#The Howling Hex | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iris-qt · 2 months ago

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𝚜𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗

ᴘᴛ. ɪɪ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴅɪꜱᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ

ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

❆ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍɪᴄ ʀɪᴠᴀʟꜱ | 3.6ᴋ

❆ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱɴᴏᴡᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʀᴏᴏᴍꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴄᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ʙʀᴏᴏᴍꜱᴛɪᴄᴋꜱ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴏɴᴇ…?

Fate was indeed quite cruel for you and Theodore Nott

Fate? Or just an incredibly annoying best friend named Mattheo Riddle?

The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet that evening, the typical crackle of fire and hushed whispers replaced by a tense stillness as the storm howled outside. The wind battered the windows, sending flakes of snow spiraling in every direction. Inside, though, the four friends had finally returned from their little excursion to the Three Broomsticks, all of them dripping wet and looking far too pleased with themselves.

Mattheo Riddle collapsed into an armchair by the fire, his usual smirk more of a self-satisfied grin. “Well, well, well. That was absolutely perfect.”

Draco Malfoy, having shed his wet cloak and settled by the fire, shot him a glare. “Perfect? Are you out of your mind? We were spying on them. They’ll kill us when they find out.”

Pansy Parkinson kicked her booths off and flopped onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh. “They’re practically made for each other.”

“Yeah, a match made in sarcasm and tension,” Blaise Zabini chimed in, lowering himself onto the armrest beside her. “But I have to admit, y/n’s got Nott wrapped around her finger.”

Mattheo chuckled, leaning back and crossing his arms. “See? I told you. It was destiny. The universe wanted this.”

“Destiny?” Draco scoffed. “This was a disaster waiting to happen. Those two will never get along. They’re like oil and water.”

“You’re forgetting one important detail,” Pansy said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “They’re both annoyingly competitive. They’ll keep each other on their toes.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing,” Draco muttered, eyeing Mattheo. “You do realize we’ve practically pushed them into a blizzard together, right? They’re going to be stuck in that pub for the rest of the night. There’s only so much avoiding each other they can do.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the window where the storm raged outside. “It’s really coming down out there. I bet they’re already stuck in that pub for a while.”

“Good,” Mattheo said smugly. “That’s exactly what they need. The whole ‘forced proximity’ thing works wonders, trust me.”

“Uh-huh,” Draco said skeptically, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “And when they start throwing punches instead of witty remarks? What then?”

“You don’t think they’ll, you know, talk about their feelings, do you?” Mattheo asked, smirking.

“Talk about their feelings?” Blaise scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Theodore Nott and y/n y/l/n? The only feelings they’ll share are how much they loathe each other.”

Pansy raised her cup of tea, a wicked grin on her face. “To Theo and y/n. May they finally see what we’ve known all along: they’re perfect for each other.”

“Here, here!” Mattheo toasted, holding up his own mug. “No way they’re escaping this. Not unless they manage to hex each other into oblivion first.”

Blaise chuckled. “I’d pay good money to see that.”

They all fell into a comfortable silence, the fire crackling as they relaxed in the warmth of the common room, the storm howling just beyond the walls of the castle. Outside, Theo and y/n remained trapped in the Three Broomsticks.

The winds rattled the window panes of the cozy little pub.

As if getting stuck with the bane of his existence for a few hours wasn’t torturous enough, kind Madam Rosmerta, who Theodore was beginning to suspect was secretly evil, decided to share some unfortunate news regarding available rooms…

Madam Rosmerta gave them a sympathetic smile, her hands clasped tightly around a steaming mug. “I’m afraid there’s only one room left upstairs, dears. The others were taken by travelers when the storm started picking up.”

Your head snapped toward Theo, your jaw already tightening. “One room?” you repeated, voice sharp.

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. “Of course, it’s one room. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Rosmerta glanced between them, clearly trying to gauge if a fight was about to break out. “It’s got a big bed and a cozy fire. You’ll be warm, at least.”

“Great,” You said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Warmth will really help when I’ve been murdered by morning.”

Theo crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t flatter yourself. If anyone’s at risk here, it’s me.”

Rosmerta sighed, her patience wearing thin. “Look, I’m offering it as a courtesy. If you’d rather sit out here all night with the cold drafts and creaky chairs, be my guest.”

You shot Theo a glare. “Fine. But if you snore, I’m hexing you into next week.”

Theo smirked, grabbing his trench coat from the chair. “And if you start ranting about Potions essays at midnight, I’m jumping out the window.”

With a heavy sigh, you followed him toward the stairs, muttering under your breath about “the worst night ever.”

Rosmerta chuckled to herself, shaking her head. “Young love,” she murmured, returning to the bar.

...

The door creaked open, revealing a small but warm room. A crackling fireplace cast flickering light across the wooden walls, the flames throwing shadows onto a quilt-covered bed nestled against the far corner. A single armchair, worn but inviting, sat by the hearth, and a rug that looked as though it had been knitted decades ago lay sprawled on the floor.

Theo stepped in first, his sharp gaze flicking around the room. It was simple and unremarkable, yet the warmth from the fireplace immediately softened the icy tension that clung to his shoulders. He tugged off his gloves, tossing them onto the chair before brushing the snow from his sleeves.

“Cozy,” he muttered, though the word carried a hint of sarcasm. He glanced over his shoulder at you, lingering in the doorway, expression hovering somewhere between annoyance and reluctant acceptance.

“Cozy,” you echoed flatly, eyes landing on the single bed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Classic.

You huffed, stepping further inside and dropping your bag onto the floor with a thud. “I’ll take the chair,” you declared, pointing toward the armchair by the fire.

Theo snorted, shaking his head. “Good luck sleeping in that thing. You’ll be begging for the bed by midnight.”

“And you’ll be sleeping on the floor by morning if you keep talking,” you shot back, unbuttoning your coat with stiff, jerky movements.

Theo didn’t respond, instead shrugging off his trench coat and hanging it neatly on the back of the chair. He busied himself with the fire for a moment, adding another log and stirring the embers. The room grew even warmer, the heat seeping into his cold hands.

When he turned back, you had pulled off your scarf, revealing flushed cheeks and a few stray snowflakes still clinging to your hair. He watched as you brushed them away absently, the gesture oddly... endearing.

He frowned, shaking off the thought. “You should take the bed,” he said abruptly, the words surprising even himself.

You blinked, turning to him with suspicion. “What?”

“The bed,” he repeated, his tone more clipped this time. “You’ll be unbearable tomorrow if you don’t get any sleep.”

Your eyebrows lifted, and for a moment, he thought you were going to argue. But then you sighed, the fight draining out. “Fine. But don’t complain when you’re stiff and miserable in the morning.”

Theo smirked faintly, grabbing the blanket from the armchair. “I’ve survived worse than a night on the floor, y/l/n. Don’t flatter yourself.”

As he spread the blanket out by the fire, he caught himself glancing at you again. Your expression had softened slightly, your usual sharp edges dulled by the firelight. You didn’t look quite as insufferable now, standing there with your arms crossed and brow furrowed in thought.

…

The wind howled outside as Theo paced the room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Meanwhile, you were glaring daggers at the small, frosted window in the corner, where an icy draft was sneaking through a crooked frame.

“Are you going to do something about that?” you asked, rubbing your arms.

Theo shot you an incredulous look. “Do I look like a handyman to you?”

“Well, you’re the one with the pureblood superiority complex,” you quipped. “Surely fixing a window is beneath my ‘mudblood’ capabilities.”

Theo’s jaw tightened, but then he smirked. “Fine. Stand back. Watch and learn.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall as Theo strode toward the window with unbelievable confidence for someone who had never fixed a thing in his life. He fiddled with the latch, muttering under his breath.

“Step one,” he announced grandly, “assess the problem.”

“You’re narrating this?” you deadpanned.

“Step two,” Theo continued, ignoring you, “apply logical reasoning and brute force.” He yanked on the window frame.

It didn’t budge.

“You’re going to break it,” you warned, suppressing a grin.

“I’m improving it,” Theo shot back. He gave the window another tug, and the whole frame groaned ominously.

With a loud crack, a chunk of ice dislodged from the outside and tumbled onto Theo’s foot.

