Magical Theory classroom for the exam with about maybe thirty something other students. The exam went smoothly, though I wasn't as sure about my answers as I had been with my other exams.

Then we came back to the Great Hall for the exam around two and settled into our seats. I took the exam and worked through the questions methodically. A lot of them were about the goblin rebellions that Professor Binns had taught about. Of course, dates and names were hard to get straight and I had a horrible memory for dates, so I worked much slower on this exam.

There were also much easier questions surrounding the statue of secrecy and also the confederation of warlocks and many other questions that I knew. I answered the questions about the Werewolf registration act with ease, a bit of a smirk on my face.

I finished writing up the last question and set the exam aside. And then, a vision popped into my head. I kept my mouth shut so that I didn't gasp as I watched Voldemort somewhere in the Ministry of magic, torturing Sirius. My hand clenched around my desk. If I was seeing this. . .

I shook my head and looked back at Harry and saw that he had fallen to the floor and he was starting to writhe, clutching his scar.

"Professor Marchbanks!" I called and pointed to where Harry lay. Professor Tofty quickly hurried over while Professor Marchbanks continued to survey us, though her eyes jumped nervously to where Harry lay. Professor Tofty led Harry out of the room and I looked at where Hermione was sitting.

I quickly turned back around and looked into the vision more. Was Sirius there? But how? Kreacher maybe? No. . . we were going to arrive at the Ministry. . . it was going to be a trap. I felt strangely relieved. And then. . . the Order would show up to save us. . . and. . . Sirius would die!

I felt my heart sink. Harry had seen the same thing. Would he listen to me if I told him it was a trap? If I told him that Sirius wasn't actually there? But how could I prove it? I'd told Harry and Ron and Hermione visions before and they didn't believe me. They didn't believe me about Professor Quirrell. . . though granted they didn't know about my visions then. But they wouldn't believe me in our third-year that Sirius was innocent or that he wasn't after Harry and they had known about my visions then!

I barely noticed when Professor Marchbanks dismissed us until Hermione was practically pulling me out of my seat. I blinked and jumped up with the others and left with them.

We hurried up the marble staircase where we saw Harry flying down the staircase towards us. "Come with me, I've got to tell you something. . ." Harry said quickly and I shook my head but followed him along the first-floor corridor until we found an empty room.

"Voldemort's got Sirius." Harry said.

"No he doesn't." I said softly. "Harry-"

"Yes he does!" Harry snapped at me.

"No he doesn't!" I argued, heat rising to my cheeks. "I saw what's going to happen! Voldemort is taking advantage of your connection. He showed you a false memory. He created the memory for you! When we get to London- but we're not- it'll be a trap. You are the only one who can get what Voldemort wants. We'll get there, there will be no Sirius, the Order will come to save us and then, that's when Sirius finally gets there and Bellatrix Lestrange kills him. So yes, Sirius will die, but only if we go to London."

Harry was shaking his head. "You don't understand!"

"Oh?" I asked, raising my eyebrow. "And what don't I understand?"

"Sirius wasn't the only person there!" Harry said.

I frowned. "No, it was only Voldemort and Sirius."

Harry shook his head and then said, "Elizabeth, he's got Trang too." 

⬅️➡️

[arsieu]

I'm totally normal about @leonenjoyer69's oc ELIAS wym (I LOVE HIM SMMM)

[hotdamnitsmoony]

the marauders as conversations i’ve had with my best friend part 5

james: are you ready for the potions exam tomorrow?

remus:

james: what?

remus: it’s not potions tomorrow, it’s history of magic.

james: oh.

james: but i’ve been revising all day!

[musubiki]

Been thinking about Marshall and Lime, and im not sure if perhaps you havent already mentioned it:

Does being a white or black canvas doesnt make them part of a magic community by default/at birth?? (Putting aside the special force smth of m34, and any witches and guilds and etc.)

thats a good question!!! its a bit of a gray area (ba dum ts 🥁), in my head i always considered "being a member of the magic community" as having something that makes you like. not a normal human. like having some kind of magic or being a spirit/monster/cryptid/etc!!

for black and white canvases, theres nothing inherently special about them besides the level of their magic resistance..,,everyone has some level of resistance, they are just the most extreme levels, but i dont think having it is considered any kind of special magic power or sets you too far apart from other humans!!

for a black canvas its being a part of a guild/the m-34th is what makes you part of the magic community!! the m-34th has nothing inherently magic but since they involve themselves so much in police-ing the magic community they are by and large considered a part of it

for a white canvas its actually incredibly hard to get involved with the magic community i feel... mostly for this reason: a lot of the community hides behind some kind of masking spell-- witches use the mob spell, the merchant uses...something, sulluvan only appears to those who he wants to, but all of it has its roots in "using magic to conceal yourself from the world," and the less resistance you have the less you're able to break from that!! essentially, a white canvas is the most magic-gullible type LOL!! contrast this to a black canvas where you couldnt use a masking spell around them if you tried your best, theyd see right through it

im actually not sure how marshall even ends up being part of the m-34th and gets involved anyway...his pipeline into the magic community must have been someone directly pulling him in and getting him straight to the m-34th because theres no way he couldve gotten in organically the way lime did, he would just be going about his merry way...

[hplonesomeart]

Wohoo animation update I guess wow cool fast paced camera pan stuff wowwww

[twsted-seas]

Got my first SS in normal exams…

[orginllazyblog]

After so many pulls

I

Finally

Got him

And now he'll stay here at Night Raven College, in Ramshackle Dorm for eternity :)

I was also surprised that I got Dorm Azul SSR

[kitxkatrp]

I'm scared to get my hopes up, but thanks to my bestie I managed to get into my PS4. I've been playing the Genshin event. It's so relaxing.

[kirisredriot]

Omni exam tests are the bane of my existence. No matter the combos, increasing spells, and buddy levels I’m stuck doing the same amount of damage.

I’m having to enhance my Excel skills for my job so figured I’d get practice and help myself out with Twst. I created an excel table by hand with all my SSRs and color coded each character. Put their level, current power, HP, spell type, Duo buddy, power up buddy, HP buddies, Heals yes or no, and what their damage could be max stats.

Please send help. I’ve obviously gone crazy

[redeemingvillains]

veritaserum - mattheo riddle

summary: when mattheo drinks veritaserum on a bet, he's confident he doesn't have anything to hide... until you show up.

word count: 3.1k

a/n: gosh i love this messy boy. just a little something sweet + fun!

"I don't know... shouldn't we save it for something... important?"

"Like, what Blaise?" Malfoy responded, exasperated.

"Yeah, got any plans you want to share?" Theo asked.

"All ears, bud" Mattheo joined in.

Blaise threw his hands up. "Fine, fuck it, do what you want with it" he said, resigned, referring to the small vial in Malfoy's hand that had the group's rapt attention as they huddled in the corner of their dormitory like they were first years at a sleepover.

"We should put it in somebody's goblet at dinner."

"We should slip it into Dumbledore's cup, Merlin knows what the geezer would say."

Theo got a wicked look on his face, "I'll give any of you lot 100 galleons to drink it."

Eyes widened around their circle at that.

"You're joking."

"Piss off."

"No, listen to me, we think we know everything about each other, don't we?" Theo continued, letting the sentiment linger "Which means the things we don't know are deep."

He grabbed the vial from Malfoy and dangled it in front of them; Veritaserum, the most powerful truth serum in the wizarding world, even having it in their possession was breaking about 15 Ministry laws.

Members of the group stared shiftily at one another, but Theo found Mattheo's gaze staring boldly at him as he leaned casually against his four-poster, a smirk on his face.

"Make it 200 and you've got yourself a deal" Mattheo grinned.

Snickers of laughter took the group as they punched one another in amusement and excitement.

"Bottoms up" Theo said, tossing the vial at him.

"I've got nothing to hide" Mattheo replied with an air of emblazoned confidence as he deftly popped the cork and threw the liquid back like a shot of firewhiskey before anyone could stop him.

It didn't taste like anything other than water, and for a moment Mattheo thought this was the easiest 200 galleons he'd ever make, but then he felt a sort of bubbling in his chest, like every feeling, every sentence he'd ever held back wanted to burst forth.

"...Well?" asked Malfoy, cautiously, leaning in, "How do you feel?"

"Bloody weird" Mattheo said, looking down at the empty vial in his hand. "And apprehensive, like I definitely don't want you to ask me things." His eyes widened at the words that had come so truthfully and vulnerably out of his mouth before he could stop them, suddenly realizing that he'd made a horrible mistake.

Theo was howling with laughter, leaning in and rubbing his hands together as he got ready to obliterate his best friend for being so cocky; he was going to make every galleon worth it.

"Did you take Blaise's Chudley Cannons scarf last term?" he asked.

"Yup, sold it to a fifth year for a bag of weed— SHIT" Mattheo said quickly, eyes wide before slapping a hand over his mouth.

"Mate, what the fuck?—" Blaise started, but Theo was on a tear.

"—Did you cheat off of Lorenzo's potions exam this week?"

"Of course" Mattheo admitted, the words blasting by his hand, "I've been doing it since fourth year, his handwritings the size of my fist, thanks for that by the way" he said, looking at Enzo.

"Prego, amico" Lorenzo said smiling and shrugging, "happy to help."

"Alright then" Blaise said, the anger and frustration clear in his voice as he eyed Mattheo, "better own up, didn't you slip McLaggen a galleon to let Theo score on him last match?"

"Yeah, fuck, and I'm not sorry about it. I'm tired of hearing Theo piss and complain about losing when he barely shows up to practice and lets the rest of us down."

"OOHHH!" shouted several of the guys.

"Fucking harsh mate!!"

"What the fuck?!?" Theo shouted angrily as he lunged for Mattheo and the others tried to hold him back.

Amidst the shouting and commotion, they didn't hear you knock on the door.

"Guys?" you asked, raising your voice to be heard.

Five heads turned your way as they stopped mid-brawl and began to stand up and right themselves, adjusting their ties and smoothing their robes. For his part, Mattheo's heart nearly shot out of his chest. No, no no no not right now he thought as you pushed your way into their room. On any other occasion he'd be thrilled to see you, but now the bubbling in his chest was reaching its peak at the sight of his deepest, most tightly held secret: you, and every single thing he felt about you.

He took in your amused smile, the light laughter on your lips, the way it made your eyes sparkle and he felt his palms tingle with sweat as he grasped them into fists and swallowed deeply, like he could ingest his own thoughts. You were his best friend, had been since the moment he met you on his first train ride to Hogwarts and he had no illusions about ruining your friendship by trying for anything else; girls like you didn't end up with guys like him.

"Are you alright?" you asked, looking at him strangely before his friends chimed in for him.

"S'fine!"

"Yeah, yeah!"

"Never better!"

"What do you need, love?"

"I am NOT fine!" Mattheo said boldly and rather loudly before he could stop himself and your eyes shot to him with concern.

"Wait, what's wrong Matty?" you asked, using the nickname he only tolerated coming from you.

He pursed his lips tightly and shook his head, averting his eyes to the floor, physically warring with the words that were flooding his subconscious.

What's wrong? A lot of things are wrong, YN. For starters, I love you. I love you so much it physically pains me to spend as much time as we do together and not to grab your hand, to pull you onto my lap, to nuzzle into your neck, to kiss you; I have a list of things I want to do to you every time I see you. Especially in that godsdamn skirt you're wearing. It's my favorite. You should know that. And I wish you would stop wearing it, you have no idea the ways guys look at you. I wish you'd wear it only for me. I wish you'd want me the way I want you, because I want you so badly. I wish you were mine, but I'm scared, no, fucking terrified of the way I feel about you because love is vulnerability and vulnerability is weakness and I can't tell you any of this so please, please don't ask me anything and please, please stop looking at me like that.

"Matty?" you asked again, now thoroughly concerned as your best friend slammed his hands over his ears as you walked towards him.

Theo was burning hot with anger, stewing over what Mattheo had said about him, he wanted to take him down a notch, to embarrass him in return. "Admit it" he interrupted, staring at Mattheo "you have a thing for Pansy and you've tried to make a move on her even though she's with Draco."

You stopped short of approaching Mattheo and stared at Theo.

"What?" you whispered, feeling physically ill, jealous and hurt even though you had no such right.

Mattheo straightened up and glared at Theo.

"What the fuck did you just say?!" Draco said, brushing past you as he came for Mattheo.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Theo pushed further, so smug, so certain he was right.

"No you fucking prat" Mattheo spat at him.

Draco grabbed Mattheo by the front of his robes. "You swear it, you haven't made a move on her?"

"I swear it."

"Not even before we were dating?" Malfoy pressed.

"Not even before you were dating" Mattheo confirmed.

"What the fuck is going on?" you said, exasperated, almost to yourself as you tried to calm down.

"Veritaserum" Blaise said by way of explanation as he leaned in to be heard over the continued shouting of your friends. "Theo bet one of us to drink it and, well..." he said, gesturing his hand by way of explanation at the calamity in front of you.

Malfoy was shouting questions at Mattheo who looked genuinely surprised if not annoyed, and Enzo was looking back and forth at them like it was a tennis match. Theo had a deeply skeptical look on his face as he listened on, "No, you're always weird around Pansy and YN though, I thought..." then, like a lightbulb went off, Theo looked at you, to Mattheo and back again.

"Do you think Pansy's hot?" Malfoy continued.

"Bro, give it up" Blaise said finally, stepping to pull him back, "I think you're in the clear."

"I mean yeah she's hot, but she's not my type. FUCK!" Mattheo replied, rubbing a hand over his face at the admission.

"She's not, but YN is" Theo said finally.

Mattheo bit his bottom lip and stared at the floor, concentrating very hard on the tassels of the rug beneath his feet as he shook his head, a grimace on his face.

Your heart trilled in your chest, which was literally rising and falling in both panic and excitement. Mattheo was shaking his head no, but his whole body was fighting something, there was something he didn't want to say... about you.

"So, she's not your type? Not attractive to you at all?" Theo pushed.

Mattheo's face was turning a dark shade of red as pursed his lips closed and shook his head vehemently, refusing to meet anyone's eyes, his own nearly watering with the exertion of fighting the potion within him.

"Totally platonic? Didn't give a shit when Seamus Finnegan asked her out last term?"

