#gryffindor and slytherin rivalry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

slytherinboysvip · 6 months ago

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Imagine best friend Mattheo being absolutely obsessed with his innocent little Hufflepuff bsf but she just can’t tell. Everyone else knows, and it is quite obvious, but she just can’t think someone like him would want someone like her. But when she jokingly says she’s gonna get Cedric to take her virginity he decides it’s time he came clean.

Possibly with some soft smut if you are comfortable with it of course

bsf mattheo riddle x hufflepuff reader

hopefully this matches your request <3 i’ll most likely make a part 2 for this because.. you’ll see ;) 3.5k words

you lived a rather simple uncomplicated life, attending hogwarts as a hufflepuff with no interest in anyone’s drama. though you kept to yourself most times you tried to be nice to all your peers maintaining your classic hufflepuff demeanor, despite this there was one thing that was different about you.

you see, you didn’t see or understand why people don’t like other houses just because of “house rivalry” especially the students who weren’t even participating in any sports or point winning. and with this over your years though you had few friends you had one best friend who at first seemed rather impossible to be friends with.. mattheo riddle.

when you two met you were a fourth year and him a fifth, coincidentally you were going on to a few friends about your annoyance with people automatically assuming the worst of slytherin even though you yourself weren’t in their house or nearly like one. mattheo overheard this heated- adorable voice coming from behind him and he walked towards you carefully.

he sat down in front of you beside your friend as she gawked faces towards you at his presence. “you don’t think we’re too mean, huh?” he questioned small laugh leaving his lips. “i just think that some people are misunderstood and just because some wizards turned out bad doesn’t mean all of them in your house are” you looked at him answering his question with ease

he smirked in amusement and leaned a little closer to you “hm, hufflepuff eh? what year are you puff?” he sat back examining you and you didn’t fail to notice that nickname he slipped in “fourth year but i have an early birthday which is annoying because i could technically be out sooner” you sighed ignoring his staring.

“well, seeing as it’s ravenclaw against gryffindor do you wanna watch the quidditch game with me i know the best view” he stood up and held his hand out for you, you look towards your friends and they’re both nodding their heads for you to go so you did.

from that point on you and mattheo had been best friends, sadly he was in his seventh year and now you in your sixth nothing much had changed in your life. living vicariously through mattheo and his stories about slytherin parties and how you should go to one with him before it’s too late, he’d tell you about his sexual adventures and your jaw would drop everytime.

you yourself also confided in him though with much less interesting things, telling him how you feel unlikeable by guys sometimes because they never try to get or talk to you, or how you feel lonely because you’ve never had a a boyfriend before. hed always help soothe the thoughts away, telling you that it’s only your brain making those things up , “listen y/n, anyone who doesn’t love you is fucking insane”.

𓆙

talking to your friend zarah who’d been there since day one you always told her what you told matt, for the most part. “i just don’t get why nobody is interested in me zar, like am i genuinely that ugly” you plopped onto your bed sighing dramatically. “you’re not ugly and if you think no guys want you you’re blind i know one in particular that really, really wants you” she giggled.

you looked at her with a confused expression “i must be missing something because i have no idea who you’re talking about” you awaited her response and she just rolled her eyes and sighed “girl your practically boyfriend of a best friend you do everything with” she gave you a duh look and you just laughed. you genuinely couldn’t believe she’d even think he’d like you especially with all the girls he’d been with, “you’re hilarious, we both know he doesn’t want me he wants all the girls he tells me about” you started to compose yourself but zarah’s expression didn’t change.

“you literally must be blind y/n do you need glasses? or should i say puff? let’s talk about how that man hasn’t stopped calling you that pet name since you’ve met.. he’s in love” she rolled her eyes raising her hands in the air. “i still don’t think he wants me so there’s no convincing me” you shrugged her off and she groaned getting up and leaving your shared dorm.

𓆙

“puff you gotta come to this party, slytherin won agains gryffindor i just know this is gonna be the party you want to go to pleaseee” mattheo put his hands on your shoulders shaking you “fiinee” you attempted to answer between shakes before he let you go “if i would’ve known it was that easy i would’ve done that years ago” he rolled his eyes.

“anyways it’s tonight at like 8 so i’ll just get you from your dorm at like 7 do you think they’ll let me in? actually what’s the password?” he didn’t give you time to finish any of your sentences before you just gave him the password “butterscotch” you whispered, in response mattheo laughed “fucking butterscotch merlin that’s hilarious” you looked up at him and rolled your eyes walking away.

“i’ll see you at 7 puff” he yelled across the hall and you just gave a thumbs up and continued walking. you honestly were quite nervous seeing as you’ve never necessarily been to a party before, you’ve made small appearances at hufflepuff parties but you’ve heard they don’t even compare to slytherin.

making your way into your dorm you spot zarah and you pull her up from the common room couch “i finally said yes to a party need help now” you quickly mumbled and she quickened her pace “when does it start girl i need the info right this second come on you’re talking too long for me” she rushed and you blurted it all out “8pm he’s getting me at 7 he has the password he will be at the dorm” closing the door behind you two you both stopped to catch your breath

“sooo is it a dateee” she shimmied her arm on you winking “i already told you he doesn’t like me!!” you replied to her relentlessness. “ugh whatever we need to get you ready girl it’s already six” she pushed you onto your shared vanity chair and pulled out all of your makeup and a few things of hers, “creative control?” she asked smirking at you “mm fine but not too much” you agreed “we’ll see” she giggled.

after around 30 minutes she finished your makeup and she showed you the finished product, looking at yourself in the mirror you thought how you never would’ve put on red lipstick yet you feel really good in it. she gave you a small smokey eye and a small winged liner and you felt you looked more aggressive then you were, but you kinda loved it.

“it’s so much but so pretty” you admired yourself and the makeup she put on you slowly getting used to the feeling of fake eyelashes on your eyes. “i’m so glad you love it, but we need to find an outfit like three hours ago” she joked and rushed to your closets “i actually have the perfect dress in mind if you’re feeling the want to rep slytherin green” she raised her eyebrows up at you in a suggestive matter “sure why not” you shrugged

she handed you a velvet body con forest green dress that you were sure was going to be extremely short and you mean in every place. she held it up onto you “this will be perfect. get it on come on” she rushed you into the bathroom and you began putting it on “this is sooo tight” you called out as you struggled “oh i forgot it was a corset back wait i need to help you can i come in” she yelled through the door

“yeah come on i need this thing one me already” you struggled more as she walked in and immediately began to help you loosening the strings of the dress and pulling it down onto you “there we go now suck in like your life depends on it” she said half jokingly and began retightening the corset back. with every pull it felt like your chest was spilling out more and more and your ribs were shrinking “okay merlin that’s enough before i can’t breathe” you huffed and she stopped tying it off in a bow

“stop you look so hot y/n i bet matt will be drooling” she teased and you just rolled your eyes “what do we do with my hair” you looked at her with horror as you only had ten minutes before he should arrive. you quickly began curling your hair not really caring if it was messy just giving it some body and just as you were spraying perfume on there was a knock on your door.

zarah looked at you and whispered “answer it go go now” she pointed to the door like she was afraid to touch it herself and you walked over opening it to see mattheo in an all black button down with the top few buttons undone and black dress looking pants yet somehow he didn’t look overdressed. he didn’t say anything for a minute he was just staring at you looking up and down in awe “holy fuck y/n who did your makeup you look woah” he put his finger on your chin moving your head around examining your makeup

“zarah isn’t it pretty” you smiled and he removed his hand and replied “yeah you are, now let’s go” he grabbed your hand and you looked behind you waving bye to zarah “he’s so in love with you” she whispered before the door slammed closed.

𓆙

once you got the the party you noticed there were already many slytherins already pregaming and mattheo brought you two to them, “let’s get some alcohol in you little puff” he winked and poured you a shot of who knows what, you smelled the foul drink and it made your nose burn “come on do ittt” he cheered on and you held your nose throwing the shot back gagging at the taste. “how do people enjoy that” you made a face at him “like this” he replied taking two shots himself, “now catch up” he winked pouring you yet another

“if i didn’t know any better id say you’re trying to get me drunk matt” you laughed and he looked at you amused “obviously that’s what im trying to do it’s a party” he put the shot glass to your lips and you parted them taking the burning substance down your throat, “eugh that didn’t get any better the second time” you shook your head in disgust. “hm, let me make you an actual drink” he grabbed a clear liquor and a red juice mixing them together adding more alcohol than your past two shots and handed it to you

“matt this smells foul” you looked up at him, “just try it trust me the slytherins have the masking drink down” he winked and you reluctantly took a sip, and to your surprise all you tasted was juice. after taking another few sips you quick began drinking it and mattheo pulled the cup from your lips “slow down there this shits dangerous you’ll get so drunk you won’t be able to walk straight” he chuckled. “it’s not my fault they made it taste like juice” you shrugged still sipping.

“hey mattheo have your little hufflepuff take some shots with us” enzo threw his arm around your shoulders and mattheo pushed them off almost immediately “no she doesn’t need any shots” he spoke “you didn’t even ask me” you protested, granted you didn’t necessarily want to take any shots you just didn’t like being talked for. “oo are you sure you’re not slytherin you got an attitude” enzo laughed handing you a shot and you looked at mattheo who rolled his eyes as you took the shot.

throwing the shot back the burning sensation took over your throat and you could feel it rushing down your throat. you coughed a bit and chugged your drink for comfort “puff you’re going to get shitfaced slow down” matt fully took your cup this time and you were already feeling it. giggling looking up at him “okay now who was going to tell me party’s are fun” you continued giggling.

the music started playing and the slytherin common room was now getting more and more packed. you saw fifth year students and up in here, even a few ravenclaw and hufflepuffs your recognized. to your surprise in the corner of the party you spotted cedric diggory talking to a group of girls holding a drink.

pansy noticed your head being stuck in a certain direction and followed your eyes “oh em gee, someone’s got their eyes on a certain hufflepuff” she winked shoving her shoulder at your “shhhhh he’s just nice to look at” you giggled at her and she giggled along “you two would be soo cute” she added dragging you back to the drinks

“let’s take some shots!” she exclaimed handing you two , you took them smiling and shot them back with her, a woo leaving her mouth. “here chaser, chaser!” she shouted handing you another drink this time what looked like a lot of the punch, downing it all she laughed “girl we’re gonna be gone”. looking around you were seeing doubles of everything but didn’t want the night to already end.

“so, are you a virgin?” pansy shouted over the music making your already alcohol flushed face even redder “pansy!! you can’t just ask that!!” you shouted back flustered at the intrusive question, “i’m only curious girl” she giggled and gave you begging eyes “come onnnn” she shook you till you gave in “fine yes i am but don’t tell anyone!” you replied back as lowly as you could over the music

“who would you lose it to?” she giggled “i lost mine to blaise hehe sshhhh” she winked, considering she just told you her secret you felt obligated and just looked around “i mean i guess cedric” you giggled as she pointed at him after your response. before she could say anything else you felt a pair of hands wrap around your waist and drag you off. trying to kick your way out was useless and they brought you to an empty dorm.

through all of this you couldn’t tell who it was kicking and screaming for them to let you go till you heard mattheos voice “puff calm down it’s just me” he sighed putting you down on what you now assumed was his bed “why did you bring me in here that was so scary” you huffed trying to gain your composure. “diggory?” he scoffed not answering your question.

you looked at him confused as to what he was on about “what do you mean? what about cedric” you cocked your head to the side in confusion “you lost your virginity to him??” he questioned stepping closer to you looking rather.. pissed. you just laughed in response “me? lose my virginity to cedric?.. you’re funny” yeah you fantasized about it but it certainly wouldn’t happen.

“what were you talking to pansy about then??” he looked at you unconvinced, “she asked if i lost it and i said no, but id let him take it.-“ you shrugged “besides you know i tell you everything matt i’ve never even had a boyfriend let alone a guy be interested in my virginity” you sighed laying back onto the bed now feeling upset.

you heard mattheo sigh and you picked your head up to look at him, his eyes stared back at you in silence before breaking it “believe me there’s a lot of guys who want to get in your pants” he rubbed his fists and you gave him a confused expression yet again “what are you on about matt?” you were getting sober just from all of this extra mystery.

he walked over to the bed sitting beside you, “listen when we met you were just.. blooming completely and i would be lying if i didn’t say i first went up to you because of your looks.. well overtime you know we became friends and i noticed other guys staring in ways they shouldn’t have been so i had to teach them a lesson.” he looked at you and yo didn’t know how to respond to something like that.

“what exactly are you saying matt?” you didnt understand what he was poking at, did matt mean to say he basically likes you? were you reading too much into this? “look y/n, no one else in this school fucking deserves you. hell i don’t deserve you but i know i can treat you how you need. don’t ask me what took so long to confess to you y/n, but do you feel even remotely the same?” he let it all out quick and fast, and your mouth dropped.

“you want.. me?” you looked at him in disbelief and he just smiled “that’s what that whole speech was about, yeah” he chuckled nervously awaiting your reply “why?” you sighed still slightly unconvinced “have you fucking seen yourself puff? you’re so undeniably gorgeous, i don’t know how i hold myself back from you everyday” he leaned in closer to you making this all seem more real. without thinking you allowed yourself to lean into him, faces and lips meeting for the most magical first kiss you could’ve ever imagined.

“you’re so fucking beautiful y/n” he grabbed your face pulling you closer to him till you straddled over his lap sitting down continuing the now makeout. “this is so much better than.. imagined” you huffed through the kisses. you could already feel mattheos member growing beneath you and you never thought you’d be the one experiencing this from your best friend.

you’d be lying if you didn’t admit to a fantasy or two about him in the past but this was already one thousand times better than ever imagined. mattheos lips kissed their way down your neck leaving small marks tiny moans leaving your mouth, “i need to hear more of that, y/n, let me eat you out.. please i need a taste” he continued his kisses along your neck bringing them back to your lips “i’ve never- mm yes” you replied as his fingers began making circles over your underwear.

“you sound so good fuck” he groaned pulling you off of him and getting off the bed, “you’re sure of this?” he questioned one last time and you just nodded impatiently awaiting his next move. next thing you knew he was yanking you to the edge of his bed and slowly removing your pants and underwear looking up at you from below. “holy fuck puff.. you’re fucking soaking” he breathed out over your pussy sending tingles down your spine.

without warning his mouth met your untouched area and you felt things never imaginable. his tongue made its way around your bulging clit, flicking it up and down and making his way to your entrance sucking and licking “you taste so good holy fuck” he huffed going right back in not even looking up at you, “can i put two fingers” he spoke from your pussy and you couldn’t even properly answer “mm y-yes” you replied between your moans.

you felt his slender fingers teasing your entrance and he slowly began inching one in and out teasingly, “mattheo-“ you huffed and he chuckled shoving both fingers in, loud moan escaping your mouth and this new feeling. he did a few different moments trying to figure out what makes you moan the most, soon his tongue was sucking expertly on your clit as his fingers twisters and curled inside of you.

“matt i want to.. try” you moaned at this pleasure wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of you now. “mm but you’re not ready yet puff” he continued devouring your pussy simply divulging in it as if he’d never eaten anything before. his pace on everything quickened and you were already near your own orgasm, “if you don’t s-stop i’m gonna cum” you moaned loudly trying to control yourself.

“let go for me sweetheart” he sucked harder on your clit, the nickname and action forcing your orgasm to flood over you harder than you’ve ever been able to make yourself experience. your body was shaking and you couldn’t hold your reactions back, mattheo slowly licked your gushing area clean before standing up “mm now i think you’ll be ready soon” he smirked leaning down over you, grabbing your chin and giving you a kiss.

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enhaflixer · 29 days ago

Text

hogwarts time travel au! traveling to the future and waking up MARRIED PART 1

slytherin!riki x gryffindor!reader PART 2 HERE

warnings: time travel, sex, kissing, lots of kissing, kinda angsty, they have two kids, there are pranks and rivalry and its just real cute im ngl

The library had been blissfully quiet for exactly forty-three minutes. You'd counted. Forty-three minutes of peaceful study, undisturbed concentration, and actual progress on your Transfiguration essay. Which meant you were overdue for—

A paper crane swooped down from nowhere, circling your head three times before unfolding itself atop your carefully organized notes. The parchment fluttered open to reveal a doodle of what appeared to be you with steam coming out of your ears and your hair standing on end. Beneath it, elegant script that you unfortunately recognized immediately:

Looking a bit tense today, Gryffindork. Did someone hide your color-coded study schedule again?

You closed your eyes and counted to ten, but only made it to four before the sound of poorly suppressed laughter broke your concentration. Across the library, lounging in a chair as though he owned the place, sat Nishimura Riki. The bane of your existence for seven consecutive years.

"Real mature," you muttered, crumpling the parchment and tossing it over your shoulder.

The paper froze mid-air, reversed direction, and neatly unfolded itself before landing back on your textbook.

"That's littering, you know," Riki called, just loud enough to make Madam Pince shoot you both a warning glare. "Not very environmentally conscious of you."

You stabbed your quill into your inkpot with unnecessary force. "Some of us are trying to study for our N.E.W.T.s like responsible seventh-years."

Riki stretched, his Slytherin tie deliberately loosened, black hair artfully tousled in that way that made half the school swoon and made you want to hex him bald. "Ah yes, another thrilling evening of revising information you memorized three months ago. Living the dream."

"Not everyone coasts by on natural talent and family connections," you shot back.

Something flashed in his dark eyes – irritation, perhaps – but his smirk never faltered. "Is that what you think? That I don't work for my grades?"

"I think," you said, gathering your belongings with precise movements, "that you spend more time planning elaborate pranks than studying, yet somehow maintain your position as second in our class."

"Second only to you," he said with an exaggerated bow. "Though not for lack of trying."

Your academic rivalry was legendary – seven years of trading the top spot back and forth, never more than a few points separating you. It would have been admirable if he wasn't so insufferable about it.

"Well, some of us can't afford to waste time," you said, shoving your books into your bag.

Riki pushed off his chair and sauntered over, dropping into the seat across from you without invitation. "You know what your problem is?"

"Currently? You're sitting at my table."

He leaned forward, undeterred. "You've forgotten how to have fun. When was the last time you did something just because it made you laugh?"

"I laugh plenty," you insisted, though the defensive tone in your voice betrayed you.

"At jokes in textbooks, maybe." He twirled his wand between his fingers – a nervous habit he'd had since first year. "You're seventeen going on seventy."

"And you're seventeen going on seven," you countered. "Wasn't it your enchanted water balloons that flooded the third floor yesterday?"

His grin widened. "Can't prove it was me."

"Professor Flitwick literally said, 'Impressive charm work, Mr. Nishimura, but please reserve it for your classwork.'"

"He appreciates creativity," Riki shrugged, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. "But that was nothing. Tomorrow's prank will be legendary."

Despite yourself, curiosity piqued. "What are you planning now?"

"Concerned for my academic future?" he teased. "Worried I might finally surpass you if I get expelled?"

"Worried about innocent bystanders," you corrected. "Your last 'legendary' prank turned the entire Ravenclaw Quidditch team purple for a week."

"That was an accident," he protested, though his smile suggested otherwise. "The color was supposed to fade after twenty-four hours."

You rolled your eyes and stood up. "Well, whatever you're planning, leave me out of it. Some of us have actual goals beyond being remembered as Hogwarts' most annoying student."

His laugh followed you as you headed for the exit. "Come on! You know you'd be much happier if you loosened up a little!"

You resolutely ignored him, which was your standard approach to Nishimura Riki. Seven years of practice had proven it was the only way to maintain your sanity.

You should have known ignoring him wouldn't work. It never did.

The next morning, you woke to find every single one of your quills had been enchanted to write nothing but love poems. About him.

Eyes dark as midnight, smile sharp as wit, Nishimura Riki, quite the perfect fit...

"That's IT!" You stormed into the Great Hall, marching directly to the Slytherin table where Riki sat surrounded by his usual admirers. You slammed the offending quill down in front of him.

He looked up with infuriating innocence. "Problem?"

"Fix. My. Quills." Each word came through gritted teeth.

He inspected the quill with exaggerated care. "I'm flattered, truly, but I don't think I inspired this passionate declaration. Perhaps you've been harboring secret feelings?"

Several of his friends snickered. Your cheeks burned, but whether from anger or embarrassment, you refused to analyze.

"This isn't funny," you hissed. "I have a Charms practical in twenty minutes."

"Hmm." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "That is a problem."

"A problem you created!"

"I suppose I could fix it..." he mused, "for a price."

You crossed your arms. "What price?"

His smile turned mischievous. "Admit that I'm the better duelist."

This was an ongoing point of contention. You'd been evenly matched in Defense Against the Dark Arts since third year, much to both your frustrations.

"Never," you declared. "I beat you fair and square last week."

"You caught me off-guard with that modified Impediment Jinx."

"Which is called strategy," you countered. "Something you might understand if you spent more time studying and less time being an insufferable prat."

He clutched his heart dramatically. "You wound me. And here I thought we were friends."

"We are not friends," you said firmly. "We have never been friends."

Something shifted in his expression – so briefly you might have imagined it – before his usual smirk returned. "Fine. I'll fix your quills because I'm magnanimous and mature."

You snorted.

He flicked his wand, muttering an incantation under his breath. "There. Crisis averted. Though I was looking forward to Professor Flitwick reading poetry about my 'raven locks' and 'quicksilver reflexes.'"

"You're impossible," you said, snatching back your quill.

He winked. "Yet somehow you put up with me."

"Not by choice," you grumbled, turning to leave.

"Oh, by the way," he called after you, "pink is definitely your color!"

You frowned, then caught your reflection in a silver platter. Your hair had turned bright, bubblegum pink.

"NISHIMURA!"

It took three counter-charms to fix your hair, making you late for Charms and costing Gryffindor five points. Which was exactly what Riki had intended, no doubt. Your houses were neck-and-neck for the cup, and every point mattered in these final weeks.

Retaliation was necessary. And for once, you decided to beat him at his own game.

It took careful planning, timed precisely to the Slytherin Quidditch practice. A specialized color-changing potion in his shampoo (courtesy of a reluctant Slughorn, who thought you were doing "extra credit research"). By dinner, every Slytherin at the table was staring at Riki's violently pink hair and robes.

The best part? The potion was keyed to only activate for clothing in Slytherin colors and hair of his exact shade. No innocent bystanders.

His expression when he realized what had happened was worth the three nights of sleep you'd sacrificed to perfect the potion.

"Well played," he conceded when he cornered you after dinner, his robes still resolutely pink despite numerous attempts to change them back.

You allowed yourself a satisfied smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"This means war, you know." But he didn't sound angry – if anything, he seemed impressed.

"We've been at war since you turned my cauldron into a toad in first year," you reminded him.

"Good times," he sighed nostalgically. "Though I think you're forgetting that I never leave a prank unanswered."

You shrugged. "Do your worst, Nishimura. I'll be ready."

You were not, in fact, ready.

Three days later, whispers followed you through the corridors. Students giggled behind their hands as you passed. Even the professors were giving you strange looks.

It wasn't until Luna Lovegood approached you at lunch with her dreamy expression that you discovered why.

"I think it's very brave of you to be so public with your feelings," she said, patting your hand. "Though the singing Valentine might have been a bit much."

"What singing Valentine?" you asked, a sense of dread building.

She blinked owlishly. "The one you sent to Riki Nishimura this morning. With the cherubs and rose petals? It performed in the middle of the entrance hall."

Your blood ran cold. "I didn't send—"

But Luna had already drifted away, leaving you to face the horrified realization that Riki had successfully framed you for sending him the most over-the-top, public declaration of love in Hogwarts history.

The smug look on his face when you found him confirmed everything.

"That was LOW," you growled, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Even for you."

He captured your finger, gently pushing it away. "Just giving the people what they want. Half the school already thinks we're secretly in love, given how obsessed we are with each other."

"We are NOT—" you spluttered, then lowered your voice when you realized people were watching. "We are not obsessed with each other."

"Seven years of elaborate pranks suggests otherwise," he pointed out.

"Seven years of you being an absolute menace," you corrected.

He leaned against the wall, studying you with unexpected seriousness. "You know, anyone else would have reported me to McGonagall years ago. Yet you always retaliate instead. Why is that?"

The question caught you off guard. Why hadn't you ever reported him? It would have been the sensible thing to do.

"Because," you said finally, "that would be admitting you've won."

His slow smile was different from his usual smirk – smaller, more genuine. "And we can't have that, can we?"

"Never," you agreed, finding yourself smiling back despite everything.

The moment stretched, something unspoken passing between you before you broke the spell. "This isn't over, Nishimura. I'm going to make you regret that Valentine stunt."

"Looking forward to it," he called as you walked away.

Your opportunity came sooner than expected. You discovered quite by accident that Riki had been working on a modified time-distortion spell – not an actual Time-Turner, but a charm that created the illusion of time passing. His plan, according to the notes you'd "borrowed" from his bag during Potions, was to make you think you'd slept through your Arithmancy N.E.W.T.

Clever, but not clever enough.

You spent a week developing a counter-charm, designed to reflect the spell back on its caster. It was advanced magic, beyond N.E.W.T. level really, but the thought of beating Riki at his own game was too tempting to resist.

The night before the Arithmancy exam, you stayed up late in the library, knowing he'd make his move when you were exhausted and vulnerable. Sure enough, just after midnight, you detected the subtle shimmer of disillusionment as he crept toward your table.

You pretended to be dozing on your textbook, wand concealed but ready beneath the pages.

You felt rather than saw the moment he cast the spell – a strange ripple in the air, the whispered Latin incantation. In one fluid motion, you raised your wand and cast your counter-charm.

"Tempus Reflectum!"

Your spells collided in midair with a sound like shattering glass. Golden light erupted between you, blinding in its intensity. You felt a strange pulling sensation behind your navel, similar to a Portkey but stronger, as if something was yanking you through dimensions rather than mere space.

The last thing you saw was Riki's shocked face, his hand reaching toward you as the magic engulfed you both.