You burst out laughing, doubling over as Theo hopped on one leg, muttering curses.

“Step three,” you said between gasps for air, “check if the window is laughing at you because I’m pretty sure it is.”

“Oh, you think you’re so clever,” Theo said, shooting you a glare as he hobbled back to the chair.

“Well, obviously I wouldn’t use brute force,” you said smugly, grabbing a blanket from the bed. “Here. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Theo watched with exaggerated skepticism as you climbed onto the chair, draping the blanket over the frame and tucking it into the edges. “Voilà!” you declared triumphantly, stepping back. “No more draft.”

The blanket immediately sagged and slid to the floor, letting the icy wind back in.

Theo barked a laugh, clapping slowly. “Brilliant. Truly groundbreaking work, y/l/n.”

“Oh, shut up!” you snapped, grabbing the blanket and tossing it at him.

Still laughing, Theo caught it and stood. “Move. You’re terrible at this.”

He stepped closer to the window, brushing past you. This time, instead of pulling or yanking, he gently adjusted the frame and tucked the blanket into the top corners, muttering charms under his breath to secure it in place.

When he finished, the draft was gone, and the room suddenly felt warmer.

“There,” he said smugly, turning to face you. “Step four: call in the expert.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. You win this round, Nott.”

“I always do,” he replied, his voice quieter now, almost teasing.

For a moment, the bickering subsided, and they stood there by the now secured window. The firelight flickered across their faces, and you glanced up at him, noticing for the first time how soft his smirk could look when it wasn’t accompanied by an insult.

“Thanks,” you said, surprising both of them.

Theo shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into something dangerously close to a smile. “Don’t mention it. Or actually, do. Preferably to everyone we know.”

And just like that, the moment passed, but the warmth lingered.

The wind howled outside, but the warmth of the fire in the room kept things cozy…except for one thing: the floor. Theo sat cross-legged by the hearth, his arms wrapped around himself as he gave the ground an occasional glare.

“This is a crime against my back,” he muttered under his breath, trying to get comfortable but only managing to shift in place every few seconds.

You glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow. “You’re still complaining about the floor?”

“It’s not the floor, it’s the principle of the floor,” Theo said with a dramatic sigh. “The suffering of it.” He adjusted his position for the fifteenth time, finally giving up and lying flat on his back.

“Poor Theo. The floor is too hard for your delicate aristocratic back,” you teased, pulling out a bag of crisps from your bag.

Theo shot you a look but didn’t respond, instead reaching for the nearby blanket. His stomach, however, had other ideas, gurgling loudly enough to make you look over with a raised, slightly concerned eyebrow.

“Hungry, are we?”

“I’m fine,” Theo said defensively, as if his stomach hadn’t just betrayed him.

You held up the packet of crisps. “Well, I have snacks.” You shook the bag temptingly.

“Ugh, crisps?” Theo wrinkled his nose, but his stomach grumbled again, this time louder.

You smirked, leaning forward. “What’s the matter, Nott? Too simple for you?”

He glared at her, but his stomach won that round. “Fine. Give me one.”

You tossed him a chip, and Theo inspected it like it was a cursed artifact. He took a small bite, making an exaggerated face. “It’s like chewing on nothing.”

“Is that so?” you asked, unimpressed. “Maybe you’re just not sophisticated enough for the finer things in life.”

Theo rolled his eyes, grabbing another chip. “Finer things? It’s a bag of plain crisps, not an heirloom from my great-grandfather’s collection.”

“Well, sorry for not carrying around caviar in my school bag,” you replied dryly, reclining back onto the bed.

Theo ignored you, popping another chip in his mouth. “You know, I expected something better,” he muttered. “This is barely edible.”

You snorted. “You’re so picky. Can’t believe I’m wasting my high-class snacks on you.”

Theo rolled his eyes, grabbing another crisp. “High-class? It’s a bag of crisps, not some exclusive delicacy.”

“Just eat the damn crisps, Nott,” you laughed, tossing him another.

Theo sighed dramatically. “Fine. It’s not like I have a choice.” He slowly chewed the next chip, making an exaggerated show of tasting it.

“Is it really that bad?” you asked, barely hiding your smile.

“Look, I’m just saying… if I were to critique the flavor,” Theo began, licking his lips as if in thought, “I’d say it’s… offensive. Lacking a certain je ne sais quoi.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly fell off the bed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s potato chips, not fine wine.”

Theo gave you an insufferable smile. “Exactly why I can’t trust you with snack recommendations.”

You picked up another bag from your bag, this one chocolate-covered pretzels. “You want to try these, too, Mr. Refined?”

Theo cautiously took one, studying it like it might explode. He bit into it, then paused, his eyes widening a fraction. “Okay, this is actually… tolerable.”

“Tolerable?” you grinned. “Are you really that hard to please, or are you just trying to be difficult?”

Theo shifted again on the floor, finally conceding defeat to the uncomfortable surface. “The floor is awful,” he muttered, as if the snacks were the only thing keeping him sane at this point.

You give him a slightly sympathetic look.

The two of them sat in companionable silence for a moment, Theo stuffing pretzels into his mouth like he was trying to make up for lost time. You finally cracked a smile, glancing over at him.

“You know, for a picky snob, you’re not terrible,” you said, the teasing tone light.

Theo swallowed his pretzel, his expression serious as he looked at you. “You’re not the worst company either, y/l/n.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment he’d given you, and though it was seemingly wrapped in sarcasm, you couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll take it.”

…

The fire crackled softly in the corner, casting long shadows across the room. Theo had long since stopped pretending the floor wasn’t absolute torture to sit on. His posture was slumped, his legs stretched awkwardly in front of him as he tried to find some position that didn’t make his back ache.

You, who had long since claimed the bed and made yourself comfortable, glanced over at him. He was practically squirming, his face a mix of annoyance and defeat, and you couldn’t help but stifle a smile.

“You okay there?” you asked, your voice light but with just a hint of genuine concern.

Theo shot you a look. “Oh, I’m fantastic. Just living my best life on this luxurious floor.”

You raised an eyebrow, sitting up in bed. “You don’t look very fantastic to me.”

“Thanks for the observation,” he muttered, glancing at the bed and then back at the floor. I’m just fine,” he added with a dismissive wave.

You studied him for a moment. Despite his usual bravado, there was something about the way he was holding himself, like he couldn’t quite escape the discomfort. His jaw was tight, and his hand kept fidgeting with the edge of his shirt.

A thought crossed your mind, and for once, maybe showing some kindness to Nott wouldn’t hurt. You swung your legs off the bed and stood up, walking over to where Theo was sitting with an exaggerated sigh.

“Get up,” you said, holding out a hand.

Theo stared at it like it was some sort of foreign object. “What?”

“I’m not going to let you suffer on the floor like that. It’s ridiculous.”

Theo opened his mouth to argue but then seemed to think better of it. After a moment of hesitation, he reluctantly took your hand and let you pull him to his feet. He winced slightly as he stood, stretching his stiff legs.

Theo hesitated but eventually sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he adjusted the position of his legs. He wasn’t quite comfortable yet, but the soft mattress was a welcome change from the floor.

“I still don’t know why you’re being nice to me,” Theo mumbled, not looking at you.

“Because I’m not entirely evil,” you teased with a little laugh, sitting back down beside him.

There was a pause as Theo’s watercolor eyes flicked to you, then away. He glanced at the small couch across the room that was far less comfortable than the bed but was still an option. He wasn’t entirely ready to admit that he liked the idea of staying near you for a while…

Finally, he sighed, and, almost begrudgingly, moved further onto the bed, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged beside you.

You watched him, noting the way his usual air of self-assurance was slightly dropped. It was strange to see him like this…vulnerable, not in control. and for some reason, it made him more… approachable.

“See? This is better,” you said with a teasing grin, glancing over at him.

Theo, still half-pretending to be indifferent, couldn’t quite hide the faintest hint of a smile. “Yeah, well… I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world.”

The tension between them softened even further. For a long moment, neither of them said anything, just listening to the crackling fire and the sound of their own breathing. Theo, surprisingly, was the first to break the silence.

“Thanks,” he murmured, almost under his breath.

You blinked, glancing at him with mild surprise. “For what?”