Mattheo glanced at Theo, gathering himself, as he tried desperately to say the only truth he wanted to share. "He's a prick, no secret I didn't think it was a good idea—"

"—You never told me that" you said quietly, confused, and not a little bit angry. "But you avoided me for a few weeks after, I remember..." you said, trailing off as you stepped closer to him, and Mattheo's looked genuinely afraid, outstretching his hands to stop you from coming any closer.

"What don't you want to say?—"

"—I don't want you here right now!" he said loudly.

You physically reared back at the harshness of his words. You caught his eye, trying to communicate the way you often did with one another, to ask things that could only be said without words, but you got nothing in response.

"R-Right" you said, your voice wobbling as you turned to leave, thoroughly embarassed.

And the sound of it nearly broke Mattheo's heart.

"Wait, wait, I didn't meant it like that, I don't want you to be upset, please don't be upset" he said, moving to reach for your hand urgently, the unmasked care and compassion in his voice making you turn and making Draco and Blaise bat at each other's arms in excitement like school girls at the scene unfolding in front of them.

"I don't want you to hear my truth" Mattheo said quietly, and just like that it was just the two of you, you who knew more than any of these idiots, you knew about Blaise's scarf (you had told him not to sell it), about him cheating in potions and paying off McLaggen, but even you didn't know his most deeply held secret and this isn't how he wanted it to come out.

"Please" he begged, in way none of his friends had ever heard him speak before.

"I just... I thought I knew all of your truths?" you said vulnerably, your chin wobbling, saddened at the idea that there was a part of him you didn't know.

"You don't. I'm sorry" he said simply.

"But they get to hear them?" you said, gesturing towards your friends.

"No, they don't know them either."

"What would be so bad that you wouldn't want anyone in your life to know, Matty?"

He bit his tongue as he tilted his head. "It isn't bad. I didn't say it was bad" he said.

You could tell he was playing with you, selectively choosing his words. Your curiosity piqued as you turned to face him fully with your arms crossed.

"What don't you want us to know?" you asked.

"How I — FUCK — feel — mmhmm" he tried to physically shove the words back into his mouth, clapping his hands over his mouth again as his body betrayed him.

Theo stepped forward, trying to pry his hands back. "Say it!" he said.

Mattheo tried to wiggle out of his grasp, the two of them thrashing back and forth.

"C'mon mate, time to earn those galleons! Cough it up! How you feel about what?" and Theo yanked Mattheo's hands away from his mouth just long enough for Mattheo to all but shout:

"HER!" he said, loudly, pointing to you. "About YN. I — FUCK — fucking love her."

You could have heard an owl feather hit the floor.

"Oh shit" Malfoy whispered.

Theo took a step back as he realized the enormity of what he'd just done. He'd thought Mattheo had a little crush on you, I mean, didn't they all? He thought it was just a bit of fun. But love? He'd know Mattheo for 7 years and he never so much as heard him say the word, let alone direct it at another person, in fact he knew just how much the concept had been beaten out of him as a child.

"Mate, I'm—" he started.

Mattheo glared at him in way that reminded you for a moment about the family he came from, and it was the first time you'd ever seen Theo genuinely afraid as the smile dropped from his lips and he took an unconscious step back.

"Fuck you" Mattheo said, stepping towards him, the measured control in his voice somehow more frightening than the alternative. "You always take shit too far, you know that? That's why—"

"—Matty?" you said, your quiet whisper and the questions that lingered behind it tugging at his heart and pulling his attention back to you.

He met your eyes and the fury he felt at Theo dissolved in an instant, like it had apparated from the room, because the way you were looking at him was an expression he'd only seen in his dreams. You didn't look angry or confused, you weren't laughing or embarrassed, the sparkle in your eye was back and a soft smile rested on your lips, your eyes were blown wide, hopeful even, with a hint of something else underneath that had a sensation like melted honey spreading throughout his entire body.

"Can we maybe talk... outside...?" you asked.

"Yes, for the love of the gods" he said, walking quickly to your side, letting his hand rest gently at your back, the intimate gesture not lost on anybody as your friends wolf-whistled and snickered and he flipped them the finger over his head.

Now that the truth was out, there was nothing stopping the words that flew out of Mattheo's mouth as you led him to a nearby secluded corridor.

"I really want to talk to you about this" he said, the moment you were outside of the dormitory, "I am so embarrassed that it came out that way, that's not at all how I wanted to tell you, well, I didn't want to tell you at all, I was terrified actually. I've liked you for a long time, really since the first day we met, do you remember? On the train? You were wearing that blue jumper, you smelled like cinnamon and vanilla... You always smell so fucking good—"

You laughed as you pulled him with greater urgency by the hand away from prying eyes as he continued to ramble on, the truth serum creating a veritable waterfall of words out of his mouth.

"—You're so fucking beautiful, I love your hair, your eyes, your smile, your nose... that sounds weird, but it's true, it's so fucking cute—"

"—Mattheo" you said, as you stopped, placing your hands on his chest and pressing him gently against the stone wall to get him to slow down. "Breathe."

He shook his head.

"No, it's out now, and I don't know how long this shit lasts and if I don't say this stuff now, I'm not sure I'll ever have the balls to say it to your face, I've held onto this for 7 years YN."

Your lips curled into a small pout at how sweet he was being, at the idea that your best friend had been pining for you since you were 11 years old.

"I love you" he continued breathlessly, "and not like a little bit. Like, a lot. I don't know..." he said, carding his hand through his brown curls, "I've never felt this way about anyone, anything. I'm all consumed with you. You're the only thing I think about, the only girl I want, I'd do anything for you. And I'm sorry if this is going to totally wreck our friendship, if you want things to stay the way they are, I will try my level best—"

But his words were cut short as you pressed your lips to his, capturing his truth, letting it wash over you, every word you had been desperate to hear, every thought you'd shared the same. It surprised him for only a second before his hands grasped your face and he pulled you further into him.

"You're fucking perfect" he whispered after a moment, his eyes dancing over your features.

"Remind me again why I didn't give you veritaserum like years ago?" you said, smiling against his lips.

"It's a felony?" he said, laughing.

"...Right" you said, laughing back.

You were only gone a few minutes, but as you scurried back to the dormitory you tried to fix your hair, and wipe the lipgloss off of Mattheo's face as he smiled down at you with puppy dog eyes.

"They're going to lose their mind" you said quietly just outside the door, "let's just play it cool, alright?"

And before he could respond that there was no way on earth he could possibly do that, you pushed the door open and all conversation stopped.

"...Alright?" Theo asked, turning to face you both, nervous at the potential mess he may have caused.

"Fine, we were just talking—"

"—She macked me!!" Mattheo shouted truthfully with a huge grin on his face as he wrapped his arm around you.

You gasped and swatted at him playfully, your cheeks blushing a rosy pink as your friends erupted into cheers, hoot and hollers, descending on you both as Mattheo looked down at you, glowing, happier than you could ever remember seeing him.

taglist: @girllblogging777, @iamdnb, @bookworm124, @zatannasrealgf, @r-a-c-h-e-l

[solxamber]

Familiar, Not So Familiar || Lilia Vanrouge

You, a mage-in-training, attempt to summon a simple familiar—only to accidentally get yourself Lilia Vanrouge, a legendary fae with a penchant for chaos.

You have tried. You have tried so many times that the gods themselves must be watching your efforts like a soap opera, popcorn in hand, marveling at your persistence and misfortune.

Every spell you’ve ever learned? Perfect. Every potion you’ve ever brewed? Immaculate. Every single tedious little task required of an apprentice mage? Completed with at least passing competence.

And yet—this. This one, single, crucial spell has eluded you since the moment you first picked up a wand and thought, yes, let’s dedicate my life to this craft instead of something simple, like farming, or piracy, or a career in interpretive dance.

For years, you have watched your classmates perform their familiar rituals with ease. You have seen their little foxes, their wise owls, their unbearably smug salamanders perched on their shoulders like accessories in an enchanted fashion show. Oh, you don’t have a familiar yet? they’d say, voices dripping with polite condescension. That must be so hard! Magic must be so exhausting for you!

Yes. Yes, it is exhausting, Martha, you imbecile. Magic without a familiar is like trying to run a marathon uphill while being punched repeatedly in the stomach. It is like carrying a cauldron of molten lava with no gloves and being told, just don’t drop it! It is slowly killing you, and you are tired.

So tonight? Tonight is it. The line has been drawn. The candles have been lit. You have researched, you have practiced, you have painstakingly carved every single rune with the desperation of a student facing final exams with an empty study guide.

Either you summon your familiar, or you start looking into lucrative careers in something that requires zero magical ability. Candle-making. Tax fraud. Something.

You kneel before the summoning circle, hands clasped in pure, unfiltered desperation. Your voice is raw as you plead, as you offer up your dignity to the uncaring forces of the universe.

"Please," you whisper, nearly headbutting the floor. "Just this once. A cat. A dog. A single, semi-intelligent rat. Hell, a bat—bats are magical, right? I’ll take a bat. I’ll take a sentient pile of mold if it can cast at least one large spell without dying. Just something. Please, I am begging you."

The room is deathly silent.

And then—

A hum. A vibration in the air, as if reality itself is rethinking its choices.

The summoning circle does not glow��it erupts, an explosion of light so bright that your first instinct is to assume you have been smote for your insolence. The ground shudders. The candles flicker wildly. The sheer energy of the spell crackles through the air like the universe is taking a deep breath and laughing at you.

And then, through the haze, a silhouette.

Your first thought: That is not an animal.

Your second thought: That is not an animal, that is a person.

Your third thought: THAT IS A FAE.

Your fourth thought does not get to exist because your brain has blue screened.

The figure steps forward, hands clasped neatly behind his back, surveying the room with the air of someone who has just walked into an amusing play and finds himself the lead actor. He is floating, because of course he is. His wild hair is a chaotic mess of black and magenta, his sharp eyes twinkling with mirth, his very presence radiating power that should not, under any circumstances, be inside your living room.

Then he smiles, and you are abruptly hit with the horrifying realization that you know who he is.

The portraits. The stories. The absolute legend that is Lilia Vanrouge, former general, feared warrior, living relic of a bygone era, the kind of fae you read about in history books with the unspoken footnote of probably do not summon him.

And he is here.

And he is looking at you.

"Ah," he says, with all the delight of someone who has just stumbled upon something incredibly amusing. "How interesting."

You are frozen. Your body has stopped functioning. Your brain is actively trying to escape this situation by retreating into the astral plane.

Lilia tilts his head, observing your utter paralysis with great amusement, and then, with the flourish of a seasoned actor stepping onto the grandest stage of his life, he presses a hand to his chest and bows deeply.

"You have called," he proclaims, voice rich with dramatic flair, "and I have answered! For one year, I shall serve as your loyal familiar! May our contract be fruitful, our battles glorious, and our meals—" he pauses, grinning like a fox, "well, we shall see."

He straightens, clearly expecting some sort of response.

You do not move. You do not speak. You do not even blink.

Because you are still attempting to comprehend the fact that you have, against every possible law of magic, logic, and common sense, just summoned Lilia Vanrouge as your familiar.

The next morning, you awaken to the horrifying realization that last night was not, in fact, a fever dream.

Lilia Vanrouge is still here.

Floating.

In your kitchen.

Sipping tea.

With your mug.

You stand there, unblinking, as he lifts the cup in greeting, utterly unbothered by your complete mental breakdown. “Ah, you’re awake! Good morning, my dear summoner! Did you sleep well? Oh, never mind that, of course you didn’t—you must be so excited! Your first day with your new familiar!”

Your eye twitches. The existential dread is setting in. But there is no time to panic because you have class.

And now, for the first time in your absolutely miserable academic career, you have a familiar to bring with you.

Which would be a cause for celebration.

If your familiar was literally anyone else.

But no. No, you are marching through the academy halls with a floating, ancient fae war general drifting beside you, humming cheerfully, taking in his new surroundings like a tourist at a historical landmark.

Your classmates? Shitting bricks.

Your professors? Re-evaluating their life choices.

Your history professor? Actively vibrating in place. This is a man who has spent years studying Lilia Vanrouge, reconstructing battle strategies, debating historical inaccuracies, analyzing old texts to understand the mind of one of the most enigmatic figures in magical warfare. He looks at you, at Lilia, back at you, back at Lilia, and you swear to the gods above that this man is about two seconds away from weeping.

He wants an interview. He wants an entire dissertation. He wants to shake your hand for the sheer magnitude of this academic opportunity, and you are just standing there, barely holding onto your last scrap of sanity, because this is not a research opportunity, Professor, this is my life.

Meanwhile, Lilia is having a blast.

“Ohoho, what a delightful institution!” he muses, drifting through the halls, peering into classrooms, inspecting the architecture with a level of interest that should not belong to someone who predates half of these buildings. “Ah, look at that banner! I remember when these were in fashion—horrid little things, always got caught in the wind and smacked people in the face during duels. Ah! And look at these uniforms! What a quaint design! Oh, but that color… tragic choice, really, you should have seen the battle robes from my era. Those had flair!”

You press a hand to your face, inhaling deeply.

You are not going to survive this year.

But at the very least, you are about to have the first productive Offensive Magic class of your entire life.

For years, casting magic without a familiar has been hell. You’ve always struggled with large-scale spells, your body too weak to sustain the energy required. Your classmates have always had an advantage, their familiars supplying them with extra mana while you struggled to get anything stronger than a low-tier fireball.

But today?

Today, you have Lilia Vanrouge as a mana battery.

And you are about to find out exactly what that means.

The spell you’ve been struggling with for years—the one that has never worked properly, the one that has always left you half-conscious and questioning your life decisions—flows from your hands as easily as breathing. You don’t even have time to be excited because the moment the spell leaves your fingertips, the entire training ground erupts.

Not a small explosion.

Not a reasonable, manageable, academically acceptable explosion.

No.

You have just cratered the battlefield.

The shockwave sends everyone flying. The ground is smoking. There is a hole where the target dummies used to be. Somewhere in the distance, alarms are going off. Birds are screaming. Your professor is staring in mute horror at the absolute devastation before him.

And you?

You turn to Lilia, hands shaking, mouth opening and closing like a fish, because what the hell just happened.