Then darkness.

You woke to sunlight on your face and the unfamiliar sensation of high-thread-count sheets against your skin. Your head pounded viciously, like the aftermath of a poorly brewed Wit-Sharpening Potion. Groggily, you rolled over, burying your face in a pillow that smelled of lavender and something else – a woody, spicy scent that was strangely familiar.

"Five more minutes," you mumbled, pulling blankets over your head.

Wait. These weren't your Gryffindor dormitory blankets.

Your eyes snapped open, heart racing. This wasn't your bed in Gryffindor Tower. The room was unfamiliar - spacious with burgundy accents and photographs you didn't recognize.

Worse, you weren't alone.

A warm weight pressed against your side. You turned your head slowly and froze. Nishimura Riki - your sworn enemy - was asleep next to you, his dark hair tousled, face relaxed in sleep, looking several years older than he should.

"What the—" you started, voice dying as your brain struggled to process the impossible sight before you. This wasn't right. This couldn't be happening.

Riki stirred beside you, mumbling something incoherent. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. Then he blinked rapidly, confusion washing over his features as he registered the unfamiliar surroundings. When his gaze finally landed on you, he froze.

"Wait..." he said groggily, rubbing his eyes like he might be dreaming. "What's going on?"

You scrambled backward, nearly falling off the bed in your haste. "Why are you— Where are we—" The questions tumbled over each other, none completing themselves.

Riki seemed equally disoriented, looking down at his own body, touching his face. "I feel... different. Older?" His voice was deeper, his shoulders broader. This wasn't the lanky seventeen-year-old who'd been tormenting you yesterday.

"This isn't Hogwarts," you whispered, taking in the room. "This isn't my dormitory. Why are we in a bed? Together?" Your voice rose with each question.

Realization dawned on his face, horror quickly replacing confusion. "No. No way. Tell me this isn't..."

The fog of sleep dissipated completely, replaced by rising panic. "You!" he finally accused, pointing a shaking finger. "What did you do? Where did you bring us?"

"ME?" Indignation cut through your shock. "You think I did this?" You grabbed a pillow and threw it at his head with all your strength. "This is clearly one of your stupid pranks gone wrong!"

"My pranks are never stupid," he shot back automatically, then looked wildly around the room at the photographs, at the clothing visible in the open wardrobe, at the obvious signs of a shared life. "And I definitely wouldn't prank myself into... whatever this nightmare is."

You noticed a wand on the nightstand - your wand, but somehow more worn - and lunged for it. As you did, something gold caught the light. A wedding ring on your finger.

"No," you whispered, staring at your hand. "No, no, no."

Riki noticed his own matching band and went pale. "This isn't possible."

You rushed to the mirror and gasped. Your reflection was you, but older - mid-twenties at least, with different hair and a confidence in your eyes your seventeen-year-old self had never possessed.

"If this is your idea of funny, Nishimura—" you began, whirling back toward him.

"For the last time, this isn't me!" he snapped, running a hand through his hair. "I was trying to prank you with a time-distortion spell, not..." he gestured between you wildly, "whatever nightmare this is!"

"Time-distortion?" Your eyes narrowed. "That spell you were working on in the library! The one I countered with—"

"You countered it?" Riki jumped to his feet. "What did you use? What exactly did you cast?"

"A reflection charm. It was supposed to bounce your stupid prank back at you!"

"You interfered with experimental magic?" He looked genuinely appalled. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"Oh, that's rich coming from you! The walking disaster who once turned the entire Great Hall ceiling into a swamp!"

"That was brilliant spellwork and you know it!"

Your shouting match escalated until you barely noticed the small figure appearing in the doorway. It wasn't until you heard a heartbroken sob that you both fell silent and turned.

A little girl stood there, maybe three years old, with tears streaming down her chubby cheeks. She had Riki's deep, dark eyes—so dark they were almost black—but your nose and mouth. Her black hair fell in messy waves to her shoulders, with a stubborn cowlick at the crown that somehow looked familiar. She wore mismatched pajamas—a Holyhead Harpies top and bottoms covered in tiny golden snitches. She was clutching a well-loved stuffed dragon, its once-vibrant green scales faded from countless hugs.

"Mama, Dada, no fight," she hiccupped, her lower lip trembling so dramatically that your heart clenched in response. "No fight, please."

The raw distress in her voice hit you like a physical blow. This child—your child, somehow—was devastated by your argument. And though your rational mind insisted she was a stranger, something deeper, more instinctive, recognized her as yours.

You caught Riki's expression changing from confusion to concern, his usual smirk melting away completely. His entire body language transformed in an instant—shoulders relaxing, voice softening to a tone you'd never heard him use before.

"Hey, it's okay," he said gently, approaching her with cautious steps and kneeling down to her level. "We're not fighting. We're just... talking loud."

His hand reached out to smooth her hair in a gesture that seemed so natural it startled you. The tenderness in his touch was nothing like the Riki you knew—the prankster, the rival, the perpetual thorn in your side.

"Loud scary," she whimpered, clutching her dragon tighter. Its head was tucked under her chin in a practiced motion of self-comfort. "Suki no like." Her voice broke on the last word, fresh tears spilling down her already damp cheeks.

Something powerful and overwhelming surged through you—a fierce, protective instinct you'd never felt before. Without thinking, you moved toward her, your body acting before your mind could catch up. It felt like gravity—like you physically couldn't stay across the room while she was crying.

You knelt beside Riki, your shoulders almost touching as you both hunched down to her height. "We're sorry we scared you, Suki," you said, your voice coming out gentle and soothing, as if you'd comforted this child a thousand times before.

She looked up at you with those big, tear-filled eyes—Riki's eyes, unmistakably—and something twisted in your chest. Recognition flashed between you, soul-deep, impossible to explain. You'd never met this child before today, but your heart knew her.

Your hand reached out of its own volition to wipe a tear from her soft cheek. The moment your skin touched hers, a rush of emotion flooded through you—love, protectiveness, and a bone-deep certainty that whatever else was happening, this connection was real.

"Dragon scared too," she said solemnly, holding up the stuffed toy. Now that you looked more closely, you noticed the dragon had a tiny Gryffindor scarf around its neck, clearly handknitted. "Puff needs hugs when scared."

"Puff?" you asked softly.

"Short for Puffskein," Riki explained automatically, then looked surprised at his own knowledge. "I think... I gave it to her on her second birthday."

Suki nodded vigorously. "Daddy said... said Puff keeps bad dreams away."

Your eyes met Riki's over her head, a moment of mutual bewilderment passing between you. How could he know that? How could either of you feel such instant recognition of a child you'd just met?

"Well," you said, finding your voice again. "Puff is right. Hugs do help when you're scared."

Suki looked at you hopefully, arms lifting in an unmistakable request. The gesture was so innocent, so trusting, that you couldn't refuse. You gathered her small body against yours, surprised by how naturally she fit in your arms, how right her weight felt. She smelled of baby shampoo and that indefinable sweet scent that seemed to belong only to children.

When she reached one arm out to include Riki in the hug, you watched his face cycle through confusion, hesitation, and then surrender. He moved closer, completing the circle, his arm brushing yours as he embraced both you and Suki.

For one strange, suspended moment, the three of you stayed like that—a tableau of family comfort that felt both foreign and achingly familiar. You caught Riki's eyes over Suki's head, and the confusion in them mirrored your own, but there was something else there too—a vulnerability you'd never seen before.

Suki's small hand patted your cheek. "Better now?" she asked, her tears already drying as children's often do, her resilience astonishing. She looked between you with such hope, such complete faith that her parents could fix anything, that you felt a lump form in your throat.

"Yes," you managed, though nothing was better, nothing made sense. "Much better."

Riki nodded, his voice slightly hoarse when he added, "All better, Suki."

She beamed then, her whole face lighting up with such joy that it physically hurt to look at. Her smile—your smile, undeniably—transformed her tear-stained face. "Suki fixed it," she declared proudly, patting her own chest. "Suki good helper."

"The best helper," Riki agreed, with a sincerity that sounded strange coming from him.

She wiggled out of the embrace, suddenly energized now that the crisis had passed. "Hungry now," she announced, as if the emotional storm had never happened. "Pancakes? With chocolate?"

"And berries," you found yourself adding, the words coming from nowhere. "You need something healthy with all that chocolate."

"Always saying that," Suki said with a dramatic sigh that was so reminiscent of Riki's that you almost laughed despite everything. "Boring."

Riki smothered what might have been a chuckle. "Some things never change," he murmured, so quietly only you could hear.

Suki grabbed both your hands in her small ones, tugging with surprising strength. "Come on! Sara waiting!"

As she mentioned the other child, another voice called out from somewhere down the hall—a younger, less articulate voice that nevertheless commanded attention.

"MAMA! DADA! UP!"

Riki's eyes met yours again, a silent question passing between you. Neither of you had to say it aloud: how could something feel so wrong and so right at the same time? How could these children be strangers and yet feel like they were pieces of your own heart?

Suki tugged more insistently. "Sara awake. She hungry too."

You allowed yourself to be pulled to your feet, noticing as you rose that Riki's hand lingered near your elbow, steadying you as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He snatched it back when he realized what he was doing, but not before you felt the warmth of his touch—so different from the antagonistic shoves and playful jabs you were used to exchanging.

"We should..." he began awkwardly.

"Yeah," you agreed, equally uncomfortable. "The other one—Sara—she sounds..."

"Impatient," Riki finished, a hint of his usual wry humor returning. "Wonder where she gets that from."

"Certainly not from me," you retorted automatically, falling into your familiar pattern of banter before you could stop yourself.

Suki looked up at you both, her dark eyes narrowing with that uncanny perceptiveness again. "No more fighting," she warned, squeezing your hands. "Promise?"

The way she said it—like she was the parent and you were the children—made something catch in your throat. This tiny person somehow had the power to make you feel both chastised and protected.

"Promise," you said softly, and meant it.

"For now," Riki added with a ghost of his usual mischief, but when Suki's eyes narrowed further, he quickly amended, "I mean, yes, I promise too."

Suki nodded, satisfied with your compliance. "Good," she declared. "Now pancakes."

She pulled you both toward the door with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where she was going and expected the rest of the world to follow. And somehow, despite everything—the confusion, the impossibility of the situation, the fact that you were in a strange house with the person you'd spent seven years despising—you found yourself following her lead.

As you passed through the doorway, your arm brushed against Riki's, and instead of flinching away as you normally would, you felt an odd sense of reassurance from the contact. You were both lost here, both confused, but at least you were lost together.

"Temporary truce?" you whispered to him, just low enough that Suki couldn't hear.

"Absolutely," he agreed, his voice equally soft. "But for the record, I still think this is somehow your fault."

"And I'm certain it's yours," you countered, but there was no real heat in it.

Suki glanced back, caught you whispering, and gave you both a look of such knowing approval that you wondered if she'd somehow orchestrated this whole bizarre situation. For a three-year-old, she seemed remarkably in control.

"Come on, slow pokes!" she called, tugging you forward. "Sara waiting!"

The voice from down the hall called again, more insistently this time:

"DADA! UP NOW!"

You followed in stunned silence, wondering what cosmic joke had landed you in a future where you and Nishimura Riki had not only married but created this earnest little peacemaker and her baby sister.

After a chaotic breakfast involving Sara wearing more pancake than she ate and Suki demonstrating her surprisingly advanced levitation skills ("No, Suki, we don't float the syrup to the ceiling"), you finally managed to settle the children with enchanted coloring books in the living room.

"We have approximately seven minutes before disaster strikes again," Riki muttered, watching Sara scribble with determined focus. "Let's use them wisely."

"We need to search the house," you whispered. "Find anything that might explain what happened or how to reverse it."

You split up, Riki taking the study while you explored the sitting room. The cottage was larger than it appeared from outside—clearly magically extended—with comfortable, lived-in furnishings that blended wizarding and Muggle styles seamlessly.

The walls were covered with photographs—magical ones that moved and Muggle ones that didn't. They told the story of a life you couldn't remember living: graduation from Hogwarts (standing suspiciously close to Riki), your wedding (looking disgustingly happy), Riki in formal Auror robes receiving some kind of commendation, you in professor's robes surrounded by students.

You paused at a series of photos displaying Suki's early days. There was one of you in a hospital bed, looking exhausted but radiant, cradling a newborn bundle while Riki sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders. The look on his face—pure wonder mixed with what could only be described as adoration—was so unlike any expression you'd ever seen him wear that you had to look away.

"Found something," Riki called softly from the study. "Photo albums. Lots of them."

You joined him, settling on the floor as he spread several leather-bound albums before you. Each was meticulously labeled in what appeared to be your handwriting: "Wedding," "Suki's First Year," "Sara's Birth," "Family Holidays."

"This is surreal," you muttered, opening the one labeled "Sara's Birth."

The images inside showed a progression: you with a rounded belly, Riki's hand resting on it with a proud smile; you in labor, gripping Riki's hand so tightly his fingers were white (that one gave you a small satisfaction); and finally, Riki holding newborn Sara, tears streaming unashamedly down his face while Suki peered curiously at her new sister.

"I look...happy," Riki said quietly, touching the edge of the photo.

"We both do," you admitted reluctantly.

You flipped through more pages, watching your impossible family life unfold. Holidays at what appeared to be his parents' home in Japan. Suki's first steps. Sara's naming ceremony.

"Look at this one," Riki said, pointing to a photo of both of you asleep on a couch, Suki as a baby nestled between you. The image captured pure exhaustion, but also undeniable contentment.

"This can't be real," you whispered, but the evidence was overwhelming. "How did we go from hexing each other to...this?"

Riki closed the album carefully. "More importantly, how do we get back to our time?"

You stood abruptly, pacing the study. "There must be something in this house—your research notes, my lesson plans, anything that might explain the magic that sent us here."

"Or how to reverse it," Riki added, rising to his feet.

"Exactly," you agreed, turning too quickly and colliding with him. His hands automatically steadied you, fingers wrapping around your upper arms.

You jerked away. "Don't touch me, Nishimura," you hissed. "Get your filthy fingers off me. God knows where they've been."

Something flickered in his eyes—hurt, perhaps?—before his usual smirk reappeared. He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "I don't know about God, but judging by these photos, I think I know where you'd like them to be."

Your face burned. "You're disgusting."

"And yet, apparently, you married me," he countered, gesturing to the ring on your finger. "Enthusiastically, from the looks of these albums."

You were about to deliver a scathing retort when a small sniffle from the doorway froze you both. Suki stood there, clutching Puff, her bottom lip wobbling dangerously.

"Mama and Dada fighting again?" she asked, voice trembling.

Pure panic flashed across Riki's face—the same feeling coursing through you. You had exactly two seconds to prevent another meltdown.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around Riki's waist, plastering what you hoped was a convincing smile on your face.

"Not fighting, sweetheart," you said quickly. "Dada and I were just...playing."

Riki, to his credit, recovered quickly. His arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you close against his side.

"That's right," he agreed, smiling down at Suki. "Mama and I were just being silly."

Suki didn't look entirely convinced. "No more loud voices?"

"No more loud voices," you promised.

She studied you both with those unnervingly perceptive eyes, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Sara made mess. Big mess."

You exchanged an alarmed glance with Riki before hurrying to the living room, where you discovered Sara had somehow gotten hold of a pot of Everlasting Ink. The black liquid covered the toddler, the carpet, and most of a nearby armchair.

"How—" you began.

"I left for one minute!" Suki defended herself. "One minute!"

You bit back a laugh at her indignant tone—so reminiscent of your own when dealing with Riki's pranks—and turned to assess the damage.

"I'll take Sara for a bath," Riki offered, gingerly lifting the ink-covered toddler. "You tackle the furniture?"

You nodded, surprised by how easily you both fell into problem-solving mode. "Suki, can you show me where we keep the cleaning supplies?"

The crisis was half-managed when a bright silver light burst through the window. A tabby cat Patronus landed gracefully on the coffee table, fixing you both with a stern, familiar gaze.

"Mr. Nishimura. Miss L/N ]," came Professor McGonagall's voice from the ethereal cat. "Or should I say, Professor and Auror Nishimura? I am aware of your...temporal predicament. Report to my office at Hogwarts immediately. Without the children, if you please. Eight o'clock this evening. Do try not to destroy anything else in the meantime."

The Patronus dissolved, leaving a stunned silence in its wake.

"She knows," you whispered.

"Of course she does," Riki said, Sara squirming in his arms, leaving ink stains on his shirt. "She's McGonagall."

"But how? And what did she mean 'destroy anything else'?" A thought struck you. "Merlin's beard—what if our spell did more than just send us through time? What if we changed something important?"

Riki frowned. "Or broke something magical."

"The timeline itself, perhaps," you suggested, feeling sick.

"Well," he said, shifting Sara to his other hip, "at least we don't have to figure this out alone now."

You looked around at the chaotic scene—the ink-stained room, the confused children, the evidence of a life neither of you remembered building—and felt a wave of hysterical laughter bubble up.

"What's so funny?" Riki asked, eyebrows raised.

"Just picturing McGonagall's face when we have to explain that this all started because you tried to make me miss an exam."

He opened his mouth to argue, then shook his head with a rueful smile. "We are so getting detention. For a month. Possibly the rest of our lives."

Suki tugged at your hand. "Who was the cat lady?"

You knelt down to her level. "That was Headmistress McGonagall. She's...an old friend."

"The scary one from your stories?" Suki asked, eyes wide. "The one who can turn into a cat?"

"Exactly that one," Riki confirmed.

Suki considered this information solemnly. "She mad at you?"

You exchanged a look with Riki. "Probably," you admitted.

"Definitely," he corrected.

"You need timeout?" Suki asked seriously.

This time, when your eyes met Riki's, you couldn't help it—you both burst out laughing, the tension of the morning finally breaking. Suki looked between you, confused but pleased that her parents were laughing instead of fighting.

"Yes, Suki," you managed when you could speak again. "I think Dada and I are in a very long timeout."

"The longest," Riki agreed, his smile—his real smile, not the smirk you were used to—making something flutter strangely in your chest.

You quickly looked away, focusing on the ink stain. Whatever was happening, whatever McGonagall knew, one thing was certain—you needed to fix this mess and get back where you belonged. Before you started getting used to Riki's genuine smile, or the way Suki's hand felt in yours, or the strange sense of rightness that kept creeping in despite your best efforts to ignore it.

Because this wasn't your life. It couldn't be. No matter what the photographs showed or how natural it sometimes felt.

...Could it?

Meeting with McGonagall had been exactly as intimidating as expected. Even as adults—or at least, in adult bodies—you both found yourselves fidgeting under her stern gaze like first-years caught out after curfew.

"Of all the reckless, irresponsible applications of magic," she'd said, pacing her office while portraits of former headmasters watched with varying degrees of amusement. "A temporal displacement caused by a schoolyard rivalry. Albus would have found this terribly entertaining." Her tone made it clear she did not share this sentiment.

McGonagall had explained, with remarkable patience, that your spell collision had created a rare but not unprecedented magical phenomenon. You had essentially switched places with your future selves—who were now presumably navigating your teenage lives at Hogwarts.

"So does that mean we can go back?" you'd asked hopefully.

Her answer had crushed that hope. "The magic will resolve itself naturally in approximately four weeks. Any attempt to force a reversal could cause irreparable damage to both timelines."

"Four WEEKS?" Riki had choked out.

"Consider it an educational opportunity, Mr. Nishimura," McGonagall had replied, the ghost of a smile playing at her lips. "A chance to see where your choices lead. Perhaps it will inspire better decision-making in your youth."

And with that decidedly unhelpful advice, she'd sent you both back to your cottage and your borrowed life, with instructions to maintain your professional obligations and "try not to destroy the timeline."

Which was how you found yourself standing in front of a classroom of third-year students the next morning, trying to remember anything useful about shield charms beyond the basics you'd learned in fifth year.

"Professor?" A Ravenclaw girl in the front row raised her hand. "You said last week we'd be practicing against minor hexes today."

"Right," you said, stalling. "But first, let's review. Can anyone tell me the three key principles of effective shielding?"

Thank Merlin for eager students. As they rattled off answers, you discreetly consulted the lesson plans you'd found in your desk drawer. Apparently, your future self was exceptionally organized—each lesson meticulously planned with notes on individual students' progress.

Meanwhile, Riki had reluctantly departed for the Ministry, armed with a crash course in current Auror protocols courtesy of a surprisingly helpful portrait of a former Head of Magical Law Enforcement hanging in McGonagall's office.

"Just act important and delegate everything," the portrait had advised with a wink. "Standard procedure for department heads after a vacation."

Department head. Apparently, Riki had risen quickly through Auror ranks to lead a specialized unit focused on magical smuggling and illegal enchantments. Your respect for your future husband's abilities had increased considerably—not that you'd admit it aloud.

The day passed in a blur of classes, staff meetings, and trying not to reveal your temporal displacement to colleagues who clearly knew you well. By evening, you were mentally exhausted but strangely exhilarated. You'd always secretly considered teaching, and discovering that you'd achieved that ambition was oddly satisfying.

Riki returned home via Floo just before dinner, looking shell-shocked but intact. The children greeted him with enthusiasm, Suki launching herself at his legs while Sara babbled excitedly from her high chair.

"How was it?" you asked once the initial chaos subsided.

"Terrifying," he admitted quietly, accepting the cup of tea you offered. "I'm apparently in charge of seventeen Aurors and coordinating with magical law enforcement across Europe. Me. The guy who once transfigured all the Slytherin common room furniture into rubber ducks."

"Well, you always were good at transfiguration," you pointed out, surprising yourself with the compliment.

He looked equally surprised. "Did you just acknowledge one of my skills without adding an insult?"

"Don't get used to it." But you found yourself smiling anyway.

Suki, ever watchful, observed this exchange with obvious approval. "Dada catch bad wizards today?" she asked, climbing onto his lap.

"Sort of," Riki answered, automatically adjusting to accommodate her. "Dada mostly signed papers and pretended to know what he was doing."

"That's what you always say," Suki giggled, clearly accustomed to this joke.

You watched them together, struck again by how naturally Riki had adapted to fatherhood. The boy who'd once charmed your quills to write nothing but love poems about himself was now patiently listening to a toddler's detailed description of her day at magical daycare.

"Miss Penny let me feed the pygmy puffs," Suki was explaining earnestly. "And I didn't even squeeze them too hard this time."

"That's my girl," Riki said, genuine pride in his voice. "Always improving."

Later, after you'd managed bathtime (Sara could apparently generate tsunamis with minimal water) and bedtime stories (Suki insisted on three, with different voices for each character), you and Riki faced the awkward reality of sleeping arrangements.

"I'll take the sofa," he offered, hovering in the bedroom doorway.

"Don't be ridiculous," you said practically. "That sofa is barely long enough for Suki. We're adults. We can share a bed without it being... weird."

Both of you knew this was a lie, but neither acknowledged it.

You established firm boundaries—a pillow wall down the center of the mattress and strict adherence to respective sides. You changed in the bathroom, emerging in pajamas you'd found in a drawer (thankfully modest), while Riki wore sweatpants and a t-shirt that he'd clearly transfigured to be baggier than its original fit.

"Goodnight," you said stiffly, turning your back to the pillow barrier.

"Goodnight," he replied from his side. "Try not to snore."

"I do not snore!"

"How would you know? You're asleep when it happens."

Just like that, you were arguing again—the familiar pattern a strange comfort in this unfamiliar situation.

You must have eventually fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were waking to a small voice and the mattress dipping slightly.

"Mama? Dada? Bad dream."

Suki stood beside the bed in her Holyhead Harpies pajamas, Puff clutched tightly to her chest, eyes wide and frightened in the dim wandlight that automatically illuminated at her distress.

Riki sat up immediately, all traces of sleep vanishing. "What kind of bad dream, Suki-bean?"

The casual endearment slipped out so naturally that neither of you remarked on it.

"Monsters," she whispered dramatically. "In the closet. And under bed. And in curtains."

"That's a lot of monsters," you said, sitting up as well.

"So many," she agreed solemnly. "Need both Mama and Dada."

She was already climbing onto the bed, worming her way directly into the center—right over your carefully constructed pillow barrier. She settled between you, looking from one to the other expectantly.

"Both stay," she insisted. "Both keep monsters away."

Riki met your eyes over her head, silently communicating in that strange way you'd developed over the past few days. You nodded slightly.

"We'll both stay," he promised. "No monsters allowed."

"That's right," you agreed. "Mama and Dada are scarier than any monsters."

Suki considered this, then nodded decisively. "Mama has scary voice when Sara draws on walls."

Riki bit back a laugh. "She certainly does."

You elbowed him lightly, but couldn't help smiling. Suki snuggled down between you, one small hand gripping your pajama top, the other clutching Riki's shirt.

"Night-night," she murmured, already drifting back to sleep, secure in the knowledge that her parents would keep her safe.

You lay awake long after her breathing deepened, acutely aware of Riki doing the same on the other side of your daughter. Your daughter. The thought still sent a jolt through you.

"This is strange, isn't it?" he whispered finally. "How quickly this starts feeling..."

"Normal," you finished when he trailed off. "I know."

"I'm not as terrible at this as I would have expected," he admitted.

"And I'm not hexing you every five minutes, which shows remarkable restraint on my part."

His low chuckle vibrated through the mattress. "Perhaps we've matured. A little."

"Apparently enough to create this," you said softly, gently brushing a strand of hair from Suki's forehead.

"She's pretty amazing, isn't she?" The naked pride in his voice made your throat tighten.

"Both of them are."

Silence fell again, but it was different now—contemplative rather than awkward. Eventually, you drifted off to sleep, the last sensation being Suki's warm weight against your side and, just beyond her, the steady rhythm of Riki's breathing.

The next few days established a strange new routine. You taught Defense Against the Dark Arts by day, gradually growing more comfortable as muscle memory and your future self's excellent notes guided you. Your colleagues clearly respected you—Professor Flitwick even mentioned your recent paper on practical defensive applications of Charms work published in Transfiguration Today.