“For… not leaving me to sleep on the floor like some kind of peasant,” Theo said, his voice light but sincere.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re really something, you know that?”

Theo shrugged, but his smile was genuine now. “I try.”

For a moment, they just sat there, quietly, but the air between them had changed. The teasing, the banter, the barbs…they were still there, but there was something softer now, something that wasn’t just about annoyance or putting each other down.

Theo’s thoughts drifted for a moment, and he realized, in a way that made his chest tighten a little, that this wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. In fact, this moment, this strange and unexpected peace with you, was… nice.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d like to stick around a little longer.

The Morning After

The room was bathed in soft morning light, the snow outside blanketing the world in a peaceful silence.

Theo woke slowly, his eyelids heavy, the quiet of the room wrapping around him like a comfort he didn’t expect. The fire had long since gone out, but the warmth from the bed kept the cold at bay. He shifted, and that’s when he realized.

His arm was around you.

Your head rested against his chest, your hair slightly tousled, hand curled loosely over his side. The weight of you, the steady rise and fall of your breathing, was surprisingly soothing.

Theo didn’t want to move. Ever. He stayed still. He could feel your warmth seeping into him, and it made something in his chest tighten in the most unexpected way. He wasn’t uncomfortable; in fact, he felt… content.

You stirred in your sleep, nuzzling closer without realizing, your fingers twitching against his chest. Your soft breath brushed against his neck, and Theo’s heart did a funny little jump. He smiled quietly to himself, the kind of smile that didn’t feel like a defense or a mask but just a simple, genuine reaction.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let his fingers gently brush against your hair, the motion instinctive, as if he’d done it a thousand times. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a promise of something soft, something unexpected.

You sighed in your sleep, face relaxing further against him, and for a moment, Theo thought he had died and gone to heaven. His arm tightened ever so slightly around your waist, as if he were holding on to something precious. something he didn’t want to let go of.

He let out a soft breath, closing his eyes again, the quiet peace wrapping around him like a warm blanket. Maybe he wasn’t as good at pretending as he thought. Maybe, just maybe, he’d found something worth holding on to.

pt. 3 here <3

Taglist: @lazycrazyme, @lovrsm, @minhlajenni, @rafeluvrr,

(ty for the comments and support!!)

#theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott one shot #theodore nott x you #slytherin boys

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poppletonink · 5 months ago

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Witchy Books To Read This Autumn

The House Witch by Delemhach

Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

A History Of Magic and Witchcraft by Frances Timbers

The Lighthouse Witches by C.J. Cooke

Which Witch? by Eva Ibbotson

Accidental Magic by Iris Beaglehole

Snapdragon by Kat Leyh

A Witch's Guide To Magical Inkeeping by Sanga Mandanna

Equal Rites by Terry Pratchett

The Witches by Roald Dahl

Stardust by Neil Gaiman

Kiki's Delivery Service by Eiko Kadono

Six Women Of Salem by Marilynne K. Roach

The Ex Hex by Erin Sterling

The Crucible by Arthur Miller

Witchfinders by Malcolm Gaskill

Macbeth by William Shakespeare

Honey Witch by Sydney J. Shields

The Cupcake Witch by Melante Karsak

Every Witch Way by Madison Martin

Payback's A Witch by Lana Harper

Wee Free Men by Terry Pratchett

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startanewdream · 5 months ago

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Jily, kinktober, praise kink, and a surprisingly mild nsfw fic.

Lily is laughing.

The sound is not new to James; when they were just friends, he'd make a fool of himself to earn that laugh, and now that they've started dating, the sound greets him guiltlessly. He loves when Lily laughs because of the way her eyes shine and her cheeks colour.

But she is not laughing because of him at the moment.

It’s not that he demands exclusivity; if she is happy, that’s all that matters, but... but the source of her happiness is wagging his tail as he runs back to her, proudly holding the tennis ball that Lily had thrown a good distance.

And Lily, who knows exactly the secrets of this black dog, just kneels when Padfoot reaches her.

"Who is a good boy?" She coes, rubbing his ears. The dog barks loud and Lily laughs, delighted. "Who is the best boy?"

She holds the dog's face; James sees her fingers threading through the dark fur, not very unlike how she run her hand through his hair last night as he went down on her--

Only he didn’t get called a good boy.

And all Sirius got her was a stupid tennis ball.

He scowls. The dog looks at him for a moment, with far more intelligence than any mongrel should have, and then lies on the ground, belly up, whining; suggestive. Maybe James should pout more, because this strategy clear works for the dog: Lily kneels, rubbing the dog's belly; Padfoot is drooling.

"Who is a good boy?" A bark. People around them are chuckling. "You are, yes, you are a good boy!"

The dog licks her face; James buries his nails on the palm of his hands to keep from hexing the dog.

"Oh, you are not a good boy now!" But Lily's voice is playful.

James decides he's had enough. "He just needs to be neutered," he notes dryly. The dog growls at him. "Go play fetch," he says, and throws the tennis ball far away. When the dog just stares at him, James adds challengingly, "A real good boy would catch it."

As he expected, Padfoot rises at this, and very dignifiedly, runs through the grounds. A few people stop to watch the dog.

"Stags are more impressive," he mumbles. If only he could transform now, everyone would see it...

Lily wraps her arm on his. "Maybe we could have a dog."

"I am more of a cat person."

"Since when?"

Since seeing you with a dog made me insanely jealous. "Cats aren’t good boys."

"Oh." She turns to him now, with a smirk sprouting on her pink lips, and James almost wishes she couldn’t see through him so easily. "No one ever accused James Potter of being a good boy."

Her finger traces his arm, leaving goosebumps on its path.

"There’s always a first time for everything," he whispers, taking a step closer.

Lily's hand now circle James' neck befire she holds it softly. "A good boy would wear a collar."

"I would look dashing with a collar."

"A good boy would obey every order."

"Hmmm. I could be a good boy."

"You never saw an order you didn’t want to break, James."

"Maybe I just need some positive reinforcement, Lily."

"Hmmm," she sighs back. "I could offer enough praise. Add some treats." She throws a quick glance around. "Do you really want that ball back?"

"The dog can keep it."

"Good." She offers her hand. "Let’s go see how much of a good boy you are."

He is pretty sure he might howl if she asks.

#jily #jilytober #it’s kink without kink #not betaed sorry i am almost sleeping here #jilykinktober

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arliedraws · 1 month ago

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Anything for Our Moony

Well, it’s @impishtubist’s birthday, and I figured a Wolfstarbucks ficlet might be a nice lil gift. So! Here it is—the moment that Sirius and James decide to make Remus their precious little princess.

The Lupins did not raise their voices.

His father went quiet when he was angry. The muscle in his jaw would twitch, and his thick brows would knit together, forming a deep line above his strong nose. His mother would speak very rapidly when she was nervous or upset, but her disappointment was soft.

For the first decade of his life, Remus grew up speaking gently. Even in his irritation, he chose to code his fury in biting remarks and double-meanings. The wolf did enough howling for the human side of him, and he hardly wanted to draw attention to himself anyway.

But school was different. He’d never been around others his age until he attended Hogwarts, and he learned very quickly that children were loud. The train ride itself had been a slap in the face—children running down the corridor and hollering to their friends and enemies. And then to be sorted into Gryffindor alongside James Potter who didn’t seem to understand the concept of a whisper.

At first he’d thought Sirius Black was a bit more like himself—quiet, withdrawn, watchful, yet as soon as James Potter threw his arm around Sirius’s shoulders, he invited him to be just as loud. Together, they roared; they laughed, hexed Slytherins, showed off in class. And Remus watched them. Sometimes it was in admiration, other times in irritation, but most often in envy.

Upon leaving Hogwarts, Remus learned that Sirius was quiet when James wasn’t around—although their separation was a rarity, Remus had come to appreciate the times he caught Sirius alone. Moving into the spare bedroom of Sirius’s flat made such occurrences more frequent, and Remus longed for the moments when he and Sirius lounged together and read or quietly discussed magical theory.

It was in those moments that Remus felt something shift inside of him. Watching Sirius lean against his fist as he spoke, listening to the deep timbre of his voice, admiring the way those pale eyes sparkled with cleverness—all of it made Remus very warm in that drafty flat. Remus loved James, of course, but he loved who Sirius became when James wasn’t around.