Lilia, floating beside you, watches the destruction with the expression of a man who has just seen a slightly amusing street performance. He clasps his hands together, nodding approvingly.

“Well! Now that that’s done, why don’t we go find something fun to do?”

You are not going to survive the year.

It is supposed to be a quiet night.

Supposed to be.

You, a dedicated apprentice mage (read: overworked and underpaid student), have settled down with your magical theory book, prepared to suffer through the finer details of mana channeling. The lamp flickers softly, the air is calm, and for once in your chaotic existence, things feel peaceful.

Then, from the kitchen, you hear something.

Something that does not belong in the realm of mortals.

It begins with an unsettling hiss, followed by a squelching noise so visceral it sends a shudder down your spine. Then there’s a clank—something metal hitting the floor—then a thud, then another squelch. You are gripping your book so tightly that the pages crinkle.

And then—

A chainsaw.

You blink.

You tilt your head, straining your ears, waiting for your exhausted mind to correct you.

The chainsaw revs again.

There is a cackle—a delighted, mischievous giggle, unmistakably Lilia’s—followed by the sound of what can only be described as something wet hitting the walls.

You place your book down with the slow, measured movements of a person who has just realized that, against all odds, they are in mortal danger.

Before you can even get up, Lilia emerges from the kitchen, beaming, holding something that should not exist.

It is a plate of food.

You think.

At least, you assume that’s what it is. The thing on the plate is writhing slightly, like it’s trying to escape, its color shifting between shades of green that have never been found in nature. It looks less like a meal and more like something that should have been sealed away in a forbidden vault centuries ago. You are pretty sure it just twitched.

Lilia, looking pleased with himself, holds the plate out to you like a proud parent. “Here you go! A little something I whipped up! A good meal is essential for a strong mage!”

You stare at him. You stare at the food. You stare at him again. Then back at the food, as if hoping that, upon a second glance, it will suddenly become normal. It does not. It continues to vibrate menacingly.

You inhale slowly. You pray to the gods—the ones who have clearly abandoned you—and take a bite.

And then—

You almost meet them.

Your soul briefly leaves your body. Your ancestors appear before you, shaking their heads in deep disappointment. The concept of life and death ceases to have meaning. Time itself slows to a crawl as your taste buds experience a level of suffering once reserved only for cursed spirits.

You slam the fork down, forcing a smile that looks more like a pained grimace. “I—uh—actually, I’m not really that hungry right now!”

Lilia blinks, tilting his head. “Oh? But you just took a bite—”

You cut him off, nodding so quickly it could give you whiplash. “Nope! Super full! Wow, so full. Stuffed, actually. I definitely can’t eat another bite!”

Lilia frowns, looking genuinely disappointed, and for a brief, insane moment, you almost consider eating more.

Then the food on the plate shudders again.

And you decide that no matter how cute Lilia Vanrouge is, you simply cannot abide.

Later that night, you are once again seated at your desk, trying to get through your magical theory reading, when Lilia appears at your side.

For a brief moment, fear seizes you—until you see what he’s holding.

A cup of warm milk.

Just milk.

You stare at it, half-expecting it to start glowing or whispering in an ancient, cursed tongue. But no, it’s just milk. Safe. Harmless. Normal.

You accept it with more gratitude than you’ve ever felt in your life. “Thank you.”

Lilia settles in beside you, watching as you study, occasionally making little jokes, pointing out errors in your book’s outdated magical theories, offering insights that no historian could ever dream of. The conversation flows easily, his voice a constant, comforting presence, a bridge between history and now, between chaos and something softer.

And as you sit there, sipping your drink, listening to Lilia hum an old tune while offering you obscure magical trivia, you think—

Yeah.

Maybe he really is the best familiar you could have summoned.

Lilia does not like your magical theory professor.

At least, you think he doesn’t.

He’s always cheerful—borderline impossible to ruffle—but the moment you step into that class, something shifts. His usual smile dims, his eyes narrow ever so slightly, and his arms stay folded across his chest like a particularly judgmental gargoyle. It’s subtle—so subtle that if you weren’t stuck with him 24/7 (as your familiar, and definitely not because you enjoy his company), you might not have noticed.

But you have noticed. And it’s weird.

Even weirder? Every time you ask him about it, he gives you the most convincing performance of utter cluelessness you have ever witnessed. The first time, he even tilted his head, widened his eyes, and said, “Me? Dislike someone? Oh, dear apprentice, you wound me!” in the most theatrical, exaggerated manner possible.

And the thing about Lilia is, if he doesn’t want to talk about something, there is no force in the universe that can make him.

You gave up after the third attempt. If it was major, he’d tell you.

…Right?

Today, your professor smiles as she hands you a new assignment: a magic circle for you to analyze.

“You should be able to cast this with your familiar’s assistance,” she says, smiling in that teacher who’s about to ruin your life way.

You glance at the intricate diagram, tilting your head. “What’s it for?”

“Oh, it’s just illusion magic,” she assures you breezily.

And before you can say anything else, Lilia moves.

One moment, he’s standing behind you, silent as a shadow. The next, he’s in front of you, plucking the book from your hands with the effortless grace of someone who has definitely stolen things before.

His gaze sharpens as he scans the magic circle, his usual playful demeanor gone. His fingers tighten slightly on the book’s spine. Then, without hesitation, he snaps it shut and hands it right back to your professor.

“No.”

Your professor blinks, looking caught between offense and confusion. “Pardon?”

Lilia’s voice remains pleasant—but it is the kind of pleasant that makes your survival instincts scream. “I said no. My dear apprentice will not be casting this.”

The professor balks. “Excuse me, but I gave them an assignment. You contain your familiar—”

You raise your hands in exasperation. “Lady, are you kidding? This is a war general. You think I can just ‘contain’ him? You contain him.”

Your professor looks like she wants to argue. Lilia, meanwhile, tilts his head at her with the serene patience of a man watching a squirrel try to pick a fight with a dragon.

Then, he smiles.

It is not his usual mischievous grin. It is a deliberate, pointed smile.

“Why don’t you cast it first?” he asks, tone deceptively light.

Your professor stiffens. “That’s unnecessary, I already—”

Lilia’s eyes gleam. “Go on, then. Just illusion magic, isn’t it?”

The tension in the room spikes. Your professor, who has just spent the past five minutes acting like the spell is no big deal, suddenly looks very nervous.

“Oh, well,” she flounders, “I—it’s meant for—um—student practice—”

“Ah,” Lilia hums, nodding sagely. “So you’d assign a spell you wouldn’t cast yourself to my dear apprentice? How interesting.”

Your professor’s expression freezes.

And that’s when you realize something.

Lilia knew.

He knew the moment he saw the circle that something was off. He recognized it. And whatever it was meant to do, it wasn’t just harmless illusion magic.

Your professor coughs, clearly scrambling for a way out. Lilia waits, ever-patient, eyes half-lidded like a cat watching a cornered mouse.

Then, before she can say anything else, he turns to you. “We’re leaving.”

And you do not argue.

Outside, Lilia floats beside you, humming a little tune. You don’t say anything for a while, still processing.

Finally, you sigh. “You’re not gonna tell me what that spell actually was, are you?”

Lilia’s grin returns, bright and playful. “Who’s to say~?”

You groan. “Lilia.”

He chuckles, reaching out to pat your head in a way that is both condescending and annoyingly affectionate. “Let’s just say I’d rather not have to un-curse you anytime soon, hmm?”

Your stomach sinks slightly. You glance back toward the classroom building, frowning. Your professor has never pulled something like that before. But before you can dwell on it too much, Lilia floats closer, arms crossed.

“Promise me something,” he says, tone suddenly softer.

You blink up at him. “What?”

“Run your spells by me before casting them.” His smile doesn’t falter, but there’s something firm—unshakable—beneath the usual playfulness.

Your first instinct is to argue. To say you know what you’re doing. That you’re a capable mage. But then you think about how fast he moved. How easily he spotted the issue. How your professor, faced with his simple challenge, folded like wet parchment.

“…Okay,” you say.

His smile widens, but this time, it’s warm. “Good.”

And then, just like that, he’s back to his usual self, floating ahead, dramatically stretching as if he was the one who had to deal with a dangerous spell.

“Now that that’s settled,” he sighs, “why don’t set something on fire?”

You press a hand to your forehead.

At first, it was little things.

Your professors started assigning you slightly more advanced spells—reasonable enough, considering your mana pool had technically expanded (read: you accidentally summoned an ancient fae war general as your familiar). You could handle it. You were handling it.

But then it got worse.

Much worse.

It started with offensive spells. The usual: fireballs, lightning strikes, the occasional tornado. And then, gradually, the assignments escalated into city-leveling disasters.

One moment, you were casting a moderately powerful explosion spell. The next, you were being instructed to conjure something called the Wrath of the Abyss—which, from the name alone, sounded like it had no business being taught in a school.

Lilia, floating serenely beside you, casually flicked his fingers, erasing the spell from your assignment scroll. “No,” he said.

You didn’t argue.

The final straw came when you were assigned a spell so ridiculously strong that had Lilia not interfered, you’re pretty sure you would’ve smited an entire town off the map.

That night, exhausted and frustrated, you marched to the headmaster’s office to finally have a conversation about this.

And that’s when you heard it.

Muffled voices.

The headmaster and your professors—all of them—discussing how to weaponize your newly expanded mana pool. How to push you further, how to ensure you could be controlled—with force, if necessary.

You stood there for a long moment, processing.

Then you turned on your heel, went back to your dorm, and drafted the most polite resignation letter you have ever written in your entire life.

By morning, you were gone.

Which brings you to now.

Laid out on the couch.

Bored.

Contemplating your life choices.

Lilia floats around the new house, inspecting it with the air of a man who has been evicted from kingdoms before and now finds the concept of moving vaguely amusing. Occasionally, he hums in approval. Once, he sticks his head into the kitchen and mutters, “I could work with this.” (You choose to ignore the implication.)

Eventually, he drifts over to the couch, settling next to you. He watches you for a moment, eyes softer than usual, before reaching out and gently patting your head.

“…I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

You blink, turning your head to look at him. “For what?”

He offers a small, almost wistful smile. “For everything. You wanted a small familiar. A cat, perhaps. A gentle companion to aid your studies. And instead… you got me.”

Something about the way he says it makes your heart squeeze.

You sit up, shaking your head. “That’s not your fault. It’s not your fault humans are garbage sometimes.” You snort. “Honestly, I should be the one apologizing to you. You got roped into this mess because of me.”

Lilia laughs softly. “Oh, please. This is hardly the worst summoning I’ve been part of.”

You roll your eyes but lean into him anyway, resting your head against his shoulder. “I mean it, though. I’m glad you were there to look out for me.” You exhale, closing your eyes. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else. You’re the best fit for me.”

There’s a pause.

Then, Lilia shifts slightly, tilting his head to look at you.

“…You know,” he murmurs, amusement creeping into his voice, “it almost sounds like you like me.”

You groan. “Lilia.”

He chuckles, clearly pleased with himself, and lets you rest against him, draping an arm over the back of the couch.

The TV plays some mindless reality show in the background—something ridiculous, the kind of show where two rich people argue over whose yacht is shinier. Lilia occasionally makes a quiet, offhand comment about the historical implications of their arguments, which, considering he’s been around long enough to have historical context for everything, is both fascinating and deeply concerning.

Still, as you sit there, comfortable and safe, a strange sort of peace settles over you.

Maybe this is okay, too.

Moping is unsustainable.

Yes, your dreams of becoming a renowned royal mage have withered and died like a houseplant you swore you watered (you didn’t). Yes, the academy tried to turn you into a walking magical war crime before you dropped out. And yes, you are technically in magical witness protection now.

But you refuse to let that get you down.

You are a problem solver. A forward-thinker. A survivor.

And what do survivors do? They pivot.

Thus begins your new life as the proud owner of Mystic Remedies, a charming little potion shop in a sleepy town where nobody knows—or cares—that you once accidentally summoned a literal fae war general as a familiar.

And surprisingly? Business is booming.

Apparently, people love magic when it’s used for normal things, like fixing bald spots or whitening teeth or getting rid of that one really stubborn pimple that refuses to die no matter how many times you pray to the gods. Your bestselling potions?

“The Shine of Youth” – Teeth Whitening Elixir

Results are instantaneous and blindingly effective (literally. One guy came back complaining his teeth were so white they were reflecting sunlight into his own eyes.)*

“Regrowth & Renewal” – Anti-Baldness Tonic

The town’s balding population has never been happier. One man sobbed openly in your shop after seeing his full head of hair for the first time in twenty years.

“Vanisher’s Touch” – Acne & Scar Removal Serum

One (1) drop and your skin becomes as smooth as a newborn’s. Side effects include strangers asking you for your entire skincare routine (which, obviously, you refuse to share because you are making BANK off of this).

And presiding over all of this?

Lilia Vanrouge.

Your fae general, immortal menace, questionably helpful familiar.

At first, you thought Lilia would just hang around for company. Maybe help with security. Offer sage wisdom. That kind of thing.

You were wrong.

Instead, he has taken it upon himself to be your business partner.

Which would be fine, except:

1. Lilia insists on being the shop greeter.

“Welcome, weary traveler!” he announces grandly every time someone enters, even if it’s just the lady from next door.

2.He also bows dramatically every time, which has led to multiple people thinking they’ve accidentally entered a royal court instead of a potion shop.

3. He makes up fake tragic backstories for your potions.

The baldness potion? “Crafted from the tears of a forgotten god who, himself, was once afflicted with hair loss.”

The teeth whitening elixir? “Distilled from the ancient wisdom of a radiant moonbeam, stolen by a trickster spirit under the cover of night.”

The anti-acne potion? “Forged in the fires of celestial vanity, when the first star envied the smoothness of the moon’s face.”

The customers eat it up. Business doubles because people now believe they’re purchasing legendary magical relics instead of DIY cosmetic solutions.

4. He takes “quality control” VERY seriously.

You once caught him drinking the hair regrowth tonic.

“Lilia,” you said. “You have hair. You have a lot of hair.”

He took a long, thoughtful sip, smacked his lips, and simply said, “Quality assurance.”

(The next day, his hair was so voluminous it looked like he had absorbed a lion. He seemed thrilled about this. You refused to comment.)