Riki adapted to Auror work with surprising skill, his natural talent for thinking outside conventional boundaries apparently serving him well in investigating magical smuggling operations. He returned home each evening with increasingly fewer looks of panic and more stories of actual accomplishment.

The children attended Little Sorcerers, a magical daycare in Hogsmeade run by a cheerful witch named Penny Clearwater who had apparently been a few years ahead of you at Hogwarts. Suki was in the "Developing Wands" group for magical children showing early signs of ability, while Sara stayed in the "Baby Beasts" room.

Domestic life fell into place with unexpected ease. You discovered household charms you'd never known, apparently perfected by your future self. Riki, much to your surprise, was an excellent cook—another skill his future self had developed.

"My mother always said cooking is just like potions, but with less chance of explosion," he explained one evening as he expertly charmed knives to chop vegetables. "Usually less chance, anyway."

One week into your strange displacement, you were sitting at the kitchen table grading essays while Riki played with the girls in the living room. His patient voice floated through the doorway as he explained, for what must have been the thousandth time, why Sara couldn't ride the toy broomstick Suki had received for her birthday.

"Because she's too little, Suki. Remember when you were her age and tried to ride Uncle Jake's broom? What happened?"

"I falled in rosebushes," Suki recited reluctantly. "And needed ouchie potion."

"Exactly. So Sara needs to wait until she's bigger, just like you did."

You found yourself smiling at the exchange. The Riki you knew from Hogwarts had never shown this kind of patience. But then, you'd never really looked for it either, had you? You'd been so busy competing, bickering, retaliating for pranks, that you'd never considered there might be more to him.

Later that night, after the children were asleep, you found yourself lingering in the study, examining framed certificates and photographs. Your teaching credentials from a specialized Defense mastery program. Riki's Auror certification, with honors. A joint commendation from the Ministry for some collaborative project.

Riki found you there, two mugs of tea in hand. He offered one silently, and you accepted with a nod of thanks.

"Strange to see what we become," he said finally, examining a photo of you both at what appeared to be a Ministry function.

"Not what I expected," you admitted.

"No?"

You gestured around the study. "Look at all this. Professional success. Academic recognition. A home, a family..." You trailed off, not quite able to complete the thought.

Riki did it for you. "Everything we secretly wanted but were too proud to admit?"

You looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, suddenly looking vulnerable in a way the seventeen-year-old Riki never would have allowed. "I never hated you, you know. I was just..."

"Competitive?" you supplied.

"Immature," he corrected with a rueful smile. "And maybe a little intimidated. You always knew exactly what you wanted and how to get it. I just knew what I didn't want—to follow my father into the diplomatic service, to be serious all the time."

"So you became the class clown instead?"

"I became whatever would get a reaction." His honesty surprised you. "Especially from you."

You weren't ready for this conversation—this glimpse beneath the surface of your carefully maintained animosity. So you deflected.

"Well, apparently it worked out for both of us." You gestured to the evidence of your successful careers. "Though I still can't believe I married someone who once enchanted my hair to glow in the dark during exams."

"In my defense, you looked incredible. Like a vengeful goddess."

Despite yourself, you laughed. "I was so furious. I couldn't figure out how to counter it for three days."

"I know." His smile turned reminiscent. "McGonagall finally took pity on you. But not before I got to admire my handiwork for half a week."

The ease between you was new and unsettling. It felt like a betrayal of your properly antagonistic relationship, yet it also felt... right. As if your bodies remembered a friendship—and more—that your minds hadn't yet experienced.

"We should sleep," you said abruptly, uncomfortable with the direction of your thoughts. "Early classes tomorrow."

Riki nodded, the moment broken. "Right. Of course."

You both headed to the bedroom, maintaining the pretense of the pillow barrier even though Suki had demolished it the past three nights in a row, inevitably climbing into your bed with complaints of monsters, bad dreams, or simply "missing Mama and Dada."

But as you lay in the darkness, listening to Riki's breathing slow on the other side of the useless barrier, you couldn't help wondering: If this was your future—a respected career, beautiful children, and an unexpectedly supportive partner—was it really something you wanted to undo?

The thought followed you into dreams where seventeen-year-old Riki laughed as he turned your hair pink, but adult Riki smiled as he helped you wash it out, his fingers gentle against your scalp and his eyes holding something you weren't ready to name.

Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains as you carefully extracted yourself from the bed, trying not to disturb Riki. Over the past ten days, you'd fallen into an uneasy routine—you rose early to prepare for your classes while he handled the nighttime wake-ups with Sara, who still wasn't sleeping through the night.

Today you had a particularly early staff meeting to review the upcoming O.W.L. practical examinations. You gathered your teaching robes and had just started toward the bathroom when a loud chiming sound filled the room.

A glowing orb materialized above the dresser—something like a remembrall but larger and pulsing with magical energy. You approached it cautiously, poking it with your wand.

The orb expanded, revealing the face of a woman you didn't recognize—though she clearly knew you, judging by her broad smile.

"Fucking finally! I've been trying to reach you since yesterday!" the woman exclaimed. Her curly hair was piled haphazardly atop her head, and she appeared to be wearing pajamas. "Did you get my message about Friday? Because Marcus is taking the kids to his mother's, and I'm desperate for a girls' night."

You froze, desperately trying to place her. This must be a friend of your future self—possibly your best friend, given her casual manner.

"I, um—" you stammered.

"Oh shit, did I wake you? What time is it there?" She squinted, then gasped dramatically. "Is that Riki in bed behind you? Sorry! Although..." her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "since I've got you both, I might as well ask. That thing you mentioned last month? The tongue thing?"

Your face burned as you realized what kind of "thing" she was referring to.

"I tried it with Marcus but I must be doing something wrong because he just looked confused, and honestly, after three kids you'd think I'd have figured out how to keep things interesting," she continued, seemingly oblivious to your discomfort. "But you always seem to have Riki thoroughly fucked—he practically glows every time I see him—so clearly you're doing something right."

You heard a muffled sound from the bed and glanced back to see Riki stirring, his eyes opening with confusion that quickly transformed to interest as he caught snippets of the conversation.

"I mean," your friend continued, lowering her voice even more, "last time we talked, you said it was all about the pattern you use with your tongue and how you have to maintain eye contact the whole time? And something about using a specific angle? I tried but Marcus kept laughing and saying it tickled."

Riki's eyebrows shot up, and he propped himself on his elbows, now fully awake and listening intently.

"And then you mentioned that thing with the ice cube beforehand? Did you mean like directly on his—"

"I REALLY need to go," you interrupted desperately, but your friend was on a roll.

"—because that seemed extreme, but then again, your sex life is legendary. Remember at New Year's when you two disappeared for an hour and came back looking like you'd been mauled by something? And Riki couldn't stop smirking for the rest of the night? Merlin's balls, whatever you did to him must have been spectacular."

At this point, Riki had both hands clamped over his mouth, his entire body shaking with barely contained laughter.

"Anyway," your friend continued, blissfully unaware of the chaos she was causing, "I just need a refresher. When you grip his thighs, is it more about the pressure or the—"

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" you finally shouted, frantically tapping the orb, trying to end the call. "I'M ABOUT TO BE LATE FOR A MEETING!"

"Oh! Sorry!" she said, finally noticing your distress. "But just quickly—that position you mentioned, the one where you—"

"SILENCIO!" you bellowed, finally succeeding in muting her. But the call continued, her lips moving silently as she enthusiastically mimed what appeared to be a particularly athletic maneuver.

Behind you, Riki had lost his battle with composure. He was now howling with laughter, rolling on the bed and clutching his stomach.

"Holy shit," he gasped between fits of hysterical laughter. "Eye contact the whole time? Ice cubes? What the fuck do our future selves get up to?"

You finally located the deactivation rune and jabbed it violently. The orb vanished with a small pop, leaving mortified silence in its wake.

Well, silence except for Riki's continued uncontrollable laughter.

"I will hex you into next week," you threatened, your face burning hot enough to fry an egg.

"The fucking tongue thing!" he wheezed, tears streaming down his face. "And apparently I get 'thoroughly mauled' at New Year's? No wonder future-me always looks so damn pleased with himself!"

"Would you SHUT UP?" you hissed, grabbing a pillow and launching it at his head.

He caught it mid-air, his Quidditch reflexes intact even as he gasped for breath between laughs. "I can't—I can't breathe—"

"Good! Die, then!"

"Aww, don't be embarrassed," he teased, finally regaining some control. "Obviously our future selves enjoy fucking each other. We have two tiny munchkins as proof of that." He gestured toward the nursery with a grin. "Concrete evidence of at least two very successful encounters."

"This isn't funny, you absolute ass!" But your embarrassment was being overtaken by reluctant amusement at the absurdity of the situation.

"It's extremely funny," he countered, sitting up and wiping tears from his eyes. "Your face when she started mimicking that position—"

You launched yourself across the bed, determined to silence him before he could continue. Your hand clamped over his mouth as you landed half on top of him, using your body weight to pin him down.

"Not. Another. Goddamn. Word." You glared down at him, trying to look intimidating despite your undoubtedly bright red face.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, amusement evident even with his mouth covered. But then something shifted in his gaze—the laughter fading into something warmer, more intense. You suddenly became acutely aware of your position: straddling his lap, one hand over his mouth, your faces inches apart.

His breath was warm against your palm. You should move. You should definitely move. But your body seemed frozen, caught in the magnetic pull of his gaze.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and wrapped his fingers around your wrist, gently pulling your hand away from his mouth. The casual strength in his grip sent an unexpected shiver down your spine.

"Is this how you keep me thoroughly fucked and satisfied?" he murmured, voice pitched low in a way you'd never heard from seventeen-year-old Riki. "Pinning me down until I submit?"

Your breath caught. The air between you felt charged, crackling with a tension that had nothing to do with your usual animosity.

"I—" Whatever you might have said was lost as a piercing wail erupted from the nursery monitor on the nightstand.

"DAAAAADAAAA!" Sara's voice shattered the moment. "UP! UP NOW!"

Riki closed his eyes briefly, a mixture of frustration and resignation crossing his features. "Fuck. Perfect timing, as always," he muttered.

You scrambled off him, nearly falling in your haste to put distance between your bodies. "I should—shower. Meeting. Early."

Eloquence had apparently abandoned you entirely.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I'll check on Sara."

"Right. Good. Yes." You edged toward the bathroom, clutching your teaching robes like a shield.

At the door, he paused, throwing you a look over his shoulder. "You know we're going to have to continue this conversation eventually."

"What conversation?" you asked, aiming for innocent and missing by several miles.

His smile was slow and knowing. "The one about all the ways our future selves apparently enjoy fucking each other. And maybe that tongue thing. Seems like valuable information we shouldn't waste."

With that parting shot, he left to tend to Sara, leaving you leaning weakly against the bathroom door, your heart racing and your mind filled with images you had no business imagining.

You'd just finished putting Sara down for her nap when the distinct crack of apparition sounded from the front garden. Wand instantly in hand—a reflex from your Defense teaching—you moved cautiously toward the window.

A petite Japanese woman in elegant midnight-blue robes stood at your gate, a large ornate box floating beside her. Her hair was pulled into a sleek knot at the nape of her neck, and though she must have been in her fifties, she had the posture of someone half her age.

"Riki!" you called, recognizing her from the family photos. "Your mother's here!"

There was a crash from the kitchen, followed by a string of muffled curses.

"My WHAT?" he hissed, appearing in the doorway with a look of undisguised panic. "Why? Did you know she was coming?"

"How would I know that?" you whispered back frantically.

"You're the one who's apparently been married to me for years! Don't you have a schedule or something?"

Before you could argue further, an imperious knock sounded at the door. You both froze like guilty first-years caught out after curfew.

Suki, oblivious to your distress, came barreling down the hall. "GRANDMA!" she squealed, reaching for the doorknob before either of you could stop her.

The door swung open to reveal Riki's mother, her stern expression instantly transforming into a warm smile at the sight of her granddaughter.

"Suki!" she exclaimed, setting down her floating package to sweep the child into her arms. "Have you been practicing your Japanese?"

"Hai, Grandma!" Suki replied proudly.

"Good girl." She kissed Suki's forehead before setting her down, then turned her attention to you and Riki, who was hovering awkwardly behind you.

"Darling," she greeted you with unexpected warmth, moving forward to embrace you. "You look tired. Is my son helping enough with the children?" She didn't wait for an answer before turning to Riki. "Riki! Your hair is a mess. Are you still sleeping until noon? You have responsibilities now!"

Without warning, she reached up and slapped the back of his head—a feat requiring her to almost stand on tiptoe, given the height difference.

"Mom!" Riki protested, rubbing his head. "It's good to see you too."

"Is it? When was the last time you visited?" She grabbed his ear and tugged, pulling his head down to her level. "Do I need to remind you of the importance of family?"

You bit your lip, trying desperately not to laugh at the sight of fully-grown Auror Riki being treated like a naughty schoolboy. The look of helpless resignation on his face suggested this was a regular occurrence.

"We've been busy with work, Mom," you intervened, taking pity on him. "Please, come in. Would you like some tea?"

She released Riki's ear and beamed at you. "Always so polite. This one knows how to show respect, Riki. You should learn from your wife."

"Yes, Mom," Riki muttered, rubbing his ear.

"Grandma bring presents?" Suki asked hopefully, eyeing the box that had resumed floating beside her grandmother.

"Just one special delivery today," Hana replied, guiding the box into the living room with a flick of her wand. "For your parents."

You led everyone into the kitchen, where you busied yourself preparing tea. Riki, clearly trying to behave, pulled out a chair for his mother.

"Such good manners," Hana observed with mock surprise. "Did your wife teach you that, too?"

"Mom..." Riki began with a long-suffering sigh.

"I'm teasing, Riki," she said, but slapped his arm anyway. "Mostly."

You placed a teacup in front of her, grateful that your future self apparently knew how she took her tea.

"Now," Hana said after taking a delicate sip, "about the item you asked me to find."

You exchanged a quick glance with Riki, neither of you having any idea what she was referring to.

"I've brought it, just as promised," she continued. "Though why you couldn't have asked for it during your visit last month instead of by owl, I don't understand."

"Work has been... unpredictable," you improvised, hoping it was a plausible excuse.

Hana made a dismissive gesture. "Always work with you two. But I suppose that's why you're both so successful." There was genuine pride in her voice, despite her criticisms.

"Suki," she said, turning to her granddaughter who was attempting to climb onto Riki's lap, "would you show me your new drawings? The ones you told Grandma about in your message?"

Suki nodded eagerly. "In my room! I drawed a dragon eating ice cream!"

"Drew, Baby," Riki corrected automatically.

"That's what I said, Daddy," Suki replied with the confidence of a child who could never be wrong. She took her grandmother's hand and began tugging her toward the stairs.

"I'll just be a few minutes," Hana said, allowing herself to be led away. "Riki, make yourself useful and start dinner. Your wife works all day teaching those hopeless children to defend themselves. The least you can do is feed her properly."

"Yes, Mom," Riki replied with practiced patience.

The moment they disappeared upstairs, he turned to you. "What the hell is going on? What did you apparently ask her for?"

"How should I know?" you whispered back. "Maybe it's in that box she brought?"

You both turned to look at the ornate package still floating in the living room. It was wrapped in deep blue silk with silver constellations that actually twinkled and shifted across the fabric.

"Whatever it is, it's fancy," Riki observed. "And apparently important."

"We can't open it until we know what it is," you said reasonably. "Your mother might expect a specific reaction."

"I haven't seen her this... pleasant... in years," Riki admitted. "Usually there's at least twenty minutes of criticism before she even considers smiling."

"She seems quite fond of me," you couldn't help noting with a slight smirk.

"Of course she is," Riki grumbled. "You're exactly the type of person she wanted me to be—studious, responsible, organized. You probably color-code your lesson plans."

"I do not!" you protested, then caught yourself. "Well, future-me might, but that's beside the point."

Before you could continue, Hana reappeared, sans Suki. "She's showing Sara her drawings now," she explained. "That child could talk for England in the Olympics."

"Wonder where she gets that from," you said, giving Riki a pointed look.

Hana laughed. "Exactly what I was thinking." She moved to the box and gestured for you to join her. "Come, I'll show you what I found. Riki, start the rice. The women are talking."

Riki rolled his eyes but obediently moved to the kitchen, muttering something about "impossible women ganging up on him."

Hana drew you to the far side of the living room, lowering her voice. "I wanted to give this to you privately first," she said, untying the silk wrapping. "So you can decide how to present it to him for your anniversary."

Anniversary? Your heart rate picked up. Exactly how close was this supposedly important date?

The silk fell away, revealing a carved wooden box with the Nishimura family crest inlaid in mother-of-pearl. Hana opened it carefully to reveal a stunning platinum pocket watch nestled in velvet.

"It belonged to his grandfather," she explained, lifting it gently. "Riki adored it as a child. Used to beg to hold it, would sit for hours watching the constellation dial shift with the seasons."

She opened the watch's case, revealing an exquisitely detailed night sky in miniature, with tiny stars that glittered and moved in real-time. The craftsmanship was breathtaking.

"His grandfather promised it to him when he became a man worthy of it," Hana continued, a soft smile playing at her lips. "But he passed before Riki finished Hogwarts."

She pressed the watch into your hands. "When you wrote asking if I still had it—if I would consider letting you give it to him for your fifth anniversary—I admit I cried. You understand my son in ways I never could."

Fifth anniversary. The words echoed in your mind. You and Riki had been married for five years in this timeline.

"I..." you began, genuinely moved by both the gift and the sentiment behind it.

"No need for words," Hana said, patting your hand. "I know you'll present it perfectly. Just promise me you'll take a photograph of his face when he sees it."

"I promise," you said sincerely, carefully returning the watch to its case.

"Good. Now hide it away before he—"

"Before I what?" Riki asked, returning from the kitchen with a dish towel over his shoulder.

Hana moved with surprising speed, snatching the box and thrusting it behind you. "Before you stick your nose where it doesn't belong!" she scolded, reaching up to tug his ear again. "Honestly, Riki, eavesdropping at your age!"

"I wasn't—" he protested, bending awkwardly to accommodate her grip on his ear. "Mom, please!"

"Go back to the kitchen," she commanded. "The rice will burn."

"It's in a spelled pot, it can't burn," he argued.

She released his ear only to slap the back of his head again. "Don't contradict your mother. Go. Shoo."

Riki shot you a pleading look, but you merely shrugged, hiding your amusement poorly. He slouched back to the kitchen, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "traitor."

Once he was out of earshot, Hana handed you the box again. "Hide this somewhere he won't look. Do you have such a place?"

You thought quickly. "My lesson plan cabinet. He'd rather face a Hungarian Horntail than look through teaching materials."

Hana nodded approvingly. "Smart girl. This is why I always said you were too good for him."

"I don't know about that," you said, surprising yourself with the sincerity in your voice.

Hana's expression softened. "Neither does he. That's what makes you perfect together." She straightened her robes briskly. "Now, I should supervise his cooking before he ruins dinner. His father was the same way—brilliant man, hopeless with domestic spells."

As she marched toward the kitchen, you heard her exclaim, "Riki! What are you doing to those poor vegetables? Here, let me show you again..."

You slipped the box into your teaching bag, mind reeling. Five years of marriage. A thoughtful anniversary gift that Riki would apparently treasure. A mother-in-law who clearly adored you and whom you called "Mom" with ease.

This life—this future—kept revealing layers that made it harder and harder to dismiss as a nightmare or a prank gone wrong. Because parts of it, if you were being honest with yourself, didn't feel wrong at all.

They felt alarmingly, confusingly right.

From the kitchen came the sound of Riki's protests, followed by his mother's firm instructions and what sounded like another light slap. Despite everything—your displacement in time, your confusion about your feelings, the lingering embarrassment from this morning's call—you found yourself smiling.

Some things, apparently, never changed. Even in a future where everything else had.

Two days after Hana's visit, you were grading essays in the study when the fireplace flared green. Instinctively, you reached for your wand, still not entirely comfortable with the casual magical security of your future home.A man's head appeared in the flames—mid-thirties, with an easy smile and close-cropped hair. "Riki! You home, mate?" he called.

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Thankfully, Riki appeared from the kitchen, and you were surprised to see genuine delight spreading across his face.

"Jake!" He rushed to the fireplace, the dish towel in his hands forgotten. "Merlin, it's good to see you."

The relief in his voice was palpable—this wasn't just recognition of someone from this future timeline, but someone he genuinely knew.

"Good to see me? You saw me three days ago at the office," Jake's floating head laughed. "Listen, just checking about tomorrow night. Seera's been on my case all week about what time you two are arriving."

Riki blinked, momentarily thrown. "Tomorrow night?"

Jake's expression turned exasperated. "The department dinner? Don't tell me you forgot. You RSVPed weeks ago."

"Right. The department dinner," Riki repeated, shooting you a panicked glance.

"Unbelievable," Jake said, but his tone was affectionate rather than annoyed. "I've been reminding you about deadlines since you were nine, and you still forget. Good thing I called. Seera would hex me into next week if you two didn't show—she's been looking forward to catching up with the professor here." He nodded in your direction.

You gave a small wave, noting how Riki seemed to relax into the familiar dynamic with Jake.

"It's just..." Riki began, running a hand through his hair, "with the children and everything—"

"Don't even start," Jake cut him off. "You already arranged for Molly Weasley to watch the girls. You told me yourself last week. Said it was your anniversary gift to yourselves—an evening without sticky fingers and bedtime tantrums."

Your eyes met Riki's, a silent message passing between you. He looked both relieved to be talking to someone from his past and confused by the new information.

"Right," Riki said, recovering his composure. "Sorry, just a long week. What time is it again?"

"Seven for drinks, dinner at eight," Jake replied. "At Theodesia's in Diagon Alley. The private room upstairs." He paused, then added with a knowing smirk, "Formal dress. You know how the boss loves any excuse for everyone to get fancy."

"Great," Riki said with more genuine enthusiasm now. "Looking forward to it."

"You'd better be. Seera's been practicing her speech all week." Jake winked. "She's determined to toast the department's most disgustingly perfect couple on their anniversary milestone."

"Our... right." Riki's hand went back to his hair—a nervous tell you'd noticed over the past weeks. "Wouldn't miss it."

"Excellent! See you both tomorrow, then," Jake said. His head started to withdraw, then popped back. "Oh, and Riki? Wear the blue dress robes. Your wife once told Seera they make your ass look fantastic."

With that parting shot and a laugh, he disappeared, leaving the fireplace ordinary once more.

Riki stared at the empty fireplace for a moment, a complicated mix of emotions crossing his face.

"You know him," you said, not a question but an observation. "From before all this."

"Jake Sim," Riki nodded, sinking onto the sofa beside you. "He lived down the street from us when I was a kid. Seven years older than me, but he always let me tag along when his friends played Quidditch. Taught me how to fly, actually." His voice softened with fondness. "Kind of the big brother I never had."

"That must be nice," you said carefully. "Having someone familiar in all this strangeness."

"It is," he admitted. "Weird to see him so much older, though." He glanced at you. "Apparently he works in the Auror department with me. That explains a lot—he always said he wanted to be an Auror."

"So," you said, returning to practicalities, "department dinner tomorrow."

"Apparently." Riki looked less panicked now, almost reassured by the connection to his past. "Formal. With at least one person I actually know."

"And a toast to our anniversary." You groaned. "Perfect."

"Let me check the details," Riki said, summoning his work organizer from his bag and flipping through to tomorrow's date. "Here it is. 'Annual Auror Division Recognition Dinner. Special achievement acknowledgments.' And in smaller writing: 'Jake and Seera Sim confirmed, Table 3.'"

"Recognition dinner? Is your future self getting an award or something?"

"I have no idea." Riki looked genuinely alarmed by the possibility. "I'm still trying to figure out where to find case files in my office."

You rubbed your temples, feeling a headache forming. "So now we have to attend a formal dinner with people who know us—our future selves—well enough to comment on how your ass looks in dress robes, make anniversary toasts, and possibly present you with some kind of award."

"Don't forget we apparently arranged childcare with Molly Weasley," Riki added. "Whom neither of us has spoken to in this timeline."

"Shit." You dropped your head into your hands. "This is getting more complicated by the day."

Riki was quiet for a moment, then said thoughtfully, "Maybe we should look at this as an opportunity."

You raised your head. "An opportunity for what? Public humiliation?"

"Information gathering," he corrected, looking more confident than he had in days. "Jake knows me—the real me. And he obviously knows our future selves well too. He might be able to help us understand how we ended up... here." He gestured vaguely between you. "Plus, if this is some kind of work event, I might learn more about what my job actually entails."

He had a point. And if you were honest with yourself, you were a bit curious about your social circle in this future life—especially this childhood friend who had clearly remained important to Riki into adulthood.

"Fine," you conceded. "But we need a strategy. Signals if one of us is getting into conversational quicksand."

"I'll step on your foot if you start heading into dangerous territory," Riki suggested.

"And I'll spill my drink on you if you do the same."

"Seems fair," he agreed, then glanced at the clock. "Should we... call Molly? Confirm the childcare arrangement?"

"As much as I'm dreading it, probably," you admitted. "We also need to figure out what to wear to this thing."

Riki stood up. "I'll check the wardrobe for the allegedly ass-flattering blue robes. You handle Molly."

"Why do I get the hard job?" you protested.

"Because she already loves you, Professor," he said with a grin. "Everyone does, apparently."

You threw a quill at him, which he dodged easily as he headed upstairs.

After an awkward but ultimately successful Floo call to Molly Weasley—who indeed seemed already aware of your childcare needs and waved off your attempts to confirm details with a cheerful "Of course, dear, just bring them over before six like usual"—you headed upstairs to assess your own formal wear options.

The master bedroom closet revealed an impressive collection of teaching robes interspersed with more formal attire. Near the back, you found several elegant dress robes and gowns that your seventeen-year-old self would never have imagined owning.