So it was too bad that James was often bursting into the flat unannounced to banish the secret Sirius that belonged to Remus. While he shouldn’t have been jealous of whatever thing was happening between Sirius and James, it was hard not to bristle when Sirius would tense with a feral hunger as James stirred the energy in the flat.

They’d always been a bit odd about each other, Remus recalled, but since they no longer slept in beds a few feet from the other, they had become something wild whenever they were brought together. James still lived with his parents, and his relationship with Lily consumed most of his free time, so he took advantage any time he could come see Sirius.

And they were loud again.

Usually, Remus could handle it. He could handle Sirius and James wrestling in the lounge as if they were fifteen; he could handle the strange noises that emerged from Sirius’s room. It was annoying, of course, but they were his friends and he was grateful to have them. Sometimes when he wasn’t in the mood to tolerate it, he would escape to Peter’s house and enjoy the peace of quiet, if a bit dull, conversation with Mrs. Pettigrew.

Yet his patience for their infatuation with each other had been growing a bit thin, he realized, and this became quite evident on a Friday evening when he returned to the flat, weary and drained from his shift as a bartender. It was past midnight, and he’d been looking forward to a bath and a long sleep. When he unlocked the door and shuffled inside, however, he heard them.

“Fuck! Fuck. Yes. God, yes—”

“Yeah? That’s good?”

“Yeah—fuck, Pads, you’re fucking incredible—”

Remus groaned. The flat was small, and the door opened into the room where the sofa was shoved against the far wall. He might have simply turned around and slept at his father’s house if only he hadn’t caught the gaze of Sirius Black.

It wasn’t the first time Remus had caught them doing something strange, but not like this. James was sprawled on the sofa—his bare rump pressing into the spot where Remus usually sat—and Sirius straddled him, a hand gripping James’s hair and the other on James’s—

Remus grimaced; he tried to ignore the sudden flood of heat in his face and a rush of blood from his core, pricking him with a horrible yearning. He looked away as Sirius pulled a guilty look.

“Oh, shit,” Sirius muttered. “Fuck—James, stop a minute. Get up.”

“What’s—?” James opened his eyes. He saw Remus and winced. “Oh. Fuck. Bollocks. Shit. Remus—I’m—we’re—”

“—so sorry,” Sirius finished.

“Oh,” said Remus mildly, waving his hand. “It’s no trouble. Don’t worry about me..”

They rushed to fetch their underwear from the floor, looking a bit like clowns as they stumbled in a panic, still gushing apologies.

“No, no, it’s my mistake,” Remus said, clenching his teeth as he shed his coat. “My fault. I should have knocked first.”

“We’re really sorry,” said Sirius.

Their mouths were red and glistening, and for some reason, Remus could hardly see for the rage that welled inside of him, and he wished that he had the sort of bravery that they both possessed so he could tell them off. The apologetic looks suddenly incensed him instead of pacifying him, and he wanted to pack up his things and tell them farewell forever.

But they were his friends. Putting up with this sort of thing was the price of friendship.

Remus smiled tightly as he turned to hang up his coat on the coatrack.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Remus assured them. “You’re completely entitled to do—er—whatever it is you’re doing. That isn’t any of my business. Please, go on. I wouldn’t want you to stop on my account I’ll just be in my room if you need anything.”

An odd look passed between them. The guilt dissolved from their faces, leaving behind a sort of skepticism that made Remus’s stomach churn. He’d seen them exchange that look before, usually when Severus Snape was around and saying something that was passive aggressive to them in front of a teacher. It involved a slight raise of the eyebrows and half a smirk. Remus swallowed. Usually that look was followed by a volley of hexes when the class ended and a thoroughly humiliated Snape.

Eager to avoid such a confrontation, Remus cleared his throat.

“Look, I’m not upset,” he said. “I just didn’t realize what I’d be walking into when I got home. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your…fun.”

The guilty looks were completely gone now.

Sirius rolled his eyes at James. “What d’you suppose that means?”

“Dunno, Padfoot. Sounds like Remus is a bit angry with us.”

“Is he?” said Sirius. He tilted his head, his eyes sweeping up and down Remus in a way that made Remus feel completely exposed. “You’d think he’d say something to us if that were true, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not angry,” Remus ground out.

They smirked at each other.

“No, of course not,” said Sirius.

“Look at how red he is. He’s furious.”

“I’m not,” spat Remus. “Now excuse me, I’m going to bed—”

Directly into his path, they stepped in unison, blocking his way. Both of them were a bit taller than him and he felt as if he were drowning in their curious looks. Remus swallowed hard, clenching his fists, itching to take out his wand and curse them. James grinned first.

“He’s really angry, Padfoot. Look at his hands.”

Sirius smiled at Remus. “Is it true? Are you angry, Moony?”

“I’m starting get angry,” Remus warned. “So if you wouldn’t mind letting me pass—”

He tried to take a step, but James put a hand against his chest; Remus hoped he couldn’t feel his heart rattling in his ribcage. He breathed in slowly, pleading with himself to cool the heat building in his belly, hoping they wouldn’t look down—

“Then if you aren’t angry,” said James, “what’s the matter?”

“I told you, it’s nothing. Go on doing whatever it is you do together.”

“And what do you think that is, Moony?”

Remus wanted to die. He held back a groan of misery as James shifted his gaze down to the bulge in his trousers. It was unmistakable. He wished they would hex him and humiliate him that way instead. This was unbearable.

But even worse, Sirius followed James’s stare. A whoosh of dizziness made Remus’s vision swim as Sirius’s eyes flickered back up to meet his.

“Ah,” said Sirius, his smile growing. “So you are a bit angry, aren’t you?”

“Not at all—”

James shot Remus a pitying look. “Poor Moony,” he said, simpering. “A long, hard day at work, and you have to come home to this.”

“And thinking you’ve got to shuffle off to bed,” Sirius said. “Feeling so lonely—”

“—unsatisfied—”

“—unappreciated—”

“—painfully hard,” finished James. “Were you going to go back to your room and wank to the sound of us out here?”

Remus could have punched him, and he might have if James hadn’t wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. Remus tried to shove him away.

“Get off,” he growled.

Sirius, however, pushed him gently back into James’s grip.

“Poor Moony,” he said. “Do you feel left out? Have you been feeling jealous this whole time, and we’ve never noticed?”

Before Remus could speak, James buried a hand in his hair. “I think we’ve neglected our sweet, hardworking Moony. How could we?”

Sirius regarded him with a dark look in his bright eyes. It was difficult to breathe, and Remus tried to turn his head away, but a strong hand tipped his chin up and he couldn’t avoid staring at Sirius.

“Is it true?” Sirius asked softly.

“Is—is what true?”

“Be careful—he’s shy, Sirius,” James warned. “I don’t think we should push him.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think we’ve scared him.”

“Oh no, he’s braver than he looks. Aren’t you, Remus? You aren’t scared of us, are you?”

Sirius brushed his thumb against Remus’s lip, eliciting a shiver that made James laugh. Then, James was grazing the back of his neck with a soft brush of his lips, and Sirius was smiling at him fondly as if he were a prized dog, stroking with his thumb, his eyes blazing with wild thoughts that Remus couldn’t fathom.

“I’m—I don’t—”

Words were beyond him, and they soon became impossible as Sirius pushed his thumb between Remus’s lips, and Remus parted his mouth to let him inside; he nearly fainted at the delight that lit Sirius’s face.

“Well,” said Sirius, his voice rich and low. “I suppose we ought to make it up to you, Moony. Don’t you think so, Prongs?”

“Yeah,” said James, lifting his mouth from where he’d been sucking on Remus’s neck. “Anything for Moony.”

Sirius grinned as Remus wobbled and reached out to hold onto Sirius’s shoulders.

“Oh, yes,” said Sirius. “Anything for our Moony.”

#wolfstarbucks #sirius black #james potter #remus lupin #my fics #impmas 2025

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slytherinzz · 3 months ago

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A special game of truth or dare

Summary: after a thrilling Quidditch victory for your house, a magic form of truth or dare leaves MC and Sebastian in the aftermath of their feelings.