5. His idea of “helping” with potion-making is... distressing.

One time, you left him alone for five minutes.

When you came back, he had somehow produced a glowing purple substance that was hovering slightly above the table and making whale noises.

You didn’t even ask. You just threw the entire thing out.

Lilia disappears sometimes in the middle of the night. You’ll wake up, the room unnaturally quiet, and immediately know he’s gone. Not gone gone—he’s not that dramatic—but somewhere else, wrapped in thoughts you never quite get to see.

Tonight, the air is cool when you step outside, wrapping around you like a second skin. You don’t have to search long. He’s on the rooftop, perched with all the effortless grace of a creature who defies gravity. His eyes are locked onto the moon, silver light washing over his face, his usual impishness replaced with something… else.

You’ve seen Lilia in many states—mischievous, chaotic, wise, deeply concerning—but you’ve never seen him like this.

So, naturally, you make the entirely reasonable decision to scale the side of the house.

It is not a graceful process. There’s a lot of slipping, a lot of swearing, and at one point, you’re pretty sure you get stuck in a position that defies basic human anatomy. Lilia watches all of this unfold with what you know is barely suppressed laughter, but he doesn’t help.

Rude.

By the time you haul yourself onto the roof, panting like you’ve just wrestled a bear, Lilia looks at you like you’re the strange one here.

“…You could have used the stairs,” he points out.

You glare at him. “Yeah? Well, you could’ve not brooded on the roof like the protagonist of a tragic novel, but here we are.”

For a moment, you think he might tease you, but instead, something in his expression softens. Like he hadn’t expected you to come. Like the idea of being found was somehow surprising.

You settle beside him, deliberately sitting close enough that your arms brush. Lilia doesn’t say anything, just leans into you, his weight light but grounding.

“I’m grateful you left immediately when you did,” he murmurs, voice quiet in a way that makes you pause. “I wasn’t prepared to lose you.”

You don’t ask. You never have. Lilia carries centuries in his gaze, in the way he moves, in the weight of the things he doesn’t say. But this? This moment, this sliver of vulnerability? This is his truth, and you’ll never push him to unravel more than he wants to.

So you nod. You pull him closer. And you sit there, pressed together beneath the vast, endless sky, offering nothing but presence.

Because sometimes, companionship is enough.

Despite all of this—despite the dramatics, the chaos, the fact that you are pretty sure Lilia is making up 90% of his fae wisdom on the spot—your little potion shop thrives.

You get to help people. You get to live peacefully.

And best of all? You get to spend your days with someone who makes life interesting.

One evening, as you’re closing up, Lilia floats beside you, watching as you count today’s earnings.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” he says, tone oddly soft, absent of his usual teasing lilt.

You glance at him, raising a brow. “We have,” you correct, shoving the last of the gold into the till. “I’d be lost without you.”

He hums in amusement, resting his chin in his hand. “Flattery will get you everywhere, you know.”

You snort. “It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

There’s a pause.

Then, after a moment, he reaches over—ruffles your hair with genuine fondness.

You pretend to be annoyed, but you don’t move away.

(And later, as you sit together, sharing a cup of tea under the quiet glow of lantern light, you think—maybe this life? This ridiculous, unpredictable, strangely wonderful life? Maybe it’s not so bad, after all.)

The first time you created a potion for hair growth, you barely had time to marvel at your genius before Lilia grabbed the vial and downed it in one gulp. No hesitation. No patch test. Just the unwavering confidence of a man who believed you were capable of alchemy miracles despite your previous track record, which included but was not limited to:

Accidentally making a love potion so strong it made a squirrel propose to a tree.

Brewing an invisibility elixir that only made clothes disappear (awkward).

Concocting a sleeping draught that did, in fact, induce sleep—just exclusively in yourself.

So, really, this blind faith of his was either heartwarming or deeply concerning.

The effect was immediate. Lilia’s short, fluffy locks exploded outward in a dramatic cascade, flowing past his shoulders, his waist, and then pooling onto the floor in a heap of silky, midnight strands. He blinked at you from behind his newly acquired curtain of hair, looking entirely unbothered, while you sat there in stunned horror like an artist realizing they’d just painted the Mona Lisa using finger paints.

“Well,” he said cheerfully, lifting a section of his hair with mild curiosity. “At least I won’t have to buy a blanket anymore.”

You groaned, already reaching for the shears. “Sit down. I’m cutting it before you trip and break your immortal neck.”

Lilia plopped down in front of you, perfectly content as you gathered the thick locks in your hands, marveling at how soft they were. You ran your fingers through them, untangling strands, watching them catch the light like the finest silk. Somewhere in the middle of methodically snipping away, your hand brushed against the nape of his neck.

And Lilia—Lilia of the endless energy, mischievous smirks, and unpredictable chaos—tilted his head into your touch like a cat craving warmth. He let his cheek brush against your palm, the weight of him light but deliberate, and you felt something in your chest hiccup.

Oh no.

Nope. Absolutely not. You were not going to sit here and have an emotional epiphany over a haircut.

You cleared your throat and kept cutting, pretending you didn’t notice the way his eyes fluttered shut, how he sighed just the slightest bit when you raked your fingers through his hair again. You ignored the warmth curling in your stomach, the way your heart stuttered like a miscast spell.

This was fine. Just a normal, everyday occurrence. No significance whatsoever.

(You ignored the fact that, long after the potion’s effects had worn off, Lilia still asks you to fix his hair for him.)

It has been a year.

A whole year since you knelt in front of a summoning circle, begging the universe for a small, manageable familiar—a cat, a bat, anything reasonable—only for reality to spit in your face and drop a war general into your living room.

A year since Lilia Vanrouge, former general, ancient fae, and walking eldritch menace, declared himself your familiar with a dramatic flourish while you stood there questioning every single life decision that had led to that moment.

And now, it’s time to let him go.

You knew this day would come. You told yourself you wouldn’t get attached. He was never supposed to stay forever. He has actual, important, world-changing things to do, and you—what are you? A small-town potion seller with a thriving business in male pattern baldness reversal and anti-aging tonics. This is not a worthy occupation for a fae of his caliber.

So why does the thought of him leaving feel like your heart is about to crawl out of your chest, slap you in the face, and then dramatically expire in protest?

You’re an adult. You can handle this. You will handle this.

Night falls, and you set up the ritual.

The summoning contract that bound him to you for a year must now be undone. The process is simple: draw the circle, say the words, and Lilia will be free to return to whatever grand, fae-magic-drenched existence he had before meeting you.

Your hands shake as you carve the sigils into the ground. You tell yourself it’s just fatigue.

The circle is perfect. The words are ready. You steel yourself, take a deep breath, and—

SCRATCH.

You blink.

Your circle is ruined.

Because Lilia just dragged his foot through it like a toddler messing up a sandcastle.

“Whoops,” he says, tone entirely insincere.

You stare at the ruined circle. Then at him. Then at the deep, deliberate groove he just scraped through the sigils.

“…Did you just—”

“Oh dear,” Lilia sighs, not looking remotely sorry. “How clumsy of me.”

You narrow your eyes.

Fine. Fine. You can work with this. You redraw the circle, faster this time, heart pounding, trying not to think about how every stroke is another step toward the inevitable.

But as soon as you finish it, it vanishes.

You gape. “What the fu—”

Lilia, sitting lazily on your kitchen counter, swirls his wine glass and hums, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You try again. And again.

Each time, something goes wrong.

The chalk disappears. The ink dries too fast. The lines curve into nonsense when you look away. Lilia, drinking his wine, watching you struggle, looking like a cat who just knocked over an entire shelf and is waiting for applause.

Then, finally, the last straw.

You painstakingly carve the circle one last time, standing up with triumphant determination—

And Lilia immediately spills his wine on it.

He gasps, eyes wide with the fakest, most dramatic shock you have ever seen. “Oh my. How unfortunate.”

You drop the chalk.

You inhale, slow and measured, like a parent about to scold a misbehaving child.

Then you turn to him.

“…Hey,” you say, voice trembling, not with sadness, but with the sheer, earth-shattering realization that this little fae menace is playing with you.

He takes another sip of wine, as if to fortify himself against the incoming confrontation.

“Do you,” you say, pointing at him, “not want to leave?”

Lilia smiles. That infuriatingly cryptic, all-knowing smile that he has given you exactly one thousand times over the past year.

He doesn’t answer.

And you are done.

You grab him by the collar, yanking his floating self down to your level, because no. Not this time.

“Say it.” Your heart is racing, your voice shaking. “Stop playing with my feelings and just say it.”

For the first time in a long time, Lilia looks genuinely surprised.

His bright red eyes flick over your face, searching, calculating.

Then, gently, effortlessly, he kisses you.

It’s soft. Unhurried. Like a promise instead of a confession.

When he pulls away, there’s no teasing, no smug amusement. Just quiet certainty as he murmurs, “I thought that was obvious, little mage.”

And you—

You think, yeah. This is perfect.

The day after the kiss is, by all accounts, completely normal.

Lilia is still Lilia—dramatic, whimsical, and absolutely insufferable in the best way possible. He flits around the shop like a particularly mischievous specter, rearranges your potions in ways that make absolutely no sense, and startles at least three customers by dropping upside down from the rafters like a bat with a caffeine addiction.

The only difference are the little changes in his proximity.

The way he brushes a little closer, his fingertips lingering on yours when he hands you a vial. The way he leans in when he speaks, voice a low murmur that sends shivers down your spine. The way his eyes—sharp, playful, knowing—linger just a second too long, like he’s drinking in every reaction.

Your regulars notice immediately.

“You two finally figured it out, huh?”

“About damn time.”

“Oh, we’ve been betting on this for months—Edgar, pay up.”

Even the old woman who only comes in for her arthritis tincture pats your cheek with grandmotherly approval, declaring, "He’s a little strange, but you always liked strays."

By the time you close up for the night, you’re warm with laughter, exhaustion, and the sheer reality of it. Of him. Of you.

And then there’s a weight on your back, light but unmistakable, arms winding around you as Lilia attaches himself like a particularly affectionate cloak.

“You still haven’t actually asked me to stay,” he hums, his chin resting on your shoulder. You can hear the grin in his voice, teasing and pleased.

You roll your eyes, exasperated and utterly, helplessly fond.

Then, without warning, you turn, grabbing his face in both hands and kissing him hard.

He makes a soft, surprised noise against your lips before immediately melting into it, responding with all the fervor of someone who has absolutely been waiting for this. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, and you swear you can feel him smiling into the kiss.

When you finally pull back, breathless and a little dazed, you meet his gaze and say, firm and sure,

“Stay.”

Lilia blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting you to actually say it. Then his lips curl into something unbearably soft, unbearably fond, and he whispers,

“Till the end of my life.”

Masterlist

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x shy!fem!reader

Summary: While previously being close friends, after your fourth year you distance yourself from James and he doesn't understand why.

Genre: Fluff with hurt and comfort <3

Warnings: slut shaming, reader has a sexual rumor spread about her, protective!James, gross teenage boys, attempted sexual harassment (non-consentual touching), reader is justifyingly emotional

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

James likes you. He's always liked you. You are kind, albeit a bit shy, but James doesn't mind. He'd spent all of first year simply watching you. He didn't mean for it to be creepy and he did his best to go unnoticed as he watched you feed the animals near the Forbidden Forest. Or when he paid attention to where you liked to sit in the library and what books you read. 

When second year came around, he joined Quidditch half in hopes to see you in the stand. You never came. 

In third year, his confidence grew and he started actually talking to you. You were quiet but you didn't seem to mind whenever he'd walk you back to the dorms, or when he helped you study for your Potions exams. You'd smile at him so pretty James was positive he left every conversation with the deepest blush.

By fourth year, you changed and you didn't seem to like the compliments he'd give you anymore and James couldn't understand why. "If you think a girl is pretty, you should tell her, Jamsie." James took his mother's words very seriously, but the more he complimented you—the more distant you became. 

By the end of fourth year, Sirius and Remus warned him he should just leave you alone, but James was stubborn. and hecouldn't understand why you didn't like the compliments. 

He really meant them after all.

"I don't understand," he groans one evening, laying on his bed, his legs thrown against the wall, his hair falling over the edge of the bed, as he plays with the maroon curtains of his dorm room canopy bed. Sirius and Remus are standing over him, looking unamused. 

"Just leave the poor girl alone," Remus says.

"It's been almost three years now, Prongs," Sirius leans down, his black hair falling over his cheeks as he looks into James's pitiful eyes. "You should just move on. I heard from Alice that Lily Evans has her eye on you now."

"Who?" James mutters, barely listening. 

"Y'know, the pretty red-head from our year?"

James shakes his head and sits up, flopping onto his back as he presses his palms into his eyes. "I don't care about anyone but her," he says, "I don't understand what I'm doing wrong."

"Overwhelming her?" Remus deadpans. 

"Being a stalker?" Sirius adds, resting a hand on his hip as he sends Remus a knowing look and the latter sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

James groans and sits up, his eyes lighting up. "There is the Quidditch finals today, do you think she'll come?" He asks, sounding hopeful. You've never once come to any games. Sirius and Remus shake their heads, knowing the answer is most likely a no and James's expression falls.

* * *

"She came," Peter points to the crowd. He's sitting next to Sirius and Remus as they watch you navigate the stands. Sirius, who had previously been sulking because he couldn't play because of his injury, grins and nods, looking out at the pitch to see if James has noticed you.  

"James is gonna freak," Sirius laughs. 

"She isn't here for him, Pads," Remus nudges Sirius's shoulder and Peter's expression sours. 

"She's with Raven Griffins," the boy says, a disgusted look crossing over his features. "What is she doing with that arsehole?"

Sitting a few students away, you're very uncomfortable. You keep nervously fiddling with the hem of your skirt. You suddenly wish you hadn't come. The only reason you'd said yes to this date was because Griffins was one of the only boys who'd seemed genuinely interested in you. He spoke to you normally, with no ulterior motives and no mocking tone. He was smart and handsome and he seemed genuinely interested. Still, you want to disappear. The game hadn't even started and it was already much too loud. Plus, Griffins had seen some of his friends and now this date didn't feel like a date anymore anyways.