You were examining a particularly stunning deep green gown when Riki emerged from the bathroom, holding up a set of formal midnight-blue dress robes with silver embroidery along the cuffs and collar.

"Found them," he announced. "Think these are the ones that make my ass look fantastic?"

"I wouldn't know," you said primly. "I've never made a habit of assessing that particular feature."

"Liar," he said with a smirk. "I've caught you looking."

"I have not—" you began, then stopped at his triumphant expression. "You're just trying to get a rise out of me!"

"And succeeding." He grinned, then nodded at the green gown in your hands. "That one. It's phenomenal."

You glanced down at the gown, surprised by his comment. "You think?"

"I know." His voice had lost its teasing edge. "You wore something similar to the Yule Ball in fourth year. I remembered thinking..." He trailed off, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

"Thinking what?" you prompted, curious despite yourself.

"Nothing important." He focused intently on his dress robes, inspecting them for non-existent lint. "Just that you looked... nice."

The admission hung in the air between you, unexpectedly weighty. You'd gone to the Yule Ball with a Ravenclaw boy whose name you barely remembered now. You hadn't even realized Riki had noticed you that night.

"Well," you said, trying to sound casual, "I suppose this will do, then."

"We should probably practice," Riki said abruptly.

"Practice what?"

"Acting like... you know. A couple." His cheeks had colored slightly. "If these people know us well, they'll expect certain behaviors. Interactions."

"Like what?" You weren't sure if the flutter in your stomach was anxiety or something else.

"I don't know, exactly. But probably more than the awkward distance we've been maintaining." He gestured between you. "People who've been married for five years don't flinch when they accidentally brush hands passing the salt."

He had a point, loath as you were to admit it. Your attempts at playing happy couple in front of the children were unconvincing enough; fooling adults who knew you well would be even harder.

"What did you have in mind?" you asked cautiously.

"Just... getting more comfortable. Small things." He stepped closer, tentatively reaching for your hand. "May I?"

Your heart stuttered as you nodded, allowing him to take your hand in his. His fingers were warm, slightly calloused—Auror training, perhaps, or years of Quidditch.

"See? Not so terrible." His voice had dropped to a lower register that sent an unexpected shiver through you.

"I suppose not," you managed.

He took another half step closer. "At an event like this, I might... put my arm around you." Slowly, telegraphing his movements, he released your hand and slid his arm around your waist.

You tensed briefly, then made yourself relax into the contact. It felt strange—Nishimura Riki touching you without it being part of some prank or competition—but not unpleasant.

"And you might lean into me a little," he suggested. "Like it's natural."

Hesitantly, you shifted your weight, allowing your body to rest slightly against his. He was solid, warm, his familiar scent—sandalwood and something uniquely him—enveloping you.

"Better," he murmured. "Almost convincing."

You looked up, intending to make some sarcastic remark, but the words died in your throat. His face was much closer than you'd realized, his dark eyes studying you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

"People might expect us to..." he began, then paused. "That is, married couples usually..."

"Usually what?" you whispered, though you knew perfectly well what he meant.

His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes. "Dance," he finished, stepping back abruptly and breaking the moment. "We should practice dancing. For tomorrow."

"Right," you said, ignoring the confusing pang of disappointment. "Dancing. Good idea."

"I'll, um, let you finish looking through your options," he said, backing toward the door with his blue robes still clutched in one hand. "Need to check on the girls anyway."

He disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone with a racing heart and the lingering sensation of his arm around your waist.

You turned back to the closet, fingers brushing against the green fabric of the gown. A formal dinner with colleagues who knew your future selves intimately. An anniversary toast. And Riki in robes specifically noted for how well they fit him.

Tomorrow night promised to be interesting, to say the least.

part 2

TL: @ziiao @seonhoon @beariegyu @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @cherrybeomm @urmomdotcom5678 @jaeyunsbimbo @yongbokified @changbinniescurlyhair @en-whims

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nottswitch · 5 months ago

Text

— if you’ve been naughty, you get…

──────────────── 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩. ──

summary: quidditch is a sport that demands strength and stamina, resulting in physical exertion. exertion equals releasing disproportionate amounts of warmth, which, as it turns out, feels better shared.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

cw: 18+ smut, enemies to lovers, rough p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, semi-public sex, spanking, choking, degrading, hair grabbing, cursing

wc: 3.1k

a/n: the first fic of the naughty side of the list, so buckle up for the filth!! hope you enjoy <3

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; mattheo m.list ; kinkmas 2024

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The entirety of the Quidditch stadium roared as Harry Potter hovered proudly in the air, the Golden Snitch snug between his fingers. The ultimate rivalry between the houses never ceased to exist, be it on the school grounds or on the pitch, the students from other houses having chosen a side long ago and now discreetly passing galleons to each other in the stands. You craned your neck a bit, your loosely tied scarf sliding off as you watched the players descend onto the ground, the green and silver side clearly trying to get off the pitch as hastily as possible.

Mattheo was, for all intents and purposes, pissed. His nostrils were flared, his breath coming out short and ragged, the exertion from the long-winded game straining his aching muscles. His bat was clutched tightly in his hand, his knuckles almost translucent as he fought the urge to swing it at the annoyingly smug Gryffindors who seemed to be very purposeful with the loudness of their celebrations. A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth – the opportunity was too golden, no pun intended, to have a go at the guy, even though you knew that now, of all times, he wouldn’t dream of holding back. It was a constant push and pull between the two of you, a burning need to kick the other while they were down, and a loss of a very important game was a chance presenting itself on a silver platter.

"Hey, Riddle!"

The sound of your voice made Mattheo grit his teeth, the vibration echoing in his already ringing ears. His eyes briefly darted to you descending the stairs from the top of the stands, the look in them as close to murderous as it can possibly get.

"Don’t," he muttered, continuing to stride across the field, towards the tunnel, where the other players from the Slytherin team had already disappeared.

"Don’t what?"

Your voice was clearly taunting as you approached him, your arms crossing on your chest as you fixed him with a smirk. Unconsciously, your gaze slid down his body, taking in the sight of his Quidditch jersey clinging to him, damp with sweat and accentuating the ridges of his toned abs. You licked your lips, the action coming out of your subconsciousness that craved to feel those abs underneath your palms, although you had yet to admit it.

"Don’t fucking try me right now," Mattheo retorted without sparing you a glance. He was already more than a little aggravated, and the last thing he needed was your teasing and endless quips, combined with the effortless allure you always held despite being an insufferable little cunt. His uniform suddenly felt too tight, which prompted him to take off the green jersey, harshly tugging it over his head with one hand.

Your lips parted ever so slightly as you watched his torso opening up to you in all its firm, built glory. But the muscles weren’t the first thing that you noticed – as much as the view was enticing, it was also not completely new. No, the thing that made your breath hitch was the fact that he was literally steaming, as if he had just left a sauna. Translucent whirls were emanating from his heated body, his skin breaking out in goosebumps in the chilly December air. Mattheo didn’t even shiver, throwing the piece of clothing over his shoulder and flicking the bat from one hand to the other. His pace was firm and purposeful, leaving no doubts about his intentions to leave the Quidditch pitch as quickly as possible.

You had entirely different plans for him, though.

Without thinking much, you followed him into the tunnel leading out of the stadium, barely able to match his long steps.

“Or what?” you called out defiantly, finally reaching him at the price of your breath getting shallow and your heart beating faster than normal. You weren’t one hundred percent sure it was just the effect of walking quickly.

Mattheo stopped in his tracks, nearly making you stumble into his broad back. His eyes closed shut for a moment, his chest heaving as he took a deep breath, feeling his already nonexistent control slipping away with every single sound of yours he heard behind him.

“You will regret it,” he muttered through gritted teeth, not making a move to turn around to look at you – he knew that if he did, he could say goodbye to any traces of restraint still left in him.

“Oh, really?”

You knew you were walking a dangerous line by taunting him like that, but at this point, you couldn’t stop. Was it a sudden surge of bravery, was it recklessness or something else, deeper and yet uncharted, you couldn’t tell. You just knew that if you stopped right now – that was what you’d regret for a long, long time, possibly for the rest of your life. You stepped closer, your chest almost pressing against his back, feeling his muscles tense as your proximity registered in his mind and sent signals through his whole body.

That step was all it took for him to finally snap. In a split second, his hand was wrapped around your throat, pressing you against the wall of the tunnel. A strangled gasp escaped your parted lips, your pulse fluttering wildly as his fingers pressed right on the point, curling around your neck as if he was ready to snap it in half. He probably could, if he wanted to.

“Say another word and find out,” Mattheo hissed, the warm air of his breath brushing against your flushed face. His already dark chocolate eyes darkened further – you swore you could see his pupils dilating in real time, the dimness inside the tunnel failing to hide the mixture of anger and lust swirling in their depths.

“I’m not scared of you,” you whispered, your voice quiet but filled with a strange type of determination. Whatever was happening was something completely new in your dynamic, yet it felt like it had been building up the whole time you spent bickering and trying to get to each other using the power of biting words.

Mattheo’s hold grew tighter around your throat, almost cutting off the stream of much needed air flowing into your lungs.

“You should be.”

A loud thud echoed through the tunnel as his bat hit the floor, thrown away and immediately forgotten about. His newly freed hand gripped your waist, pressing you harder into the wall, the coldness of the surface seeping through the fabric of your winter robes. Mattheo’s body was flush against your front, creating a sharp contrast between the chill of the air surrounding you and his fired up skin, dampening your shirt with small rivulets of sweat dripping off him.

You swallowed thickly, unable to tear your gaze off his face, his dangerously handsome features tense and barely moving. You had no idea what to do with your hands, so they ended up on his bare chest without any real input from your mind, which, you could tell, was slowly turning off anyway. A hiss coming from him once your skin touched his was a surprise, but you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t enjoy his reaction. For some reason, you found yourself bold enough to try exploring this newfound knowledge, sliding your hand down his chest, along the firm planes and ridges. Two things happened at the same time: Mattheo’s fingers dug deeper into the sides of your throat, causing a strangled sound to escape your lips, while his other hand left your waist to grab your traveling wrist.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re doing right now,” Mattheo muttered, and you swore you could hear his teeth grinding against each other. “I’ll show you, though. I’ll fucking show you.”

Next thing you knew, you were lifted off the ground, stuck in the iron bars of his embrace. The instinct in you that still tried to persuade you that this whole thing was wrong made your dangling feet try to hit Mattheo’s knee. This weak attempt at defiance was quickly stopped by his arm moving down and tightly locking around your thighs, stopping your legs from moving altogether.

“Asshole.” You did hear the treacherous breathlessness of your voice, but also didn’t have it in you to care. The heat between your legs was rapidly intensifying, the friction created by your pressed up thighs only making you more desperate for something real, something substantial to quench your undeniable thirst.

A dark smirk appeared on Mattheo’s face, the one that did nothing to soften his expression – it only made him look more like the devil he appeared to be. A second later, his foot was pushing a door you didn’t even know was there, doing the same from the other side once he walked into a dark room that smelled like wood and broom polish. You didn’t have time to think or formulate a snarky response to his actions before you were getting turned around and bent over, Mattheo’s hand pressing insistently on the back of your neck. You barely had time to stabilize yourself against the cold wooden bench that stood at the wall, your scarf sliding off completely and falling to the floor.

“What the fuck?!” you exclaimed, although it was more of a formality, since you made no actual attempt to get up from the new position. Mattheo, of course, took notice of that, his smirk widening a bit.

“This the only thing you can think of?” His voice was cold and mocking at the same time, not failing to send a shiver down your spine – it was huskier than usual, an undertone of desire obvious even to untrained ears. Mattheo effortlessly lifted up the hem of your robes, the rumpled fabric of your skirt splayed across your ass in a way he found sinful. “Where’s the smartass attitude, hm?”

A sharp smack landed on your ass, stinging even through several layers of clothing. Your body jolted forward, a yelp breaking out of your throat both at the unexpectedness of it and a wave of pleasure the smack sent straight between your legs. Mattheo found himself enjoying your reaction, his hand coming up to rest on your hip, fingers curling and pressing into the flesh.

“Fuck y-,” you started to mutter, glancing at him over your shoulder, but another smack shut you up pretty quickly. You could feel the sting, only intensified when his strong hand grabbed a handful of your ass, roughly kneading and squeezing.

“Much better from this angle,” Mattheo murmured, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek as his eyes shamelessly roamed your body up and down. His free hand slid up your back, pushing you to lean further down against the bench until he reached your hair. His fingers threaded through your locks in an almost tender gesture, one so uncharacteristic of Mattheo Riddle, before he yanked your head back, making you hiss from the harshness of the pull.

The warmth of his body enveloped you whole as Mattheo bent over, his flaming chest covering the entirety of your back. A fleeting thought flickered in your mind, that even the warmest robes couldn’t hold a candle to the human heater that was Mattheo after a Quidditch game. As his mouth neared your ear, his hand never stilled on your ass, lifting your skirt up to bunch up at your waist and running over the fabric of your tights.

“Really?” he asked, mockingly, making you want to strangle him and kiss the hell out of him at the same time. Your lips parted when you felt his sneaky fingers pressing between your legs, causing your thighs to clench. “D’you know I can feel you getting wet?” he cooed, brushing his lips against your ear, you were sure, very deliberately. You closed your eyes, unwanted embarrassment making its way to your cheeks, and you just knew the bastard was smirking again. You couldn’t control your body’s reaction to him, though, and your wetness seeping through your tights fully gave you away.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I thought your smartass mouth could handle better than that.”

Mattheo gave your hair another tug before his hand slipped down, curling around your throat again. His grip was tight, not allowing even a single millimeter of movement, a strangled gasp escaping you once you felt his hips pressing to your ass from the back. His hard-on was firmly planted between your cheeks, straining against his Quidditch trousers, as if he was trying to break through the layers of your clothing.

“But when I’m next to you,” Mattheo continued murmuring into your ear, a malicious smirk giving his words a dangerous hint, “you’re just a bitch in heat.”

“Fuck. You.”

You somehow managed to find words, the ones you couldn’t bring yourself to say before. Mattheo chuckled darkly, feeling your pulse fluttering wildly beneath his thumb – you really weren’t the best in hiding your deepest emotions, though your face still tried to keep its defiant stance.

“That’s the plan,” he answered, as his fingers moved against your covered pussy, the sound of it, though muffled, still embarrassingly wet. Once his torturous movements stopped, you nearly whined, biting your bottom lip in order to save yourself from further humiliation. Your teeth sunken into your lip didn’t go unnoticed – Mattheo licked his own, his hand on your throat lifting you up just a bit, his body heat a fire burning your back.

“Didn’t know having you speechless would be so…” Another smack on your ass interrupted his words, a squeal caused by the mixture of pain and pleasure sounding through the dark room. “…so fucking hot.”

You gained the courage to push your hips back, a satisfied hum rolling out of your mouth as you felt his cock twitch at the friction.

“So damn impatient,” Mattheo whispered into your ear. His own hips bucked forward, forcefully, enough to make your body jerk again. “But you’re lucky, because…”

He suddenly straightened up, roughly pulling down your tights and baring your skin to the chilly air. It was already stinging from the previous slaps, the sensation now stronger as the frost of early winter bit at the sensitive flesh.

“…me too.”

You didn’t notice the moment Mattheo’s trousers pooled at his feet, but they definitely did, along with his boxers. You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling to the back of your head when his warm, slicked up cock slid through your folds, making you feel every inch of him, providing the friction you desperately craved. Your entrance clenched, as if trying to suck him in but failing. His tip prodded at your hole, your whole body backing against him in an attempt to finally let him inside.

You didn’t have to wait – a single deep thrust, and he was splitting you open in the best, most mind blowing way possible. Your high-pitched moan was so loud it could be easily heard outside, but you didn’t care – you couldn’t care. Mattheo’s groan matched up in volume, his hands gripping your hips with brushing strength.

“If I knew you’d be so fucking tight…”

He pulled out only to thrust right back in, making you moan so loudly you could feel the air shake around you.

“…I’d shut you up like that every. Single. Time.”

Each word was accompanied by another thrust, each one deeper than the last, even though it was physically impossible – at least you felt like he discovered new depths within you every time. The squelching sounds of your pussy roughly meeting his dick echoed through the narrow space you were squished into, the slapping of your bodies surely making its way into the tunnel behind the door. It was something you’d never felt before – the passion, the lust filling your very essence, consuming and turning your brain into mush.

Mattheo’s palm connected with your asscheek again, making it bounce and ripple. Immediately after, he squeezed the round mound, and you hissed, another sting shooting through your body. His pace was unforgiving, but you didn’t want to be forgiven – if that was punishment, you’d rather be guilty for life. The stretch of your walls around his cock felt like it was tearing you apart and gathering you back in one piece right after, and at that moment you were sure that no one else could fuck you like that.

His hand ended up in your hair again as he tugged you up, making your back press against his chest again. Somehow, it was still just as hot as before, causing you to break out in sweat from the exertion and his body heat seeping through your skin and bones. If the room had windows, they would certainly be fogged up. However, the only foggy thing was your mind, getting more and more dazed as your peak approached.

“You wanna cum, huh?” Mattheo growled, his laboured breath prickling at the sensitive skin of your neck. “Wanna cum on my cock, like the slut you are?”

As much as you hated yourself for admitting that, cumming around him was the only thing swirling in your head. You tried to nod, but his grip on your hair didn’t allow it.

“Words,” he muttered, his teeth clenching as he tried to hold his own orgasm back, determined to make you fall apart first. “The only time I want you to use your fucking words.”

“I wanna– Fuck! Wanna cum on your cock,” you managed to mumble, your cheeks heating up at the fact that you had just given in, had given him control over the pleasure you yearned for.

“Do it, then.”

With another rough slap on your ass, you came, wave after wave making your body tremble and shake. Mattheo was quick to finish right after, his growl bordering on animalistic as he spilled deep inside of you. The warmth of his cum felt like it was etched into your very soul, hot and sticky, your clenching hole squeezing some out to trickle down your thighs. Mattheo could get hard all over again just from the sight alone, but he resisted, pulling your skirt down to cover the delicious view.

For a few moments, you could only try catching your breath, leaning on the bench still somehow holding up in front of you.

“Next time you lose, you know where to find me.” Your voice was shaking, yet already filled with the cockiness of knowing that you, in some way, made Mattheo Riddle lose control.

“Next time I win, you won’t be able to walk for days,” he retorted, his tone bearing something akin to a threat. Or a promise.

#─ kira‘s works ౨ৎ .ᐟ #— naughty & nice ☾#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x fem!reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fanfiction #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle fic #slytherin boys #slytherin boys smut #slytherin boys imagine #slytherin boys fanfiction #slytherin boys fic #1k notes

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iobsessoverfictionalmen · 2 years ago

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I've finished the Harry Potter AU that I have been working on and I'm really, really happy with how it has turned out! It's called Letters and Consequences.

Here's the moodboard for it:

I'll upload the fic to AO3 tomorrow and once I've done that, I'll post a link to the fic here.

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robynlilyblack · 4 months ago

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But you’re over here

Fred Weasley x fem! shy! Potter! Reader

Summary: During the final game of the season, a certain redhead couldn’t care less about the trophy

Warnings/tags: swearing, friends to lovers, first kiss, getting together, mutual pining, Hufflepuff reader, potter reader, James being a good dad, Cedric being the best wing and hype man, Jess, Timothy and Joey OCs, marauders being parents

A/n: 4.4k words, ngl the alchemy plays in my head during this kiss scene, apologies for any mistakes I'm a bit ill right now, as always reader can be the bio or adopted older daughter of James and Lily, based on this and this requests ♡

Navigation | Fred Weasley Masterlist

“Oh boy, oh boy!” James claps his hands, rubbing them together in excitement as he, Lily, Remus, and Sirius reach the top of the stands

Lily giggles at her husband's enthusiasm, following him to the front row, while Remus and Sirius brace themselves at the top, catching their breaths after a quite frankly atrocious number of stairs

Today was the big game, not only was it the old rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor, but it was the final, and the first year Harry was serving as captain after Oliver passed the torch to him two years ago. It was safe to say as fun as the Triwizard tournament was the previous year, quidditch was still the marauders and co’s favourite pastime. Hell, the whole school was buzzing

“Were they always that high?” Sirius whispers, rubbing his chest “Fuck me” he breathes heavily

“I think we’re just old now my love” Remus chuckles, after all these years he still can’t help but wind up his husband just a little bit

Sirius makes a face “Fuck you! I’m not old…you’re old!” he childishly argues, wearing a grumpy pout that twitches everyone once and again, revealing the smile beneath

“And when is your birthday?”

Sirius’ mouth opens to reply but alas the man has nothing and is caught looking like a fish, though he’s a very cute fish in Remus’ mind

“We might be old…but you’re still as pretty as you were last time we were up here” Remus compliments, leaning down to peck Sirius’ tinting cheeks “Pretty boy” he whispers one last blow before pushing off the beam and joining his friends leaving Sirius flustered

“Pads? You comin?” James calls out, head shooting over “Ohhhh” James barks a knowing laugh, whispering something to Remus and patting his back as he sits down

Sirius can’t help but let out a small smile as they turn away “He thinks I’m pretty” he mutters all giddy to himself before joining his friends, taking a seat between Remus and James, with Lily on James’ other side

“See! I told you we were smart coming early, it’s already beginning to fill up” Lily points out, smiling to herself as she shrugs off her jacket, grabbing the others as well, before laying them on the seats behind them to save room for when the McKinnon’s made their fashionably late appearance

James smiles, hand finding the top of Lily's head “That we were, hun” he agrees, patting her head and soaking up her proud little smile as she smooths out the rest of the coats

“Who are you looking for?” Remus asks, pulling James’ attention back to find Sirius squinting off into the distance

“Our goddaughter, I haven’t seen her in ages” Sirius pouts, squinting harder

“You saw her at Easter break” James chuckles

“Oh yeah” Sirius nods, remembering “Still, I miss her” he confesses, warming the men's hearts

Sirius and Remus decided against children, not that they didn’t want them per se, more they couldn’t confirm the child's safety with Remus’ furry little problem. As such, they filled that hole with you and Harry. Sirius took an extra shine to you though, maybe it was your shy yet cheeky nature that reminded him of Remus, or maybe it’s the little bit of himself he saw in you, watching you get sorted into Hufflepuff when everyone else in your big, wonderfully weird family was Gryffindor. Whatever it was, though today was Harry’s day, he still had to make sure you were alright

“Do you want your glasses?” Remus offers, sighing as he watches his husbands sorry display and reaches for his bag

Sirius swats his hand away “I don’t need glasses moony, I’m fine. It’s just the wind, it’s blowing stuff in my eyes” he gestures around his face, scrunching his nose before attempting to subtly squint again

Remus’ eyes meet James’, shaking his head as he mouths ‘why can’t he admit defeat?’

James smirks, shrugging as he turns away, now interested in where you were, as is Lily after overhearing the debacle. The four searched for you as the student body make their way to the stands. Glancing around Remus’ spots a wild Weasley, smiling as he watches Ron attempt to hold back his blushes as Hermione fixes the red paint on his cheeks. Lily spots Neville, Ginny and Luna in another stand wearing their handmade lion mains. Sirius spots well…nothing, but your father on the other hand is the one to finally find you.

He watches as you enter the stand diagonal to them with Cedric, Jess and two other boys he doesn’t quite recognise but based on their green scarfs must be Timothy and Joey, which would be two out of the four very few Slytherins in this world he accepted were good, the others being his best friends’ brother and the one and only Dorcas Meadows

“Found her” he points with joy “There she is, ain’t our little fawn beautiful” he shines, causing all their eyes to fall on you as you all worm your way to the front of your own stand

“It’s funny seeing them in red and gold” Remus notes, an amused look as he observes yours, Cedric, and Jess’s Gryffindor scarves, most likely stolen from your brother and his friends…or perhaps secretly gifted from one particular Weasley

Lily nods, but her head tilts to the side as your head taps the taller of the other boy's shoulders “They seem close, which one is he again, Tim or Joe?” she ponders trying to remember

“Tim, she said he was tall in the letters” James confirms “They aren’t together” he says with confidence

“And how would you know that Captain Oblivious?” Remus’ laughs, eyeing his friend but then his gaze drifts to peak at his husband, who's been unusually quiet, realising he’s still very much struggling to see you

Remus slowly collects the glasses from his bag again and holds them up in offering

“Dammit” Sirius sighs accepting the truth and putting them on, looking grumpy until his eyes widen, like he’s seeing a brand-new world

“Better love?” Remus teases while pointing you out again

“Shut up moo…aww there she is, beautiful as ever” he adjusts them smiling “Wait…whoa” he looks at James doing a double take as everything is now in high definition “You’ve aged so well” he notes

James’ smirks “Why thank you, I steal Lily’s muggles products” he admits unapologetically, not that it’s much of a surprise to the girl next to him who just rolls her eyes, accepting the fact she now buys two of every product just for him

“It’s the one with lighter hair, not Cedric, the taller one” Remus points out to Sirius

“Oh…” Sirius eyes the boy, judging “...nah”

“What do you mean nah?” everyone jumps a little at first turning around to see Marlene, Dorcas and the cutest little lion there had ever been joining them “Holy shi… sugar those specks are something” Marlene laughs, catching herself before glancing at her wife, mouthing an apology while their daughter looks up at them confused

“Suu’gar” the little cub repeats before pointing at Sirius “Specky!” she says excitedly “Unkie Jams t‘win” she claps, pointing between James and Sirius before jumping and clapping again all happy with herself

Sirius’ quickly pulls the glasses off, cheeks heating while the others struggle to hold in their giggles

“I don’t need them” he looks straight at Marlene, trying his best to be convincing

She just gives him a ‘really’ look in return before smiling softly

Sirius half chuckles, half sighs as he admits defeat, flashing the women a genuine smile “It’s good to see you Marls, you too Dorca darlin” he then looks down at little Lacy “Hello little cub” he coos

“Rwah!” Lacy holds up her hands in a claw motion, doing her best lion impression

It was well known the Marauders had one brain cell between them, but when that cell fired it was magical, all including her mothers and godmother pretended she was the most fearsome thing they’d ever beheld, even a couple other parents who had taken seats little ways down joined in. After some pleas and chocolate offered to calm the beast, the group settled in again, catching up as they waited for the game to start.