Pairing: F!MC and Sebastian Sallow

a/n: it's been a while since i've been on the fic train. Please let me know if you have requests! I'm a sucker for friends to lovers or enemies to lovers :)

the school was buzzing aftert he aftermath of last night’s Quidditch victory. Sebastian had been at the center of it all, of course—his winning catch as Seeker was the talk of the evening, and he had basked in the attention like a natural performer. MC had been at his side most of the night, sharing jokes, sneaking glances, and engaging in the playful flirtation that had always defined their friendship. But something about his lingering touches, his winks directed only at her, had set her nerves alight.

Did he flirt like this with everyone? Or… was there something more?

As the party wound down, a smaller group—just the closest of friends—had remained in the common room, with Garrett leading them into a mischievous game of Truth or Dare. Imelda rolled her eyes. “We’re not kids, Weasley.”

Garrett shrugged, unbothered. “If you’re too scared, you can sit out. But I’ve got a potion here that guarantees honesty—or bravery.” He waved the bubbling concoction for effect, its sickly green glow lighting up his freckled face.

Poppy giggled nervously, glancing around the room. “This is a terrible idea.”

“That’s why it’s brilliant,” Garrett said, pouring small amounts into each of their cups. “Now, everyone drink, or you’re out!”

It wasn’t until Sebastian asked Ominis whom he fancied that the game turned scandalous. Ominis , ever stoic, had answered bluntly: “Anne.”

The room had fallen silent. Even Sebastian seemed momentarily caught off guard before muttering, “Well, that’s… something to unpack later.”

Then it was MC’s turn. Garrett, ever the troublemaker, grinned wickedly as he asked, “Alright, MC, who’s the most attractive guy here?”

Her cheeks flamed instantly. Every instinct screamed at her to deflect, to choose a safer answer. But the potion forced her honesty, and the words spilled out before she could stop them:

“Sebastian.”

The room erupted into a mix of laughter and awkward coughing. Sebastian’s face turned a deep crimson, his eyes darting to hers before quickly looking away. dormitory, heart pounding and mind racing with what she had just revealed.

“Alright, folks, it’s time to spice things up. Truth or Dare!”

The group exchanged hesitant glances before downing their firewiskey in unison.

“Right,” Garrett said, rubbing his hands together. “Imelda, truth or dare?”

Imelda glared at him but chose dare, of course. Garrett grinned. “I dare you to admit that Gryffindor’s Seeker isn’t half bad.”

“I’d rather hex myself,” she shot back. But the potion compelled her to grumble, “Alright, fine. He’s decent. For a Gryffindor.”

Laughter rippled through the group as the game continued, the dares and truths growing bolder with each round.

When it was Sebastian’s turn, he leaned forward, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Ominis,” he said smoothly, “truth or dare?”

Ominous, ever composed, sighed. “Truth.”

Sebastian didn’t miss a beat. “Who’s your first kiss?”

A rare blush crept up Ominous’s neck as he folded his arms tightly. “That’s none of your—”

“The potion, Ominous,” Garrett reminded him gleefully.

Ominous exhaled sharply. “Fine. Her name was Lydia Travers. It was… underwhelming.”

The group howled with laughter, even Ominischuckling softly.

Then it was MC’s turn, and Garrett was quick to pounce. “MC, truth or dare?”

She hesitated, knowing she was trapped either way. “Dare.”

Garrett’s grin turned wolfish. “I dare you to sit on Sebastian’s lap for the next round.”

MC’s stomach flipped. “Garrett!”

“Hey, it’s a dare,” he said with a shrug, looking far too pleased with himself.

The group’s eyes turned to Sebastian, who simply raised an eyebrow and patted his lap dramatically. “Well, come on then.”

Her face burned, but there was no escaping it. She stood slowly, ignoring the teasing whistles from Garrett and Imelda, and perched awkwardly on Sebastian’s lap. His arm instinctively wrapped around her waist to steady her, sending a jolt through her body.

“Comfortable?” he murmured in her ear, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

“Shut up,” she muttered, her cheeks flaming.

The game pressed on, but MC was hyper-aware of Sebastian’s every shift and breath, the warmth of him seeping through her skin. When it was Imelda’s turn, she grinned wickedly at the pair.

“Sebastian,” Imelda said, “truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he said without hesitation, his cocky smirk firmly in place.

Imelda leaned forward. “I dare you to kiss MC.”

MC froze, her heart slamming against her ribs. Sebastian’s smirk faltered for a moment before he chuckled, glancing at her. “Well, a dare’s a dare, isn’t it?”

Before she could protest, he tilted her chin gently, his lips brushing hers in a featherlight kiss. It was brief but electric, leaving her breathless and the room deathly silent.

“Well,” Garrett finally said, breaking the tension, “that’s one way to win a dare.”

Sebastian’s arm tightened slightly around her, but he said nothing, his gaze lingering on her for just a moment too long before he leaned back casually, as if nothing had happened.

By the time the game circled back to MC, her nerves were frayed. Garrett, naturally, took his chance to push further. “Alright, MC. Truth or dare?”

She hesitated, her voice barely steady. “Truth.”

“Who’s the best kisser you’ve ever had?” he asked, clearly aiming to stir the pot.

MC’s mind went blank, her heart pounding as the truth serum worked its magic. Her gaze darted to Sebastian before she could stop herself. “Sebastian.”

The silence was deafening. Sebastian’s eyes widened slightly, but then a slow, knowing grin spread across his face.

“Well,” he drawled, “I’m flattered.”

Mortified, MC pushed off his lap, her face burning as the group erupted into laughter and teasing. She muttered an excuse about needing air and fled to her dormitory, her heart in her throat.

The next morning, the weight of her confession—and that kiss—sat heavily on MC’s chest. As soon as she woke, the memories flooded back, vivid and undeniable. The idea of facing Sebastian in the Great Hall, or worse, in class, was unbearable.

Instead, she found herself retreating to the Undercroft, seeking the solitude and familiarity of their secret space. She had barely settled in when the door creaked open, and Sebastian stepped inside.

For a moment, they stared at each other, the events of the previous night hanging heavily in the air.

“I had a feeling you’d be here,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“I needed to think,” she admitted softly.

“About last night?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

She nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “Sebastian, I—”

“MC,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “About that kiss… I know it was just a game, but I meant it. And if you felt the same—”

“I did,” she blurted, cutting him off.

His lips parted in surprise before a slow, warm smile spread across his face. “You did?”

“Yes,” she whispered, finally meeting his gaze. “I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Sebastian’s grin turned soft as he reached for her, his hands steady on her arms. “You just did.”

This time, when he kissed her, it wasn’t a dare.

They were so lost in each other that neither heard the door open. Ominous’s voice broke through the haze like a bucket of cold water. “Merlin’s beard, will you two get a room already?”

They sprang apart, both red-faced as Ominous smirked. “Honestly, you’re worse than Garrett’s potion experiments. Keep the Undercroft..uncristened, please.”

Sebastian laughed, pulling MC close despite her protests. “Noted. Now, where were we?”

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #garreth weasley #hogwarts legacy imagines #fanfiction #fanfic #blurbs #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow fanfiction #ominis gaun x reader #ominis gaunt x reader #angst #fluff #smut #spicy #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #hogwarts legacy fanfiction

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bloodyarn · 9 months ago

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@bloodtwin sent

*picks babette up like a little kitty cat*

𝙻𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 . unprompted interactions ────────────────────────

𝐔𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝘁𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝘁 𝐨𝘂𝘁 𝐡𝐞𝗿 𝐛𝗿𝐞𝐚𝘁𝐡, 𝗕𝐚𝐛𝐞𝘁𝘁𝐞 𝘀𝘁𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝗿𝐚𝐥𝘆𝖟𝐞𝐝, 𝐨𝗿 𝗿𝐚𝘁𝐡𝐞𝗿, 𝗿𝐞𝘀𝘁𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝗿𝐚𝐥𝘆𝖟𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝘂𝐜𝐤'𝘀 𝐚𝗿𝐦𝘀. Eerily slowly, her head turns to the pale man who boldly decided to pick her up, feline-style. A blink, two blinks, even three blinks before the little lady came up with a fitting reply.