Once the game begins, students stand and cheer and you're jostled to your feet with everyone else. You bite your lip, holding your breath as you focus on the way your nails dig into your palm to ground yourself. You've never liked crowds. 

"Raven?" you whisper, turning to the boy. He shifts his gaze towards you, only grinning as he wraps his arm around you and squeezes your hips. You frown, a shiver running up your spine as his touch feels wrong. 

You shimmy from his grasp and Raven frowns. You can barely hear him over the cheering but as he grabs your arm, fingers digging into your flesh. It seems like he laughs, eyes gleaming with malice as he turns to his friend and says: "Bloody hell, I knew she was easy, but I didn't think she would be this easy. Clearly wants me bad, mate," he laughs. It feels like a bucket of cold water has just been splashed all over you and you tear your arm from him.

You spin around, pushing students to find the quickest exit. Your eyes burn. 

How could you have been so foolish to think this would have gone any differently? 

Tears blur your vision and you run down the stairs to the path around the school. The gravel crackles under your shiny leather shoes. You can't be here anymore. You should have never come. You're in such a rush you don't hear someone call your name until a strong hand grips your wrist and you spin around, almost crashing into the person's chest. You're standing just outside the Quidditch pitch now, the cheers less violent as you focus on the person in front of you.

"James?" 

James is holding his broom in one hand and the other falls from your wrist. He's panting, sweat gathering at his hairline and making his already curly hair even curlier. You can see dirt staining his cheek from what you assume was a harsh landing from his brook and behind the nasty bruise on his cheekbone, his cheeks are tinted crimson and he coughs, leaning forward. 

Did he run here? 

"What happened?" James mutters, clearing his throat as he looks up at you again. "I saw you and Griffins in the crowd and it seemed like he upset you. What did he do?" James spits Griffins name with venom and his usually kind eyes turn dark.

You're shocked, your breaths coming out raspy. Did he follow you here? You back away from him, catching your breath along with him.

"You're missing your game," you whisper. If there is anything you remember from your friendship with James Potter, it's his love of Quidditch. You look at him, realizing it's been almost three years since you'd spoken to him properly.

After what happened, you'd distanced yourself from him. He was just too much at the time—his kind words only made the situation worse. Your heart clenches and you lower your gaze. "Don't miss Quidditch because of me," you add, tears forming on your eyelashes. 

James sees them and he panics. "Did Griffins make you cry?!" He's angry and he drops his broom and rushes up to you. 

You flinch when he cups your cheeks in his hands and you push him away. 

"I'm sorry," James says. His eyes look sad and it breaks you. You cover your mouth, realizing you can't stop the tears anymore. You can't even speak. All you can do is cry into your hand, muffling the sobs as Griffins words repeat in your head;

I knew she was easy, but I didn't think she was this easy.

You choke on a sob and tense when you feel someone's arms hesitantly wrap around you. James hugs you, his chin resting on your head and you break some more. You don't pull away and instead, you wrap your arms around his waist, crying into his uniform. His hand smoothes over your hair and he feels like crying as well. You're hurt. You're hurt so badly you've broken down in front of him and he doesn't understand why. 

"I'm sorry I disappeared," you mutter, all your emotions crashing over you. "You were my f-friend and I- I ignored you."

James frowns, holding you tighter. "Is that what this is about?" he asks softly. "I'm not upset with you. I missed you, yeah. But I'm definitely not mad," he pauses and lifts his head, stroking strands of hair from your face. He looks serious. "Can you tell me what happened? Why are you so sad?"

You look confused and you tilt your head in question. "You don't know?"

James frowns. "Am I supposed to?" 

You don't believe him. James and his friends are some of the most popular boys in your year. In the school even. There is absolutely no way they didn't hear the rumor. Everyone had. That's why you'd avoided James until now. You couldn't face him after what everyone was saying. It was too cruel.

You let out a weary breath. "The rumor—about me? H-how I lost my virginity in fourth year, with some boys from sixth year–? You– you haven't heard it?"

James's blood runs cold. That was you? Of course, he'd heard the rumor but he wasn't one for that type of gossip. He didn't care who the girl was because honestly? He didn't believe the rumor. He didn't even entertain the thought—it had seemed so ludicrous to him. His heart breaks now that he knows it had been you that the rumor surrounded. 

"You stopped being my friend because of a rumor?"

"You don't believe it?"

James laughs. "Believe it? I never did, and now I believe it even less because it's you." James holds your chin, his thumb gently stroking your skin. "Why didn't you come to me? I could have helped you. You didn't have to go through this all alone," he whispers sadly. 

You look at him, feeling overwhelmed all over again. "I- I thought you knew—"

He shakes his head, his expression stern. "Why would you think that?"

You chew on your lower lip, avoiding his gaze now. The words suddenly feel too embarrassing for you to admit out loud. But you can't avoid them now. You're stuck. "Well, you started to compliment me more. You would call me pretty and all that and I- with the rumor going around I assumed y-you just wanted me to sleep with you. It feels so stupid to say now, but you weren't the first boy to see me like that and I didn't know what to think. I just had to distance myself from you and all your sweet words. I'm sorry."

James's heart sinks and he feels sick. "You assumed I was being ingenuine?" He sees the panic behind your eyes and he feels bad. He doesn't mean to interrogate you. He isn't upset that you assumed he was just like all the others, he's more upset that you'd kept this feeling for three years. 

He holds you closer, still stroking your cheek as he keeps his breathing steady. You're so beautiful and he wants nothing more than to tell you. But he knows it isn't the time. "I'm sorry you've had shitty experiences with arseholes in the past, and judging by how upset you seemed, Griffins seems to have been one of them," he says, any angry look passing across his features again.

He lets out a breath and continues, "I promise you, I didn't know and I didn't compliment you with any ulterior motives. I just, well, I thought you looked pretty and you deserved to know it."

Your heart melts as you look at him and the walls you'd built start to crumble. You look at James and he looks like the same boy you knew three years ago. 

He looks at you the same way as if nothing had changed and you hadn't abandoned him over something so stupid. You strain a small smile, looking a little bashful. "You've always been too kind, James Potter." 

James shakes his head. "You deserve it and more," he whispers. He sounds sincere and still shame bubbles in your stomach. 

"Your game—"

"Can wait," James walks closer, his hand inching towards you as he delicately brushes his pinky with yours. "You're more important."

You feel like you're floating. 

"There's no need to feel alone anymore," he adds, smiling. "I'm here with you."

You could faint. 

"Now, what suitable punishment do you think Griffins deserves?" A familiar smirk graces James's features and he pauses for a moment before he muses darkly, "I know a potion that can cause hair loss—permanently. Or blistering acne?" he sends you a wink. 

You laugh, tracing his palm with your finger. You don't say a word and instead, you walk into his arm and hug him again. James is surprised for a moment until he relaxes into your touch. He inhales, smelling your shampoo and he smiles. He's really missed this. 

For the first time, James doesn't care that he's missing the most important of the season. He doesn't care how angry his teammates will be or how disappointed McGonagall will be with him. He'll deal with the consequences later. All that matters now is you in his arms. 

He's determined not to let you slip from his grasp again.  

[lqveharrington]

Perfect Replacement | R.L.

summary: Remus begins to worry about your well-being after seeing you act much differently than before.

pairing: remus lupin x Black Family!reader

includes: use of Y/N, mentions of abuse (both mental and physical), unfair treatment, bullying, cursing, allusions to receiving the dark mark, burning out, angst, smallest bit of fluff (lmk if i missed any!)

a/n: lowkey, this one was sad and requested by someone a while ago… i’m swamped with my own school work so this was a little vent fic for me :)

From the moment you were born, Orion and Walburga knew what you were meant to be—what you would always be known as. You were the Black Family’s spare. If Sirius or Regulus was injured in a way magic wasn’t enough to heal them, you were the person they tore open to find missing parts. You were nothing but a tool.

Worst of all, they refused to recognize you as even part of their family. What they wanted was a male heir and—being the first born before Sirius by mere minutes—you ruined their lives. Sure, the legacy would’ve still been able to continue with Sirius, but Walburga and Orion were furious when they saw a girl be born into the Black Family.

It was always your fate to be their spare.

When you were old enough to attended Hogwarts, they were quick to dismiss your presence. You were no longer theirs to care for as long as you stayed there. Hell, they even called Sirius—who was sorted in Gryffindor—back for holiday while you—who was sorted into Slytherin—stayed at Hogwarts with the school's staff.

However, they learned that Sirius was no longer fit to be the heir of the Black family. So they did what they did best—throw you into the deep end with no safety. Instead of letting Sirius get away with his stupidity, you were to take over his responsibilities until Regulus was suited to become the heir.

You were constantly watched to ensure perfection. It didn't matter if you were the top of your class or not—you had to maintain the role of the perfect heir. The useless heir. Coming home every summer just to be scolded at was never ideal, but you tried. You pushed through all the extracurriculars until you couldn't feel the weight of pressure on you anymore. You just kept going.

You kept pushing and pushing until the worst thing happened at home.

Sirius left. He left you and Regulus with your wretched parents. He left you with more scars than you could count that you swore he didn't care much for you either. It truly was you against the entire Black family—with little help from Regulus whenever he wasn't being trained to be the Black family heir.

“Letter from mother.” Regulus tossed the cream envelope in your direction, unaware of how closed off and fragile you became since Sirius left.

You peeled the envelope open and did a quick scan of the letter, humming at the usual demands from you. Nothing new. “I need to go study, Reg. I’ll see you later."

“You'll come find me for lunch, right?” He grabbed your wrist like he would when he was younger, alarmed that his whole hand could wrap around the joint with ease.

“I need to study for my NEWTs.” You give him the best smile you could muster, making your steps quick as you left the Great Hall. You loved your younger brother, but your parents would have your head if they found out you were talking to him rather than studying for your final exams.

You swiftly looped around the castle corridors—potions, charms, and transfiguration textbooks in arm as you made your way toward the astronomy tower. No matter how many times you’ve studied in Hogwarts’ library, you found it easier to work in the tower. The library was filled with all kinds of students—even the ones who weren't there to study.

Just as you made a sharp turn to the tower stairs, you slammed into someone more than half your size—all your books and parchment scattering to the floor. Immediately, you apologized and rushed to grab the papers and books, face warm with embarrassment when the person handed you your quill your cousin Narcissa bought you.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.” You clutch the books tighter to your chest and move around the figure, unaware that it was one of Sirius’ friends.

The one who watched you were a careful eye since you hopped onto the stool with a worried look in first year.

The Marauders were scattered about their dorm. Peter was munching on some kind of bread, Sirius was hanging upside down in his bed, and James was on his usual session about how Lily was the most perfect girl when Remus walked in with an unreadable expression.

James slowly came to a stop before tilting his head at the lanky boy, tossing a pillow in his direction. 'What happened at the library, Moony? Madam Pince refused to let you check out anymore books?"

Remus ignored James and caught the pillow with a swipe of his hand—his attention only on the curly-haired boy in front of him. "Padfoot, do you know what's going on with your sister? She looks like she might be ill.”

Sirius froze at the mention of you, ultimately falling from his spot on the bed. He rarely saw you back at home that he didn't know anything about you anymore. At least, not as much as he knew about Regulus.

“I… I don’t know.” He admitted and ran his fingers through his hair in guilt.

“You don’t know?” Remus repeated in disbelief. He didn't think that when Sirius left, he would forget all about his twin sister. She looked exactly like him—only now, she looked like she could break with one wrong touch. "She could be seriously sick—"

"Look, I'll get Regulus to ask her what's wrong." Sirius crossed his legs and frowned when Remus still looked unhappy. "What?"

"We both know you won't willingly talk to your brother." He said and stood from his spot, mind running through different scenarios as to why you looked so malnourished—why you were so malnourished.

Sirius narrowed his eyes at his best mate, "Why do you care so much about my sister?"

"Why don't you care more?" Remus scoffed and left the dorm, leaving the rest of the Marauders confused with his sudden interest in the Black's eldest child.

Though Remus cared little for the Black family, he knew you never wronged anyone. In fact, he believed you were Sirius' foil. When Sirius was off pranking someone with James, you were always studying for your next class. When you weren't studying, he found you speaking quietly with Regulus in the Great Hall. You were so quiet and reserved that Remus refused to believe you were Sirius' twin for so long.

He rarely spoke to you, but he knew something was definitely wrong. And he would get to the bottom of the issue.

“Miss Black, you need to take care of yourself. Your brother is concerned for you—“

“He should not be concerned for my wellbeing. Instead, he should be concerned about his grades in Care for Magical Creatures.” You huff and push away Madam Pomfrey’s wand from your arm, tugging your robes over your body in a rushed manner. “I am perfectly fine and need to get back to my studies before the night takes away all the light.”

You leave the hospital wing and glance at your watch, silently cursing yourself for wasting precious time on a silly check up Regulus insisted you get. Although—you had to admit— you were too exhausted to make the trek up the astronomy tower to study. So instead, you made your way toward the library instead, the candles in the corridors lighting your path to the quiet space ahead.

Finding an open table, you get to work as quickly as you can. You flip open you defense against the dark arts textbook and begin your studies, hands shaking and eyes blurring with how exhausted you were. Willing yourself to push on, you started to mutter the words you read, unaware of the brown-haired boy looming beside you.

“You’re not casting a spell, are you?” A voice spoke from your right, causing you to jerk in surprise.

Lifting your head up from the book, you meet warm, brown eyes, the feeling spreading across your chest before you pulled your attention toward the book once more. You couldn’t get distracted, not when you were running out of time before the holidays.

“No.” You answer truthfully before continuing to mutter about the three unforgiving curses, each one worse than the last. You’ve encountered two out of three of them and you prayed you never had to witness the last.

Right as you went to turn the page, the person moved to sit in front of you—your eye twitching in irritation. This was your spot for the rest of the evening and you would like to not be distracted by… whoever this person was.

Huffing, you flip the page in frustration and speak once more. This time with annoyance. “I’m sorry, but I’m trying to study for—“

“I see that.” The mysterious figure pulled out his own book, raising his brows when you nearly looked up from your book to see what he was reading. So close. “I’m here to merely observe. You are the top of our graduating class.”