You rocked on your feet, eyes continually flicking to the players entrance in anticipation

“You good sunshine?” you feel a soft pat to the top of your head, looking up you’re greeted with Timothy's soft smile, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he checked in, worried the ruckus and busyness of the stand was a bit overwhelming for you

You gently tap your head into his shoulder, nodding “I’m good…just excited” you confess with warm cheeks as your nose is flooded with the scent of your scarf again

“Ahhhh” he elongates, giving you and then the scarf a look “Y/n and Freddie sitting in a tree” he whisper sings

Your eyes widen before you attempt a scowl that looks more like a puppy pouting “Shut up” you chide, fixing the scarf a little before looking away, hoping Cedric, Jess and Joey were having a more in depth conversion but instead you find them grinning “Sugar” you press your lips into a downturned smile

They all looked at each other before singing in unison

“K…i…s…s…i…n…g!”

Despite your cheeks positively flaming around the second ‘s’, you can help but break into a smile. Your friends knew about your little crush on the Weasley boy from afar. Despite your brother’s closeness with the family you didn’t have such ties, you adored Ginny on the few occasions she had visited, along with Ron and Hermione, but as for the rest of the clan your paths rarely crossed. You were meant to spend the summer with them as your families decided to holiday together, but when Cedric won the Triwizard tournament that changed, and instead, he took you and your friends traveling with the prize money

Yours paths finally crossed at the beginning of the school year, when Sprout created a seating pattern allowing everyone to get familiar with their randomised Herbology partner before the end of year assignment. You were nervous at first, as you were sure the professor was when she pulled out your names. Putting the quietest person in Hogwarts with the loudest person seemed like it would either be the worst pairing she had ever seen or the most genius

To her good fortune…and ego, it was the latter. It was surprising to see the king of mischief actually try with his assignments, but most chalked it up to the fact that while you were quiet, you were well-loved by your year, you held no prejudices, helped people with their assignments when the asked you, and was just in general sweet to everyone, to the point even the meanest Slytherins were a little soft on you. Therefore, most assumed Fred couldn’t bear to let you down either, and while that was true at first, a second reason soon bloomed for the boy

It bloomed for you as well, you slowly opened up to him each class, topics drifting to something deeper, and by the time Christmas rolled around you both were close friends. So close in fact you began inviting him to your friend’s secret hideaway by black lake, at first to study, but then to hang out both with and without your other friends. It was funny at first, with Cedric and Jess being rivals in quidditch and Timothy and Joey's Slytherin status, but Fred warmed to them, gaining their trust and, not that they told either of you, their blessing

“I hate you all” you pout, falling into Cedric’s side hug as you shake your head

“Nah” Timothy joins from the other side

“You love us” Jess chimes in, beaming at you

“Not as much as she loves him though” Joey adds cheekily, nodding towards the pitch, it seems none of you had noticed the crowds stir for the players appearances during your teasing session

Cedric and Timothy quickly retract their grasp, smiling at one another as you lunge adorably forward to see. Your friends soon join you, all cheering, while you find Fred in the small mass of people, admiring him as he laughs with the others. After a few moments, the team is finished talking, beginning to take flight and get into position. Once there, you watch as Fred’s eyes begin to scan the crowd, heart thumping as his gaze slowly draws closer, skipping a beat when they fall on you, and damn near stopping as he doubles back, face lifting

You see, a few weeks ago you had met Fred to check over your final herbology assignment, which meant a late-night picnic waiting to see if your flower would bloom under the full moon. While chatting, the topic of today's game came up. Of course, now that Hufflepuff were out for the count, he teased you with who you would be supporting, his teasing backfired however when, without missing a beat, said you would be supporting whatever team he was playing in.

After his slight fluster, which, to this day is one of your proudest achievements, conversation returned to normal, you figured he’s forgotten about it until a first year found you this morning holding a small bundle of Gryffindor scarves, one of which had a red ribbon around it with a note for you

You bring your hands up, hugging the scarf as your eyes meet, causing the biggest smile to take over his face. It was times like this you truly believed your crush was requited, and little did you know a certain redhead was thinking the same thing

“Be brave and go for it” Cedric whispers some encouragement

He’s right, you think, Now or never

As you mouth him ‘Good luck’, you add a little extra to it, blowing him a kiss

His eyes widen in a pleasant shock, melting into a mix of joy and pride as he pretends to catch it, winking at you before kissing his balled up fist before returning his gaze to the field just before the starting whistle blows

“Way to go gal” Jess cheers, reaching over to give your arm a soft squeeze

“Aww the grew up so fast don’t they” Timothy wipes an imaginary tear from his eye while Cedric and Jess both match his energy, taking out handkerchiefs and pretending to be forlorn mothers, with Joey doing the same but with an imaginary tissue

You giggle at them, and while you would usually try to come up with some sort of witty answer, you instead break into a smile “He likes me” you say simply, swaying side to side

“If he didn’t, he’d be an idiot love” Cedric gives you a side hug while the rest of your friends’ smile, happy for you “Now let’s what your man kick snake butt”

“Hey-” Joey and Tim begin to object together but then shrug

“Oh, who are we kiddin” Timothy laughs, taking off his green scarf and pulling out a red and gold one as does Joey “Pusey’s an arsehole and I want a chance to be a bridesman at your wedding someday”

“Bridesman?” you giggle, heartwarming at the idea of you and Fred getting married someday

“Yip, Ceds already called man of honour”

The match was a whirlwind of emotion, the kind of game that left everyone on the edge of their seats. Gryffindor and Slytherin were neck and neck at every turn, every goal answered by another, and it was clear to everyone that this match would come down who would catch the snitch first

“Holy shit, this is intense!” James exclaims, practically bouncing in his seat “Merlin, how the hell did you guys watch me and Marls do this back in the day?”

“Jamie…language!” Lily scolds with a giggle, lips quirking up in amusement as she gives Dorcas a please forgive us look

“Oh, don’t worry, Lacey can’t hear a thing thanks to these” Dorcas it waves off, gesturing to Lacey’s adorable, enchanted earmuffs “Watch this” she says leaning over the little girl perched on her lap “You want some ice cream, bubs? What about a unicorn?”

Lacey doesn’t react at all, instead she stays focused on mimicking her other mothers’ gestures and waves towards the pitch

“Those are…” Lily starts but is promptly cut off

“What the hell was that!” Marlene huffs, throwing up her hands as the crowds roar once more, a mix of cheers and groans as the Slytherins risky manoeuvre pays off leading to another goal “Fucking Pusey again!”

“Did you get the earmuffs for the crowd or for Marls?” Remus whispers to Dorcas, who struggles to hold back a smile

“Oi! Gingers! Stay in formation! Godric, what are you doing?!” Marlene shouts again, shaking her head as Fred and George narrowly avoid colliding whilst going for the same bludger

“No comment” Dorcas replies with a grin before planting a kiss on Lacey’s cheek

The match grows increasingly heated after Harry lets the snitch slip through his grasp, igniting a fire under Slytherins asses causing their play to get even more aggressive

“This game is insane!” Cedric grips the railing so tightly his knuckles turn white

“Come on, Freddie!” you yell, unable to stop yourself as he whizzes by

You watch him turn ever so slightly, catching your voice over the roar before he dives back into the action, pulling off a spectacular move that has more than one person flushing

“Offt…your man’s a beast” Timothy mutters as Fred swoops in to deflect a bludger, shirt riding up a little as he does “What? I can admire” his cheeks tint as he sees all of your raised eyebrows

“Don’t worry” you say with a laugh, “He’ll never admit it, but he has a little guy crush on you too”

“Really?”

“Really” you confirm, giggling

“Did you see that?!” Sirius exclaims, pointing towards Fred after he executes a spectacular mid-air spin to block the Bludger aimed at Angelina “Can’t deny the boys got style!”

“Sure does” James agrees but then his expression sinks to a smug one as he adjusts his glasses “Almost as cool as some of the moves we pulled off ay Marls?” he tries to get her attention but is gifted a passive ‘uh huh’ instead

“Oh, please” Remus argues, chuckling “Are we forgetting in our final year when you tried to do a spin like that and your glasses came flying clean off?”

“What?!” Lily, Sirius, and Dorcas all turned to him in unison

“Moony!” James protests before his face slowly sinks as if awaiting his impending doom

“Wait…” Marlene turns slowly, looking menacingly down at James “You’re telling me. I almost lost my final match as captain because of your speckyless ass?”

James hesitates, his ears turning near crimson as he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck “…no comment”

With one final push, the final whistle blows, and the crowd erupts into cheers. You and your friends join in, your eyes look over towards Fred, who’s the first to get to Harry, pulling him into the biggest bear hug. The sight makes your heart warm, but your admiration is cut short as your friends practically pick you up, ushering you to move

“What’s happening” you ask confused

“Come on, we gotta get down their sunshine” Timothy insists, shooing you along with Cedric, Jess and Joey “You’ve got a ginger to congratulate”

Over on the other stands your family celebrates. Everyone’s on their feet, except Lacey who is now glued to Marlene’s hip as they cheer

“Yesssss!” James roars, pulling Lily into a celebratory hug…and subsequent snog

“That’s my godson!” Sirius bellows, fist pumping the air before looking to hug James then realises “Oh…well if that’s what we’re doing, come here moons!” he hithers towards Remus, arms outstretched

Remus laughs softly before indulging his husband, pulling him in for a kiss before dramatically dipping him

Meanwhile Marlene and little Lacey remain oblivious to the romance in the air, as she was too busy yelling so hard her voice will be lost come tomorrow “THAT’S MY LIONS!”

Dorcas just chuckles at the scene, pulling out Lilys camera and snapping a shot of them all (A/n: art of this bit in the future?)

As their celebrations calm down, they notice the teams beginning to land and everyone else begin to make their way down to join them

“This takes me back” Remus lets out a small laugh watching the red and gold scarfs fly around

Nostalgia fills the air as the others join him, gazing down

“Man…that used to be us” James remarks, letting out a breathy laugh before glancing over at Marlene

She nods, a happy yet bittersweet smile on her face “Yeah…good times” she reminisces before looking down at Lacey “Times are still pretty good…maybe better” she confesses watching her little cub cheer

Dorcas joins her side, arm wrapping around both Marlene and Lacy as their foreheads meet

“I think we should give them their moment” Lily suggests “We have time to embarrass them later” she giggles

The group hums in agreement. As their stand empties, they begin pointing out things only they are privy to from their vantage point. Like Nevilles and Lunas intertwined hands as they weave through the crowd with Ginny, Lee sprinting to hug George, the Slytherin team sulks, or even Snape begrudgingly handing a couple of gallons to McGonagall. None of them, however, have managed to spot you or your friends yet.

“I hope y/ns alright in the crowds” James says softly next to Lily

“As long as she’s with her friends I have no doubt shell be alright” she hums, giving your fathers arm a squeeze

“Oh, there she is…” Sirius points you out before chuckling to himself “…maybe being your twin ain’t so bad” he jokes, wiggling his glasses

James laughs, wrapping an arm around Sirius as everyone turns their attention back towards you

Down on the pitch, it’s a flurry of red and gold, so you hold back at the edge where it was quieter, encouraging your friends to head into the chaos and enjoy it. Jess, Joey and Timothy promise to be right back, while Cedric spots Cho in the crowd little ways from yourself and joins her, being careful not to drift too far from you

You beam as you take a couple of steps back, watching Harry get lifted up by Ron and Neville. Much like your parents and family above, you want Harry and Fred to have their moment in the spotlight. There would be more than enough time to talk to them after

Unbeknownst to you, one of that duo was already looking for you. Fred’s eyes scan the chaos for your figure, but finds a familiar blonde in the crowd first, and he smiles watching him kiss Cho’s cheek. Cedric feels the eyes on them, looking up and noticing Fred’s searching expression. He smiles, giving a knowing nod towards you, as does Cho who’s clearly been filled in on the situation.

Fred’s eyes follow the direction and there you are, standing apart from the rest, your gaze locked on Harry. Taking a deep breath, he hypes himself up, realising in that moment you aren’t just wearing his scarf, but the jumper he gave you to keep warm a few weeks ago as well. That along with the kiss you blew him earlier, are all the signs he needed to finally make a move

“Oi, Freddie” George calls as he moves away from the rest of the team “Where ya going?” George tries again but to no avail, Fred’s already gone, pushing through the crowd, using his broom to help manage the masses

As he breaks free, you do a double take, and he finds himself smiling as your confused expression melts into hope and joy

“You’re supposed to be over there” you tell him, taking a few steps forward as he closes the gap

“But you’re over here” he replies simply before leaning closer, eyes searching yours for permission

You bite your lip, giving him a nod, to which his own smile grows and his broom is abandoned as his larger hands come up to cradle your cheeks guiding them up towards his lips as they crash into your own. You clutch the front of his sweater, pulling him closer but Fred being the showman he is had other ideas. His hands drop down, snaking around your hips before he dips you back. You squeal at first, then laugh softly with him before your lips reconnect. After that the rest of the world fades away. The cheers and buzz around you becoming a distant hum, neither of you reacting to your friends’ cheers nor the flash of Jess’ camera

Your friends aren’t the only spectators of course…

“Wait…” Marlene points towards you and Fred “…is he about to…oh!” her mouth drops open, gently covering Lacey’s eyes while Dorcas smiles in a happy shock beside her

Remus, Sirius, Lily are next to react, eyes widening, before breaking into smiles. Remus and Sirius take a moment longer, clearly doing the ‘does he deserve her’ math in their heads first

“That’s my girl” Lilys hands come up to face, overjoyed, she had an inkling you were a little love struck from your letters, she just didn’t know with who until now

“He’s alright” Sirius begrudgingly admits while Remus nods in agreement

Their smiles and shock soon melt into anticipation as they all slowly turn towards James, who had been a bit too quiet considering the situation. But when they see him, he is…beaming?

Turns out Lily wasn’t the only one with an incline, in fact, James being the girl dad he was, has known about every crush you’ve ever had, your one on Fred being no different. Safe to say, he was ecstatic

“Yes!” he cheers “Oh the dips a nice touch, very classy” he nods in approval before looking over at the others “What?” he takes in their shocked faces

“Prongs?” Remus eyes him “You realise that’s y/n, right?” he feels the need to check

“Yeah” James shrugs before his mouth makes an ‘oh’ shape, his reply sending them into fits of laughter “I’m supposed to be mad right now, aren’t I?”

Thank you for reading ♡

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riddlesrizzler · 1 month ago

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𝘼𝙩 𝙇𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙊𝙪𝙩 𝙇𝙤𝙪𝙙

summary: Get off his case, he won't say it.

characters: mattheo. gyrffindor! reader. mentions of slytherin boys and harry potter

warnings: none! just some tension to lovers

word count: 646

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

It had always been like this.

Since first year, since the moment you and Mattheo Riddle had locked eyes across the Great Hall, there had been an unspoken war between you.

Every class, every duel, every interaction turned into a competition neither of you could afford to lose.

If you brewed the best potion in Slughorn’s class, he’d find a way to top it next time. If he beat your score in Defense Against the Dark Arts, you’d spend hours practicing just to make sure you destroyed him on the next test.

It was exhausting.

And yet, neither of you stopped.

The rivalry had only intensified over the years, growing sharper, more heated. Even the professors knew to separate you when you started bickering, lest one of you end up hexing the other in the middle of class.

But everyone else saw something more.

"You two fight way too much for it to be normal," Theo had pointed out one evening in the Slytherin common room.

"That much tension?" Enzo had smirked. "They’re either going to kill each other or shag each other senseless."

"Over my dead body," Mattheo had scoffed.

"Sure, sure," Theo had drawled. "You can lie to us all you want, mate, but at some point, you’re going to have to admit that you-"

"Absolutely not." Mattheo had cut him off, glaring.

Because it wasn’t true. Right?

Right.

He hated you.

Which was exactly why he was currently sitting on his broom, waiting for the start of the Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch match, and telling himself that the only reason he was scanning the crowd was definitely not to find you.

But then you appeared.

The Gryffindor team emerged from the locker rooms, robes bright red against the green field, and there you were, walking at the front with your broom in your hand, looking so damn smug that it made his blood boil.

You met his gaze instantly, and the smirk you sent him was nothing short of a challenge.

Bring it on, Riddle.

And he did.

The match was brutal. It was fast-paced, full of sharp turns, near collisions, and dirty plays that had the referees blowing their whistles every other minute. You and Mattheo had nearly knocked each other off your brooms at least three times, neither of you willing to let the other get ahead.

But then-

Gryffindor won.

The moment the snitch was caught, the stadium erupted into cheers. Your team tackled Harry in midair, shouting in triumph as the Gryffindor stands exploded in celebration.

Mattheo, still hovering in the air, felt his jaw tighten.

He should’ve been pissed. Furious. He was pissed.

And yet-

His eyes found you again.

You were in the middle of it all, laughing, cheeks flushed from the wind and exertion, eyes shining with exhilaration. You turned toward your teammates, throwing an arm around one of them, still grinning like you had just won the entire damn Wizarding World Cup.

And for the first time, Mattheo didn’t feel the urge to scowl.

Instead, something in his chest twisted.

It wasn’t fair. How could someone be so frustrating, so insufferable-and yet so…

His lips twitched-just slightly, just enough for Blaise to notice as he floated up beside him.

"You’re smiling," Blaise pointed out, raising a brow.

Mattheo scoffed, quickly schooling his expression back to indifference. "No, I’m not."

Theo flew up on his other side, smirking. "You so are."

"Shut up," Mattheo muttered.

"You like her," Draco said, far too entertained.

Mattheo rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Absolutely not."

The boys exchanged a look, but Mattheo ignored them. His gaze flickered back to you once more, still caught up in the celebration, and something in him softened-just for a second.

Then, under his breath, barely loud enough for anyone to hear, he muttered:

"At least out loud, I won’t say I’m in love."

#slytherin #slytherin boys #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #harry potter #slytherin aesthetic #my works #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo imagine #mattheo x oc

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ghostedgwen · 26 days ago

Text

but I knew you | j.potter [part one]

note : I took a massive break - almost 2 years and I am back now to continue where I left off and decided to finally write this as it was the prompt I was most excited about from the ts + marauders list! Hope y'all enjoy and pls be kind to me, I am not sure if I still have it in me to write fics like I did before :(

warnings : unparalleled amount of angst (though it's obvious), James x lily, hurt with a little bit of comfort but that's not until I decide to be kind, mentions of injury, just pure angst for now, this is tamer than later parts

James gets into an accident during a Quidditch game and develop amnesia - he doesn't remember the past 2 and a half years, and he currently has the mentality of fourth-year James. This doesn't bode well for you that your boyfriend of 2 years now currently thinks he's still in love with Lily.

└——————— - [ 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝚃𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝 - 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚗 ]. +

You were eating your pancakes while tuning out the usual commotion in the great hall when you felt his familiar presence behind you and that scent of his filling your nose, burning wood with hints of caramel and pine. You still wonder if your boyfriend uses perfume and don't really care enough to even ask as you prefer not to know to keep the illusion up. . .somewhat.

"Good morning, love." He greets you as he settled on the space beside you. Your housemates already knew to provide a space next to you, knowing James would appear any moment and claim it. He settled right in like he belonged in it, he did.

That, and people avoiding getting too closer to you in fear of your boyfriend setting his eyes on them and deciding they're a target for the Marauders' next pranks.

You smile at him. "Good morning, Jamey. You excited?"

He nods, flashing you his charming grin. "Always. Specially that you're gonna be watching me win another game against those sly bastards."

You laugh at him, you never understood the whole rivalry between Gryffindors and Slytherins. Sure you knew it dates back a thousand years ago to the founders, but you still cannot wrap your head around it.

Instead of disagreeing with him for the nth time, you only nod. "I'm sure you'll trample on them again like you did last time."

That response made him flash you his perfect set of pearly whites. Merlin, you can never stop your heart from skipping a beat when James bloody Potter grins like an idiot with hearts gleaming in his eyes.

You stand with the crowds cheering, waving the colors of red and gold son proudly as they yell at the top of their lungs. Welcoming the entrance of the Quidditch players of house Gryffindor.

There goes that familiar excitement, adrenaline creeping up from you as you take in the view of the Quidditch pitch filled with hundreds of students cheering.

And there goes your boyfriend in all his glory flying in with his broom, even looping in circles to show off and you laugh at that, Marlene scoffing beside you.

"Show off." She rolls her eyes.

You nod in agreement at that as you continued watching his familiar figure show off, flying close to the different stands to flash them his grin and once then he zeroed in on you, standing so proudly while waving at him.

He zoomed closer and gripped his broom to a halt, close enough to make sure you saw his wink which you playfully scoffed at. "Whad'ya say about giving a kiss for every goal, eh?"

You hear the surrounding students cheer and whistle as they enable his behavior. You laugh loudly at that but it's drowned out by their enthusiastic cheers, egging you to agree.

You roll your eyes this time. "But only if you win the game, if you lose then those points mean nothing."

James gives you the biggest grin and nods smugly at other Gryffindor at the stands. "Lucky me then, 'cause I never lose."

"I swear he needs a bludger to hit his head to knock 'im down a peg." Marlene scoffs next to you and crosses her arms. "That oughtta teach him."

The game is finally starting and the energy is higher than ever. You happily cheer on with your housemates as you watched your boyfriend play, never once taking your eyes off him.

You never really liked Quidditch, you though it was far too dangerous and ridiculous, why anyone would wanna risk getting hit by bloody balls so high up in the air in crusty brooms is beyond you.

But he loved it, he lived and breathed the sport. You also saw how much he enjoyed playing it with his best friend so you never spoke out against it despite how much you worry every single time he's on that broom in the air.

That bloody broom that you sometimes wish would malfunction so he'd stop using it and choose to stay on the ground with you forever, but you can't really clip his wings - so you just watch him soar.

And soar he did as he makes a show of flying in loops again to avoid the Slytherins blocking his way and successfully scoring a point. He turns right away to grin at you, although he was way too far - you could just tell he was grinning so proudly.

The noises drown out the sound of your heart beating rapidly. This is the nth game you've watched and you still cannot get used to it, this sport is gonna be the death of your heart one day.

It wasn't long before Gryffindor gained the upper hand, scoring way more than Slytherin did and the two Marauders were not above gloating.

They even made a show of smirking near the Slytherin stands so smugly, it had you slapping your forehead. They have a great knack for pissing people off.

The intensity of the game is rising as it nears its end and the opposing team try their hardest to catch up. The snitch finally appeared and it was down to the Seekers to finish the game and decide who wins this.

You watch in bathed breath as both Seekers chase after the snitch, right next to each other with both arms stretched out to catch it - everyone was watching them - and that meant everyone.

You turn away from them to look at James and it was there, as if the world slowed down as you watched a bludger make its way to him while he remained unaware - looking down at the two seekers competing below him in a close race to victory.

You felt your words get caught in your throat as it all happened too fast, you couldn't even get a word out as you watched him take the hit and his grip on his broom loosened.

It felt like forever watching him separate from his broom, fall slowly and Sirius flying down after him. The bludger hit him square in the back of his head and it disoriented him enough to make him fall off his broom.

You watch in horror as Sirius tried his best to catch up. It was only 2 feet from dropping to his death did he manage to grab James' arm and prop him up enough for both of them to tumble down and roll on the grass, avoiding pummeling straight down to multiply the bones they both had in their bodies.

You finally felt your scream escape you as you watched them roll on the grass. You hurriedly exited your seat and ran out of the stands. It felt like a blur, making your way down and running to where he was at.

All you could hear this time was your heart pounding, your blood almost raising to your head with how much you worried. You ran straight to James to who remained lying on the ground as the Professors were just a few steps behind you rushing in as well.

You dropped to your knees beside him, grabbing him to make sure there was still a sign of life in him. You called his name desperately many times as you shook his entire frame.

"It was probably my fault." Sirius was the first one to break the silence. Remus was quick to turn to him with a frown.

"Don't say that," Remus interjected right away. "No one could've seen it. It was unexpected."

"But it was my job to keep those buggers away from him," Sirius clenched his jaw. His position of leaning against the stone pillar not hiding his trembling frame. "I should've -"

"You saved him." You cut him off, your strong voice bouncing off the infirmary walls. "He would've just dropped down to die if you didn't act fast enough to catch him. By the time he was falling, some of the audience were still watching the Seekers."

Peter only nodded in silence, his eyes red from crying.

"Had you not been quick to dive after him, he would not be here in this room, but somewhere else getting treated for worse injuries." Remus added, agreeing to your words.

"You saved him, you're an incredible friend, Sirius." You give him a small smile which he returned, although you still see the strain in it.

"Did they say when he will wake up?" Peter asked, finally speaking up through his sniffles.

You shake your head, looking down at your hand in his. You are so not used to this, watching him lie so vulnerably like this. "They did not say, but they assured me that he's fine. Nothing is broken."

"That's a good thing, then. A fall like that would have been fatal, had it not been for Moony." Remus pats Sirius on the shoulder, your eyes did not miss the way Sirius followed his hand when he retracted it after the action.

You choose to ignore it and turn back to James' sleeping frame. You squeeze his hand. "He's a fighter, always been. He'll surely wake up in no tim-"

Not even getting the chance to finish your words, his eyes opened. It blinked many times to adjust to the light but you were already grinning so widely to see him regain conciousness.

"Bloody hell, the wonder boy lives." Sirius cheers as if he wasn't just moping and being all depressing moments ago. He walked over to James' bed, the opposite side of you to greet his best friend. "You bloody mutt! You finally decided to wake up, eh?"

Remus and Peter approached as well.

"Takes more than that to bring down a Potter, huh?" Remus joked.