❝ Meow ? ❞

#bloodtwin #I AM HOWLING WHEEZING LMAO #Truly his discord kitten now #Thanks I needed the funnies tonight ♥#✂ ˚ The Hexed Seamstress ˚⠀⠀/ ic .#✂ ˚ I take commissions ˚⠀⠀/ answered .

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cherryslyce · 2 years ago

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Love, Anonymous | Blaise Zabini

Synopsis: The rumor mill at Hogwarts has expanded into physical print, and with it, a buzzing section dedicated to anonymous confessions.

Pairing: Blaise Zabini x Hufflepuff!Reader

Notes: I accidentally grew extremely fond of Ernie while writing this. Susan Bones supremacy, always.

Word Count: 4.8k

The infamous rumor mill of Hogwarts, upheld by boisterous Gryffindors Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, seemed to finally reach eminence in the social sphere of the castle. It was a long time coming, you thought. Grapevines. Heard from a friend. Through an open door — nothing was as fascinating as the arbitrary spiel that grew to fruition in the rumor mill.

“I’m impressed. With all of this, you’d think Lavender was going after Skeeter’s job.” Susan hums, eyes scanning over the leaflets of paper lain strewn in front of you both.

Ernie snorts as he shovels a spoonful of peas into his mouth, eyes rooted to the ceiling as he awaited the daily post, “What a load of bollocks.”

“Hey, now. Don’t be so curt with it, E.” You muse, mouth folding into a wry grin as you pick up one of the loose papers, bringing it to eye-level so you could read it, “Look at this riveting slice of writing, Hogwarts Anonymous: With the Yule Ball so fresh in the minds of the student body–”

“Fresh? It was almost three bloody years ago.” Ernie interjects, tongue clicking loudly as the sea of owls begin to scurry across the plane of the ceiling, dropping rolls and boxes of news and gifts. However, the surge of mail went largely ignored as many students remained engrossed in the new Hogwarts gossip column.

You shoot Ernie a stern look at the interruption, but continue when Susan releases an amused huff, “As I was saying—With the Yule Ball so fresh in the minds of the student body and love so sorely missed as a result, Hogwarts Anonymous is dedicated to working towards the revival of matchmaking. To submit an anonymous clip of your own, reach out to Parvati Patil for inquiries.”

“Love so sorely missed?” Susan echoes, eyes blown wide in disbelief.

“Poetic. Inspired. Riveting. Ingenious.” Ernie utters with faux sincerity, ignoring the raucous younger years fighting behind him.

You nod, barely able to conceal your grin as your eyes drop further down the blocks of text, seeing a few confessions and messages splayed across the paper. As you continue to read through the text, a sudden passage has you choking on your spit, thumb pressing harshly against the flimsy paper as your eyes narrow.

Ernie peers up at you from his plate, glancing towards Susan as they both share unimpressed looks. Eventually, it’s Susan who plucks up the voice to question your sudden bafflement, “Y/N? Are you alright there?”

“Y/N looks like a startled crup puppy in Arithmancy.” You recite rigidly, feeling the paper warp and crease under your unrelenting grip.

There is an unsettling pause in the atmosphere, as though the entirety of the dining hall has paused in their routine to listen to the confession, but it soon washes away as Ernie practically howls in laughter, his broad frame throttling forward as he tries to muffle his guffaw.

Susan, ever the diplomat, proves to be more successful at maintaining her composure, but you don’t miss the small grin that tugs at her lips as she reaches over to grasp the paper, “Here, give me that.”

“Crup puppy? Oh my goodness! That is bloody—Ow! Hey! Okay, stop!” Ernie’s fit of laughter and verbal tirade is swiftly dealt with as you send numerous stinging hexes his way, basking in the alarmed glint in his eyes.

Susan shakes her head at both of your antics, and folds the paper up, eyes scanning the room as she muses, “How romantic. You just have to wonder who the culprit is.”

“Merlin. It might just be a prank. Or maybe someone has a vendetta against me.” You groan with exasperation, realizing that just about everyone in the castle was going to be hearing about it.

Ernie bumps his shoulder against yours and grins, ��Chin up, Y/N. If someone’s out to get ya, Susan and I will send them to their maker—without their kneecaps, rest assured.”

You roll your eyes but nod in appreciation, gaze falling down to your pitiful plate of food as your mind is thrust into overdrive. Hopefully, it would all blow over by the next day.

Wishful thinking on your part because in fact, it did not.

“It is endearing how Y/N is always lost during Potions.” Susan reads off the paper with squinted eyes, mouth furling into a frown of disbelief at the words.

“Does this person hate me?” You murmur, leaning on your elbows as your eyes run across the aisle of bookshelves in front of you.

Ernie rocks on the heels of his feet as he hums, “Abysmal flirting. Subpar, one-sided banter. Hardly charming. A Gryffindor, for sure.”

“Well, the only Gryffindor in both Arithmancy with me and Potions with us is Hermione Granger, and I surely hope she hasn’t turned away from Ron. He’ll be insufferable if so.” You grit out, torn between chasing down your secret “admirer” and putting forth your best effort to ignore their future comments.

Susan hums at your suggestion with crossed arms, Runes homework long forgotten about, “Surely not. So not a Gryffindor— and really Ernie, you can’t let your heartache blind your judgement! Seriously, are we sticking with the ‘All Gryffindors Are Bad’ thing?”

Ernie gapes at her words and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Guys, I’m over her, we’ve been through this.”

You pat your friends arm empathetically, hiding your sly grin as you muse, “Of course you are. Poor Fay Dunbar, really.”

Before your friend can retort, the sound of clicking footsteps attracts your attention as a figure emerges from behind the shelf next to you. Your eyebrows furrow as you watch the familiar Slytherin stroll towards you all with cool eyes, hands shoved in his dress pants as he hums, “Bones. Macmillan.” His eyes drop down to where you’re seated and you see an indecipherable glint cross his gaze as he greets you, “Puppy.”

Your reaction is almost immediate as a hot wave of mortification swallows all your sensibilities, “Excuse me?” Your offended wheeze hardly deters the Slytherin as he merely smirks at you.

“I think your time would be better spent working through the latest Arithmancy assignment instead of gossiping, no?” He asks with a slanted grin, eyes never trailing away from yours.

“What’s it to you, Zabini?” Your voice comes out taut as you feel Ernie place a hand on the back of your chair, likely eyeing down the boy in front of you.

Blaise’s eyes briefly flicker to survey Ernie’s ministrations before they glide back to you in consideration, “Just concerned for a fellow classmate is all. I’ll see you around, Puppy.” Without giving you time to retaliate, the tall Slytherin vanishes just as swiftly as he arrived.

“The absolute nerve!” You utter with indignation, swiveling your attention over to Susan. The girl frowns in the direction that Blaise disappeared through, eyes glimmering as you could see her brain whirring.

“Strange. I thought Zabini was one of the tamer Slytherins out of their lot.” Ernie mutters, resuming his position beside you as he rubs his chin.

You shake your head, “Malfoy’s influence is something to fear for years to come. Zabini may have been pleasant in our youth, but he’s been so shifty to me as of late.”

Ernie snaps his fingers at your words and snickers down at you, “You used to have the largest love-sick eyes for him.”

Clicking your tongue, you send a side glance at your friend before looking at Susan as she seems to take in your clueless expression.

“Seriously?” She huffs, eyebrow drawn up as she gazes at you both like she was staring at a pedestrian display.

“Seriously what? Suze?” You prod, leaning over as she shakes her head and redirects her attention to her work.

Ernie shoots you a shrug as he pulls out the chair beside you, reluctantly following the girl’s lead as he sifts through the pile of parchments in front of him.

The next few days blur by in a similar fashion, except you had taken to avoiding Hogwarts Anonymous like the plague, forcing Ernie and Susan to do the same when you were around. You eventually fell back into your routine of focusing on coursework and your future anxieties, letting the anomalous events slip from your mind.

It is not until you’re organizing your supplies during Arithmancy that your fragile bubble of peace is disturbed.

“Puppy.” The dulcet sound of Blaise’s voice has you snapping your head up, boggled by his sudden appearance beside you. The boy usually sat rows behind you, leaving the spot next to you to be occupied by Padma Patil. However, it seemed she was nowhere to be found.

Suppressing your complaints, you don’t even attempt pleasantries as you sigh, “Zabini, hello.”