“Incorrect.” You keep a shaky finger on the last word you left off on, finally taking a proper look at the boy who decided to distract you. “I’m tied with…”

“You don’t want a tie?” Remus rested his head in his palm, hiding a small grin at your shocked expression.

You swallow thickly before going back to your book, refusing to acknowledge his presence for the rest of the time. It wasn’t like you were intimidated or embarrassed by the boy. You were just confused and stunned by him. Why was he suddenly interested in you when he stuck so close to your twin? Perhaps your mother or father sent him as a spy—but he was a half-blood, so you doubted that was the reason.

Remus sighed and began to read Jane Eyre, occasionally glancing in your direction. He noted that you were still here mentally—well, as far as a mere five minute interaction goes—but your physique seemed way off. Though you weren’t as tall as your brothers, you were a hell lot paler and way too ill-fed to even look remotely related to them.

By the time Madam Pince kicked the both of you out, Remus memorized the way you looked and stored it for later data. He thought that you would snap under the weight of all the textbooks and parchment you were carrying. He also swore you memorized each of the textbooks—catching you repeatedly murmur the different facts you learned over your hours of studying.

But as Remus went to turn toward the Great Hall, you continued to go straight down the corridor—worrying him. “Black, you’re not coming to have dinner?”

You stop walking and hesitate before settling on your normal excuse. “I’m not hungry.”

“You studied for over two hours. Surely a snack or even just water—“

“Lupin, I’m fine. I don’t need—“

Before you could even finish your sentence, a familiar voice rang out clearly. A voice you haven’t heard since he left you all alone.

“Moony! There you are! We’ve been looking for you.”Sirius clapped Remus on the back, unaware of your presence. He never truly acknowledged your being—you assumed he learned it from your mother and father. “Where were you?”

Remus’ eyes darted in your direction after the initial surprise from Sirius faded, but you were already fleeting down the hall—Mary Jane’s echoing with each step.

“Just…” He paused and shook his head, directing his attention back to the younger Black sibling and following him into the Great Hall. “Studying.”

Unfortunately for you, it became Remus' habit to constantly be around you when studying. No matter where you went to study—whether it was the damn astronomy tower or back of the library—he found you. It became impossible to hide from him and you knew you were losing valuable time studying if you spoke to him.

So you just stopped.

"I brought chocolate today." Remus spoke, finding you by the edge of the Black Lake. "A piece offering."

Your eyes briefly flickered up to meet his and glanced at the chocolate, but you immediately fell back into reading, making him frown. You were frustrating him just a tad bit. It was the day before holiday break and you decided to spend your time on the freezing grounds studying than inside with a cup of hot tea doing something else—he wasn't even close to figuring anything about you.

You were just a ghost of a person.

“Lupin, I can’t focus.” You whisper as you felt his gaze on you, frustratedly reading the same line over and over again.

Remus muttered a quick apology and went back to War and Peace. But he couldn't focus. All he could focus on was the sound of you shaking underneath all the layers of clothes you had on. He pursed his lips and sighed, removing his own overcoat and draping it over you.

Freezing at the sudden warmth enveloping your figure, you meet his brown eyes and give him a smile that could be noted as a grimace. "Thanks..."

He hummed and took a bite out of his chocolate, letting you read for a couple more minutes before speaking once more. "Do you plan on studying over the holidays as well?"

Your tongue poked the inside of your cheek. Were you going to spend your entire holiday studying? "Depends on mother and father. They might coupe me up in my room and make me study all holiday. Or they may decide to finally let me join in opening gifts with Regulus—not like I'll get anything."

It took you a second to realize what you said to the boy sitting beside you. Honestly, you didn't know what he was doing to you.

Remus' eyes narrowed at your confession the second you covered your mouth with a shaking hand. You were never supposed to talk ill about your parents or you family—especially not to some… to a Gryffindor and half-blood!

“I-I have to go.” You stutter and quickly gather your things, rushing back into the castle without another glace toward Remus.

When you came back from the holidays, you looked even worse than before. Remus took one look at you and knew something went down back at the Black house. Although you did look more fed then most days, the circles underneath your eyes were more prominent and instead of rolling up your sweaters like usual, you wore them normally.

What happened?

But Remus wasn't the only one to notice the changes. For once, Regulus noted the changes in your demeanor. Rather than using your time to study for charms or transfiguration, you began to read books on the dark arts. The textbooks that once belonged to Bellatrix were passed down to you, causing Regulus to do his own digging into your sudden change of studies.

“What're you reading Trimbles' book for?” Regulus asked quietly as you pushed food around your plate, gaze locked on the ink in the book. "Did Bella get through to you about the dark arts?"

You subconsciously touch your left arm and bite your tongue. You could say it was your cousin's fault for she was the one to suggest you become one of them anyway. Yet you would never speak ill about her—you supposed it was her way of showing she cared for you.

"No, it's just interesting."' You clear your throat and stand from your spot. "Finish breakfast, I'll see you later."

"You didn't touch anything on your plate." Regulus frowned and stood up as well, following close behind and grabbing your left arm. "What are you hiding from me?"

You winced and quickly pulled away, "Nothing, Reg, leave me be."

"I can't do that! You're my sister and I care about you—"

Quickly finding your way out of a conversation you didn't want to have, you weaved your way in between the Gryffindor boys that deemed themselves as the Marauders, subconsciously grabbing Remus' hand and dragging him with you.

“Hey—!” Sirius gaped at his best friend being stolen from him, earning a glare from his younger brother.

“Fuck off, Sirius. Something’s wrong.” Regulus quickly spat out and chased after you and the lanky boy.

Sirius' eyebrows knitted together before letting out a loud sigh, following his brother to wherever you were taking Remus. After all the time he spent away, you and Regulus were still important to him—even if he rarely showed it.

"What's happening?" Remus stumbled into an empty classroom and glanced at your heavy breathing figure, face twisting in confusion as you leaned back on the wooden door in exhaustion. "Why were you running?"

"I didn't mean to pull you with me." You rub your face and wander over to a desk, sitting in the chair as your thoughts swallowed your mind. "I just needed an escape from Regulus. He can be nosy."

Still confused, Remus simply nodded and sat at the desk opposite of you, wincing when he heard Sirius' shouting from outside the class. You let out a quiet laugh at your brothers' bickering before those laughs quickly turned into quiet sobs, shoulders shaking from the weight of emotions packed into each one.

"Oh." Remus murmured and patted his pockets down, taking a bar of chocolate and snapping a piece off. “Eat, it’ll make you feel better.”

You wipe your tears and look down at the chocolate, your stomach growling at the lack of food you’ve eaten today. Sniffling, you take the chocolate and nibble on it, unaware of Remus’ smile.

“Better?” He asked softly, biting into the chocolate himself.

There wasn’t an answer from you, but he knew it helped somewhat—your tears subsided and all that could be heard was your occasional sniffling and hiccups.

Remus had so many questions he wanted to ask you yet he knew it wasn’t his place. Though only one really stuck out to him.

“Why did you bring me here?”

You purse your lips and fiddle with the loose strings on your sweater, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I don’t know.” You say truthfully. But before Remus could say anything else, you continued—eyes shut because to you, the confession was quite embarrassing. “Maybe I just got used to you always being there and I…” You drop your head into your hands and sigh loudly, “I trust you more than my whole family.”

He raised his brows but made no effort to say anything else—knowing you had more to say.

“You care for me in a way my siblings will never understand.” You murmur and peek between your fingers to find him slouched over to hear you clearly. “I can’t… I can’t tell you anything about what happened at home.” He opened his mouth to protest but you stopped him. “But I’ll consider keeping the odd friendship you chose to start.”

Remus narrowed his eyes at you and—for a brief moment—he wanted to refuse. He wanted to know what was happening, why you were more conscious about how you dressed. Yet he couldn’t find himself wanting to object your offer. If he could keep a close eye on you like this, so be it.

“You’ll tell me in due time, alright?” Remus gave you the rest of his chocolate bar, noticing the way you tugged your sleeve down once more.

“If it’s fitting by then.” You give him a weak smile. “Besides, I think I can still be the top of the class without you. After all, I am the perfect replacement.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[my-castles-crumbling]

exam - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 334

“Mister Potter,” Slughorn said gravely, sitting at his desk and staring at James with a very concerned expression, “I need you to be very honest with me.”

James resisted the urge to grin as he replied, “Of course, Professor. I’m always honest with you.”

The older man rolled his eyes. “Potter. Did you cheat on this exam?” He brandished a roll of parchment at him– their latest NEWT-level test.

James gaped. “No!” he said truthfully. “I didn’t! Why, did I–?”

“You got a ninety-nine percent,” Slughorn cut him off, still looking very suspicious. “Mister Potter, you’re very intelligent, please do not misunderstand. But you scored the same as Miss Evans and Mister Snape. I think you can see why I’m a bit confused.”

He blinked, thinking about all of the times he’d sat with Regulus in the library, staring off into the distance as the younger boy read huge Potions books under his breath. James just loved listening to Regulus speak, but perhaps there had been some practical advantage to all of that… “Right. Er, yeah, I…found a study partner,” he said awkwardly.

Slughorn tilted his head. “Well, you’ve never cheated before. But just to be sure, will you consent to taking the next test with an anti-cheating quill?”

“Sure!” James nodded. “Can I go now?” He wanted to see Regulus.

Squinting his eyes, the Professor dismissed him.

“Reg!” James said a few minutes later, slightly out of breath, finding his boyfriend in the library. “You’ll never guess what Slughorn accused me of!”

“Stealing from his personal stores again?” the younger boy drawled, not bothering to look up. “You need to be a bit more careful, James, you and your friends are ridiculously obviou-”

“He thought I was cheating on my test because I got a ninety-nine percent,” James burst out, beaming. “Because I like to listen to you read.”

At this, Regulus looked up. After a moment of stunned silence, he burst out laughing. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Sirius,” he chuckled.

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 25th. tom — anal sex / sexual punishment.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: basically how i see a tom riddle punishment playing out. biblical tom of sorts. so self assured its impossible to piss him off so you go to lengths some may consider extreme but…eh. he knows you’re his.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, UNI hogwarts (obvs but just a reminder) reader and tom have an…interesting dynamic, toxic but also not toxic because it works for them, anal sex (obvs), sexual punishment, brief fingering, copious amounts of dirty talk, i once again utilize my favourite place in the school (the library).

"Tom—"

With a hand raised, he cuts you off. "Don't."

You blink. Swallow. Blink again. He's mad—oh, yes, he's mad—more than you've ever seen him and you once watched Abraxas Malfoy knock over his potion during a heavily-weighted exam.

That, in currency to this, is pennies.

You breathe in, try again. "Look, I can explain—"

He doesn't let you. Within a second his wand is out and with a flick of his wrist the room shifts to static—the glimmer from the silencing charm he just cast settles over your corner of the library, and you feel your fingers go numb—

"Why'd you stop?" He cocks his head, brow raised. His jaw is tight, the tension there burning into the space between you. His fingers flex. You can feel how much he's holding back. "If there's an explanation, by all means. I'd love to hear it."

Right—yeah, an explanation. That should help. Certainly, the man staring at you like he has bullets for eyes and knives for fingers will understand—he'll be completely calm once you explain to him you kissed someone else in retribution—because you wanted to get back at him.

"Well, I—" you push up from the desk, desperate to feel bigger, to level with him somehow. Tom thrives in this—having the upper hand, knowing all he has to do is stare at you, all stillness and quiet fury. He knows you hate it, that you'll spiral under it until you break and present him your neck on a silver platter. Until you hand him the knife and beg him to cut. "We had that argument, and I thought—I thought, maybe—you didn't—"

He moves closer. The air thickens. You're too focused on the fire in his eyes to acknowledge the sound of his wand clattering onto the desk—

"You thought?" His voice is something almost bored, like this is a trivial exercise for him—you can barely hear him over the roar of your pulse in your throat.

"—that you didn't want me anymore!"

You force the words out in a desperate rush, and the silence that follows feels like a goddamn canyon—you're just staring at each other, scowling in the wake of what you just said because you both know how utterly foolish it sounds. The only person Tom Riddle has and will ever allow himself to be vulnerable in front of—and you thought he'd leave after a silly argument.

No. You never thought that for a second.

And so, you try to save yourself. "Tom—I-I'm sorry, okay? I'm so sorry, I know I fucked up—but, it's not just me—I mean, you could have communicated better—"

He takes another step toward you, nodding along as if he's humoring you. "Right."

You step back—you don't mean to but the depleted space between you feels dangerous and your body reacts before you can stop it.

"Maybe—maybe we can learn from this? Right? A lesson for—for us both?" You keep talking. You don't know why, but you do. "And, maybe you could, uh, learn to talk about your feelings better?"

You wince as his eyebrows shoot up, mocking you without saying a word. Tom Riddle, talking about his fucking feelings? Right.

"I mean—you're just—" you hesitate because you know you're digging your own grave, yet he's still staring, daring you to finish. "—you're just so hard to read, you know?"

Another bored nod, another step closer. "Of course."

You swallow, stumbling back—of course Tom knows he's hard to read, that's the point. Every word out of your mouth is a wasted effort, a desperate attempt to reason with someone who's beyond it. Your ass collides with the desk behind you, boxing you in—and suddenly, he's there, right in front of you, all of his typical Tom intensity pouring into the limited space between you.

His breath brushes against your cheek, close enough that his lips could meet yours. But you know they won't. He'd never make it that easy. You can't tell if it's fear or something more wicked that twists in your chest. Dread, excitement—God, maybe both—

"You tried to provoke me."

Your throat tightens around a swallow. He isn’t asking.

"Maybe."

He doesn't blink. "You tried to see if I'd care."

You open your mouth, only to close it just as quickly. What can you say that he doesn't already know? You're as transparent as glass to him, and even that is a goddamn understatement. All you offer is a slow nod, unsure but weighted—he wasn't looking for an answer, he was looking for submission.

"And you thought, maybe, that I would come to you. That I would react. That l'd be angry." His fingers brush up your cheek, slipping into your hair with the kind of intimacy that feels out of place given the circumstances. And, inevitably, when the pull comes biting at your scalp, it's a burn you enjoy more than you should. "Were you hoping I'd punish you?"