"James Potter lives." Peter chimed in.

You ignore their jokes and dove right in to hug him, making sure you didn't put down all your weight on him and breathed in his familiar scent.

He's fine, you James is fine.

"You twat! I was so worried, I thought I was gonna have to wait on you to wake up for days or weeks."

You pull away smiling softly at him while he remained frowning. He scanned the people around him and the confusion left him as he saw the familiar faces of his best friends.

"Still disoriented, isn't he?" Peter asked Remus who hesitantly nodded at him. "Wakey wakey, Prongs."

"You worried the bloody hell out of us, mate." Sirius laughed, patting him on the chest.

"What- " James looked down, about to grab his head when he realized a weight rested on his hand. He looked down to find yours on top of his and immediately retracted it.

The action made the other three boys frown, it made your heart drop. You stare at him, you smile fading by the second as you start to drink him in.

His appearance, it is exactly like James. Your James. But those eyes, the way he looked at you like he did not know you, like you were a stranger made your skin crawl and it was then you slowly started to realize -

"Who are you?" James asked.

"Come on, mate. This is not funny." Remus scolded him, attempting to console you while a light tap on your shoulder as he stood next to you, looking down on James.

"What's not funny?" James asked, frowning still. "Why am I here and - what're you doing?"

You could feel your ears almost ring from the realization. It was slowly dawning on you while the other boys struggled to understand just what is happening.

"Sod off, Prongs. You gave ____ a big scare, it's not right to joke about it." Sirius was telling him off which was unusual but he's grown close to you enough through the years - he was your biggest supporter, he didn't like seeing your face react to James' words.

"What do you mean? And who is ____?"

You could almost laugh. Quidditch always scared you because of how dangerous it was but you let him soar free because he was a free bird when you met him, you weren't about to change that but here it is, your fears manifesting to a brutal reality.

"It's really not funny -" Peter was interrupted.

James sat up abruptly. "I don't understand you lot, I am telling you I don't know who that is." He points at you and the action made you want to throw up.

"Did he hit his head that hard?" Remus asked, starting to deduce the situation and forming theories right away as he was always the smart and rational one. "Prongs, you had an accident during Quidditch yesterday and you just woke up now."

"Yeah, mate. It was a big thing and your girlfriend, ____ has been with you all night." Sirius added.

"I have a girlfriend?" James frowned and looked at you, you begged yourself to look away so you woulnd't see how he looked at you like he was looking at a complete stranger but your eyes refused to move.

Instead they met his gaze bravely and every second felt like a stab to your chest.

"You've been together for 2 years, ____, tell him." Peter nudged you but your words would not come out.

You dared not move nor speak, in fear of what you'd show them. You knew you'd break down and you didn't want to show any of them that.

You swallowed it all down and just blankly stared back.

"If this is another prank you lot are pulling, it's not funny, we all know Lily is the only one for me."

Bloody fucking mumbling hell. That hurt.

to be continued . . .

part two | masterlist

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #marauders #marauders x reader #marauders imagine #marauders era

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agreeewrites · 2 months ago

Text

A Madness Most Discreet pt. 2 | G.W.

feat. George Weasley x Malfoy!reader

summary: You and George grow closer after Gryffindor beats Slytherin in the first Quidditch match of the year, succumbing the magnetic pull towards one another. But things only get more complicated when the two of you return to the harsh reality of your situation.

cw: MDNI 18+, smut, mentions of injury, simp!George, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), piv, cruel parents, hurt/comfort, naive!reader, mentions of war and death eaters, lying (or withholding the entire truth)

You tossed and turned all night, seeing George, feeling his hands on you every time you closed your eyes. Before you knew it, the sun was shining, and everyone was getting ready for the first Quidditch match of the season.

Slytherin versus Gryffindor.

Your heart gave an excited trill. George was a Beater on the Gryffindor team, and even though he'd be slinging bowling balls of fury at your brother, you found yourself eager to see him in action.

You quickly got ready for the match and followed the rest of your house to the pitch. The energy was palpable, the rivalry one that never failed to draw a massive crowd. Unfortunately, it was a gloomy, overcast day, rain misting over the campus in a continuous haze.

Slytherin came out first, with Draco and Blaise leading the emerald charge. The Slytherin stands roared for them, jostling you and stomping on the stands. But the rest of stadium was silent as stone, many people even going so far as to start booing.

It hurt your heart a little, to see so many praying on Draco's downfall, but he didn't seem even marginally phased. His chin is lifted, his spine straight, a regal smile on his face even as the rain slicked down his hair.

A few moments later, the Gryffindor team exploded out of the tunnel, Harry and Ron at the head. But your eye immediately found George, leaning forward on his broom to rocket out above the pitch. He and Fred spiraled around one another before separating way above your head, red and gold fireworks shooting out between them as they plummeted back down.

The crowd whooped and cheered. “Weasley! Weasley! Weasley!” And you shook your head, catching the cheeky grin on his face when he flew by.

The game started quickly, and despite your best efforts, you couldn't take your eyes off of George. He was a master on the broom, and brutal with his Beater Bat. The strength and dexterity alone had your thighs clenching together, but coupled with his rain-soaked body, carefree smile, and contagious enthusiasm, you were ready to snatch him out of the air and drag him back to your room.

Madam Hootch called a temporary pause when a one of George's bludgers knocked the Slytherin Keeper backwards through the hoop, and into the infirmary.

The crowd was screaming for him, girls waving their scarves from every house, vying for his attention. But instead of paying them any mind, he hovered in front of the Slytherin stands. Whether he was extremely brave, or extremely stupid, you weren't sure. But he was eye level with you, twirling his bat in his hand, water droplets flinging off the end of it.

You heart rate spiked. He was close enough you could almost touch him. Could see the water beading along his brow, the mud smudged on his cheek.

“Begin!” Madam Hootch hollered, and George flashed you a wink before taking off once more.

Cheeks burning, you turned you attention where it should be, on Draco, who was hovering by the Gryffindor goal posts, eyes searching. Suddenly, he took off, Harry hot on his heels. They zigzagged across the field, clearly in pursuit of the nearly invisible snitch.

You saw Fred smack a bludger in Draco's direction and lost your breath, but Draco ducked at the last second, and it whizzed by him. He was rapidly gaining on the snitch, but so was Harry. The crowd was on the edge of their seats, you heart pounding in your ears.

“Go Draco!” You screamed, hands cupped around your mouth.

Suddenly, Draco grabbed Harry by the hood and yanked him backwards, nearly taking him off of his broom. Gryffindor booed, and Madam Hootch blasted the whistle, but the game kept going.

Harry managed to stay up, and even started to pull ahead again, when Draco reached for him once more.

A deafening crack echoed across the pitch. You looked for the source of the sound and saw George finish his follow through, bat arm raised high. The bludger was like a missile directed straight at Draco, and your stomach plummeted.

If there was one thing you'd learned throughout the match: George Weasley never missed.

The bludger beamed straight for Draco, but at the last moment, it whistled just under his arm, snagging the extra fabric of his robes and pulling him off course, missing his actual body entirely. If it had hit him…you shuddered. Draco's arm would have been snapped clean in half.

Moments later, Harry wrapped his hand around the snitch, and the stands erupted in cheers.

“Gryffindor wins!”

You were torn in two: half-disappointed for your brother, half-elated for George. But you knew Draco needed you more. It wasn’t like you could go celebrate with George, no matter how much you wanted to. So, you hurried out of the stands before the ocean of people started to move, Blaise at your back, making a beeline for the Slytherin locker rooms.

“He's going to be so pissed,” Blaise said, opening the locker room door for you.

You found Draco immediately, berating the Slytherin Beaters for not dealing with the Weasley twins sooner.

“D!” You called and he opened an arm to you, but didn't pause his raging. You slipped underneath it, wrapping your arms around his middle, not caring that he was soaked to the bone and near trembling with outrage.

“You will be on the pitch at dawn and practice until classes begin, then from the end of classes to dinner. Understood?!” Draco barked at the cowering Beaters.

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

“Get out of my fucking face,” he snapped, before turning fully and hugging you against his chest. “Fucking Weasley's,” he grumbled, resting his chin on top of your head. “Should teach those worthless fuckers a lesson.”

You bit your tongue, anger flaring hot under your skin at his cruel words. You knew he was just speaking out of insecurity, but it still didn't sit well with you. No one was worthless.

But, instead of telling him off like you wanted to, you handled it how you did when your father was in a mood: by placating him. “You did amazing. And I'm so glad I finally got to see you play.”

“Would have been better if you saw me win. What does that say about me that I can’t beat a fucking Weasley.”

You leaned back, flicking his nose. “Stop with that self-depricating shit. It makes you look weak,” you parroted your father, knowing it would snap him out of it even if the words tasted bitter on your tongue.

“Yes, father,” he glowered, releasing you to greet Blaise with a handshake and quick hug.

You slipped away, finding Pansy in the crowd and together returned to the Slytherin common room, but the vibes were sour and hostile after such a narrow loss. After showering, Draco went straight to the conjured bar, hellbent on drowning his sorrows in liquor, leaving you alone, surrounded by drunken strangers fawning all over you. Not for the first time, you wondered if they even saw you, or just your name, flashing like a marquise over your head.

Malfoy! Malfoy! Malfoy!

They didn’t give a fuck about you, all they cared about was your favor, and the glimmer of power they could skim off of you.

All you could think about was George. He was the first person that saw you, not your name, not your legacy, but you. You weren’t sure if anyone else ever had.

To your family, you were the precious daughter, the shining jewel of the Malfoy crown. To Draco, you were another burden. You knew he loved you, but you were just another person to impress, to protect, to worry about. Another responsibility heaped onto his already bowed shoulders.

The common room door opened, and you spotted a paper bird soar through. You followed it with your eyes, mildly interested, when suddenly it turned towards you. Your eyes widened as it swooped closer, sailing just over your head, then fluttered down into your lap.

Hastily, you tucked it into your robes and excused yourself, slipping into a shadowed corner. You carefully unfolded the bird, heart in your throat.

Astronomy Tower. G

George's POV

George sat in a window of the Astronomy Tower, one foot propped up on the sill, the other resting on the floor. He twirled his wand in his hand, uncertainty making him fidget.

He'd tried to stay at the Gryffindor party and let loose, he really did, but all he could think about was you. The way you tasted, the way you felt, the way you made him feel. It was an endless loop in his mind, your lips on his, your pulse under his fingertips, your body moving into his, over and over and over and over—

“So, this is how you want to celebrate you victory?” Your voice echoed along the stone, yanking him from his reverie.

He dropped his foot and turned, his breath hitching when his eyes landed on you. Your lips were painted red, glossy in the moonlight, dressed in a white blouse and your Slytherin skirt. It had only been a few hours since he saw you bundled up in the stands, how could he have forgotten just how beautiful you were?

You strode closer, steps light and graceful across the stone. “There must be a rager happening in the Gryffindor common room? And yet—” you stepped between his knees, placing your manicured hands on his shoulders and looking up at him. “Here you are.”

It took all of his self-control to not kiss you right then and there. “Had other things on my mind,” he said with a shy smile, pocketing his wand and sliding his hands along the gentle slope of your ribcage, pulling you closer.

“Like?” You prodded.

“What about you? Things a little tense in the dungeon?” He teased, knowing exactly how sullen Draco would be after a loss on his account. Though, the victory had been decidedly less sweet after seeing the concern on your face as you fled the stands after your brother.

“Thank you for not breaking his arm,” you said.

His brow furrowed, surprised. “How do you know I wasn't trying to?”

“I was watching you, George. You could have taken his head off his shoulders if you wanted to.”

He shrugged a shoulder, humble as he could manage, though the praise filled his chest with light.

“Why didn't you?” You asked. “He deserved a good whack for what he did to Potter.”

George found himself at a loss for words, stunned by what he was hearing. You were so un-Draco-like, it was mind boggling. You had all of the pomp, all of the swagger, but none of the vitriol. You were genuine. Honest. He struggled to reconcile the relation of you, this beautiful, open-hearted, whip-smart creature, with the hard-headed, little bitch blondie he'd known for years.

“I'm not one to cause unnecessary harm—” he started.

“You sent that Keeper to the infirmary without a second thought,” you cut him off.

He loosed a chuckle. You were so refreshingly blunt, a trait he deeply appreciated. “Fine. I thought you'd be angry with me if I hurt him,” he admitted.

Your eyes flitted over his face as if searching for something. “You're too kind, Georgie,” you finally murmured, cupping his face in your delicate hands. You placed a kiss on his nose, his eyelids, his cheeks, and he melted for you, pliable as wet clay, and prayed your lipstick left its mark. “So sweet for considering my feelings.”

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest, his stomach clenching when so sweet rolled off your tongue. He exhaled, his affection taking up too much space in his chest to hold air.

“But George—” you gripped his jaw a little firmer and he opened his eyes, finding your face a few scant centimeters from his. “I have all the yes men I could want. I don't need another spineless twit.” Your other hand flattened against his sternum, feeling the heavy thump thump thump of his racing heart.

“Tired of cold, callous snakes?” He asked, placing his hand over yours on his chest.

“Merlin, yes,” you breathed. “You feel so…” your fingers curled into his sweater, pulling him a fraction closer. “So real.”

“Oh, I'm very real. But I'm not convinced you are.” He let his other hand slide around to your lower back, closing the last inch between your bodies. You smelled of cigarette smoke and expensive perfume, a bit of lavender oil on your skin.

“Why's that?” Your hands found their way into his hair, gliding your nails along his scalp in a way that made his bones soften, his eyes roll back.

“Too bloody perfect.” The last of his restraint slipped away, and he pressed a kiss to the side of your mouth, making his way down to your throat. He lifted your hair, revealing the mark he'd left the day before, and dragged his tongue over it, imaging how many more he could leave on countless hidden places.

“Are we insane?” you sighed, tilting your head back for him, so beautifully vulnerable.

He certainly felt insane—insane with desire for you. But he shook his head. “No, I think it's the rest of them that are mad,” he murmured against your skin, wanting to drown in your scent, your warmth.

“I think you're right.”

Reader’s POV

George slid his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, guiding your lips to his. A thrill coursed down your spine and you sighed, gliding your tongue over his lower lip.

He groaned, his grip on your hair tightening, and his tongue brushed against yours. Slowly, he coaxed your mouth open, lush licks and lingering presses, his hands firm but not rough. Like he was savoring a fine meal, a deliberate and purposeful devouring.

But you weren't nearly as patient as he was.

You caught his lower lip between your teeth, tugging lightly, and his breath caught in his chest. You soothed the sting with your tongue and released him, kissing the corner of his mouth, across his freckled jaw and down his neck, leaving smears of lipstick over his fair skin. Marking him as yours.

“Definitely aren't real,” he sighed, tilting his head back as your nursed a bruise under his ear, your head going fuzzy from the overwhelming smell of his cologne. “Is it true that Malfoy's have Veela blood?”

You huffed a laugh, breaking the seal of your lips on his flesh, and lowered yourself to your knees between his legs.

His eyes widened is surprise, his body freezing like a deer in headlights.

“What makes you think I'm part-Veela?” You asked, running your hands up his thighs, the muscles trembling under your touch.

“I-uh, well—you’re so—p-pretty and—saints.” George stuttered as you leaned forward, his bulge straining against his jeans.

You brushed your lips against the covered swell of him, and a strangled gasp escaped from his chest. “You think I'm pretty, baby?” You asked without removing your lips from his cock, glancing up at him through your lashes, and you felt him surge under the warmth of your mouth.

“D-don't start with me, rattlesnake,” he groaned when you dragged your tongue over the root of him. He threaded his fingers into your hair, his other hand gripping sill of the stone window, grounding himself. “You know you're gorgeous.”

“I do,” you replied, sliding down his zipper. You got a peak of his green checkered boxers, and you smiled to yourself. “But I like hearing you say it.”

His grip on your roots loosened, and he smoothed his hand over your hair, casting a lovesick smile down at you. “You're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen,” he murmured, bringing his thumb around to tug at your lower lip.

You dabbed your tongue against the pad of his finger before wrapping your lips around it, sucking it gently into the warmth of your mouth, the salty taste of his skin sparkling over your tongue.

“You're going to be the death of me,” he gruffed, watching you nurse his thumb with lust-fogged eyes, leaving a ring of red around his knuckle.

You grinned, pleased with yourself when he retracted his hand. As he shifted back, you moved forward, reaching for the throbbing ridge of his cock.

“You really want to do this?” He asked, looking around the empty tower. “Here?”

“Yes,” you replied immediately, saliva pooling under your tongue when his cock gave another lurch. “I really, really do.”

You were a physical kind of person, finding joy in giving and receiving touch, and all you could think about was making George feel good, making him happy, and showing him just how much you liked him.

“You're a wild little thing, you know that?” The end of the question twisted into a groan when you finally pulled him out of his boxers, hot and flushed a feverish pink, a string of precum dripping down the veiny shaft.

You licked your lips, wrapping your hand around his base. Fuck, he was thick. “Does that scare you?” You asked, dragging your hand up and down his length, applying the lightest pressure.

“Fuck yes, it scares me,” he panted, head falling back on his shoulders. “You scare the hell out of me.”

You tsked, running your tongue along the underside of him, and he shuddered, a whine eeking through his teeth. “I'm on my knees, George. How scary can I be?” You wrapped your lips around the head, tasting the musk of his skin, and sucked softly, tempering your eagerness to savor his reactions.

“Seven fucking saints, woman—fuck.” His hand fisted your hair again, practically trembling with the effort of not pushing you down further. “Have a little mercy.”

You started bobbing your head up and down, humming in approval at the way his cock kicked against your tongue. Lashes fluttering closed, you lost yourself in the feel of him, the soft sounds of pleasure spilling for his lips like prayers. Soothed by the rhythmic motions and pulse of his heart.

His hand moved for you hair to underneath your jaw, fingers stretched across to brace the span of it. “I wish I could take a picture of you,” he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek. “You look so fucking beautiful it hurts.”

Your eyes opened, looking up at him haloed in moonlight, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, eyes glossy as starshine. You knew that look. It was how people looked at the sunset, the full moon, the ocean. It was how people looked at things they adored, things they loved.

And George was looking at you like that.

You couldn't help yourself. You stood up, grabbing his stupid, beautiful, perfect face and crashing your lips to his. His arms enveloped you, hauling you into his chest as he kissed you deeper, his tongue stealing the taste of himself for your lips.

His hands slipped lower, hooking the backs of your thighs, and he stood, lifting you up into the air and wrapping your legs around his waist. Your back collided with the stone wall, the cold rock doing nothing to quell the heat blooming under your skin. Your lips never separated, and you moaned against his mouth when his cock grazed the thin barrier of your panties, practically non-existent in their dampened state.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he grated, one of his hands shifting so his finger could hook the gusset of your underwear.

“Don't stop—” you gasped when a rip echoed around the lofty space, and you felt the elastic of your underwear give way, tearing off your body. “George! Those were designer!” You cried, equal parts exasperated and wildly turned on.

He huffed a laugh, swiping the head of his cock through your drooling slit. “You're ridiculous,” he chuckled, voice laden with affection. “Ready, love?” He rested his forehead against yours.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Please, baby.”

He smiled, pressing his lips to yours as he slowly speared you on his length, the stretch making you gasp as pleasure unspooled in your belly.

George groaned your name, sweet as honey, and your pussy clenched around him, dragging him that last inch into your heat. His lips moved down your neck, soothing you as he withdrew his hips, then thrust back into you, making you cry out.

“Feel so fucking perfect,” he panted against your throat, lifting and lowering you on his cock. “Fuck, you're so tight. Gonna ruin me.”

“George, shit—fuck me, please,” you begged, nails gauging holes in his poor sweater as you clung onto his shoulders.

He nodded, snapping his hips faster and faster, fucking you open. “Taking that cock so well, such a good girl f’me,” he growled, nipping at your throat when you keened a little too loudly, the sound echoing like a church bell around you. “If I'm ruined, so are you.”

He kissed you hard, teeth and tongues clashing as he pounded you up the wall, your body completely immobilized between him and the stone. His pelvis was creating just enough friction on your clit to have you seeing stars, and suddenly you were toppling over the edge—struck like lightning as your orgasm burned through you.

He devoured every one of your cries, not relenting for a second as you crumbled in his arms. “That's it, that's my fucking girl. You can give me one more, c’mon, rattlesnake,” he ordered, his thrusts growing sloppy as he approached his own release. “Can feel you tightening back up already, little cunt squeezing me so hard—go on, pretty girl, give it to me—”

Your cry of ecstasy cut him off, and your second orgasm dragged him over the edge, his thick cock bucking hard as he painted your spasming walls white. All you could see was stars, your entire body tingling with to force of it, pleasure sapping every ounce of strength and tension from your body.

Boneless, you slumped in his arms, trembling legs falling to the floor beneath you.

“Baby—babygirl, are you okay?” He asked, gently lowering you to the ground and bundling you into his lap.

“M'perfect,” you panted, lolling your head against his shoulder as your mind slowly pieces itself together, feeling starting to return to your fingers and toes.

He pressed kisses into your hair, cradling you protectively in his arms. “That was insane,” he chuckled, nuzzling into your shoulder. “I—you—fuck.”

You giggled, breathless. “That was insane.”

The clock tower rolled, rattling your teeth in your skull, and you clung a bit tighter to him, startled.

He shushed you, covering your ear with one hand and pressing the other to his chest, filling your mind with the steady thump thump thump of his heart.

You couldn't recall feeling safer than you do in that moment.

“That's curfew, love,” he said, disappointment clear in his voice.

You sighed as your heart sank, lifting your head and meeting his eyes. “I've never wanted to stay before,” you murmured, and his eyes melted, warm and dark as cocoa.

You didn't expect it to be this hard—having to leave him afterwards. But you wanted to linger in his arms, talk and cuddle, maybe doze off together, wake up too-warm and tangled in his sheets. Such simple, beautiful, impossible things. And you wanted them all with him.

“I wish we could,” he replied, tilting your chin up to peck your lips. “Merlin, I wish we could…”

“Draco would kill you,” you chuckled, tucking a stars of copper hair behind his ear.

“I can take that weasel.” George smirked, kissing you again.

You swatted his chest, giggling as his fingers tickled along your ribs, your chest glowing with joy. “That, I don't doubt.”

He sighed, pushing himself up and setting you on your feet. “Can I walk you to the stairs?” Some of his mirth seemed to ebb, sadness creeping back into his expression.

You stood on your toes to kiss his cheek. “I insist.”

He offered you his elbow and you looped your arm through his, walking together slowly down the stairs. At the bottom, you turned to face him.

“Goodnight, Georgie,” you said, hoping you don't sound as pitiful as you feel.

“Goodnight, darling.” He brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss into your skin. “I'll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded, taking a few steps back, your fingers still clutched in his hand. “Tomorrow’s not so far, yeah?”

He gave you a half-smile, though it didn't meet his eyes. “Yeah.” His fingers finally released yours, and you felt like someone severed your arm from your body.

“Night, Georgie.” You blew him a kiss before hurrying down the hall, unable to bear the sadness in his eyes a second longer.

George's POV

George pushed his breakfast around his plate, staring a hole into the table in front of him. His friends talked excitedly around him, still amped about the match the day before, but George couldn't muster up the enthusiasm.

Going to bed without you the night before was one of the hardest things he'd done in recent memory. He stared at the ceiling for hours, replaying every second of the night, trying to memorize the way your body moved, the curve of your smile, and how it crumbled so gorgeously when you came for him. Not once, but twice.

The way you looked at him, like he'd hung the moon and stars, stuck in his chest like an arrow.

And now he found his gaze continually drifting to the entrance to he Great Hall, just waiting for you breeze through, well rested and untroubled.

Was this killing you the way it was killing him?

And why was it killing him?

It's not like he could be developing feelings for you, a Malfoy—

“George, what's up, mate?” Lee knocked his foot under the table, bringing him back to the present, and his friends all staring at him with mild concern.

George cleared his throat, straightening and shoving a bite of toast into his mouth. It tasted like cardboard. “Slept like shit, tweaked my back or something in the match,” he lied. Well, it wasn't entirely a lie. His back was sore, but from something infinitely more worthwhile than a match.

Did he really just think that? Fuck, what were you doing to him?

“Probably that rocket you sent at Malfoy,” Fred chuckled. “Too bad it didn't take his fucking head off right?”

They all whooped and hollered, high-fiving and jostling George.

“Guess my aim was off,” he shrugged, washing down the toast with a swig of orange juice. “You must be rubbing off on me, Freddie.”

The doors to the Great Hall swung open, and he saw Draco enter first, looking sullen and rotten as usual. You, brilliant, energetic you, came sauntering in behind him, arm and arm with Pansy as you laughed about something. The sound carried across the Hall, turning plenty of heads, but George looked back down at his plate, pretending your joy didn't light him up from the inside out.

He forced himself to join his friends conversation, if anything so he could keep his eyes moving, flitting back to you every few moments. You sat between your brother and Blaise, drinking a cup of tea and nibbling on a pastry.

Even from across the Hall, he could tell you weren't really listening to Draco. You had that same glassy-eyed look you got when Snape lectured in Potions, and George chuckled to himself.

His attention was broken when the owls came screeching in, letters and packages and feathers raining down on every table. Errol dropped a letter in front of Fred before landing clumsily on the table. The envelope was addressed to the four siblings and Harry.

Fred tore it open, waving Ginny, Ron, and Harry over from a few seats down, and began reading their parents typical weekly update.

But then, a booming shout echoed across the Hall, making the candles overhead flicker and extinguish, and a hush fell over the students.

“Someone’s got a howler,” Fred whispered, setting their own letter down.

“YOU DARE DISOBEY YOUR BROTHER AND VENTURE AROUND THE CASTLE UNACCOMPANIED!”

George immediately recognized the voice, his blood running cold.

Lucius Malfoy.