“What’s with the long face? Not happy to see me?” Blaise teases, mouth stretching into a small grin.

You’re almost tempted to squint as his perfectly white teeth glare at you in all their glory. Fuck. Did he not have a single flaw?

“I’m flattered, but perhaps the only thing I’m unable to do is catch you on a good day.” Blaise’s eyes twinkle with mirth as he smiles softly at you.

Your face heats up so violently that you’re sure radiators across the globe were turning to you with envy. Forcing your jaw from parting so gauchely, you can only sputter out weakly, “Did I say that out loud?”

Blaise hums wordlessly as he continues to look at you. Clearing your throat, you turn back to face the front of the classroom as Professor Vector begins to rise from her desk, “Right.”

The rest of the class seems to tick by like molasses from a tipped jar: incredibly, painstakingly slow. You were usually quite engaged with the lesson and content, but you couldn’t ignore the occasional glances from the Italian boy beside you.

As you absentmindedly continue to scrawl on your parchment, eyes transfixed on the swirls of ink blooming on the page, you feel something poke your arm. Frowning, you try to ignore it, directing your full attention onto sketching your diagram.

The light poking persists until you bring your other hand up to swipe at your robe, fingers dancing across a sheet of paper with a slight crinkling noise. Faintly tilting your head, you furrow your eyebrows when you see Blaise attempting to slide a sheet of paper towards you. Slowly grasping the paper, you lay it atop one of your dry parchments, eyes scanning across the leaflet in confusion.

‘Hogwarts Anonymous. Submission 0128: Y/N L/N is devastatingly oblivious. It really is quite cute.’

You feel your entire body steel up at the words, lips parted from shock as you continue to reread the confession. The nerves across your body seem to buzz wildly as you try and rein in the burning climbing up your chest.

“Alright, dears! That will be all for today. I expect the next two chapters to be read by our next convening. Ah, and L/N, my dear! I need to speak with you.” Professor Vector’s euphonic voice cut through your haze of disbelief, drawing your eyes away from the dizzying passage and up towards the heart of the classroom.

You don’t dare to glance at Blaise as you quickly clamber towards the awaiting woman, weaving around the retreating students that file through the grand doors. Huffing to relieve the pressure in your chest, you peer at the woman in anticipation as you finally step toward her.

“Sorry to call you up like this, L/N. It’s just that the other professors and I are concerned about the recent articles that are being passed around the student body. It’s come to our attention that these anonymous confessions regarding you are quite prolific.” Professor Vector keeps her voice steady as she gazes at you with warm eyes, evidently trying to gauge your honest opinion on the matter.

It would appear that everyone knew about your predicament.

You shake your head quickly, eyes wandering towards the tomes resting on her desk, “It’s quite alright, they’re just small statements. Besides, no one has been giving me a hard time.” Which was partially true, but you also did not want the column to be shut down and run the risk of facing Lavender’s wrath.

“If you’re quite sure, dear.”

With a soft nod, you send a small smile towards her before bounding back towards your table, releasing a small breath as you see the rest of the classroom was vacant. As you slung your bag over your shoulder, the call of your name has you twirling on your heel.

“L/N.” Professor Vector gives you a faint nod, “You’re doing quite well in this class. I’m sure whoever is sending those messages is just teasing you.”

Clearing your throat, you plaster on a reassuring smile, “Thank you, Professor. Have a good afternoon!”

You practically sprint out of the classroom, mind set on nipping the blooms of your troubles—starting with the roots.

The clicking of your shoes against the dusty corridor tiles seem to smother every other inkling of noise, many students shifting from your path with wide-eyes as your gaze darts around furiously. Even the slightest hue of crimson drew your dutiful eyes like a moth to a flame, and you were beginning to get tunnel vision.

A flash of wispy blonde waves flashes across your plane of sight, and you’re immediately beelining towards the girl, a victorious smile painting your face once you see Lavender’s startled frown. The girl glances from side-to-side as you draw closer, shoulders tensing once you tentatively stop a few paces before her.

“Lavender, good afternoon.” You greet cordially, fingers lightly brushing against your sides as you become wary of your awkward hand placement.

The girl nods and shoots you a confused smile, “Hi, Y/N. What’s up?”

“I think we both know why I’m here.” You mutter frankly, head tilting down emphatically as you take notice of the latest edition of Hogwarts Anonymous in her hands.

Lavender glances down at the paper and hums, “Ah. Right.”

Sighing, you readjust the strap of your bag as you step closer, “Look, I’m not here to give you any grief over your work. In fact, Hogwarts Anonymous is probably the most exciting thing to happen all year. But, I need to know the person behind all these messages aimed at me.”

“I’m sorry, but confidentiality–” Lavender starts, eyebrows stitching together in remorse at your clear disdain over the matter.

Before the girl can continue her, no doubt, enlightening spiel about the rules of journalism, a velvety voice curls through the air around you, “Hello, Puppy. What seems to be the fuss.”

You aren’t sure any measure of propriety could have stopped you from raising your eyes to the sky as you slowly spin on your heel. A frown briefly washes over your face as you address the boy behind you, “Zabini. Again with that nickname? It’s getting quite old. Originality doesn’t seem to be your strong suit.”

“No use in fixing what isn’t broken. Besides, I’ve never known you to be overly concerned with trivialities like this.” The boy retorts, eyes sparkling with blatant amusement.

You purse your lips at his choice of words before musing, “That’s because you don’t know me, Zabini.”

Without missing a beat, Blaise is quick to step closer to you, head craning towards you imperceptibly as he lowers his voice, “I suppose you’re right. I could get to know you though.”

Your lips part at his words, but you try to remain nonchalant as you huff, “Hysterical. And what’s in it for me?”

“You’d get to know me, too.”

“As enticing as that sounds, I’ll have to pass.” You mutter, taking a step back from the boy. His eyes remain firm with confidence even as you begin to retreat, your gaze glued to the growing smirk on his face.

As your nerves finally seem to spark back to life, you swiftly spin around and begin to stomp towards your common room, brain muddled with harping thoughts about the exchange. Before you’re able to round the corner, you hear Lavender’s soft voice bristle through the air, “Maybe try a different approach…”

A few odd days pass after your encounter with Blaise, and you’ve taken to gluing yourself to Ernie and Susan in hopes that the Slytherin would be too intimidated to approach you again. Your friends take the new developments in stride, only occasionally shooting you knowing glances.

“Weird.” Ernie hums, fingers drumming against the grass as he peers at the paper in his lap.

You don’t take your eyes off of the serene lake just yards away as you reply, “What’s weird?”

Susan pauses in her reading as Ernie straightens up and turns to you, “There aren’t any more anonymous messages about you in the column.”

“Seems that you missed your chance with your secret admirer, Y/N.” Susan hums, propping her chin on her palm as she smiles teasingly at you.

You shake your head and wave them both off, “I talked to Lavender the other day, maybe she intentionally left it out. Either way, I look forward to reinhabiting the semblance of peace that I lost.”

Ernie hums as he diverts his gaze towards something behind you, “Peace might have to wait.”

“Y/N.” Blaise’s honeyed voice dances through the cool air, accompanied with the soft crunching of grass as you sense the boy approach your lazing figure.

“Blaise.” You greet evenly, eyes slowly drifting across the tufts of clouds meandering across the sky.

Susan and Ernie pretend to busy themselves as the Slytherin stops behind you, close enough where the edges of his robe lightly graze against your back. It is quiet for a few moments before the boy addresses you again, “Have you given my offer any further thought?”

“I can’t say I have.” You mutter, slowly fidgeting with your wand as you add, “Do you want me to?”

The Italian huffs out a small laugh before you hear a faint rustling, “That’s entirely up to you.” Your eyebrows draw together in confusion, but before you can turn around to question him, a crisp envelope drops into your vision. You feel the curtains of Blaise’s robe swim across your back as he offers the tempting object to you.

Gently grasping the envelope, you flip it in your palm to inspect the front, but you’re met with shallow disappointment when you see the paper is completely blank. On the back, you recognize the Zabini emblem pressed into the bleeding red wax.

“Blaise, what is this for?” You slowly peer over your shoulder only to be met with Blaise’s retreating back growing farther into the distance.