"Well—I-"

"You know, don't you," he tugs your hair again to quiet you. Every question he's asking is rhetorical. "You know that trying to provoke me is dangerous."

You nod, fast. "I know."

"You know that I don't like to be provoked."

"I know, I know, I-"

"Shh." His lips brush over your neck, just once—a soft, fleeting thing that promises everything and nothing at once. You can't help the way you lean into him. "You're just making this worse for yourself. No more talking."

You choke on your stupid ego, but force a nod. You asked for this. You won't fight him on it. Not here. Not now.

"Good." He hums, and you feel your heart dance, stomach leap at the barest flicker of approval in his tone. His breath skates over your jaw, and you try not to shake. "You want to show me how sorry you are, don't you?"

You nod again.

"Good." He tugs at your bottom lip and something curls at the corners of his own that doesn't quite qualify as a smile. "Turn around."

With your heart on the floor beneath your feet, you nod for a final time before doing as he asked. You find that turning is a difficult task, though not due to resistance—your body just won't cooperate—a mess of weak knees and shallow breaths and tingling skin. You do it, though, with his hand on your hip, guiding you, directing you, pushing you over the desk until you're bent at the waist, positioned just how he wants.

It's merely a moment before you feel him pressed against your back, feel his belt buckle digging into your ass—

"What do you think I should do to you?" His breath grazes the nape of your neck and reflexively, you arch into him—his hands slide up your thighs, hips, finding your waist and the band of your skirt—he tugs at your zipper, you remain quiet. You know he doesn't want you to answer. "I'm sure you had your hopes. Your assumptions."

Tom Riddle, you've determined, is a torturous lover—a slow hand, a tease until you're in tears from the overstimulation. A sort of devotee to fulfilling your needs while simultaneously tempering his own. He's so very restrained, in everything he does—not fervent, not right away, anyway—

"Maybe you hoped I'd degrade you. Remind you of your place." He tugs down the zipper, letting the fabric fall to the ground at your feet—you shudder and pull your lips tight, willing yourself to stay silent as the cool air hits you. Tom's hand roams over one of your asscheeks, pawing lazily before tapping his palm against it. “Maybe you wanted me to make you feel it."

—he only rushes—he's only careless when he's angry.

And god, he's angry now.

"Maybe." You force the reply through the sting he left on your skin. It's past midnight—quiet is everything but you two, and you're almost certain he locked the door behind him on the way in. You let your head bow, eyes fixed on the wood under your palms. "Maybe I do."

"Of course you do. You've never been subtle." His foot nudges yours further apart, his fingers trailing up your thigh, finding the damp ache between your legs. Your breath catches but you hold still, biting your tongue as he teases—digits gliding through your slit, swirling your clit. "I know you thought about it."

"About what?" You try, though the question barely gets out before his other hand smacks the thick of your ass again, harder this time. "Shit—"

"About what I'd do to you." The hand on your clit shifts to smooth over the sting, rubbing slow, while the other works the buckle of his belt. "Tell me what you wanted."

"I—" you pause, steadying, gathering yourself. You know you have to give him something, but it's hard to think when he's like this. "I—I wanted you to be...careless."

"Careless." He says it like he's savouring it, rolling it over his tongue like candy. It's not a word that suits him; you're not convinced he even knows how. "You want me to be rough—to be selfish. Like you were."

The moment his belt is loose you feel those slender fingers dip back into your slit, two of them pushing inside your cunt without warning, stretching you open as his trousers slip down his thighs— he grunts low, a sound that cuts into the quiet as his cock springs free and he presses it against you, unoccupied hand slipping back into your hair, pulling you up until you're flush with him.

"Yes." You're not sure who sounds more hollow for it—your voice for asking, his for granting it. "I want that. I deserve it. Please. Please—"

"Please. It's always please with you," he mocks, the words a hiss that burn your cheeks. "Yet, I don't get to be selfish like you, do I? I still have to show restraint."

"I mean—oh—fu—" you choke as his lips find your neck, muttering something against your skin before you feel the sudden cool slip of a lubing charm coating your asshole and cunt. "Tom-"

"Despite what you might believe, I've never had much in the way of patience," he breathes, a confession almost, something deeper—something that feels like it costs him. "Not when it comes to you."

"Tom—" you fucking gasp his name as he pulls his fingers from your cunt—only to drag them higher until they find your asshole. Despite his haste he's still at ease, massaging, pressing one finger against it until you let him in. He sinks slowly, curling slightly, and your thighs shake—lungs deflate. "Oh—oh, fuck, Tom—it's been—"

"A while, hasn't it?" He finishes, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his finger sliding all the way in. "So tight for me. So—tight—"

"Tom—" a repetition of the last one, his name spilling from you like it’s the only goddamn word you know how to say. "Please, Tom. Oh god—"

"Shhh." He shushes, but it's not to quiet you; you know that. He's savouring this. He slips in a second finger, stretching you wider, working you open, and you're biting your lip to keep from crying out. "This isn't about you."

"You—" your voice breaks on another gasp, hands clutching at the desk. "—you think this is punishment."

"Partially." His muses as his fingers scissor, filling you with the most delicious ache. You're so slick, arousal running down your thighs, and that—oh no, that does not escape his notice. "Look at you, dripping for me. And yet,"

"Oh god." The realization crashes over you—it’s punishment as in orgasm denial. "That's—that's not—"

"Not fair?" There's a smirk in his voice, and though he doesn't say it, you hear the word that lingers beneath it: pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. He pulls his fingers out and you whine, feeling empty for half a second before the head of his cock glides against your slit, gathering your juices before finding its way up to the throbbing ring of muscle. "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to be selfish?"

"I just—" words scatter, useless, because you're trembling, breathing hard, and then he's pressing in, slow enough to save you pain but fevered enough to make you feel him. "Oh—oh—"

"Oh fuck." He says it breathless, as if it's an agony to fit himself inside of you. "Oh yes."

And it is an agony—for both of you, though for very different reasons. Tom is huge, and even on a good day, it's a struggle to take him. He's so deep, filling you in ways you'd forgot were possible. You struggle to hold yourself upright—legs visibly shaking, teeth gritting. He sinks all the way in, and in your mind, you can almost see the look on his face, the way his lashes flutter, the way his head tips back—

"Ah—“ he groans, a rough sound that's followed by a huff and a slight roll of his hips, like he's holding back, like he can't bring himself to move just yet. He yanks you up against him by your hair. "That's fucking tight, isn't it? This must be hell for you."

He's not wrong, it is. But it's hellish for Tom too, the type of hell the two of you inflict on eachother that is as fucking addicting as it is anything else—

"Just—" you manage to bite out breathlessly, but it's a struggle to make the words. "Move—"

"Make me," he grits, jerking your head to the side until your foreheads press together. "Convince me to use you. Tell me how badly you want it. How much of a whore you are for it."

Merlin help you, you moan at his words. It's that thing inside you—the needy, desperate part that's dying at his feet. You don't know what it is or why it's there; it just is, and it's greedy. It's not something you'd give into normally—your ego is far too big to give him the satisfaction of begging, not aloud—never in words that he could use against you later—but in these moments, you both learn to make exceptions.

"Dear god, Tom—please, just use me-" you push your hips back against him, one of his hands slide up your stomach, cupping your tits. "Please, l'm—I'm a pathetic, begging whore for you. God, I know you're pissed—I feel it—just take it out on me—l want it—"

He moans—a soft, almost gentle sound—and you know you've struck a nerve, the part of him that's equally as weak in the moment—the part of him that makes it all too easy for things to spiral like this.

"Goddamn you." Something inside him snaps, something that's been frayed, just waiting for a pull—and you've pulled it now, and oh you want, no, you need him to make you pay for it, to make it hurt. "You just—you always-"

He grunts, cutting himself off and in a way, it's almost like he's thanking you because you're giving him an outlet, something to take it out on. You test each other, push and pull and let the other break, because, at the end of the day, it always comes down to this. The two of you. Like this.

A sharp inhale, and he starts to thrust.

"Fuck!" it's all you manage, it's all you can manage, because it—just like that—feels the way you wanted it to feel but it also feels so much more intense, so intense that your brain can't keep up. "Oh god—oh fuck-"

"Fucking hell," he spits, like you're the worst thing in his world and the best thing all at once, and somehow, that makes perfect sense. He lets go of your hair, and you slump forward onto the desk, elbows barely holding you up as his hand smacks your ass, fingers spreading you apart. "So—so tight—“

You're a shuddering mess, helpless to it; all you can do is remember to breathe through it.

"That's it." Another smack to your ass, thrusts quick and deep. "Fuck. The things you drive me to do."

You know him so well—and he knows you just as damn well, and that's the point, isn't it? That's what this is all about. You're the perfect mix of wrong, a match that burns too hot it hurts but the ache makes him feel alive.

"I want to cum—" your neglected clit is begging for it, you’re fucking begging for it. "Tom please—"

At that, he laughs and it's mean and it's condescending and you love—God—how you love it and want it and can't get enough of it. His hips snap forward a little bit rougher and you lose a bit more of your sanity—

"You think you deserve to come, after what you did?" Another smack to your ass.

You don't know how to answer, and he doesn't wait for one anyway. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you—everything is so calculated and calculated and calculated. You've never once seen him falter, and you don't expect to see it now. You don't know if you'd survive it if you did.

"No." He answers for you. "You don't."

His fingers trace around your thigh, grazing your mound and finding your needy clit, your sopping slit, gliding through it—you moan louder than you should as he gathers your slick on his fingers, humming at what he finds there before retreating—bringing them up to your mouth.

"Open."

You open your mouth and he feeds you your need—the result of his selfishness. You love him for what he is and you love him for what he isn’t too. How he tries to be both, only when you ask.

"Taste that?" It's a whisper, something he's telling you.

You sob around his fingers as he fucks your ass deep—he pulls them out to let you respond. You nod. "Yes."

"Taste how much you want this?"

"Yes." A pathetic moan. The perfect response.

"Good girl." He presses the words into your hair, the back of your neck, along your spine. He sucks in a breath as he fucks like he needs it just to speak. "You're going to remember this the next time you think about doing something just to spite me, I hope you know that."

Of course you will. He knows it, you know it—there's no doubt in your mind that you'll remember this the next time you toy with his patience; the next time you give him a reason to discipline you again. And what's worse is: you'll do it anyway.

It's a battle you two will fight for eternity.

But you don't get a chance to respond, not that you'd have one anyways—because his hand is on your throat and his lips are at your ear and he's sucking in air through his teeth and then—

"I'm going to cum." He whispers and you hear the pain in it. "Fuck."

You shiver in reply; a whine of a whimper coming from the back of your throat. “Tom—“

"Shh." He shushes you with his free hand, gripping your jaw as his thrusts turn sloppy, erratic. "Fucking take it.”

God—you’ll take it. Of course you will. You asked for this, drove him to this point. You're both sick, but this is the kind that doesn't have a cure.

One of his hands moves to his own hair, tugging at the back of his head; it's the only hint you've had this whole time of how much he's affected by this, how much it's driven him mad. He's doing his best to keep control, to maintain composure and make sure you feel it—but it's the way his hand squeezes your hip when he lets go of your throat that gives him away.

It gives in to what he's been repressing.

"Ohhh—fuck—yes—" and then you feel it, feel him, hot and sticky and warm, filling your ass and holding you there until he’s finished. His body collapses against the back of yours, hips slow rolling until he's drained—until you’ve taken all of him, all of his anger and frustration and restraint along with it. He’s sweaty, exhausted, spent—forehead pressed to your hair. "You feel that?"

"You know I do." You're not allowed to sound so smug, not while you're in the position you're in, but you are. It’s why he loves you. "That's what you were looking for."

"No, that's what you were looking for." He nips your ear, and you hear the smile in his voice when he bites down on it and murmurs a, "and that's why you're my favourite," into it.

"And you mine, Tommy."

[agreeewrites]

DESPERATELY need to see your take on poly wolfstar smut. sorry if thats too broad but youre an amazing writer and i just need to see you bring it to life.

had me at poly wolfstar 🫡

LOCKJAW | poly!wolfstar

feat. poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

CW: MDNI 18+, no plot just smut. oral, piv, dirty talk, cursing, softdom!Remus, switch!Sirius

AN: bc I can't get the damn tiktok audio out of my head

masterlist

Sirius was draped face down across your lap, nuzzling into the crease of your hip while his hands kneaded your thighs.

“Sirius, quit squirming,” you huffed, lifting your book to glare down at him.

“Can't get comfy,” he mumbled, lifting the hem of your shirt to bury his nose into your skin, the tip of it like an ice cube.

“Sirius! Merlin, you're a handful,” you rolled your eyes and looked towards Remus for assistance. He was stretched on the other end of the bed, watching the two of you over his own book. Sirius’ feet were in his lap, tucked between his thighs for warmth.

Remus tsked under his breath, pinching Sirius’ calf and earning an annoyed grunt. “Leave her alone, Pads. She has an exam tomorrow.”

“But I love heeeerrrr,” Sirius whined, clutching you tighter. “Smells s’good,” he hummed.

Remus shook his head, giving you an apologetic look. “Sorry, dove. I tried.”

Sirius had been a needy, pouting wretch all day. You woke up with his morning wood digging into your stomach, his hips twitching in his sleep as soft, mumbled moans dripped like honey from his lips. Any other morning, you would have taken full advantage of your drowsy, wanton boyfriend, but when you checked Rem’s watch on the side table, you realized the three of you were about to late to Charms…again.

And later in class, Sirius seemed incapable of focusing, every spare scrap of attention he had devoted to you or Remus, or both of you. Studying your hands as you wrote, groping beneath your robes to squeeze your flesh, nuzzling into your necks, whining pitifully in your ears. He even pulled you into his lap during Potions, his boner pressed against your uncovered heat for a dizzying, thrilling moment, before Slughorn kicked him out for being a nuisance.

At dinner, Sirius was practically eating out of your hands, desperate for even a little contact, an ounce of physical touch. By then, you and Remus had put together what was ailing your poor boy and started to play along, keying him up even further only to deny him the smallest satisfaction.