You sat curled into your self, staring wide eyed at the paper replica of your father's face hovering in front of you. George's heart cracked when he saw you bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

“YOU REPRESENT THE HOUSE OF MALFOY AND YOU WILL BEHAVE ACCORDINGLY. IF I HEAR OF YOUR INSUBORDINATION AGAIN, YOU ARE COMING STRAIGHT HOME!”

George very nearly stormed over there, fingers itching to rip the paper-Lucius apart, but then it burst into green flame, startling you to your feet.

The Great Hall was silent, Lucius’ voice ringing in everyone's ears, all eyes on you.

Draco stood with you, tried to take your hand, but you shook him off.

“How could you?!” You cried, angry tears rolling down your cheeks. George almost thought you were going to slap him, but then you turned on your heel, storming out of the Great Hall and slamming the doors closed behind you.

Immediately, conversation exploded, the gossip mill already turning.

“What the fuck was that about?” Lee said, turning back to the group.

“Daddy's little princess has fallen from her tower,” Fred joked, and George grit his teeth, anger simmering in his chest.

He watched and waited for Draco to get up and follow you, for any of your “friends” to go check on you, but none of them moved a muscle. Turning their attention back to their breakfast like nothing at all happened.

It made his stomach turn.

Should he go to you? Sit here and defend you? Play along with everyone else—no, he couldn't do that. Throttle Draco for snitching on you? That he could do. He'd just have to pretend it was for some other reason. But he could do that later. Right now, you needed him.

He reached farther than necessary for an orange, and cried out in pretend pain, clutching his back.

“Shit, man. Maybe you should go to Pomfry,” Fred said, concern flashing across his face.

George didn't have it in him to feel guilty for lying. “Yeah, yeah I think I will,” he said, pretending to wince as he straightened.

“Need me to walk with you?” Fred offered.

“Nah, I'm good. Some salve should take care of it. I'll see you later at practice,” George said, clapping his brother on the shoulder and waving to his friends before limping out of the Great Hall.

As soon as the doors closed behind him, he straightened, bolting down the corridor.

Where would you be?

He tried the closest girls lavatories, empty classrooms, broom closets, searching every alcove for you, until finally, it dawned on him.

He booked it to the library, probably failing at looking inconspicuous, but he was past caring. Aisle after aisle, he navigated the empty library until it spit him out by the corner the two of you studied in. And there you were, curled up under the window with your arms around your knees, head tucked down.

“Hey, love,” he said softly, not wanting to startle you. You startled anyways, something he was starting to realize you did often.

You relaxed when you realized it was him. “Hey,” you sniffled, wiping your cheeks, eyes puffy and bloodshot.

“Can I sit?” He asked, gesturing to the floor beside you.

You nodded, and he lowered himself down beside you, legs stretched out in front of him. He wasn't sure if you wanted to be touched, but then you leaned into him, a flower tilting towards the sun, and his heart melted. He draped an arm over your shoulders, tucking you into his side.

“I'm sorry, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your head. “Howlers suck.”

“I'm not upset about the Howler,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

His brow furrowed. “No?”

You shook your head. “Draco was supposed to protect me, but instead he—” your voice caught in your throat, a hiccuping sob emerging instead. “He went behind my back and told father—we never tell father.”

George rubbed your back, trying to soothe you as the tears started again, soaking into his shirt. He wasn't very good in these situations, his own family sucked at emotional vulnerability, but he wanted desperately to take away your hurt. It was so strange to see his bold, outspoken girl curled into yourself like this.

He hated every second of it.

“Did Draco admit it was him?” George asked, perturbed that he was in a position to potentially defend Draco. But if it made you feel better…

“No, but who else?” You asked, picking your head up to look at him.

He swiped away your tears with his thumb. “Could have been one of his goons, Snape…”

“Snape?” You raised an incredulous eyebrow.

Your surprise…surprised him. “Yes?” He replied, mimicking your brow lift. “That's exactly the kind of thing he would do.”

“Why?”

George opened his mouth, then closed it. Did you really not know? How couldn’t you?

“Because he's a Death Eater, y/n,” George said, trying to keep his voice measured. “And friendly with your father.”

You blinked, clearly taken aback. “He is? Snivellus?”

George snorted in disbelief. “Yes. Death Eaters are everywhere, even Hogwarts. The Ministry too…”

“Wait—you're being serious?”

“Yes, baby. I'm being serious. It's—there's a war brewing.” He was completely shocked. He knew you were sheltered, possibly a bit naive, but you were too smart to be this unaware.

Unless, of course, you'd been lied to.

He could beat your father to death with that fucking cane. Keeping you in the dark like this was dangerous. How were you supposed to protect yourself if you didn't know what the threat was?

You looked away from him, face screwed up in consternation. “I mean, I know my family’s reputation, and that…he might be back. And I’ve heard some things in the halls, and in the Daily Prophet…but that's just a rag, right?” You looked up at him, so hopeful that he'd tell you everything was okay, that things weren’t as precarious as he was implying, and he understood a little more why your family kept you in the dark.

Even though he knew he should, he just couldn't bring himself to dash that glimmer of hope.

He tucked you back into the safety of his side, kissing the crown of your head. “It's a rag, love.” Not completely a lie. The Prophet had certainly spread enough bullshit about his family that he knew first-hand how untrustworthy it was. “And things are tense right now, but Hogwarts is safe, okay? You're safe.” Also not completely a lie. As long as Dumbledore was in the castle, you were mostly safe…mostly.

You nodded, hands curling into his shirt, and his chest ached with guilt.

He should have known you didn’t understand the severity of the situation. If you did, you probably wouldn’t be here, cuddled into his side in the first place. You probably would have never looked his way at all.

But he knew, and he looked. He allowed things to progress, encouraged it even. He knew that the rift between your family was more than just politics, was more than a class divide, and he still didn’t stop this.

His head thunked back against the wall, and he peered down at you, your breathing evening out, body warm against him, and knew that he still wasn’t willing to end things with you. Because you weren’t Lucius. You weren’t Draco. You weren’t a Death Eater.

You were just a girl, caught up in a war started by the people in power long before either of you existed, and just happened to be born on the opposite side as himself. He couldn’t fault you for that, especially not after knowing your own family had been lying to you about their role in it.

He should tell you the truth, even if it hurt you, even if it made you hate him—it was the right thing to do. But every time he went to open his mouth, the words died in his throat.

The day would come where your heart would have to break, and he prayed that it wouldn’t have to be him that delivered the blow. But, today wasn’t that day.

So, he held you tighter, dried your tears, and bit his tongue.

Thank you for reading!

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aetherraeys · 2 months ago

Text

beneath the surface

sirius black x fem!reader ⊹ 9.6k

cw ⟢ strangers to lovers, fluff, pining!sirius, non-chalant!reader, endless teasing, tension, sirius is quidditch captain, mild Black sibling rivalry, slytherin!reader

summary: you had absolutely no interest in sirius, but for some reason he had loads in you. they say opposites attract but he wasn't sure if you were really so different.

a/n: this took ages for me to write but it was so much fun and i love sirius so so much! let me know if i missed any content warnings and i suck at proofreading.

When you and Sirius were first seen together, sitting next to each other in divination—poor James abandoned—then couped up in the library, people assumed that you were brought together purely for education purposes.

Assumed you had been assigned to keep Sirius at bay almost, and to ensure he wouldn’t fail his next set of exams. The consequences of another awful report for Sirius were world-ending in his opinion. If he failed to bring his grades up he would have to forfeit the next quidditch season, according to madame Hooch, he needed to graduate with credentials outside of sports.

It wasn’t that Sirius was dumb, that was entirely not the case, no, he just didn’t care to study, didn’t care to show up on time, and used quidditch as an excuse to leave classes more frequently than he should have. Really, if he put his mind to it, he was rather brilliant.

And surely, you, a top student, head-girl infact; reserved—indifferent, never seen without a book or a scroll of parchment. You would have absolutely nothing in common with the hard-headed, outlandish, troublesome Black brother. No, you would better be suited to his more refined, quiet younger brother, Regulus.

When you were then seen by the boys’ changing rooms after a quidditch match, potions textbook in one hand, a slightly displeased expression dorning your face, waiting for none other than the captain—some eyebrows were raised. Still, most brushed it off as a tutor waiting for their student, you were rather regimened like that.

Despite all of that, that still wasn’t the reason you and Sirius were being seen together so often.

In the great hall, Sirius sat restlessly—legs bouncing, eyes darting, neck craned towards the entrance then round to where a group of slytherins sat and back and forth, over and over again. Remus finally let out an exasperated sigh, drawing the attention of James, who with a full mouth spluttered, “Something the matter, Rem?”

“Why don’t we ask Sirius?”, if he were still sitting there, all the eyes would have landed on him. But after looking at his watch, as quickly as the words, “m’ late for something—i’ll be back soon,” left his lips, Sirius was gone.

“Where’d ya reckon he’s off too then?”, a small peace of sausage flew out of James’ mouth—grimancing, Remus replied,

“Haven’t a clue mate”.

The next time you were spotted together, it was by none other than Lily Evans, once again in the library researching for her herbology report, she caught Sirius trailing after you, not unlike that of some lovesick puppy.

Because, unbeknownst to the rest of his friends, Sirius had take quite a liking to you. Although initally you were simply placed together in a group, for an ancient ruins project. Now you just couldn’t seem to shake the boy.

Still in her seat, she watched your expression for signs of anything other than indifference. You walked as poised as always, picking and placing books back on the shelf, humming back uninterested at whatever Sirius was saying to you.

Eyes trained forward as the pile of books you began to stack in his arms grew.

Said project had barely finished a week ago, and now Sirius layed spralled across the sofa in the gryffindor common room, staring aimlessly at the ceiling fan, as it spun round and round.

Lily sat cross-legged on the floor resting her back on the chair that Marlene sat in as she receited the ingredients of the potion she was studying. Nudging her foot and nodding over to Sirius, Marlene scoffed,

“Aren’t you going to pick up a book, Black?”

He didn’t break his gaze from the fan, just mumbling, “Yeah I will…later”

Lily shut her book, and sighed dramatically, adding—”I don’t think Sirius has books on his mind right now, Marls”, in a light, knowing voice.

That caught everyone’s attention, including his.

“Ooo, pray tell, Evans.” Marlene leaned forward in her seat, watching as Sirius shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.

Lily’s voice adopted a dramatic hushed tone, “I think there’s a particular girl on his mind, aren’t I right Sirius?”.

With that Sirius shot up and off the sofa, suspiciously fast, rushing out an, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She was right.

Sirius had been racking his brain for excuses to see you, trying to find more reasons to be in the library of all places, just to spend a bit more time with you.

Even he was shocked, not only were you a slytherin— he knows they’re not all bad but still.

You had zero interest in quidditch, barely acknowledge him and always had your nose in the most boring of books. And yet, he found himself painfully drawn to you. Intruiged, watching from a far spot in the courtyard as your face cracked a bright smile, your hand coming down on your friends leg as you barked out a laugh.

Eyes glowing and crinkled in amusement—listening carefully to your friend’s recount of what had happened in Transfiguration that morning. Times when you bursted out of this shell, animated and full of life one moment, then stoic and apathetic the next.

At this point, Sirius was going to run late for quidditch practice that he’d scheduled, but he just couldn’t tear away his gaze, your head thrown back, clutching your stomach as your laughter bounced off the pillars of the courtyard. Sirius thought you looked absolutely bewitching.

“Could you be any creepier?”, Regulus voice cut through the moment, dry and unimpressed.

Sirius nearly jumped out of his skin, his head whipping towards his brother with a loud, “Merlin!”

He’d been utterly transfixed by you—the way your laughter softened into breathless giggles, the way your fingers wiped at the corner of your eye where a tear had formed.

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Aren’t you going to be late?" he pointed out, arms crossed.

Dragging a hand through his hair. "Quidditch can wait," he shrugged, before his gaze inevitably tried to turn back to you.

Sirius blinked, his expression dropping as his eyes swept the courtyard once more. Just moments ago, you had been right there—laughing, glowing, utterly captivating. And now? Gone. Like a wisp of smoke slipping through his fingers before he even realized he was reaching for it.

Regulus huffed beside him. "Tragic, really," he drawled, already turning on his heel. "Maybe next time you'll spend less time staring and more time speaking."

This time it truly was coincidental.

You sat in the three broomsticks, butter beer in one hand and, as suspected, a book in the other. Today though, Sirius thought you look particularly divine, when not wearing your uniform, you look much less uptight more, you.

Whatever that meant.

He wanted to pay attention that strategies James had devised for the up-coming quidditch games but he couldn’t stop his eyes from flickering back between you and the person who sat across from you in the booth—conveniently out of his view.

James’ sudden huff brought his eyes back, “Were you paying attantion to a word I was saying?”

“I don’t think he was James, he’s been practically drooling over Y/N since we sat down,” Remus didn’t even look up from his pasty as pressed his knife into it.

Sirius felt his jaw tighten, fingers twitching slightly where they rested on the table. It wasn’t the accusation that got to him—he could handle the relentless teasing, the knowing looks. It was the casual way Remus had said your name, like it was something familiar on his tongue.

“Since when are you and Y/N so chummy?” Sirius shot back, trying to keep his voice light, but the sharp edge was impossible to miss.

Remus, finally glancing up, only raised a brow. “Since we both take Astronomy, and I actually talk to people instead of just staring at them across the room.” He cut another piece of his pasty, utterly unbothered.

James snorted. “He’s got you there, mate.”

Sirius wanted to argue, wanted to say I do talk to people—just not when they disappear into thin air the second I look away, but the words stuck. Instead, he only grumbled under his breath and tore a piece off his toast, chewing with far more aggression than necessary.

Now, you were packing up your things, slowly stacking the used plates, neatly placing the utensils in a pile—a hand stuck out handing your bag over to you. Sirius’ eyes squinted, hoping to get a better look, when he saw him.

His brother, his own flesh and blood—but with him, your face looked relaxed, free from the unimpressed expression that it so often had in his presence. Something twisted uncomfortably in Sirius’ chest. He wasn’t sure what it was—annoyance, confusion, maybe even something uglier—but he hated the way you walked so comfortably beside Regulus. Hated the way his brother stood there with your bag in hand, offering it to you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And yet he remained seated, appetite gone, roughly tossing down the toast on to his plate.

Sirius barely registered James and Remus still talking beside him, their voices muffled under the rush of his own thoughts. His legs began to bounce under the table as he watched you and Regulus exchange a few more words—ones he couldn’t hear, which only made it worse—before you laughed softly, shaking your head at something his brother said.

Turning and walking out together.

Sirius’ moping was beginning to grate on both James and Remus. They all knew why he was in such a state, Remus telling him, if it bothers him that much, he should just go and ask his brother why you were there together.

But instead Sirius whined and let his head fall onto the table, narrowly missing the saucer of jam.

“Is he still sulking?”, Lily asked, tucking herself in.

A fed up mmhm, left Marlene in affirmation. Sirius’ head shot up at the sound of your voice from the table infront of them, effortlessly engaged in conversation, for once books nowhere to be seen.

Sirius barely caught what you were saying, too busy zeroing in on the way you smiled mid-sentence, eyes alight with enthusiasm. And worst of all? Sitting beside you, looking perfectly unbothered, was Regulus (and Pandora), though Sirius payed her no mind.

Sirius groaned, slumping back down onto the table with a dramatic thud. “This is actually torture,” he muttered.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, just talk to her.”

“I can’t,” Sirius grumbled, voice muffled against the wood. “What if they’re—” He hesitated, lifting his head just enough to peer over at you and Regulus again. “What if they are?”

James sighed, shoving a hand through his hair. “What if they are what?”

“Together,” Sirius hissed, glaring at his friends like it was their fault he was in this mess.

Remus sighed, thoroughly unimpressed. “And what if they aren’t? You’re spiraling over nothing.”

Marlene leaned her chin into her palm, watching him with amusement. “Or,” she added, “you could grow a pair and go find out.”

Sirius groaned louder, dramatically dragging his hands down his face. But even as he protested, his eyes kept flickering back to you—your soft smile, easy conversation, and the way Regulus seemed perfectly at ease beside you.

Yeah. He was going to lose his mind.

The evening on that same day, Sirius was still distraught, eyes glazing over the same page of his potions textbook for what felt like 100th time. Lily came rushing in a wide grin stretch across her face.

Stationing herself infront of Sirius, she waited from him to look up at her, “You owe me big time, Sirius”.

He blinked up at her, barely registering her words at first. His brain was still stuck on the same miserable loop—Regulus, you, Regulus, you—but Lily’s smug expression was enough to snap him out of it.

“What?” he asked warily, closing his textbook with a dull thud.

Lily wiggled her brows. “I may have happened to find out exactly why Y/N and Regulus were together today.”

Sirius sat up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “And?”

Lily folded her arms, basking in the moment. “And you, my dear Sirius, are an absolute idiot.”

“That’s not news, Evans, context—now.”

She let out an exaggerated sigh, then leaned in conspiratorially. “Y/N is tutoring Regulus in Arithmacy.”

Sirius blinked. Then blinked again. That’s it? He opened his mouth, then closed it, as if trying to compute the information. All this time, all this sulking—

Lily smirked at his stunned silence. “He’s ahead in his class, so Y/N is prepping him to join advanced classes.”

He let out a sigh of relief, her hand patting his shoulder as she stood, “That’s not all.”

“I’ve decided to graciously help your cause, and take you as my plus-one to Slughorn’s party on Friday.”

His face scrunched in displease, “Why would I want to go to Slug’s Party? Besides I have to train for quidditch.”

Lily shook her head, question why she bothered to help the boy in the first place. “You really are hopeless, aren’t you?”, her hands now placed on her hips, “Because, Sirius, Y/N is going to be there, and unlike you, I have an actual plan.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “A plan?”

Lily sighed dramatically, as if she were speaking to a particularly dense child. “Yes, a plan. One that involves you actually talking to Y/N instead of sulking and shooting death glares at your own brother across the Great Hall.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t shoot death glares.”

Lily gave him a flat look. “Regulus actually asked me today if he’d offended you in some new way. And frankly, he looked delighted about it.”

Sirius scowled. “Smug little git.”

“Exactly. Which is why you need to do something before he catches on that you’ve been acting like a jealous, brooding fool for the past two days.” She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Besides, Slughorn’s parties are the place for whispered conversations and accidental strolls through the greenhouse.”

He huffed, torn between appreciation and sheer annoyance that Lily had clearly been scheming without him. “And you’re sure Y/N’s going?”

She responded with a light, ”Yup”.

Then Lily shot a very guilty look toward the door before lowering her voice. "I was originally going to take James."

At that exact moment, James’ voice rang from behind her, utterly deadpan. "Yeah. Thanks for that, by the way."

Sirius glanced over Lily’s shoulder to see James standing there, arms crossed, looking entirely unimpressed.

Lily winced. "I’ll make it up to you."

"You’d better," James muttered, though there was an amused glint in his eyes.

Sirius’s mouth opened as another thought hit him. "Wait—what about Regulus?"

Lily tilted her head, looking far too pleased with herself. "Oh, he was invited," she said airily, inspecting her nails. "But he had to decline. Prefect duties, I think."

Sirius blinked. Then, ever so slowly, a grin curled at his lips.

"Well," he drawled, stretching out his arms. "Why didn’t you lead with that?"

By Godric’s graces, Sirius was sat next to you, sweaty palmed barely able to look up from his plate. His tie felt too tight, strangling him, making his throat dry. The chatter of the party buzzed around him, but all he could focus on was you.

There you were—calm, composed, your posture straight, as though you were perfectly content to sit there in silence, only speaking when spoken to, listening without much reaction. It felt like a nightmare and a dream all at once—being so close to you, yet so far out of reach.

How exactly was he supposed to casually strike up coversation, when your expression was so unreadable. He missed the way your face looked when it wasn’t so tightly bound, when it was loose—and carefree. You didn’t fidget, didn’t seem to notice the clinking glasses and hushed conversations at nearby tables.

And of course, as a top student, you were sat on Slughorn’s main table. Among the smartest in Hogwarts, and though he had been steadily working on his grades—again thanks to Lily.

He couldn’t shake how ill-fitted he felt for this event.

He was always so sure of himself—always so confident, a boistrous charm in the way he carried himself. But here, next to you, in the hush of your carefully maintained silence, he felt unsettled. Out of place. Uncharacteristically unsure.

You weren’t unkind, nor were you cold, but there was a deliberate distance in the way you held yourself. Private. Dignified. A quiet sort of control that left no room for unnecessary conversation. You weren’t ignoring him, but you weren’t indulging him either.

Sirius was used to attention, to easy smiles and playful banter, to people leaning in when he spoke. With you, there was none of that.

He just wanted to, for once, be the reason your exterior cracked, to get a glimpse beneath the surface first-hand.

The silence stretched, thick and unbroken. He should have found it uncomfortable. Maybe he did. But something about it—about you—held him there, kept him still when he would have otherwise filled the space with careless words.

And then, you glanced at him, catching his eye. Waiting expectantly, something about the way you looked at him, your gaze neutral but observant—

"Sirius," you said, your voice low, subtle, soft around the edges, catching him off guard. Whispering, “He’s talking to you?”

Lily less graciously clear her throat and parroted Slughorn; “He was saying he thought Regulus was already quite a gifted alchemist. And that maybe you should consider joining him in the advanced potions class”.

There was small snickers as he spluttered out, “Oh! Uh right, well um…I’d love to but um, with the quidditch season starting, I’m not sure what electives I’ll be able to take”, he rubbed his palms forcibly drying them on his trousers.

When his eyes flicked momentarily over, he swore he saw the corners of your lips twitched up into a the smallest of smirks, shaking yorur head in unimpressed amusement. The tips of his ears felt hot, but he couldn’t ignore the sense of satisfaction blooming in his chest—a win, was a win in his books, embarassing as his was.

Slughorn nodded hastily in acknowledgement, “Ah yes…yes! I’ve see you on the pitch, Black. You’re quite the talent.” Seamlessly launching into a speech about ambition, talent, and the bright futures of his carefully selected guests. Sirius barely heard a word of it.

He found his fingertips aimlessly picking at the buttons of his cuffed sleeve, still reeling in his small victory. However minuscule, however brief, it was something. And for Sirius Black, that was enough to keep his spirits lifted, even as he sat in his stiff chair, enduring Slughorn’s endless praise for his star pupils.

Pushing boundaries, wanting to get another reaction out of you. Something more than a smirk, more than that slight shake of your head.

Leaning slightly closer, he dropped his voice just low enough for only you to hear. “Do you reckon Slughorn’s rehearsed this in the mirror? Or does he just feel it in his soul?”

You didn’t look at him immediately, only reaching for your glass with careful ease, as if you were debating whether or not to entertain his comment.

You mimicked his lean in feigned drama, your voice coming out measure and hushed.

“I imagine he does both,” you mused, tilting your head slightly. “Practice ensures confidence, but true passion?”—your eyes met, the glint of jest that he saw was undeniable, “That can’t be faked.”

Sirius blinked, momentarily a small huffed chuckle slipped past his lips. It wasn’t what he’d expected—just enough to match his teasing but just ambiguous enough that he couldn’t tell if you were just playing along or making a genuine observation. Either way, it was enough to disarm him.

He exhaled, feeling his shoulders ease from the tense position they had been locked in all evening, the stiffness melting away before he even realized it had been there. The tight grip he’d had on his own nerves loosened, and he had to fight off the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

For the first time that night, Sirius felt like he had an in.

The mingling had begun, hors d'oeuvre and a variety of other dishes were handed out. You stood with Lily, and your plus-one, Pandora. Lily caught him staring hopelessly at your turned back—called him over with a knowing smirk, her voice cutting through the buzz of conversation. “Sirius, why don’t you join us?”

You turned you attention to him as he walked over, slowly inserting himself, listening—Pandora, who was currently enthusing to you about magical creature care. Her eyes were bright with excitement, hands gesturing animatedly as she described a recent lesson on the behavioral patterns of mooncalves. Lily, equally engaged, nodded along, chiming in with her own thoughts.

Unlike the other two, you weren’t adding much to the conversation, simply holding your glass loosely in one hand, gaze flickering to the room beyond as if your mind was elsewhere.

His eyes drifted lower, catching sight of your near-empty glass, condensation pooling at the edges. Before he could second-guess himself, he stepped closer, angling toward you slightly.

“Would you like another?” His voice was even, polite—none of his usual theatrics, no teasing lilt. Just a simple offer.

Your gaze lifted to meet his, searching his face for a moment before you glanced down at your glass. There was a brief pause, then a small nod. “That would be nice.”

“Any preference?”

You considered for a moment before answering, “Something fruity. Not too sweet.”

You watched as Sirius took your glass with a quiet nod before turning toward the drinks table. For a moment, you considered staying put, letting him bring it back to you, but something about the way the room buzzed with conversation—Lily and Pandora still deep in their discussion—made you move.

Without a word, you stepped away from the group and fell into step beside him. Sirius glanced at you, brows raising slightly, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he adjusted his stride to match yours, the two of you weaving through the crowd in a comfortable silence.

At the drinks table, he reached for an empty glass. “Something fruity, not too sweet,” he murmured, repeating your request as he scanned the selection.

You hummed in affirmation, watching as he carefully poured. Letting a soft, “Thank you,” pass into the air between you.

As you took a sip of your drink, you glanced at Sirius, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “I was expecting to see Lily with James tonight, not you,” you remarked, tilting your head slightly.

Sirius exhaled a small chuckle, swirling the liquid in his glass. “So was James. He was less than pleased when Lily swapped him out for me.”

You hummed, lips pressing together as you nodded. “And yet, you still came.”

Sirius placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “What, you think I can’t enjoy a sophisticated evening of small talk and fine dining?”

You gave him a dry look, unimpressed. “I think you’d rather be anywhere else.”

He gasped—actually gasped—so theatrically that the man standing beside you both at the drinks table glanced over in alarm. “You wound me,” he said, staggering back half a step as if struck. Unfortunately, in his dramatics, he miscalculated his footing, knocking his elbow against a tray of glasses just as the man set them down.