Staring at the envelope with a frown, you debate on whether or not to frisbee-launch the paper into the lake as the wind sweeps across your face. Susan is the first to interrupt the calm silence that blanketed the air, shooting you a knowing smile as she points her chin at the stiff paper, “Open it.”

“Do you know something about this?” You question with narrowed eyes, tone light with jest, but bleeding in genuine confusion.

“About the envelope? Nope.” She hums with a sweet smile, quickly swiveling her head back to her book.

You shuffle closer to your friends, shooting them a disbelieving frown, “And about Blaise?”

Ernie mimes a zipping motion across his mouth as he shakes his head, which is all you need from the boy to know that both of your friends were privy to something you weren’t seeing. Clicking your tongue with exaggerated indignation, you carefully peel the envelope open, noting that neither of your friends were attempting to peer over to see its contents as you did so.

You didn’t know if you were thankful or concerned for that fact.

Reaching inside the smooth cradle of paper, your fingers run across a folded piece of paper. Pulling it out, you hesitate for a few moments before deciding to bite the bullet.

Smooth, even swirls of letters dance across the paper in abundance much to your surprise.

Y/N,

Lavender advised me that my previous tactic of trying to get your attention was ineffective, so I should therefore be more forthcoming. I hope you understand now. Although it was entertaining watching you fumble about for answers, I realize that time is slowly dwindling as we progress through our last year here at Hogwarts.

This is not some ploy if you’re wondering (because I know that you are… really, are you Hufflepuffs not supposed to be the most trusting of us all?)

I have admired you for quite some time. If you are willing to, let’s meet before dinner. I will be at the library.

Love,

“Anonymous”

You drop the letter into your lap as you sigh into the air, neck aching as you roll your head from side to side. Ernie assesses you from the corner of his eye, head tilting at your reaction, “Well?”

“Well, I’ll have to meet you both at dinner it seems.” You concede with a heavy sigh, realizing that you were the only one who was drowning in the darkness of oblivion for the past few days.

Susan nods at you with twinkling eyes as Ernie muses with a wide grin, “Sounds like a plan. Good luck!”

Pacing away from your friends and up the vague incline of grass, you fiddle with the paper in your hands as you begin to dredge up all your encounters with Blaise. They were plentiful in your youth, but between then and the whirlwind of Hogwarts Anonymous— you could count the number of proper conversations you’ve had with the Slytherin on one hand.

That’s not to say you still didn't find the boy attractive. There was an unspoken consensus amongst the entire student body that he was the prime candidate for bachelor, between his suave demeanor, dry wit, academic prowess, towering trust fund, and neutral political stance— it did not get much better than Blaise fucking Zabini.

For the first time in weeks, you feel that your head is finally clear. An airy aura encircling you as you traverse through the halls, not minding the bustling of younger students or the perpetual miasma of stress that radiated off of your fellow seventh-year peers.

At the threshold of the bright library, you take a deep breath of consideration before you step in, an intangible veil of warmth immediately ushering you into its cavernous hold as you sift your gaze through the hunched backs and steep shelves.

Taking slow steps so as to not remain erect in the entrance and cause traffic, you’re snapped from your concentration by the softest tug to your robe sleeve. Dropping your gaze to the chair beside you, you aren’t able to mask your nonplusness at the sight of a familiar Slytherin searching your expression with curiosity.

“Oh, hi Theodore.” You wave smally, stepping closer as he begins to speak.

“Y/N. You’re here for Blaise, right?” The boy’s words are barely above a murmur as he slowly shuts the cover of his book.

You nod and shift to lean against the table as Theodore begins to look around, only dropping your eyes to him once he speaks up again, “He just came in. He might be toward the back, near the Restricted Section. He doesn’t like being around others when he’s restless.”

“Oh?” Your eyebrows shoot up at the insinuation, unable to truly comprehend a mental picture of the composed Slytherin as anything but smug and assured.

Humming, you shift your weight from one leg to the other as you dismiss yourself, “Alright. Thank you, Theodore. I’ll see you around.”

The boy merely nods before turning back to his work, but you don’t miss the glimmer that flickers across his eyes as they quickly catch sight of the letter in your hand— it was the same knowing look that your friends held.

Shuffling towards the back of the library, you slowly feel the confidence draining from your veins as you near the Restricted Section. Rounding one of the shelves, you stop in your tracks as you catch sight of Blaise sitting at a corner table by the window, robe discarded and flung over the adjacent chair as his eyes run across the book in his hand.

Clearing your throat faintly, you make your way towards him. Before you’re even within reaching distance to him, his head shoots up toward you.

His eyes swim with confusion for a split moment before they sink into a familiar unreadable look.

“I read your letter.” You mutter with uncertainty, squaring your shoulders as Blaise nods and rises from his chair.

“I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” He softly admits, lips curling up at the sheepish look that replaces your former expression of hesitancy. Before you have time to reply, he steps forward and chuckles, “Couldn’t wait to see me, then?”

Swallowing harshly, you hum, “You have a bit of explaining to do.”

“Yeah, I do.” His voice comes out light, shedding away into a near whisper at the end as he gazes at you with consideration. He takes a step forward and continues, “Before that though, I need to know how you feel.”

“About you?” Your mumble is met with a firm nod, and you feel your heart miss a few beats as the words seem to just glide out of your mouth without filter, “Well, we haven’t spoken properly all that much this year or last year, but I like you… too. I like you, too.”

“Yeah?” Blaise hums, shoulders faintly drooping as the tension dissipates from his muscles. He reaches his hand out in offering, and you have to give his face another once-over to confirm that it wasn’t an elaborate ruse before you take it.

He slowly drags you towards him before nudging you to sit in his chair as he smiles, “Well, I’ll apologize for the public messages, it just seemed like the opportune moment when Lavender approached me.”

“Lavender approached you?” You quietly squawk, not even batting an eye when Blaise crouches in front of you and brings his other hand to clasp yours.

“My attraction to you is no secret, Y/N. Not that I tried to hide it.” He supplies, eyes full of warmth as you recount all the indecipherable looks you’d received from Blaise’s friends over the months. Honestly, you had merely assumed they were looking for a fight.

Squeezing the boy’s hands, and ignoring the tingling that buzzed up your wrist from the coolness of his steel rings, you muse, “So… you like me.”

“Hm.” Blaise hums patiently, assured by your reciprocation of his physical touch.

“Well, you’re quite the romantic, Zabini.” You can’t fight the lopsided smile that falls on your face.

Blaise huffs a small laugh as he shakes his head, “I was thinking you’d hold a contrary sentiment.”

“You better be planning ways to make it up to me, public scrutiny is not enjoyable.” You mutter with a small grin, relishing in the way Blaise shifted at your words.

He gives your hands a firm squeeze before he straightens up and leans towards you, “There’s no rush anymore.”

“Who says? I’m fleeing once we graduate.” Your teasing elicits an eye roll from the boy as he shakes his head.

Leaning over, he grazes his lips over your forehead as he mutters, “Funny, but no can do, you’re stuck with me.”

His arms encircle you as he continues to drop light pecks to your face, clearly uncaring of the unconventional crane of his spine as he does so. Bringing a hand up, you place it on his cheek before leaning to join your lips together, acutely aware of how his hands tighten around your frame as he leans in impossibly closer to you.

Pulling back briefly, you smile as an idea balloons in your thoughts, “I’m going to need to find Lavender later.”

Blaise’s hands draw circles on your waist as he hums, “Why’s that?”

“I can’t let you have all the fun, now can I? I have the perfect anonymous submission.” You grin brightly, tugging at his tie to draw him closer.

His eyebrows slowly raise at your words as he leans in, “Yeah?”

“Yep. How does ‘Blaise Zabini is a terrible flirt and an even worse snog’ sound?”

Blaise hums and drags you closer to him as a playful glint blazes across his lidded gaze, “It sounds like I’ll have to change your mind before then.”

“I agree.” You whisper just as his lips sink against yours again, the faint scent of his cologne swirling around you like a blanket as you lean back against the table.

And when morning rolls around, bringing clear skies and a new column of Hogwarts Anonymous, you can only shrug your shoulders when Susan practically slams the paper against your face in fervid question.

‘Hogwarts Anonymous. Submission 0283: Blaise Zabini is an alright snog.’

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