You fed Sirius grapes, bits of bread and cheese, but wouldn't let his lips touch your fingers. Remus rested a hand on Sirius’ lower thigh, tracing the bones of his knee through the hole in his jeans, but didn't dare twitch a finger higher, no matter how much Sirius whined and squirmed. You'd even given Remus a full kiss when you'd returned to the common room, tugging at his lower lip with your teeth the way you knew Sirius liked, but only gave Sirius a chaste peck, leaving him dumbstruck at the bottom of the stairs.

If you didn't relieve him soon, you feared he might combust.

You glanced up at Remus again, and he caught your eye. “Ready?” You mouthed, and Remus nodded with a sly smirk.

With deft fingers, Remus started massaging Sirius' feet and calves, increasing the pressure until Sirius was moaning against your skin, going languid in your lap with a pleased hum.

“That feel good, baby?” You cooed, running your fingers through Sirius hair. “Rem is so good with his hands, isn't he?”

Sirius nodded, his hips twitching into the mattress as Remus worked higher, pushing his thumbs up the back of Sirius' thighs in a straight line

“So tense, pet,” Remus hummed.

“Because you cunts have been torturing me all day,” he huffed, but it was toothless, softened by the breathless edge of his voice.

“Torturing you? I would never do such a thing,” you pouted, feigning indignation.

Sirius nipped at your hip before laving his tongue over the sting. “I know you felt me this morning,” he chastised, pulling down the waistband of your skirt to kiss along your hips.

“Yeah, I felt we were all going to get detention for being late to Charms,” you said, trying to ignore the blooming heat between your legs from his touch.

“Would've been worth it,” he grumbled.

“You’re right, maybe you wouldn't have been such a needy brat all day.” Remus tickled the bottom of Sirius foot and he yelped, flipping over onto his back to try and bat Remus away, but you held down his shoulders, keeping his upper body in your lap.

“You can't let him get away with—oh fuck,” Sirius' complaint was interrupted by Remus gliding his fingers between Sirius’ thighs, caressing over the thick ridge in his pajamas bottoms.

“You want me to stop him?” You asked, batting your lashes, and Sirius shook his head side to side vigorously, his hair falling across his face.

“Don't you dare stop,” he whined, canting his hips into Remus' palm.

“Poor thing,” Remus cooed, trailing his finger through the puddle of precum bleeding through the fabric of Sirius' pants. “Been suffering all day at the hands of our beautiful girl.”

You scoffed, unable to stop the grin rising on your lips. “Me? You were the one that wore that slutty little sweater vest.”

“It was temperate today! You were the one that conveniently forgot underwear this morning,” Remus shot back, winking at you.

“You what?” Sirius squawked, jolting upright to glare at you. “And you didn't tell me?!”

You shrugged, toying with the hem of your skirt. “Didn't think it was relevant.”

Sirius gaped at you and Remus snickered. “That is the meanest thing you've ever said to me,” Sirius said, clutching his heart. “Like you don't even know me.”

Remus shifted to lay between Sirius' legs, licking a stripe up his cock over his pants, distracting him from his tirade. Sirius collapsed back onto the bed with a moan, and you slipped off the edge of it before he trapped you beneath him again.

“Oh, we know you well enough, Pads,” Remus chuckled, mouthing at the head of his cock. “Don't we, dove?”

You nodded, stroking Sirius’ hair out of his face while Remus toyed with him. His eyes were half-lidded, cheeks flushed, fisting the quilt beneath him.

“Rem, don't tease me,” he whined, the muscles along his abdomen tight with the strain of keeping still.

“But you like it,” Remus said matter-of-factly. “That's why you kept up with whiny puppy-dog thing instead of just asking.”

Sirius huffed, looking at you for help, his green eyes pleading.

“We love you, Sirius,” you said, bending down to kiss his forehead. “And if you need something, just ask, yeah?”

“We're here to make you happy,” Remus added, dragging down his waistband of Sirius' pants to kiss along his hip bones.

“Just need you two,” Sirius panted, reaching for you while Remus licked up the smear of precum along his pelvis. “Please, baby.”

You unzipped your skirt and let it fall to the floor, showing Sirius the drooling, sticky mess between your legs that his desperation inspired, and he groaned, his pupils dilating instantly.

Remus chuckled. “Look how hard that made him, darling. Making a mess of himself,” he teased, though his eyes were locked between your legs too while his tongue traced over the root of Sirius. Another flush of arousal made you pussy throb, and Sirius practically whimpered.

“If you don't bring that sweet pussy over here now,” Sirius warned, grabbing you by the hip to tug you closer.

As soon as you kneeled back onto the bed, he yanked you over his face, throwing one leg on either side of his head so you were facing Remus, who had paused his own work to watch you through heavy lashes.

Sirius immediately laved his tongue through your soaked slit, a deep rumble of satisfaction reverberating from his chest when you cried out, bucking against his tongue.

“This what you wanted, pet?” Remus said, spitting on Sirius' cock and stroking it with his fist. “To be smothered by us?”

You felt Sirius nod, his tongue fucking into your sloppy channel with ruthless, hungry precision, his fingers digging into the meat of your ass to spread you open. Syrupy thick pleasure pulsed through you, making your toes curl and your head fall back while he drank from you, fiendish as a vampire.

“Take your blouse off, pretty girl. Let me see you,” Remus instructed, using his thumb to massage under the head of Sirius' cock, making him whine and twitch beneath you.

You obliged, fingers clumsy as your arousal deepened. You tossed your blouse off the bed, followed quickly by your bra, and Sirius’ hands immediately shot up to grope and paw at your chest.

Delicious, spiralling heat surged through you when he tweaked your nipples, his tongue moving to circle your clit, his nose pressed against your entrance. Sirius was a master with his mouth, and his eagerness only made him more merciless in the hunt for your release.

You leaned forward, resting on your forearms on either side of Sirius' hips, and licked a stripe up his cock, tasting the heady combination of Sirius and Remus' drool.

Sirius cried out, his hips bucking up at the unexpected contact, and you giggled, repeating the motion.

“I c-can't take both of you—” his protest fractured when Remus licked along his base, your mouth suckling the head, and his cock gave a hard lurch as more blood rushed south. “Fucking saints, so good.” He dove back into your pussy, sucking your clit between his teeth and lashing it with his tongue, payback for your dirty tricks.

You cried out, spine arching as he devoured you and you felt your peak start to build, a steady stacking of pleasure that grew more precarious, more overwhelming, by the second.

“You're perfect,” Remus hummed in appreciation, lifting from Sirius’ cock to give you a messy kiss, his tongue tracing your lips before licking into your mouth, making you loose your breath.

After a few moments, and a whine in protest from Sirius, Remus broke the kiss and turned his attention back to your needy boyfriend, finally taking all of him into his mouth with a smooth, practiced swallow.

“Merlin, Moony, fuck,” Sirius grunted. “So tight.”

You combed your fingers through Remus' hair as he sucked Sirius, earning a sweet hum from your sandy haired love.

“You're perfect too, Remy,” you cooed, trying to distract yourself from your mounting orgasm. “My beautiful boy.” You kissed along his jaw, feeling the tension and tremble as he worked Sirius deeper into his throat. You saw his hips twitch, his hands fisting the sheets. “Finish him off and then you can fuck me just how you like. How's that sound?” You purred in his ear and he groaned, creating a domino effect of moans as the vibrations worked through each of you.

You felt two fingers prod at your entrance and you keened, feeling Sirius sink to the knuckle and scissor your open with his long fingers.

“Shit, Siri,” you whined, rocking back into his hand while his tongue lashed your swelling bud.

“Want you to come all over my face, darling. Taste so good, need—fuck—need it so bad,” he mumbled against your sex, lapping at the creamy mess his fingers coaxed from you.

You rested your head on Sirius’ hip, watching Remus gag on his length through a rosy haze, the combined stimulus making your mind you fuzzy, your heart pound. It was too much, an onslaught of erotic sensation, and your body was pulling apart at the seams, nerves fracturing under the strain—

You came with a scream, trying to muffle the sound into Sirius’ skin as you shattered, a gush of moisture surging from you at the intensity. You were rendered matterless, a floating speck of dust, drifting on the current of the stars.

Sirius grunted beneath you, his muscles tensing in a wave, and he bucked hard into Remus' throat, the root of his cock pulsing as he came a heartbeat after you.

Remus took it all in stride, milking Sirius with his mouth while petting your hair as you came down, tethering you both to the earth.

When you were finished, you slumped sideways onto the bed, panting and slightly shaky from the intensity of it all. Sirius rested his cheek on your thigh, breathing labored and eyes closed, his face shining with your slick.

Remus pulled off of him with a pop. “Worth the wait, Pads?” Remus asked, kissing along Sirius’ thighs.

Sirius shook his head. “We could have done that at least three times since this morning, but noooo—”

You swatted his stomach and he chuckled, nipping at the tender skin of your inner thigh. You glanced up at Remus, who was watching the two of you with so much affection it made your heart twist.

“Come here, baby,” you murmured, and Remus leaned over, capturing your lips in an airy, open-mouthed kiss that stoked the dwindling fire in your belly. You could taste Sirius on his tongue and it made your head swim, your thighs clench.

“Think our girl is ready for more, Moony,” Sirius said, untangling himself from the two of you and stepping off the bed to retrieve something.

“Is she?” Remus asked, flipping himself around and bundling you into his arms, raining kisses over your face, neck, chest and making you giggle. “What say you, my love?”

“Please, Rem?” You whined, grabbing at his cock nestled between your bodies, already rock solid and hot to the touch.

“Oh, suddenly she's polite,” Sirius scoffed, swatting your ass as he climbed back into bed.

Remus chuckled, kissing you one more time before passing you into Sirius’ arms. You snuggled into Sirius’ chest, kissing along his tattoos, loving your two boyfriends so much you could hardly breathe around the fullness in your chest.

“Hi, dolly,” Sirius hummed, drawing you up by the chin for featherlight kiss. “Ready to get fucked out of you mind?”

At the same moment, Remus lifted your hips until you rested on your knees. Face down on Sirius chest, ass up. Sirius adjusted his legs so your feet were pinned beneath them, and Remus grabbed your wrists to fasten them with Sirius’ tie behind your back, seamless in the only the way the two of them could be. Like they shared the same, filthy mind.

It made your cunt clench around nothing, your knees weak beneath you, desire pumping thick and sludgy through your blood.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, squirming in their hold until you felt the head of Remus' cock tap against your still-sensitive clit.

“Shh, there's our sweet girl. Rem’s gonna get his now, okay? Can you do that for him? Take it like a good little slut?” Sirius asked, petting your hair and smoothing a hand over one of your trembling legs.

You nodded, burrowing into Sirius' neck to ground you. “I'll be good,” you answered, and both boys cooed in approval.

Remus brushed his lips along your spine, still teasing your clit with his cock. “You always are, precious,” he murmured, straightening. “Just try not to wake the entire castle.”

In one, brutal thrust, Remus slammed into you, his hips slapping against your ass with a definitive smack. You cried out, the sound barely muffled by Sirius’ skin, as pleasure streaked beneath your skin, frying the last functioning neurons in your brain. The maelstrom of feeling only increased as he fucked into you, ruthless and rutting.

“Fuck, Moony. Look at our girl, takin’ it so well. Aren't you, darling?” Sirius caressed your cheek, dropping a kiss into your hair.

“Yes—mmph—fuck, so big,” you mewled, fingers tensing around the tie securing your wrists, your whole body desperate to move and release some of the compounding energy that was drowning you alive.

“So fucking tight, Pads. Squeezin’ the hell out of me,” Remus grunted, his grip almost painfully tight on your hips. But you barely registered it, completely awash in the seizing, spiraling ecstasy taking over your body, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

“You wanna come around our boy? Let him stuff that greedy little pussy full?” Sirius reached beneath you, his middle finger finding your clit like it was magnetized to it. “Absolutely dripping wet for us. Fuck me,” he praised, removing his hand to steal a taste before returning to massage quick, tight circles around the puffy bud.

“Please, please, please,” you chanted, fucking back into Remus as you chased your high, feeling him hit every angle, every inch of your stretched out cunt.

“Go on, dove. Come for us,” Remus gruffed, reaching forward to fist your hair and pull your head up, your cries of ecstasy ripping through the air.

Sirius grinned, kissing the tears as they rolled down your cheeks. “So fucking beautiful,” he said, his free hand wrapping around your throat. “Let go, love.”

And you did, your orgasm slamming into you like a branch of the Whomping Willow, knocking your soul out of your body and into the stars. You were nothing, everything, a mindless tangle of flesh and blood and feeling, the only tether you had was your boys hands on your body, Remus’ cock swelling and the scalding heat as he painted your insides.

You collapsed onto Sirius, breathless, boneless, so sensitive that even the brush of his hair was agony, the thump of his heart like a roaring train.

“Sh, sh, sweetheart, I’ve got you. You did so well, all done now, dolly. You were such a good girl for us,” Sirius shushed, his voice growing clearer as the fog lifted. You were crying, trembling in his arms as the pleasure worked itself out of your system. “She's alright, Rem,” you heard him say, and that was enough to bring you fully back to the present.

You turned to look at Remus, who was watching you with a worried crinkle in his brow, slumped against the pillows at the other end of the bed, chest heaving and sweat dripping down his scarred chest.

You wiggled out of Sirius' hold and threw yourself onto Remus, kissing him with a much strength as you could muster until you felt him smile.

“Didn't mean to be so rough with you,” he murmured, skimming your jaw with his thumb. “M’sorry.”

You shook your head, silencing him with another kiss. “I love you. That was amazing. You're amazing. If I wasn't 90% gelatin I'd tell you to do it again “

The boys chuckled, Sirius climbing up to lay beside you both. You settled into your usual sandwich, Remus wrapped around your back while you nuzzled into Sirius' front, his arms draped over the both of you, and your legs all tangled together.

“I need to shower,” you grumbled, feeling Remus' release trickle onto your thigh.

“No, you need a cuddle,” Sirius retorted, already sounding half asleep.

“I could get us into the Prefect bathroom,” Remus suggested, and Sirius snapped awake.

“Why didn't you say that sooner!” He cried, shoving you both towards the edge of the bed. “Let's go, you lazy asses!”

You and Remus groaned, but let Sirius drag you up and wrap you into your robes.

Looks like you'd be sleeping in tomorrow, too.

Thank you so much for reading!

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