One wobbled, teetering dangerously toward the edge. Instinctively, Sirius shot out a hand to steady it, but the sudden movement caused his own drink to slosh over the rim and down into the sleeve of his shirt. With a twisted expression and he let out a disgusted groan, feeling the cold liquid slide up towards his elbow.

The moment was so ridiculous, so perfectly clumsy despite all his usual effortless bravado, that before you could stop yourself, a laugh escaped you. Not just any laugh, not the superficial, light laugh he had heard from you once before, no, your laugh was full and rolled through the quiet area by the drinks table. Earning a few turned heads.

Sirius looked up sharply, frozen for a moment as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d managed to get such a reaction out of you. Then, slowly, his lips curled as he chucked to himself in disbelief.

You bit back the rest of the laugh that threatened to bark out of you.

You clear you throat, hand coming up to physically stop you from breaking once again. “Sorry, I—,” you stopped yourself, licking your lips as a smile of amusement lingered at the corners of your mouth.

Sirius shook his head, eyes still fixed on you in an almost fascinated way. “Don’t apologise,” he said, voice softer now. “Good to know you’re human.”

You scoffed lightly, raising a brow. “Not everyone is always quite as animated as you, Black.”

His grin turned wolfish as he leaned in ever so slightly. “And yet, here you are, laughing at my misfortune.”

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head as you glanced away, but the atmosphere between you had shifted, lighter now, easier.

The conversation that carried between you was more casual that he’d expected. Finding out that you weren’t quite as anti-social as he’d originally pinned you.

Learning your indifferent silence wasn’t cause by anything other than a preference for meaningful conversation over idle chatter. You spoke when you had something worth saying, and Sirius found himself even more drawn that he was before.

As you became less of a mystery to him, he marked your almost dry, understated wit—one that revealed itself in carefully chosen words and small sarcastic remarks. He stood beside you, soft rings of laughter and chatter resonating, the distance between you closing as the hours shed away.

Perched on a window in the Bell Tower, you admired that stars that were scattered across the sky—he’d also learnt that you had soft spot for Astronomy. Explaining why when he was looking for you in the library, 60% of the time he’d failed. Revealing that you spent more time in the Astronomy tower than anywhere else in the castle.

But speaking about the stars was when you truly came to life, gushing at the high-visibility of the constellations that hung in the sky that night.

“It really is a privilege to seen the sky like this—Look, look there! Can you see it? An hourglass with three stars in the middle.” You leaned forward over the window, pointing earnestly at the stars above.

“Y/N, I have honestly no idea what I’m supposed to be looking at.” Small chuckles littered through his sentence.

Your hands dropped dramatically, huffing out an exasperated sigh. “Sirius, you aren’t even looking in the right place!”, moving to stand impossibly close to him, first guiding his fingers up to point closer to where he should look.

There was still had no reaction, you watched his eyes dart up and down, left and right—brows creasing in efforts to see what you had. Growing impatient and fearful a cloud may steal the precious opportunity away—you reached up, your skin warm and radiating through his cheeks, touch too tender as you angled his chin ever so slightly higher.

Palms lingering on his face, watching—waiting for him to register what was so obvious to you, “Have you found it yet?” Your voice faintly above a whisper, calm and hypnotic.

"Not yet," he murmured, though his voice had lost the usual mischief. You wanted to look back at the stars yourself, so tempted to give up. But he was still looking—still searching, eyes pinched, his lips parted slightly; whispers of his hair dancing over you every so often.

You could see them reflected faintly in the darker silver specks in his eyes, your hands still hadn’t moved from his face, any space between had now vanished entirely, neither of you in any hurry to step away.

Then, just as you opened your mouth to prod at his delay once more, his breath caught, and his gaze finally narrowed, focusing.

“There!”, almost in awe, as if the constellations above had been birthed before him—lips curving up into the biggest beam you think you’d ever seen, so bright it challenged the very stars you beholded.

An incredulous laugh punched through him, his shoulders bouncing, body vibrating against yours. Obviously, Sirius had seen the stars before, and yes, they were beautiful—and until tonight, they were just that, stars—far away orbs charged with fading into the distance.

But in this quiet moment, they felt impossibly closer somehow, and Sirius was suddenly ashamed to have only just noticed them, ignorant to the small pleasures they could hold.

You followed his gaze, to the familiar pinpricks of light shining in the night sky. “About time,” you teased, your voice had lost its edge.

He could hear the smile on your face in your voice, light and airy, bewitching him as the seconds passed, “And if you look at there…jussttt across, that really really bright one,” Now, he could feel your breath skipping over the skin below his ears, goosebumps prickling down the back of his neck. Sirius hummed softly back.

Your hands gently slipped from his face, leaving warmth and wanting in their wake, as your words, the softest of the night—

“That’s you.”

Your voice seemed to echo over and over in his head, unmistakably clear. For a moment, Sirius couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, his heartbeat sounded loud in his ears. Eyes flicking between you and the star.

“That’s me?” he echoed, voice a little quieter than usual, in a hushed tone, afraid of discovery.

You nodded, a small mhmm.

A faint nervous chuckle bubbled in him, still close enough to be gently shook by his vibrations. “Well, you sure know how to make a guy feel important.” Almost laughing at the absurdity of it—

Tearing your eyes away from the sky, the corners crinkling in amusement, this time you didn’t hold back, didn’t cut your laugh short. You threw your head back, moonlight bouncing off the skin of your neck—as a hearty laugh ripped through you. One hand clasping your stomach, muscles beginning to ache, the other finding purchase on his arm. And it seemed that, once you had started, you struggled to stop.

Melodic giggles mixing with his, he couldn’t help but join in—your vibrant and unrestrained joy infectious. His free arm finding your waist, giving you some stability as you leaned into him, breathless.

“What? What—what’s so funny?”, grinning like a fool, his own question punctuated with the laughter bubbling from him.

When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, there was a softness in your eyes, your fingers still rested lightly against his arm, the proximity making the depths of his stomach flip.

“Merlin,” you breathed, shaking your head as if trying to steady yourself, “You’re actually quite funny, Sirius,” Bodies now resting against the cold stone wall, hands still on each other.

“Glad you think so,” his voice again confident and dripping with teasing sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes, but it was accompanied by another smile, turning to pointing at the star.

”That—” you started, but you knew his gaze hadn’t left your face yet; elbowing him lightly before you continued. “That, is the Dog Star, the brightest star in our skies and it’s named Sirius. Gods, you really are something,” words littered with of faux annoyance.

He raised his hands in defeat, another laugh rolling through him, “Now was I meant to know that!”

Quickly leaning into you, fueled by your relaxed smile, he brought his lips mere millimeters from your ear, and you could feel the warm of his body—smell his scent of roasted coffee, warm sandalwood and burnt parchment.

“And I bet that’s your favourite,” just above a whispered tone, painfully smug.

He could feel the shiver that ran down your spine, breath audibly hitching, “Oh, spare me, Black!” failing to fight the twitching smile that wanted to play on your lips.

“My favourites are actually in the hourglass I showed you earlier.”

His eyes glimmered with mischief, watching your expression carefully, “Oh, I totally believe you, Y/N. And what might it be called?” His closeness was disarming, that irritatingly charming, teasing confidence of his—combined with the way he looked down at you with an uncalled for fondness. You couldn’t, didn’t dare look back at him, not until the heat that’d built up and began crawling up your neck simmered down.

“It isn’t just one star, it’s the three that split the hourglass,” picking up one hand from the cold ledge, directing his gaze away from your face—”It’s called Orion’s Belt, apparently because it cuts across the ‘waist’ of the constellation.”

The smirk that spread across Sirius’ face, far too smug and self-satisfied, a snicker slipping in—“Orion’s Belt, huh?” he mused, leaning slightly closer to inspect the stars with you.

Squinting, whipping your head to him, suspicion written all over you face, “Yeah…Why’d you say it like that, though?”

He turned to casually lean his back against the pillar, crossing his arms, keeping his eyes on you, “I didn’t say it like anything?” Playful. Feigning innocence.

“Then why do you look so unbareably pleased with youself?”, mimicking his lean and crossed arms. He enjoyed the skeptical look in your eyes, pushing himself up off the pillar, abruptly closing the space you had so recently put between you.

One hand curved around the rock that framed the window, and the other hand, oh so conveniently placed just above your head; closing in. Eyes helplessly travelling from his face down his neck—he was getting dangerously close now, only now noticing his unbuttoned shirt, chest exposed, and silver necklace dangling away from his skin at the depth of his incline.

Dipping his head down to catch your wandering eye, leaning further—inching closer and closer, holding you captive in his gaze. Leaving barely a fingers space between your lips, deliberately skimming your jaw with the very tip of his nose before stopping by just below your ear.

So close you swore you could hear his pulse, loud and steady, rhythmic. It was torturous, the tips of your ears burned hot, lips pressing into a thin line. He still hadn’t said anything, seconds passed like hours, a breath held so tightly in your chest your shoulders began to raise.

His voice low and breathy—

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

There was nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide; even as he made his retreat he stopped again, hand that once rested on the stone frame, resided precariously in the gap of the wall and your waist. Searching for any signs of protest, or discomfort in your face, he waited at eye-level with an intensity that made your chest stutter its rise and fall pattern.

Sirius tilted his head just slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking up in unfiltered amusement, you weren’t going to let him win. Dropping his gaze and letting your eyes drift so obviously down his chest, raising your hands from your side.

Swallowing the scoff that edged that tip of his tongue, as you pulled him in by the collar closer—delicately trailing your fingertips down, down, down. Your eyes were on his again, challenging, teasing, and relishing in his expression. Adam’s apple bobbing as the tips of your thumbs brushed directly against the skin of his chest. Before smoothing over the fabric, looking up at him, innocent, effortless—yet so painfully calculated. You tip-toed slightly to reach his ear, palms now firmly pressed against torso, this time you could feel his heart, thumping, fast and firm.

“I think…”, the whispering presence of your lips against the reddened shell of his ear, smirk deepened when you felt the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. “I think I’m going to bed now, Black.”

And then—just as quickly as you’d drawn him in, you let go, pushing him back with little to no force, he teetered, hand ghosting over where yours had been.

Spinning on your heel, he watched you walking away, not sparing a single glance back.

You heard his voice bouncing off the walls, getting further and further way—“At least let me walk you back!”, Sirius let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his hair as he fought off the stupid grin tugging at his lips.

“Goodnight, Sirius!” You called back, silhouette fading into the dim corridors of the castle.

His body still hummed with the memory of your fingertips, your voice, that look in your eyes, a laugh bubbling up in his chest only now noticing you’d buttoned up his shirt, he shook his head.

Merlin help him.

When his friends saw him in the Great Hall the next morning, he had a new-found pep in his step. Excessively cheery and energised, just itching to get a glimpse of you again.

“I take it Slug’s party went well then,” Remus remarked, smirking as he sipped on his orange juice. Sirius tried to hide the way his lips wanted to break out into a grin, failing miserably, “What makes you say that?” he chimed.

His friends scoffed at his words, as obvious as his moping and longing were, he also wore his triumphs on his face. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe its the way you’ve smiling like a psycho into your bowl of cereal. Just a guess, though!”, James didn’t even try to disguise his loud snort at Marlene’s comment.

Sirius shrugged, too caught up in his own bliss to pay any attention to what she’d said. He was still flicking looks at the entrance, not entirely sure what he would do when he actually saw you, nevertheless waiting, rather impatiently at this point.

Remus rolled his eyes, setting his glass down with a soft thunk. “It’s almost pathetic, really,” he mused, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “You’d think after all these years, you’d have a little more subtlety.”

Sirius scoffed, finally tearing his gaze away from the doors to flash Remus a cocky grin. “Subtlety is overrated, Moony.”

“Not when you’re staring at the entrance like a lovesick kneazle waiting for its owner to come home,” Lily cut in, settling into the seat next to Marlene. She gave him a pointed look before lazily stirring her tea. “So, are you going to tell us what happened, or are we supposed to sit here and suffer through your dreamy sighs?”

“I don’t sigh,” Sirius argued, but before he could elaborate, James jumped in.

“You do. And, honestly, it’s disturbing.”

Marlene snickered. “And loud.”

Remus hummed. “And frequent.”

Sirius groaned, shoving his spoon into his cereal with a little too much force. “Fine,” he relented, though he hardly looked annoyed, his grin creeping back into place. He let himself sink into the memory of the night before—the way your voice had softened, how your fingers had trailed down his chest, how you had absolutely played him before walking away like it had meant nothing.

It had definitely meant something.

But before he could speak, the conversation around him stilled.

His heart stammered. He didn’t need to turn to know why.

You had finally arrived.

And, just to be cruel, you didn’t acknowledge him right away. No, you were far too composed for that, greeting Pandora with a smile, engaging in brief conversation with Dorcas. Sirius forced himself not to pout—you had to have known he was watching.

Almost in sync, all three of you turned your sights to him, Pandora’s lips pressed into a thin line, containing a laugh, while Dorcas did little to conceal her reaction, both hands coming to her mouth, as if trying to force the spluttering laugh that had escaped back into her mouth.

There it was. That hint of amusement, the ghost of a smirk tugging at your lips before looking away again—pretending as if nothing had happened at all.

Sirius let his head drop onto the table, melting with a dramatic groan.

“Oh, yeah,” James laughed, slapping him on the back. “He’s absolutely done for.”

After that morning, you and Sirius had been seen together at a much higher, frequency rate. It started subtly—him waiting for you outside the library after your tutoring sessions, lingering near the Slytherin common room under the pretense of “just passing by.”

Then it became impossible to ignore. Stolen moments in the Astronomy Tower, lying on the floor as you told him stories of the stars, his leather jacket draped lazily over your shoulders on particularly cold nights. Walking up to the Great Hall side by side, bickering about something utterly ridiculous, only to separate seamlessly at the entrance—he to his table, you to yours.

It’s not that that you didn’t like his friends, and it wasn’t that they didn’t notice the shift. Lily’s knowing glances, James’ exaggerated winks, not even meant for you to see, but James wasn’t exactly discrete—still none of it phased you. Your friends had noticed too, they saw the way you’d started to schedule your head-girl duties around his Quidditch meetings so you could ‘coincidentally’ bump into him in the Courtyard.

You still refusing to confirm or deny their suspicions—because you and Sirius were still just friends.

And yet, Sirius Black, the boy who had never carried a single book of his own, had been spotted time and time again with your textbooks in his arms. Slinging your bag over his shoulder like it was second nature, grumbling about how ridiculously heavy it was, but never once handing it back until you were where you needed to be.

And if anyone commented on it, he’d simply shrug, flashing a lazy grin as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“What do you carry in here?” he muttered one afternoon, adjusting the strap over his shoulder. “A dozen bricks? A severed head?”

“Oi, nosy Parker! Do I question what you lug around in that ghastly duffle bag?” you quipped back, lips twitching when he scoffed dramatically.

But more telling than anything was you. Sirius’ presence had breathed life into you, and the more time you spent with him, the more he chipped away at your most guarded parts. The carefree laughs that, before your friendship, were few and far between, corridors now rung with a mix of your vibrant giggles and his howling laughter—on more than one occasion being scolded for disrupting nearby lessons.

“I’m so sorry, Professor, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,”

The door of the classroom barely closed before Sirius grabbed your hand pulling you away, both snickering, trying to run, impossibly faster to keep up, him parroting your empty apology. There was an ease in the way you spoke, a lightness in your voice, even when you hissed out a Sirius in that exasperated, almost always fond tone.

And in turn, you were learning him. The Sirius Black behind the bravado. The one who stayed up far too late studying because he swore he wouldn’t fail another Potions test (though, truly, you were the one keeping him from failing). The one who distracted you during tutoring sessions, doodling on your parchment instead of taking notes.

“You do realise this will not help you pass, yes?” you deadpanned, pointing at the horrendous stick figure he’d drawn.

“I disagree,” he said solemnly. “This is a visual representation of the tragic fate of the gillyweed. Taken too soon.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a laugh.

And then there were the other moments. The ones that left you holding your breath, the air between you taut—thin and the space between you even thinner. His fingers brushing against yours a second too long when he handed back your quill. The times in the back corners of the library when he’d leaned in just close enough that your noses nearly touching, only to reach over your shoulder and pluck a book he didn’t need from the shelf behind you.

And if Sirius hadn’t know any better, he’d think he saw a pout on your lips when he stepped back, “Disappointed, are we?”

To alot of people, you made no sense.

You were put-together, composed, meticulous. Sirius Black was reckless, loud, and endlessly exasperating. But what they didn’t realise—what no one truly saw—was that beneath all of it, you weren’t so different.

By the time you’d made your way into the Great Hall; the usually conjested walkways between the tables were clear, some students still milled about—finishing their breakfasts and making their way out.

You sat, as you always did, with Pandora, Regulus and Dorcas, parchment in one hand and toast in the other. Humming along with the conversations that carried beside you. You’d seen Sirius when you entered, knees resting on the bench as he leaned over the table, huddled amongst his friends and a few faces you didn’t quite recognise.

Sirius was preoccupied.

“—and if I loop around Flint here before he can block, that leaves me wide open to feint left and pass here—” James was rambling at full speed, Quidditch playbook spread across the table, but Sirius was barely paying attention. His eyes kept flickering toward the dwindling crowd, tracking your movements as you slowly gathered your things.

“Uh-huh,” he muttered absently, cutting James off mid-sentence as he abruptly stood.

James blinked. “Mate?”

Sirius ignored him, slipping through the benches and making his way over to you. You didn’t even look surprised when he appeared beside you, just raised a brow as he fell into step next to you.

“Good morning to you, too,” you murmured, adjusting the strap of your bag.

Sirius grinned, keeping pace with you easily. “I had a thought—”

“Oh, Shall I call Madame Pomfrey?”

He huffed, nudging your shoulder lightly. “I think you should come watch me play.”

You hummed, not slowing down. “Quidditch?”

“Yes, Quidditch,” Sirius said, as if there was any other answer. “You know, the most thrilling, heart-pounding, exciting sport at Hogwarts?”

“I have no interest in it.”

His jaw dropped dramatically, stopping in his tracks, face dorned with a look of pure offense. “What! But it’s the first game of the season! Everyone’ll be there!”

Trudging to a stop, you turned to face him, weight shifting onto one hip—arms crossed over your chest. Your lips twitching, the slightest of smirks gracing them before you spun away from him and continued toward the doors. “Exactly, with everyone else there, I’m sure you’ll survive.”

Sirius jogged to catch up, eyes twinkling, his hands on your shoulders, lightly shaking you. “Come on, Y/N, just this once. You wouldn’t want me to lose, would you?”

“That depends,” you mused. “Would you blame your loss on my absence?”

“Absolutely.”

Earning him an eye-roll and a quiet chuckle, even after all this time, he still felt a pang of victory when he was the cause of your smile. Finally, you pushed an exasperated sigh out, shaking your head. “Fine, Black. I’ll come.”

Truthfully, you’d already rescheduled, even post-poning your tutoring sessions so you’d have time to go, simply finding amusement in his grovelling.

His face lit up, “Anndd will you come by the changing rooms after the match? We can go with everyone to Hogsmead after, to celebrate.” His last words came out rushed, a clear after thought, eyebrows still raised into a pleading expression, you didn’t respond immediately.

A feigned debating look on you face, lips pressed into a thin line, foot tapping and an unsure hmmm reaching his ears.

He bent his head down to meet your eyes, always so close but so far away—“I’ll make it worth your while,” he voiced faintly above a whisper. You groaned, head rolling back in playful reluctance, your words came out more pinched than you’d hoped, mumbling out “Maybe…”

Escaping his clutch with a turn of your heel, retreating down the corridor without looking back. Sirius lingered there for a moment, watching you go before he spun around and bolted back to the table.

James barely had time to react before Sirius all but crashed into the bench beside him, looking positively giddy.

“She’s coming,” he announced, practically vibrating.

Marlene snorted. “Poor girl.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Merlin help us if he wins.”

But he wasn’t paying attention. He was already envisioning it—the roar of the crowd, the wind in his hair, the knowledge that you would be there, watching.

Sirius was unnecessarily righteous when it came to his duty as captain, and as much as winning was important to his pride, feeding off the energy that surged around him when he brought his team to a victory.

Now, winning really mattered.

You’d never been to a Quidditch match before, opting to avoid the commotion all together. Frankly, you’d written it off as ‘too violent’, after passing by the hospital wing time and time again—seeing poor Madame Pomfrey overwhelmed with the sheer volume of injured players post-match. Just the idea of watching made you grimance slightly, anxiety lightly brewing in you.

The match had been brutal.

Barely half-way through your voice adopted a coarse and gravelly cadance, suprisingly over-zealous and commited to cheering. A shocked laugh leaving Remus’ mouth, as your voice boomed, travelling rows away.

A grueling hour and a half of hard-fought goals, relentless defense, and a nail-biting chase for the Snitch. But in the end, Gryffindor had come out victorious, and Sirius had played one of his best games yet.

The hope of ‘maybe’, made him dress just that bit faster—fighting the aching tension of his muscles. He was still the last to stide out of the changing rooms, James roughly massaging his shoulders, grins of exhaustion on their faces. Hair still damp and clothes still slightly askew, he’d expected his usual friends to be waiting—Remus, Marlene, Lily, maybe even a few other.

He didn’t expect you.

And you weren’t there, though he was welcomed with a rally of loud cheers, applause, too hard pats on the back. He really was trying to enjoy the moment, honest, but it felt slightly incomplete. Because the only person he was looking forward to celebrating his victory with, was you.

Minutes had passed and they were still stood there, just barely a meter away from the doors of the changing room.

It was James who caught sight of you first, elbowing Sirius roughly in the ribs. Nodding his head in your direction, ”No way,” he whispered, grinning.

Barrelling through the curtains, you hunched over hands on your knees—panting breaths as your chest heaved. Marlene let out a low chuckle. “Huh. She actually came.”

Your voice came out tight, each word wheezed out. “So…so many—people”, inhaling deeply through your nose, “Got—got lost,” Eyes squeezing shut as you failed miserably to catch your breath.

Sirius blinked, momentarily stunned, before a slow, triumphant smirk spread across his face. You still hadn’t found the strength to look up. His feet carried him toward you without hesitation, and by the time he reached you, his grin was unstoppable.

“You made it,” he said, a touch smug, but there was something else beneath it—undeniably soft. Hand reaching out to him in desperate purchase, he caught it, bringing his other hand gently around your waist—stabalising you, as you rested your weight on him.

You cracked one eye open, still huffing out your breath. “Clearly.”

“Well, I’m honoured,” he drawled, tilting his head. “Didn’t think you’d run to me.”

Before you could muster up a proper retort, one hand shifted your shoulder, guiding you ever so slightly out of the way as James, Remus, and the others brushed past, leaving the two of you alone in the corridor.

Sirus waiting patiently for your breathing to steady, when you eventually stood up straight, his gaze was tender—a warmth spreading through his chest, feeling like he could finally relish in his victory.

He was looking down at you, the awareness of your proximity making your barely regulated heartbeat ring obnoxiously in your ears, breaths shallowing again—not from exertion, not from the running, but from him.

Arms still holding onto you, not tightly, not in a way that caged you in—just enough that if you wanted to move away, you could. Touch somehow firm and gentle, grounding, fingertips twitching ever so slightly against the fabric at your waist.

Instead, you looked up at him, swallowing past the dryness that inched up your throat—gaze heavy and burning. “You did amazing,” you murmured, voice softer than you’d meant, like the words weren’t quite enough for what you felt, “Really,” confession direct and sincere.

His lips parted, breath catching, eyes trained into yours. The teasing smirk he so often wore faltered, replaced with something deeper, something that sent heat curling low in your stomach.

“Mmm that’s high praise, Y/N.” His voice had dropped, slow and deliberate—honeyed, like he was savoring each word, letting them hang heavy in the air.

Sirius tilted his head, just slightly, gaze flickering—your eyes, your lips, back to your eyes. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t careful. It was knowing, full of intention, and it made the prickling skin at the back of your neck travel, helplessly further down your spine.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, the urge to reach for him overwhelming, shoulders squeezing up, sucking in a breath smaller than you needed when he inched closer. The distance between you was shrinking, a measly sliver of space left.

He was giving you a chance to stop this.

You didn’t take it.

His hand tightened at your sides, just barely, and the moment you tipped your chin up—just the slightest bit, just enough—he was there.

The first touch of his lips was ghostly, so faint you wondered is was just his breath, inconceivably cautious, testing—savoring your moment before committing to it fully.

And then raising slightly to your toes, nose skimming his skin, that was all it took.

Sirius exhaled sharply through his nose, and the kiss deepened, urgent and needing, like he’d been waiting for this longer than he was willing to admit.

And he had.

His other hand found purchase at your jaw, fingers curling just beneath your ear, angling your face as he pressed closer—so close you could taste the lingering remnants of triumph on his lips.

The arch of your feet began to burn at the stretch.

You barely registered when your hands found his jumper, curling into the damp fabric, trying to close a non-existent gap between you. Pulling him in as you pushed your feet to press firmly into the ground beneath you—his neck craning further down chasing you, unwilling to breakaway. He smiled against your mouth, he couldn’t help himself, kissing you was the easiest thing in the world, second-nature.

He prayed this moment wouldn’t end.

Lips plush and warm against his, the echoes of his teammates’ cheers lost, one palm slipping so intuitively into the dip of your neck, fingertips entwining with the strands at nape—basking in you, like you were a small slice of heaven.

When he finally pulled away, he didn’t go far, forehead resting against yours, his breath fanning against your lips. His smile had returned now, still bright, but softer—contented.

“Well,” he murmured, voice still hushed, “I suppose that’s a fair prize.”

You scoffed, but your lips were still tingling, wanting, your fingers were still curled into him. “Oh, shut up, Black.”

He laughed, vibrant and victorious, and just this once—you let him have it.

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